So if you haven't been paying attention – and honestly, then why are you even here? - here's the situation.
Harley went to throw herself a little pity party at the park where she first met Ivy. B-Man showed up to offer some unsolicited, but definitely good advice – the guy was almost definitely either a therapist or into some heavy therapy himself, or both – and Harley resolved to make it up to Ivy in any way possible.
So there she was, heading home to her lady love, ready to smooch their problems away – only, ya know, if the situation called for it and all, and ain't no one gonna say Harley Quinn wasn't flexible or creative with her problem solving – when a kid, an actual fucking kid, showed up and tried to rob her.
Sure, he was a fan and all, but he was still trynna rob her. And he had a gun too. I mean, what kind of bullshit background checks were they running in this fucking city, anyway?
Anyway, he had a gun, and kept threatening to shoot her, which obviously didn't sit well with her because, you know, why do the gays always have to die before they could settle down and have their happy ending and all, right? And plus the kid was good people, just misguided –
So like you.
Yeah, maybe.
But she was just trynna get him to put the gun down so they could talk about his troubles like a coupla normies - and also maybe B-Man's unflinching morality and obligation to rehabilitate the worthy was rubbing off on her or whatever – when he shot her.
The kid fucking shot her!
She could feel the cold metal of the bullet brush against her forearm, but maybe it was the shock – scratch that, it was definitely the shock – that kept her from feeling any actual pain.
For his part, the kid looked about as appalled as she did. "I-I tried to warn you!"
She wanted to say something quippy, maybe even smack the kid upside the head in a weirdly maternal way, but before she could even blink, more people emerged from the shadows.
People wearing black and white tuxedos and black and white fedoras and sporting semi-automatics in their black and white gloved hands.
People she recognized.
Two-Face's people.
Well, shit.
"Well, well, well, if it ain't the so-called Queen of Crime herself!" One of them snickered. "You look mighty lonely, Yer Majesty! Not a good idea wandering down Crime Alley on your own…was it?" He craned his neck and looked around, "What, the plant wasn't free to babysit?"
Harley raised a curious eyebrow. "Hello to you too, Bucko. I see Dent's sending out his finest to greet me, didn't realize I was such a big shot." Actually, she kinda did, but that was neither here nor there.
Bucko (that wasn't actually his name, probably) laughed. "We ain't here for you, Quinn, though it sure is a coincidence to be bumping into you this fine night…" He smacked the kid on the back, "Nah, we're here for the boy. It's his initiation, see, and the boss wants to know what he's made of."
He turned to the kid, "Not bad, kiddo. Not bad at all… Robbing a Rogue is some real good shit for sure, but Quinn here, well, she's on the Boss' most wanted list."
He eyed Harley with growing satisfaction, "If you deliver her head to him on a golden platter, you're in the gang for good."
There was a tense moment as Bucko and Harley stared each other down. And then, she startled the thugs with a boisterous, maniacal laugh, one that echoed off the crumbling brick walls and escaped into the chilly Gotham night.
"Ya boys sure miss getting the stuffing knocked outta ya, don't 'cha?"
She cracked her knuckles with glee, enjoying the way her pre-fight warmup released the lingering tension in her muscles. "Gotta admit, it's been a while since we did this. Kinda missed it myself."
The thugs exchanged smug looks of their own as they hefted their equipment. "Face it, Quinn, this time, you're a goner. Ya got no buddies, no escape, hell, not even your bat…ya might as well give up now." Bucko's toothy grin gleamed a blinding white, "Ya know, while you still got a pulse, I mean."
Harley grumbled under her breath. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right about her being at a disadvantage. Because in her haste to get out of the apartment, she'd left everything behind…her bat, her phone, even the little switchblade she normally tucked into her shoes for situations just like this.
But if they thought she'd back down with odds like that, then they really didn't know her at all….cause she? She was Harley fucking Quinn.
She'd faced down tougher opponents with far less before, and still came out on top.
