Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making a profit through the writing of this.
A/N: Heavily influenced by this episode: Harley Quinn, "You're a Damn Good Cop, Jim Gordon" Season 1, Ep. 6
I just feel like maybe Right Hand Man, aka Junior, should have a chance at being more than just cop and a kind of, sort of, not quite villain. This assumes that Jim Gordon's wife has left him.
Set after the last episode of season 1, so there are potential spoilers for some of the events of that season.
This is a crack fic, but it's on par with what is on the show.
Written for week 9's matchmaking prompt for the unwrapped community.
Please be a dear and let me know if you enjoy this crazy little fic. Thanks.
Warning: Swearing, some suggestive wording, and mention of kinks
"Besides, he's not the only one whose wife has left him. You don't see me moping around like a fucking loser, making everyone around me miserable."
"Look at the poor guy," Clayface said, gesturing toward the downtrodden Jim Gordon. "He looks so miserable."
"Since when do we care about the misery of cops?" Dr. Psycho asked, more than a little testily. "Besides, he's not the only one whose wife has left him. You don't see me moping around like a fucking loser, making everyone around me miserable."
Ivy knew that it had been a bad idea to go out for drinks at a place that did not cater solely to villains. She was already regretting it, and the night had only just begun.
"In Little Right Hand Man's hour of need, he was there for the young chap and befriended him," Clayface said. "He is a good man."
Dr. Psycho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, he also pumped 'junior' for information about us, and little 'junior' was ready to spill his young, thespian guts if I'm not mistaken."
"Jim Gordon's not our problem," Harley said. "Right now, making a name for ourselves is. Why did I think I could trust the L.O.D.? I guess it all goes back to trusting the wrong people. I mean, I trusted Joker after all, and look what that got me. Besides, Batman's probably just being a douche, like a certain ex of mine who shall not be mentioned. Gordon will be fine when Batman's back to his normal bat fucking self and giving his bestie the attention that he deserves."
"And here I thought we could make it through a solid day without a mention of the Gotham Prince of Crime, or the craptastic, L.O.D.," Ivy said. "Stupid me for thinking you were finally getting over your fucking ex, and that you'd learned your lesson with the L.O.D.'s latest douchebaggery."
Harley pouted at her friend, and took a sip of her coke and rum. "Sorry."
Ivy shook her head and sipped at her Midori sour. "Whatever."
"I proffer that we propose a grand plan to help our dear friend, Jim Gordon," said Clayface, ignoring everyone around him.
"He's a cop," Dr. Psycho said. "Not our friend. He'd put us in Arkham or Blackgate in the blink of an eye, no questions asked."
Maybe Clayface's right hand wasn't as insentient as Dr. Psycho thought it, he, whatever, was. That would actually explain a lot that had been happening with the big, squishy guy recently. Ivy'd taken notice of the conversations the big man had seemed to be having with himself. Maybe he hadn't been conversing with himself after all, but with his sentient right hand.
"He does look a little down," King Shark said. "No one should look that sad. We should do something to cheer him up."
"I know just what to do," said Harley. "We should rob a bank, and let him catch us, and then-"
"No, Harley," Ivy said, putting a hand on her friend's mouth and not flinching when Harley licked her palm. "Let me stop you right there. We are not going to rob a bank and get caught just so that Gordon will get his cop back on. Just, no. We are not doing that."
Harley's shoulders sagged, and she gestured toward the man in question. There really was no actual question about it, though. Jim Gordon was definitely not in his prime, and he looked much worse for the wear than the last time the gang had seen him, and that was saying quite a lot considering he'd threatened to fuck them to death with bullets the one time, and he'd attempted to use tanks on his own citizens when trees were trying to take over the park.
"I know what to do," Clayface said in his actor's voice, which sounded a lot like his regular voice for those who didn't know him well. He looked at his right hand and closed his eyes.
"Much as it pains me to do this, it is time for us to part ways for," he said, opening his eyes and looking at his right hand which had grown a face, and was looking at him quite gravely.
"'All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages.' And you are no longer a 'mewling infant,' nor a 'whining schoolboy'. No, dear, Right Hand Man, you are ready for that next great age of life, and so I bid you, adieu," Clayface said.
"Really?" Right Hand asked, eyes lighting up. "Do you mind if I take the familiar sobriquet, Junior, to honor you?"
"I do not mind at all," Clayface said, smiling, though it looked like he was about to break down into tears. "I will miss you, Junior."
"Aw, I'll miss you, too. You've been like a dad to me," Junior said.
"And you, a son to me," Clayface said.
