She took a deep breath, gripping the bat so hard, she felt her fingers cramping. She wondered if they'd start to go numb soon. She hadn't experienced pins and needles in so long.
"Harley, I'm sorry, I really am." Pam murmured, stroking a leafy vine that coiled gently around her waist as if it was a pet.
Harley backed up a few steps, tilting her head at her former friend, an ally. "Thought you didn't do business with your enemies, Pammy." Harley clipped.
Pam's eyes looked conflicted, but the look disappeared as soon as Harley noticed. Her friend shook her head at her, "He's paying anyone good money to find you and bring you and your squad back."
Harley nodded, "Ah, guess you better take good care of us then, till you drop us off and get you little check."
Pam smiled at her, shaking her head sadly. "Not this time, Harley."
She put her hand over her heart, as if Pam's words had struck a chord. "What? J doesn't want me back?"
Pam shook her head, "Just in a body bag." Her expression darkened. "I can give you a bit of a head start, if you'd like." Her lips barely moved as she spoke, but her eyebrow raised, as if suggesting a challenge.
Harley shook her head, "The rest of them are already caught, aren't they?"
Pam's lack of response said all Harley needed to know.
She sighed deeply, dropping the bat and stretching her arms for a moment. "Then I guess we might as well get this over with, Pammy."
Eighteen Months Ago
"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," Dr. Angelo Staffer started, clicking his pen several times as he leaned back, glancing quickly between the patient in front of him and his thick notepad, already filled with detailed descriptions of her limited movements and responses so far.
She looked back up at him, tilting her head questioningly. "Huh?"
"How are you feeling today?" He asked rather timidly as he watched her nervously. He eyed her exposed arms with a mixture of interest and intimidation every few minutes.
Harley opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry laugh came out.
He chuckled back at her, probably mostly due to intense nerves, she figured.
"Wh-What?" He asked after a moment.
She raised and lowered one shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. "Dr. Staffer, right?"
He nodded quickly, "That's right."
"How old are you?" She asked coolly.
"Twenty five," He said, his nervous smile beginning to falter.
She nodded slowly, letting out a low whistle. "That's pretty young for taking on a high level criminal."
He shrugged, "About the same age as you were, right?"
She chuckled, leaning forward to the coffee table between them, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the surface and put it between her lips. "You've done your homework."
He chewed on his lower lip as he watched her pick up the matches and fumble with lighting them. "It's what I'm trying to be good at."
She struggled with two more matches before developing a flame with the third. With a triumphant smile she lit her cigarette and took a long drag. "Can I give you some advice?"
He let out what Harley could only assume to be a mixture of a chuckle and a gasp. "I guess."
"Don't start out a session with a new patient without introducing yourself first." She started, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her lower thighs as she flicked ashes casually, "It makes us crazies feel more relaxed."
He cracked a small smirk as he leaned forward, watching the ashes burn out in the tray for a moment before speaking. "You like cigarettes?"
She put another one between her lips and opened the matchbox, shrugging. "It depends on the day, I guess."
"Floyd Lawton told me you smoke when you're stressed out."
She looked up at him, her furrowed brow relaxing slightly at the mention of his name. "Floyd Lawton said that?"
"Yes."
"Oh," She muttered as she refocused her energy on lighting the match.
"What?" He asked, clicking his pen once more.
"I just didn't know you saw other members of the squad."
He raised and lowered one shoulder. "We have a team of shrinks to help you all with the transition back into society as well as coping with recent events."
She nodded, giving up on the cigarette between her teeth and setting it down on the table between them. "Does everyone get a different psychiatrist?"
Dr. Staffer nodded quickly, "Except for you and Mr. Lawton."
She tilted her head, "Why?"
He shrugged one shoulder, "I was informed you two worked very closely together."
She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair, propping her feet up on the coffee table and rocking backwards a little bit. "That's a bit of an understatement, from what I've been told."
"Still no memory of Mr. Lawton?"