Besides, a good fight never failed to lift her spirits. And tonight, she really was itching for one.
She allowed herself a wide, shit-eating grin. "Enough foreplay, boys. Let's dance."
Harley didn't have many rules when it came to fighting. You know, other than surviving and beating the shit out of her opponent.
But she did have one more rule.
Always attack first.
Before the thugs could point their guns her way, she lashed out, launching herself into a front handspring and wrapping her legs around the neck of the nearest thug on her way down. One swift jerk of her knees was all it took for the man to go tumbling to the ground like a ragdoll, his neck sticking out at a grotesquely abnormal angle.
The dead man's companions had only enough time to wince at his gruesome demise before she swiped his semi-automatic from his cold dead hands and turned to them with a maniacal grin. "Great, now we can really get this party started!"
Bucko looked pissed as hell. "Get her!"
The alley erupted with gunfire. The remaining thugs – six at last count – sprayed the crumbling walls with bullets, Harley returning fire with gleeful enthusiasm, cherishing the comforting rat-a-tat-tat that sputtered out of her newly acquired weapon. Two well-aimed shots managed to hit home, leaving them 3 – 0, Harley's advantage.
She wiped the sweat of her brow with an exuberant laugh. "Yer really outta practice, Bucko. Maybe ya shoulda brought more people."
To her confusion, he grinned back just as enthusiastically, "You're right, Quinn, maybe I shoulda."
The unearned confidence in his voice gave her pause. Something was definitely wrong.
Footsteps against the gravelly pavement had Harley whirling around, weapon at the ready, but even then, she wasn't prepared to see three more goons stepping out, heavily armed and grinning like the cat who caught the canary.
"Are you shitting me right now?!" She turned to Bucko, "Do you have some sort of goon factory back there-?
"Uh, actually," One thug raised a hand. "I identify as a hench."
"Sorry, goon and hench factory. Or are you all just hiding in the dark like this is some fucking tv show?"
Bucko just grinned even wider, "The Boss made one of them resolutions, see, and this year, he really really wants to take you down, Quinn. Offered us a promotion to anyone who gets the job done." He looked to his buddies, "And wouldn't you know it, turns out we all really REALLY want that promotion."
Four more goons entered the alleyway behind him, their guns drawn and pointed squarely at her, leaving her completely and utterly surrounded.
Great… just fucking great.
Ivy was thoroughly and utterly pissed… and pacing across the living room at a speed that would have given anyone whiplash.
"Look, if I knew where she went, I'd tell you, wouldn't I?" She ran her fingers through her loose red hair and released an exasperated sigh. "For the last time, no, I don't know where she could possibly be, Selina! Yes, I'm aware that that means you need to check the whole damn city, but last time I checked, she was your friend too."
There was some response on the other end, likely a reluctant, whiny agreement. Selina could be a real bitch when she got interrupted during a catnap.
She closed her eyes. "Yes, thank you. And if you do find her, please don't chase her away with your fucking piss-poor attitude. And text me as soon as you – and she already hung up on me."
She vehemently chucked the phone onto the couch and plopped down next to it, burying her face in her hands to release a frustrated cry. "Fuck, Frank! Where do you think she went!? It's been seven hours already!"
"Look, Harley's gotta a lotta issues, Ivy, but she's gonna come home at some point."
Ivy was not appeased, "You said that three hours ago! And she still hasn't shown up yet! W-What if I chased her away, Frank?" She hung her head and swallowed the growing lump in her throat, "What if- what if she doesn't want to come back home…? What do I do then?"
A leaf smacked her in the face, "OW! What the hell-!"
"Everytime I think you've run out of stupid shit to say, you go and say something stupider." Frank replied, as though that was explanation enough for his actions. "Look, Harley loves your sorry ass, and she's gonna come back. She probably just needs time to work her shit out, and frankly, she ain't the only one who's got stuff to work through." He raised an 'eyebrow'.