"Oh, give it a rest you two!" Harley said. "Jimbo's about to take a nosedive into his Bloody Mary. By the time you two are finished goodbying and drowning us all in your Shakespearean mumbo-jumbo, Jimmy's gonna find himself swimming around in Davy Jones's locker if you catch my drift."
"I see what you did there," Ivy said, nodding at her friend. "Clever."
Harley shrugged and bumped shoulders with Ivy. "I have my moments."
"Yes, you do," Ivy admitted.
"Oh, would you two just get a room already?" Dr. Psycho said, throwing his hands up in the air.
"You wish, little man," Harley said.
Dr. Psycho waggled his eyebrows and gave the girls a suggestive look. Like the mature leader she was, Harley stuck her tongue out at the psycho physic and leaned against Ivy. It was a familiar, welcome warmth that Ivy did not want to examine too much right now.
"Go to him," Clayface said, pointing Junior toward Jim Gordon, who was sitting precariously on a bar stool, leaning far too heavily on the bar itself. The man was beyond hammered, and Clayface hoped that the little guy could get through to him before it was too late. A Gotham without Jim Gordon in it was not a Gotham that Clayface wanted to commit high crime in.
"He needs you more than I."
"I won't forget you," Junior said, tears in his eyes.
"Nor I, you," Clayface said. "I'm proud of you, little fellow."
"Go on, already, would you?" Harley said, shooing Junior toward where Jim Gordon was swaying to his feet. "Before Jim face plants and makes a fucking fool of himself and I have to start some drama to cover for him."
"Don't worry," Junior said as he made his way over toward his good friend, Jim. "I won't tell Jim where your hideout is. Your secrets are safe with me."
"That makes me feel real secure," Dr. Psycho said, sarcasm thick. He took a large sip of his Brandy Alexander and scowled at the sappy reunion that took place between the inebriated cop and Clayface's right hand.
It was ridiculous, and stupid, and it would probably come back to bite them in the ass, yet (though she'd never admit this to anyone, even under torture) Ivy couldn't help but think that it was kind of sweet. Jim Gordon and Junior were kind of cute together, which was more than a little disturbing, and Ivy would probably have to wash her brain out with soap and water before the night was over for even thinking about it.
"Thought you couldn't function without your right hand man," King Shark said, thankfully interrupting Ivy's train of thought, as he finished off his spiked ocean water and signaled the waitress to bring him another.
"He was growing restless," Clayface said. "I knew it was just a matter of time after he'd met Jim Gordon that he would seek to leave me. After all, 'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.'"
"Ugh, more Shakespeare?" Harley dropped her head into her hands. "And did you just say, love?" Harley made an exaggerated gagging noise. "Does Junior actually love, love, a fucking cop? I mean, I guess it's okay, because it's Jim Gordon, but..." Harley shivered. "Oh, shit, Clayface is brooding, someone order him another old fashioned, stat, before he starts soliloquizing!"
"So, you're gonna just operate with one hand now?" Ivy asked, drawing attention away from Harley who'd managed to get half of the bar patrons to glance in their direction, and was starting to make her wish that she'd gone over to Kite Man's place.
"Fear not, I can grow a new one," Clayface said, sorrow thick in his voice. "In time."
"I knew it!" Harley punched Clayface in the shoulder and grimaced when her fist sunk into the clay. "And here you kept giving me grief for leaving a man behind when all of this time you could've just grown yourself a new Right Hand Man."
"He was a part of me," Clayface said. He stared into his old fashioned and played through the memories that he had of everything that he and his right hand had done over the years.
"Oh, fuck, we didn't get the drink to him in time," Harley muttered. "He's going to monologue now. I just know it. Gawd, I need another drink."
"My right hand has served me well," Clayface spoke into his drink. "Now it is time the little guy serves someone else. Parting might be sorrow, but from where I sit, watching Jim Gordon smile and speak animatedly with Right Hand Man, now Junior, and seeing Junior smile back, it is well worth the personal cost to myself. And, yes, dare I think it? The sorrow is as sweet as the bard had written that it was."
"Kill me now," Dr. Psycho said, banging his head on the table. "Before he continues his drunken, dramatic monologue."
"Look," Clayface continued in a soft voice. "The light is back in Jim Gordon's eyes, and it is beautiful. I hated seeing the man so down. Sure, we might be enemies, and Jim will probably try to arrest me sometime soon, even as I will try just as hard to escape, but Jim Gordon is a good man and a damn good cop to boot. If nothing else, the man is a good adversary, and that is well worth saving in a place like Gotham."
"Oh, my gawd!" Dr. Psycho said, holding his head in his hands. "That was fucking awful. You really know how to ruin a moment."
