The Rabbit Hole
7.
Theme: Dusty Springfield - 'In the Windmills of Your Mind'
Helena -
There were a pair of succulents on the window sill of Helena and Dinah's bedroom. They didn't require much attention, which was ideal because neither of them had time to spare on horticulture. It had been different in LA. There was more time. Their neighbors, Jen and Ara, both worked from home and had the spare key, and Ara would water their plants whenever necessary. Ara was the one who got Dinah and Helena into house plants. Whenever they were invited over for dinner, Ara always had a new acquisition to show off. She treated her plants like babies.
When Dinah and Helena left LA, they gave all their plants away. Those plants would never survive the dark Gotham winters. They would have been dead within weeks.
Helena hadn't even learned the names of her new neighbors in Gotham, let alone hosted them for dinner.
Laying alone in the dark, staring at the succulents, she tried to imagine what Jen and Ara would think of their lives in Gotham—horrified, probably.
Her shoulder was aching. She could feel a bruise blooming on her collarbone where she'd looped a heavy silver chain around herself in a moment of improvisation. The thugs at the restaurant had all been drunk, their guns nearby but out of immediate reach. The goons at the warehouse were armed, the mood tense like they were all a split second away from shooting each other. And there were more of them than she'd expected—ten in total. She only had the Glock Foggy gave her with its fifteen rounds of ammunition. There was no room for error.
It had been like an out-of-body experience. Helena had never been so fast, so accurate, so strong in all her life. Each move she made was precise and perfect. Every shot she took landed exactly where she wanted. It was exhilarating. As she rode the Ducati back to Texas Joe's, she rode that wave of exhilaration, clinging to it and fearing the crash that was sure to come.
It hadn't come yet, at least not in the way it had the night before in the form of head-spinning nausea. But the exhilaration was wearing off now, leaving a hollow feeling behind. That feeling had been with Helena since the moment she learned Pino was dead. She didn't expect it ever to leave her again.
She heard the front door creak open and Dinah's boots clip-clopping over the threshold. She shuffled around the kitchen, trying to be quiet as she poured a glass of water before coming into the bedroom, closing the door softly so as not to wake Helena.
Helena didn't move. She listened to Dinah change into her pajamas and wash her face in the bathroom, then a few minutes later, she was sliding into bed, sighing as she settled into her pillow.
It was the sigh of an exhausted person, but not a miserable person. Dinah was exhilarated about her work. It had been obvious in the long text she sent to explain why she was out late again. The thrill of the chase, Helena suspected. The rush of putting a bad guy behind bars, reinforcing her sense of being a good guy. Dinah was always the good guy. She always did the right thing. She and Montoya were as good as it got. The only good cops in Gotham.
Helena's throat suddenly grew tight as pressure settled behind her eyes. She heard Dinah take a deep breath and sigh it out, her routine for falling asleep. She scooted closer until she was pressed against Helena's back, inadvertently nuzzling the bruise forming on her shoulder, making it ache.
Helena's lips trembled. The pressure built and built until it was all she could do not to sob outright. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow her breathing so she wouldn't give herself away. But the tears came anyway. They streamed down her face, soaking the pillow beneath her cheek. This was supposed to be the moment of relief she'd been waiting for, the moment her grief could come to the surface, and she could cry her eyes out just to feel something.
But there was no sense of relief. Because it wasn't over yet.
She clenched her jaw so she wouldn't make a sound as tears ran hot and sticky down her face.
With Dinah's goodness at her back, Helena cried for what she was becoming and what she still had to do next.
The Joker -
It had been a lazy twenty-four hours, most of which consisted of eating, sleeping, exploring Harley, and… thinking.
She'd decided she was no longer interested in the auction for the Batman's real name, which the Joker wasn't entirely surprised about. By Harley's logic, if Ed was focused on the Bat, he wasn't focused on killing her, and that was where her interests lay — her survival and maintaining the status quo.
It was funny that after all this time, she just couldn't help herself. Make no mistake, the status quo was chaotic, crazy, outrageous, and far from boring. But that didn't make it any less true that Harley was comfortable. She was trying to avoid change. Not out of some misguided need to control the world, but because she was happy with things as they were.
Eddie, on the other hand, seemed intent on kicking things up a notch.