"I know, I know…I'm a fucking idiot. I was unfair to her, I said things I didn't mean to and I scared her off…I-I'm a horrible excuse for a human being…" Her green eyes shimmered with guilt, "I just want to hold her in my arms and apologize to her so that we can move past this fucking thing and be happy together… but I'm so, so terrified she'll never come back, that she'll think she has no reason to come back to me."
She turned to Frank with a miserable sigh, "People like me don't deserve happiness, Frank, and they sure as hell don't get second chances. I always wondered why life was so unfair to us…now I know."
"Ivy…" If she didn't know better, he sounded almost comforting, "If there's ANYone on this motherfucking planet that deserves happiness, it's you."
She didn't blink, "You're biased, Frank. Your opinion doesn't count."
"Biased?" The plant drew back in offense, "For the record, I have grievances with 'chu longer than the fucking Nile, but I don't care about all of that, because you, you're a good person, Ivy. And you deserve to be happy, more than every other person in this shitty town….But you're right, People like you don't get second chances. That's why you gotta grab em before they disappear. Grab 'em by the ass and show them who's-"
"Frank."
"Right." He cleared his throat, "So go out there and find your girl, then work your shit out together so you can go back to being disgustingly gay in front of me. I need some more inspiration for my next fanfic, woman! That shit ain't gonna write itself!"
"You're a real perv, Frank, you know that?" But Ivy was smiling now, so perhaps that was all that really mattered.
She got to her feet, her mind already working overtime to form a plan. "I'm going to look at all the old places we used to visit. Maybe she went there, you know, for nostalgia's sake." She grabbed her stuff and Harley's phone – just in case, "Frank, if she comes back home, please, please tell her I went out to look for her. I don't want her thinking I left for good or something."
Frank would've shoved her out of the apartment if he could. "Ya ya, I gotchu, woman! Now go on, get outta here!"
Ivy headed out, determined to find her love and fix things once and for all.
I'm coming, Harley. It's time for you to come back home.
The alley exploded with gunfire, again. But this time, Harley found herself leaping to the side and seeking cover behind a dumpster, dragging the kid along with her. (Yeah, remember him?)
"Ya really want to be a part of his gang?!"
The kid shrugged, "I gotta a lot of debts to pay off, he offers good money."
She smacked her forehead, "Look, I can getcha out this mess, but you gotta want it. Otherwise you're gonna fall right back in, okay?"
He didn't respond. He just pointed to her with wide, frightened? eyes.
"What?" Harley griped, growing increasingly frustrated with herself and this kid that apparently didn't want saving, "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?'
The boy gulped, "Um...you're bleeding…"
Her eyes flickered to the graze on her arm. "I know, not important."
"No… Like, it's really bad."
For the sake of his somewhat misplaced but touching concern, she followed his gaze and looked down and -
Holy fucking shit….
How the injury had escaped her notice, she had no fucking clue, but there was an honest-to-god hole in her stomach. And she was leaking blood like one of those oil pipelines Ivy always seemed to be railing against.
So, like really, really bad.
"Fuck." She tried to stem the blood flow with her free hand, but the redness kept escaping past her fingers and dribbling onto the pavement to form a puddle around her feet. Just looking at it made her feel woozy. Or was that cause of the rapid blood loss?
Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.
The boy looked to her, then the puddle, then back to her. "W-what should I do?"
She glanced up at him. "Scram. You don't want this life, kid. Trust me. No amount of money is worth this."
He didn't seem to disagree with that. She supposed looking like the poster child for some sorta crazy police propaganda campaign called "Don't Let This Happen to You" certainly helped her case.
She looked back towards where the thugs had gathered. The sound of gunfire – and annoying taunting – was getting closer. "Go. I'll cover you."
He paled, "B-But…what about you?"
Yeah, no way this kid was cut out for a life of crime. "I'll be fine." Liar. "I've taken these wannabes on before. Now get outta here!"
