'This is ridiculous,' Flag thought to himself as he laid back on the plush velvet chaise lounge. He would like to say he had no idea how he ended up back at Harley's apartment with the "world's most dangerous criminals." But after another more or less successful outing with Task Force X had them waiting for a helicopter out of Gotham, Harley convinced them to make a "quick" stop to check in on Bruce.
The fact that he realized he wasn't at all surprised that Harley had a hyena named after a billionaire living in an apartment should have been the moment he walked out for a vacation, but Harkness had just laughed at the situation and left the two of them to find the fridge. Too busy being worried about the brand of beer Harley kept stocked instead of the absurdity of the situation.
Harley bouncing after him claiming her tastes would be far too superior for the Aussie left Rick alone in her living room to take it all in. All of the different colored furniture and painted walls would give any sane person a headache, and the sheer amount of weaponry scattered throughout would certainly make a person nervous. He actually found it somewhat homey, in a homicidal former psychiatrist kind of way. It suited her.
He glanced around at the art and the photographs Harley had showcased, pleasantly surprised that there didn't seem to be a trace of purple or the Joker anywhere. He did his best to keep tabs on her after her grand escape from Belle Reve. He knew that her and the Joker had split up and that she had made some sort of alliance with a few other women in Gotham to take down the Black Mask. In a weird way, he was proud of her and part of him had wanted to know if she was okay after, to reach out and say, "Hey, I know how it feels."
But he had shoved that thought back into the black hole it came from almost as quickly as June had walked out his door the night she told him he brought all of the turmoil she had gone through with Enchantress back just by touching her.
Plus, he reasoned, Harley was busy looking out for a kid named Cass – she must have been who looked after Bruce when Harley was out with the team or back in Belle Reve – and didn't need him stepping in to check on her like a prison warden.
A loud crash from the kitchen caused him to step back from her diploma from Gotham University quickly, almost as if he felt guilty for snooping. But Dr. Harleen Quinzel should be proud, no reason for her not to show it off, even if it was hanging behind a canvas that looked like someone had just dumped buckets of paint on it in an out of the way enough corner people probably shouldn't be in.
"Harley," he heard Boomer say as the pair rounded the corner. "There's no way he's going to say yes."
"That's not true!" she squealed, waving a hand dismissively in Boomer's direction. "You just gotta know how to ask."
Something about the tone of her voice had Rick looking over at them questioningly, and alarm bells began to go off in his head when he noticed what was in Harley's hands.
"No. No. No," he stuttered out, taking a step back only to bump into the wall and rattle the diploma he was just looking at.
"But, Flag," she exclaimed, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're the only one of us that don't got one! Please, please, pretty please!"
If anyone asked, he would never admit that all it really took was the look of joy at the expectation of him saying yes for him to shakily nod his head in agreement and let out a gruff, "alright." If he was being honest with himself, if she looked at him that way at every request, he would be hard pressed to find a way to tell her no. It was so rare to see true happiness in her that wasn't followed quickly by bloodshed, he just couldn't help himself.
So now, Rick found himself laying back on Harley's red couch, questioning all the life choices he had made to lead him here, while the blonde next to him swiped alcohol swabs along his upper left arm. She had gone to medical school after all, she had reminded him with a deranged fit of giggles after she snapped on a pair of nylon gloves.
He closed his eyes, and willed himself not to pay attention to the way his body reacted to the feather light touches she was made on his skin, mapping out swirls or letters he couldn't be sure. All he truly knew at this point was, he didn't want her to stop. And he really didn't want to ask himself why exactly that was.
Boomer cracked open another beer and sat down on the couch next to Bruce, the hyena being more than willing to let the Aussie scratch behind his ears. He began a conversation with Harley that Rick was didn't pay much attention to, instead being drawn in by the buzzing noise of the tattoo machine Harley had just plugged in. He knew this was a bad idea, and he would probably regret it, but there was no going back he told himself as soon as he felt the first prick of the needle.
The squad tattoos had started before Harley's first grand escape. With more freedom being allowed to the team members, the guards must have let something slip because Harley had somehow managed to get her hands on a needle and a ball point pen. He noticed new ink showed up sporadically on her skin when the team gathered for training sessions, though he told himself he wasn't paying much attention and he didn't really care too much to look in to it.
Deadshot had been the next one with a fresh tattoo. He still wasn't sure how the two of them had managed that in Belle Reve. Boomer's appeared after their fifth successful mission as a team, though Harley had already broken out at that point, so that one really was a surprise. Slowly, but surely all the core members had one. All of them except him.
They had all joked with him about it. About how he truly wasn't a part of the squad until he had one, and he'd always grumble out some gruff rejection and go about his business. It wasn't that he was opposed to tattoos, hell, he had quite a few of his own. There was just no way he was going to join in on something they did. He was their leader, their superior. Or at least, he thought that in the beginning.
Over time, after each training session, after each mission, the us vs. them mentality started to fall away. He stopped seeing them as monsters and criminals, even when all of them would so be quick to list off the various offenses that littered their rap sheets like a bingo card, and he began to see them as his team. He trusted most of them with his back. And there was only a hand full of people on this planet he could say had that trust. Once he looked past the prison jump suits and the manic smiles, Harley, Boomer, Floyd, even Killer Croc, they were all just people. His people.