"You know, I was thinking," Harley said, slurring her words. "We make pretty good matchmakers. We should totally do this again."
Ivy shook her head and moved Harley's drink off to the side where she couldn't reach it. "No. No we should not do this again."
"But look at that sourpuss over there," Harley said, pointing at a young woman who looked like she was one lonely night away from taking a jump off of Wayne Tower. "Or, you know...oh my gawd, yes! Batman!" Harley said, grabbing Ivy's arm, eyes lighting up maniacally. "We can find Batman his own little right hand man, or whatever. Maybe it'll help him get that giant stick out of his ass, or you know, maybe he'll stop fucking bats when he's all alone in that dark, dank bat cave that he spends all of his time brooding in."
"No, we are not going to play matchmakers for Batman, Harl," Ivy said, shuddering at the thought.
"I gotta side with Ivy on this one," King Shark said. "No offense or anything, but I think we should stick to what we know best."
"And what we know is how to set up good guys with kinda sorta quasi bad guy pals. Look at Gordon, he's actually smiling, and not in an 'I'm gonna fuck you to death with bullets' or 'I'm gonna blow you up with my super special tank' kind of way. We're actually good at this, we're good at setting up guys with -"
"Animated body parts?" Ivy finished, an eyebrow raised sardonically.
Harley nodded. "Yeah, and you know, maybe a couple of your plants. Isn't Frank looking for someone to love?"
"No, do not set Frank up with anyone," Ivy said. "Unless you want that someone to be eaten by a man-eating plant. I mean, then you can set Frank up with someone. He's really good at that."
"Let's do it," Harley said, punching Ivy in the arm and then leaning against her best friend, and giving her puppy dog eyes. "Let's set Frank up with an odaxelagniac who doesn't mind a little bite every now and again. I mean, who would'a thought Gordon was a quirofiliac? I sure as hell wouldn't have pegged him for a hand man. Who knows what Batman is into? Other than bats, that is. Do you think he's into vampires? We could find one who wants to 'take a bite' out of crime, just like good ol' Batsy himself. Or maybe we can find a really nice bat for him who doesn't mind a man who dresses all in black and pretty much mocks his, her, its kind for vigilante shits and giggles."
"Okay, you're starting to use words I don't understand, and making sense out of nonsense, it's time to go home," Ivy said, pulling Harley to her feet, and steering her away from the lonely woman who'd lost herself in another drink.
Gordon and Junior were sitting at a table, laughing at who knew what, and okay, so she'd had a small (so small it might not even actually be there) part to play in that, and it kind of felt good, but this was a one off, and she couldn't let Harley continue with this train of thought, because it would be a total wreck, and a rather spectacular one if Harley's other wrecks were anything to go by (not that Ivy wouldn't stand by her girl when such a wreck happened). There'd be explosives, and Harley would call them fireworks.
Maybe explosives wouldn't be the end of the world, though. Maybe they'd be the start of something beautiful. Who the hell was she kidding? They'd be fucking beautiful. A complete disaster, sure, but abso-fuck-ing-lutely beautiful (not to quote Mr. Big from Sex in the City or anything, 'cause Ivy was so not into that show, and Kiteman did not invite her over to binge watch a season, or three, the other day).
"'Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a match, Find me a find, catch me a catch Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Look through your book, And make me a perfect match!'" Harley sang off-key and at the top of her lungs, making Ivy rush her along toward the van that would take them to their private lair, and away from prying eyes, and bleeding ears.
"How do you even know, Fiddler on the Roof?" Ivy asked, not really expecting an answer as Harley continued to sing as she danced away from her.
"'As the good book says 'Each shall seek his own kind'. In other words a bird may love a fish but where would they build a home together?'" Clayface quoted in his gravest acting voice yet, which was quite a feat, considering most of his acting voices were grave and were all pretty similar to each other. "May Junior and Jim Gordon find common ground that they might build a home together, though he be but a humble hand, and Gordon a mere man."
"Oh, give it a rest, would you, pipestone?" Dr. Psycho said, throwing his hands in the air.
"I'm just showing that I have an acting range," Clayface said, clearly pouting. "That I can quote more than just the great bard of Avon."
"Acting range? Just because you can quote plays and musicals, does not mean you have an acting range," Dr. Psycho muttered, hands in the air as he continued to harangue Clayface about his lack of range when it came to acting.
Ivy shook her head. They were a motley crew to be sure, but they were Harley's crew, and as Ivy attempted to herd them toward the van, she was really happy that she was crew adjacent to her best friend's crew of villain misfits. Best friends, whose tears may or may not have had a hand in bringing her back to life, were not to be taken for granted, regardless of how crazy they and their ideas, and their crew might be.