To his credit, it seemed like leaving was the last thing on his mind. But then a particularly nasty spray of bullets got too close to their hiding place for comfort, and suddenly, his mind was made up.
"Sorry about this…really," He jumped to his feet. "I-I hope you make it outta this alive."
Yeah, you and me both, kid.
She hefted up the semi-automatic, ignoring the pain lancing through her stomach to shoot over the dumpster at the approaching gang, Bucko and the others scattering under her barrage like cockroaches exposed to the light.
By the time she turned around, the kid was gone.
She leaned against the dumpster for a second, biting her tongue to keep from crying out in pain as she pressed her palm to the wound once more. It wasn't doing much good though. If only she had a…
Doi!
She fumbled for the handkerchief in her pocket –
"Aww don't be like that, Quinn, why leave just when we were having some fun? I thought you wanted to dance. I can do a mean tango."
Harley bit back a snarky remark to instead press the tissue to her wound. She bit her lower lip to stifle the yelp of pain that swelled in her throat, but it did little good. Fucking thing hurt like hell. She supposed the bullet was still somewhere inside her, but she had neither the time nor the resources to dig it out.
Besides, surviving was probably more important at the moment. She pressed her back flat against the dumpster's cold metal exterior and assessed the situation.
Thirteen thugs at last count. Thirteen goons – and/or henches - and thirteen semi-automatic guns. No way to escape without being in the open and vulnerable. And no real chance of fighting them all, not without her bat or her blade – and certainly not with a gaping hole in her stomach.
Should have asked the kid to stay. Could have had him use the semi.
She shook her head. It wouldn't have been right to traumatize the kid like that. Not when the thugs were here for her.
In retrospect, having a moral compass was a real drag. 0/10 would not recommend.
But she hefted the semi to her side once more. If she timed it right, she could make a break for it while they were distracted and knock a couple pins down on the way.
Distraction…right. Gotta find something.
Luckily for her, she was lying flush against a freaking dumpster. It was too risky to dig into the bin itself, but there was enough around her to work with. With one hand pressed against her wound, she began to search for something, anything to throw at them. Thankfully, it didn't take much detective work to find a half-broken bottle, lying just an arm's length away from her.
Her fingers wrapped around the jagged edges of the glass, and though she could feel it cutting into her skin – boy did that hurt like a bitch! – she grit her teeth and listened for a lull in the gunfire. If they were too busy firing away to hear the bottle, the distraction would all be for naught.
"Fuck it, boys. We all know she's behind the dumpster. Let's just end this and get her to the boss all-quick like. I gotta dental work in the early AM."
Footsteps sounded closer, accompanied by heinous, whiny laughter. Harley clenched the glass close to her chest.
Just a few more steps, you fucking dickwads.
They drew closer, closer.
She grinned. Almost there.
Their hulking shadows began to morph into her line of sight.
Now!
She chucked the bottle as hard as her injury would let her, letting the glass shatter into a million little pieces against the opposite wall.
Eight heads turned towards the noise.
That was enough.
Harley somersaulted away from the dumpster and into the open, clutching her semi to her chest and opening fire on the distracted thugs.
Pop! – one in the head
Pow! – one in the arm, then another in the chest for good measure
Rat – a – tat – tat! – Knee, groin, chest, head
She smiled triumphantly. A perfect combo.
Harley dove to the side and caught two more before they could realize their mistake, but when she turned her gun to Bucko, the gun clicked empty.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit!
"Missing something, Quinn?"
"Fuck." She tossed the gun to the side and lurched to the side, using one of the dead thugs for cover as she searched for another weapon, but Bucko was smarter than he looked. He knocked the nearest semi out of her reach, signaling to his two goons to keep their weapons trained on her as they drew closer.
"Face it, Quinn. You've had your fun, but it's time to go home to Daddy now."
"Eww," She staggered to her feet with a grimace, "That's just fucking gross, man."