Which left the Joker in an unexpected philosophical limbo.
Intellectually, he agreed with Ed.
But his loyalty—a quality he hadn't been aware he was capable of until recently—was to Harley.
Destruction was inevitable. It was human nature. It was the chaotic law of the universe.
The question was, what, or whose destruction was coming?
And what would be left when the rubble cleared?
This auction for the Batman's identity? It was a pivot. The Joker could feel it.
So, where did that leave him?
For now, he was in the curious position of sitting back and watching it all play out. Lying in wait until an opportunity arose for him to act.
And today, that meant watching Harley prepare for her girl's-night-heist at the Gotham History Museum.
The day had only just begun when Detective Harvey Bullock, one of Harley's most loyal lapdogs, called to let them know he had information to impart. They got dressed in their most boring blending-in clothes, the Joker in black jeans, black boots, black button-down shirt, black jacket, black coat, black gloves. Black black black. He eyeballed the black jumpsuit Harley wore beneath her dark jacket, its velvety wide-legs cropped to show off the glossy white tops of her heeled ankle boots, and he felt a little shiver of envy that she got to have some pizazz in all her black.
When he voiced this to her, she offered to let him try the jumpsuit on, and when he considered it for half a second, she burst into laughter, drawing looks from the miserable residents of downtown Gotham as they strolled along a snowy street.
They met Bullock at the Grace, an old-fashioned saloon-style bar run by straight-laced folks who paid a fee to the Commission to stay in business. The Joker was well acquainted with the Grace, a regular haunt way, way, way back when he was running around with the O'Riley boys. The barmen looked the same; leftover from another time in long white aprons, their hair slicked back neatly. The bar was a century-old mahogany behemoth decked out in brass fittings and flanked by cozy snugs, their murky, stained glass providing a sliver of privacy.
Bullock was in a snug near the back, and even though it was hardly 11 AM, he had a line of shot glasses at his elbow, half of them empty. He was a raging alcoholic, and it was increasingly starting to show. His eyes were perpetually bloodshot with heavy, bloated bags beneath. Burst blood vessels spiderwebbed across his saggy cheeks, which were covered in rough, uneven stubble. He looked even more under pressure than usual, hardly blinking when they slid into the snug across from him.
Bullock knocked back two shots in rapid succession, distracted.
"Is this your idea of inviting us to Brunch?" Harley asked, smirking.
"Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha," Bullock grouched, making Harley and the Joker exchange an amused look.
Something about Bullock was just so dark and broken; it made the Joker wanna sit back and watch.
"Listen," Bullock hunched forward, his trilby precariously tipping over his eyes. "I need to know if you two've heard anything about a second, uh..." He made a face and swore under his breath. "Another Batman," he finally said, his cheeks reddening.
"Another Batman?" Harley grinned like Bullock was an incredibly adorable puppy.
"Look, the night before last, someone took out five of Mandragora's boys downtown," he explained. "Then last night they tagged nine more of his guys in South Channel, including Mandragora's number two. DeCarlo and his team are calling the killer 'the Hunter' but I—"
"Are you fucking kidding me, Harvey?" Harley cut him off, her face souring in an instant. "Are you seriously asking us for help for your other employers?"
"No!" Bullock blustered. "No—well, yes, but no. Look, Harley, you're gonna wanna know about this, okay?"
"Want to know about what?" Harley demanded. "I'm not solving your cases for you. That Pig guy was a one time thing."
"It ain't my case anymore," Bullock insisted, looking pained. "DeCarlo took it off me when we found out the killer wears a mask and seems to be some kinda fuckin' ninja."
"A ninja?" the Joker drawled, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.
"So there's a rogue with a kink for killing mobsters," Harley rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "How is that of consequence to us?"
"Look, just look," Bullock fumbled with his phone, his thick fingers swiping over the cracked, smudged screen. "Just look at this and tell me what kinda sense that makes."
He turned the screen toward them, and a video started playing.
It was grainy CCTV footage of a restaurant floor where five men were enjoying themselves. The mood flipped instantly when a masked figure dressed in black flew into the shot and started shooting. She was fast and a lethal shot. The footage ended with her standing over one of the men, who was clearly begging for his life. She shot him in the head, and the Joker felt a delighted shiver race across his shoulders.