She eyed him skeptically before shrugging after a moment. "What? It's not in your notepad?"
He smiled in spite of the situation, "You haven't discussed these sessions with Floyd Lawton?"
She shook her head, lowering her chair back on all fours.
He raised an eyebrow, "Have you spoken to Floyd Lawton at all?"
She shrugged, as if his name meant nothing to her. "Once or twice," she took a drag, trying to will herself to think of anyone else on the squad but Floyd.
He scribbled down in his notepad some more before looking back up at her, "You don't sound so sure of yourself."
She rolled her eyes at him, but gave no verbal retort.
"It's been a month since the Joker. You're all moved into Johnny Frost's old house-"
"Jonah," her voice was clipped.
"I'm sorry?" Dr. Staffer looked up at her from his notes.
"His name was Jonah Frames," she muttered, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray's edge.
He put his hands up in defense, "My mistake, I apologize."
She just shrugged, hugging her knees to her chest in the chair.
"When was the last time you talked to Floyd Lawton?"
She looked down at the table, staring at the embers burning out in the ashtray.
She was sitting on the floor in the hospital's hallway. Her leather jumpsuit was torn, her hair, once immaculately straightened down her back, was pulled into a tousled ponytail, and she was covered in blood. If any of it had been hers, her wounds were all healed. The only remainder of her humanity was the red tint her blood had left along her skin.
She refused to see any doctors until everyone she'd hurt on the squad was checked out. She scratched her forearms violently, trying to will herself to start shaking, to feel panic, to feel something. Before all this, the adrenaline of a fight would've worn off by now, but the enhancements J loaded her up with was making her feel like she was still on the verge of a fight or flight response.
She felt the weight of what she'd done just hours ago barreling down on her, like a train on a track. She ran a hand over her face, her palm pulling on the skin beneath her eyes slowly. She needed to figure out what to do next. If she stayed here much longer, she'd have to deal with the fact that she had actually stabbed-
"Miss Quinzel?" a nurse said timidly as she approached Harley nervously.
Harley clasped her hands together before bringing them to her mouth, chewing her nails as she shook her head at the woman's voice.
"No." She snapped, "Harley Quinn." She corrected.
The woman tilted her head, but Harley didn't tear her eyes from the wall. "My mistake, ma'am. I was told you were going by your original name now, so I just-"
Harley shook her head. "No. Harley Quinn. And I'm fine."
The nurse tilted her head, clearly not believing Harley. "Well we should get you checked out. Just to be safe," the nurse, God love her, was insistent on doing her job.
Harley wasn't having it.
"Look," she snapped, her voice louder than intended. "I'm obviously fuckin' fine." she held up her arms, not a scratch on her, aside from her new jewelry. The fucking bling that kept her from feeling anything after hurting her friends, after killing-
She looked up to see the nurse's eyes watering slightly.
Harley breathed hard through her nose, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. "Shit," she muttered. "I'm sorry, lady." Harley pushed herself off the floor.
The nurse shook her head, holding her hand up. "No, I shouldn't be acting this way, I'm so sorry-" her voice was shaky. It made Harley want to feel worse.
"No, no. You're just trying to help," she reassured, stepping towards her but not reaching for the nurse. She didn't want to scare her. "Actually," she feigned pain and gripped her shoulder. "I think I banged up my shoulder a bit, would you care to check it out?" She forced herself to take a few pained breaths, trying to give the nurse something to do.
This seemed to put her at ease, "Of course! Follow me, and we'll get you in a room."
Harley nodded thanks and followed her down the hall.
She led Harley to a larger hospital room, with a curtain in the middle of the room, likely serving as a divider so two patients could be treated at once. Harley heard faint beeps from a heart rate monitor on the other side. She hoped whoever over there wasn't in any pain from her actions. Not like what she had done to-
"So! Just sit tight over here," the nurse snapped her out of her thoughts, patting the hospital bed beside her. "And I'll be back with an ultrasound machine to get a closer look at this shoulder."