Her fist shot out to clip his jaw, but her head was starting to feel awful heavy and distances didn't make sense anymore, so she wasn't too surprised when her hand sailed straight past him and into thin air.
But she was surprised when he grabbed said hand and flipped her onto the ground. She hit the pavement with a grunt and maybe a broken rib or two.
Yeah, today really wasn't her day, was it?
The cold metal of a barrel against her forehead brought her back to reality as Bucko leaned in to examine his handiwork. "Yeah, I'm officially bored of the game now, Quinn. But it's a good thing I won, ain't it? Boss'll be real happy to see you." His heel found her wound and dug into it, hard. "Oh, he'll be real, real happy to see you."
Through the excruciating pain that ripped her apart, Harley could only think of two things. One, she was so gonna kill Dent when she got outta here, and two, she was definitely getting outta here.
With a cry, she kicked straight up, striking the poor goon where the sun don't shine and relishing in his girlish squeal. She kicked the man off her and began to get to her feet, but one of the other thugs – cause of course they were still there – backhanded her with the butt of the gun, sending her sprawling to the ground once more, and with a bloody lip to boot.
"You fucking bitch!" Bucko was mad now, whatever faux gentlemanly air he'd maintained earlier now a relic of the past. He kicked her in the side, right where the fucking bullet wound was, and delighted in her irrepressible grunt of pain.
"You're worth far more trouble than a fucking promotion." Bucko was leaning in now, spitting on her with every word. "but if I kill you myself, hell, I could be running this place by dawn."
Yeah…today REALLY isn't my day.
"Yeah…I don't need to take you back, Quinn." Bucko was thinking now. Clearly no one had ever told him it was a dangerous pastime.
"In fact, I don't think I will… See, you've pissed me off plenty already, and I don't wanna risk you escaping on me or nothing, so here's what we're gonna do." He tapped the barrel of his gun against her cheek. "I'll kill you now, then the boys and me'll tell the Boss you gave us a real fight, but things got outta hand and we hadta make some adjustments." He shrugged, "He'll understand, he just wants ya dead mostly."
He looked down at her, "How's that sound ta ya?"
"Peachy." She deadpanned, suppressing the shiver that ran down her spine. "One problem, brainiac. How does killing me lead to ya running the place? Ya start spreading rumors, Dent's gonna disappear you before breakfast."
To his credit, he did seem to be thinking about it. Maybe he wasn't a complete idiot after all.
She seized the opportunity. "See, I can be good for something, Bucko. Maybe ya do need me alive after all."
"Maybe I do…" He mused thoughtfully, but then another crazy grin was crossing his face and Harley was beginning to realize she'd bet on the wrong motherfucker to grow a conscience. "Unfortunately, you're still more valuable to me dead than alive."
The barrel went back to her forehead, sending a cold shiver of dread down her spine. "Thanks for the heads up, Quinn, but I'll figure the rest out on my own. I'm just sorry you won't be around to see me running this place."
His eyes gleamed something dangerous, "Show's over, little clown. Time to say good night."
Deep down, Harley could feel the gravity of the moment weighing upon her. She'd faced this end of the barrel many times before, had reached the brink of death a hundred times over, but this, this moment hurt the most.
Because in this moment, seconds before a bullet was about to tear through her brain, all she could think about was seeing Ivy just one more time. About apologizing to her… just one more time.
She saw his finger brush against the trigger, and the wicked grin slide onto his face.
I just wanna see her gorgeous green eyes once…just want to see them sparkle with joy, just once. Do I really not deserve at least that?
"For the record," Bucko was smirking way too hard now, "I'm really, really gonna enjoy this."
She closed her eyes, trying her damnedest to think not of her impending death, but of beautiful green-eyed goddesses in black satin gowns and diamond jewelry, of dancing the night away in each other's arms, of laughing and loving and being happy together.
Happiness, I thought I didn't deserve it, but turns out I really really want it anyway…
"I'm really, really sorry, Ive."
She felt the click of the gun, and then, nothing.