That's why he hadn't fought harder than to just stutering out a few no's tonight. He did have to put up a bit of hesitance at least for show. But he had accepted them as his team quite a while ago, so why not join in on this little ritual.
The buzzing noise of the machine was relaxing, and the pain began to ease as Harley got her rhythm. She was humming along to some song he didn't recognize, keeping an easy conversation going with Boomer. Rick found himself getting lost to it. He enjoyed the pressure of Harley's hand on his arm keeping the both of them steady. And it was hard not to ignore the heat he felt radiating from her when she sat this close. He could smell the sweat and the blood from their earlier tussle with the bioterrorist they had taken down, but with her leaning over him like this, every now and then he got hit with a wave of her citrus shampoo. It was oddly intoxicating, the mix of violence and softness she exuded. He also enjoyed how open she was in moments like this. Down time was few and far between with the team like this. Usually someone was stuck in a cell, someone had tried or even succeeded at an escape, or they were too busy fighting for their lives to really just be around one another.
Boomer could be enjoyable company every now and then. And Floyd was known to crack a few clever jokes when he wanted to join in. And Harley, she let the saner side come out in moments like this. He would never deny that she wasn't certifiable, but sometimes he wondered just how much of it was an act. She was so intelligent and had managed to get them out of more than few jams while out in the field. Another thing he would never admit to anyone was how nice it was to be able to be close enough to see all the little details about her without ending up on the receiving end of a bullet. Like the way her eyes lit up when she found something extra humorous, or how she would chew the inside of her cheek when she was nervous and thought no one was watching. But best of all, he thought, was just how beautiful she looked right now, covered in dirt and blood with a little worry line forming on her forehead due to the concentrated way she was tattooing him. Marking him as a true team member. Marking him as her own.
Before he knew it, Harley was wiping off his bicep and peeling off her gloves. 'Must have gotten lost there for a few minutes thinking about the report for the mission,' he thought to himself, knowing good and well that was a lie. He had gotten lost in thoughts about her.
"All done," she declared, grinning from ear to ear. She looked so proud of herself, so happy and carefree. Rick pictured what she had looked like as Dr. Quinzel. He had seen the pictures in her file. She had been beautiful in the classic model way. All business suits and glasses. But now, looking at her and comparing her to who she had been in his mind it just didn't fit. There was something just so striking about the woman standing in front of him, so radiant and so unapologetically herself. The Joker may have torn her down and molded her into a clown, but she had picked herself back up again and made herself into who she was now. "Ooooh, and just in time."
All three of their communicators had begun to blink red, indicating that the helicopter would be arriving in a few minutes. Harley hopped away from the chaise, busying herself with sorting through items around the apartment and collecting any last-minute things she wanted to take with her.
"So, Flag, watcha think?" she asked him with a smirk, giving Bruce a kiss on the head before skipping towards the front door. The same mischief from before was glittering in her eyes.
"Oh, uh-" Rick stammered. He hadn't even bothered to look down at his arm, too busy taking her in and enjoying the relative normality they were getting. No one was shooting at them. Their lives weren't currently in danger. Boomer had been drinking a few beers, they'd been catching up on as mundane of topics two convicted super villains could talk about. And he'd just been enjoying the company. You could almost say they had been hanging out like regular people on a regular Friday night.
Boomer was grinning behind his beer can, watching his reaction and trying to hold back laughter as Rick finally looked down at his arm.
SKWAD
The bold black letters stood out against the red of his irritated skin and he didn't know whether to be angry or just to laugh. It was fitting after all. They were his squad of misfits.
"Harley!" he barked out, trying to sound gruff and not let the smirk he was holding back show through.
"Yeah, Flag?" she asked, stopping halfway out the door, the glittery tote bag she had stuffed full of odds and ends still swinging on her arm.
"That's not how you spell 'squad'," he exclaimed, trying to show exasperation, instead of the rising feeling of belonging he felt at being accepted into their little team. He was no longer the outsider now, not just a babysitter with the button that could blow all their heads off.
The smile that spread across her face may be considered deranged to some, but Rick couldn't help but smirk back in return. She winked at him before disappearing out of sight down the hall, and the two remaining team members could hear her giggling as she stomped up the stairwell to the meet the helicopter on the roof.
After she was gone, he could feel a red flush creep its way up his neck, and he hoped Boomer either didn't recognize the blush or would just chock it up to blood rushing to his head from the tattoo. He clapped Boomer on the shoulder before following Harley, something he was starting to realize he wouldn't mind doing for as long as she'd let him.
Title is taken from the song "Sucker for Pain" from the 2016 Suicide Squad's soundtrack.
This morning on tumblr, I saw where someone had posted a photo of Joel Kinnaman's actual skwad tattoo from the first movie being in the new one and this idea has been rattling around in my brain ever since. Since it was in the new movie, to me that means it's canon and needed its own back story.
Plus, a little insight on the amazing character development they gave Flag! He went from someone who was disgusted to work with criminals and low-lifes, to someone who is shaking their hands and asking if Savant wants to be called Savant or by his name instead. In my head, I imagine he kept tabs on all his squad members and made sure their allowances were being upheld.
So, let me know what you think or any other head cannons you have for these guys!