Harley nodded, giving her a small smile. "Thanks so much."
The nurse started for the exit, but stopped for a moment. She turned her head back towards Harley with a thoughtful look. "Is it supposed to be like harlequinn?" she asked.
Harley looked back at the nurse, confused by the question. "My name? I didn't pick it."
The nurse's lips pursed into a "o" shape, but she didn't speak.
Harley tilted her head, "Why?"
The nurse shook her head, "I don't mean to pry, but a harlequinn's purpose is to serve. Like, her master." Her voice seemed small, nervous. When Harley didn't respond immediately, she spoke quicker. "I took a romance lit course in college. And, for what it's worth, Harleen is a nice name."
Harley just stared back at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "Uh, thanks."
The nurse smiled back at her nervously. "Yeah, so I'll be back in a minute!" she chirped and walked out.
Harley took a deep breath, blowing some stray hair from her face.
"How'd she know all that?" a voice from behind the curtain asked, Harley felt as if the voice's deep baritone pierced through the silence like a bullet.
Something in her wanted to smirk at the thought.
She looked over at the curtain for a moment, "I dunno, took romance lit in college." Her voice felt foreign, too calm, too disinterested.
She heard a soft, strained laugh from the other side of the curtain, "So that explains it."
Her curiosity got the best of her at that moment, so she walked over and pulled back the curtain.
There he was, sitting up in bed. Something Lawton, the sniper. He stopped J from taking a shot at her, pushed him off the balcony, tried to stop her from killing-
"How are you?" She asked quickly, shaking the thought away. He looked worse for wear, but definitely better than she expected for someone that took a 40 story tumble just hours ago.
He looked her for a moment his eyes almost glistening as her gave her a weak smile. "Better now, Dollface," his tone was full of relief, but it felt misplaced to her.
She stiffened at the nickname, feeling nothing upon seeing him, but knowing that she should. The way he looked at her in the club, the way he's looking at her now. It was overwhelming, even in this way-too-mellowed-out phase.
He seemed to notice his effect on her, he tried (and failed) to straighten up from the hospital bed. The muscles in his arm twitched, as if he considered reaching for her. He didn't, but she could tell he had to fight the instinct. "Harley, I didn't-"
"No, it's alright." She put her hand up, trying to stop him. "I think I owe you a thanks actually, for stopping J." She felt like she should take a step closer to him, maybe sit on the edge of his bed? But her legs felt like lead. She didn't move closer.
He didn't say anything either, looking confused.
She wanted the tension to leave them, so she tried again. "So, thank you, Mister…?" she drew her words out at the end, not quite sure of his name.
She noticed the hurt dance across his features, he almost seemed to literally swallow down what he was feeling.
"Floyd." His voice was clipped, like he was trying to sound breezy, but he looked like someone rested a rock on his chest.
She took a deep breath, knowing the feeling. She felt guilty. He saved her, pulled her from the fight. He talked her out of fighting him, tried to stop her before she murdered-
"Yeah!" she said, well shouted, really. She felt mechanical, like she was overselling this interaction. "Well, thanks, Floyd. I'll see you around."
She ripped the curtain back across the room, blocking her view from him. He looked like he wanted to get up and go to her, but before she found out if he tried it, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, slamming it behind her and running down the hall of hospital floor.
She shoved the door to a bathroom open, barely making it in before she threw up, emptying the contents of her stomach into the sink.
She took a few deep breaths before she looked up at herself in the mirror.
"Floyd?" she asked her reflection quietly, as if the copy of herself would have all the answers this guy seemed to want from her now.
"Miss Quinn?" Dr. Staffer snapped her out of her thoughts. "I asked you when the last time you talked to Floyd Lawton was?"
Harley blinked rapidly, noticing the embers had burnt to nothing but black ashe while she'd zoned out.
"Yeah, I heard you." She mumbled, picking up another cigarette from the pack.
Dr. Staffer raised an eyebrow. "So?"
She met his gaze with determination as she lit up once more. "Next question."