Still, his threshold for interesting was a slightly higher bar to clear than masked and good at karate. Harley, on the other hand…
He shot her a sidelong look in time to see something haunted flicker across her face — something the Joker didn't recognize, which was weird because he could name the reason behind every blink, every move, every sound she made.
She looked up at Bullock, her expression grim, and Bullock seemed relieved she was taking it seriously.
"Rogues are supposed to be freaks in masks who pose a major danger to the public, right?" he gestured to them meaningfully, and the Joker preened like a peacock. "A masked woman killing criminals? Know what that reminds me of?"
"The Batman," Harley said darkly.
"Exactly." Bullock grabbed another shot and tossed it back. "Or a Batwoman. Or a Batgirl. Or a Bat Lady."
"A Bad Bat Lady," the Joker improvised, grinning.
"Exactly," Bullock said again, his eyes widening. "A Bad Bat Lady. I mean, shit, can you imagine if the Batman went around fuckin' executing people? People would lose their minds."
"Mmm," the Joker agreed enthusiastically.
He imagined it. A female Batman with no rules and he sure did hope he got to see it.
"Harley, just think about it," Bullock pleaded with her. "If she's anything like the Bat, chances are she'll be coming for you two soon enough. And unlike the Batman, she'll put a fucking bullet in your head."
Bullock's voice was thick with concern — he was genuinely worried for Harley's safety. Even the Joker could see it.
Harley held Bullock's eye for a long moment, considering what he was saying.
"Not unless I put one in her head first," she said at length.
Bullock sighed, relieved. "So you're gonna track her down?"
"No," Harley waved at the phone. "Just because she's wearing a mask doesn't mean she's a vigilante or a rogue. Someone could have paid her to kill those men."
"Harley," Bullock shook his head. "I gotta feeling, alright. I can't shake it."
The Joker felt some of his good humor drain away.
Bullock could feel the pivot coming too.
"Harvey, listen to me." Harley put her hand over Bullock's on the table, offering him a reassuring smile that nearly turned him into jelly.
Oh, she had him wrapped around her little finger.
"You don't have to worry about me," she promised him. "If this woman is a vigilante and she finds me, she will regret it."
"Alright," Bullock nodded, not sounding remotely like it was alright.
They exchanged a few more platitudes before taking off, and as they began walking north, Harley got quiet. The Joker put a hand on her wrist to slow her down, and she looked up at him, giving him the full sweet-blue-eyes treatment.
"Mandragora was there the other night," she said. "When Lucy killed that kid."
The Joker's eyebrows rose. "And uh, you think that's connected to the Bad Bat Lady?"
Harley considered it, her eyebrows knitting together as she fought with herself. She closed her eyes and sighed, and when she looked at the Joker again, some of the tension had eased from her face.
"I don't care," she announced, forcing what the Joker supposed was meant to be a breezy smile. "The Bad Bat Lady's not my problem."
J draped his arm over her shoulders as they started walking again.
She was lying to herself, he decided, lying to herself under the guise of letting go.
Like Bullock, Harley could feel the pivot coming, too.
Dinah -
Helena was already in bed when Dinah got home around 3 AM, and she was relieved to see the diazepam was where it belonged in the medicine cabinet.
Montoya told her to take the morning off and sleep in, and Dinah had needed the extra hours of rest more than she'd realized. When she woke up late the next morning, she was delighted to find Helena still asleep beside her. A gooey smile spread across Dinah's face as she snuggled up against Helena's back, holding her close. She couldn't remember the last time they'd woken up together when the sun was already up, and for the first time in weeks, it was shining bright outside.
It felt like a good omen.
Then she felt Helena wake up in her arms, going rigid as sleep left her and reality sank in. She slowly turned to look at Dinah over her shoulder, and Dinah's good mood immediately dissipated. Helena's face was puffy and tear-streaked. She looked miserable, broken.
She tried to find her voice as Helena settled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She tried to find soothing words, but nothing came to her. She felt guilty and naive for thinking anything could be okay less than three days after Pino's murder.
Helena sat up abruptly, pulling her sleep shirt off over her head and tossing it on the floor. She laid back down and stared up at Dinah expectantly, naked aside from a pair of overwashed panties made of lilac lace, her sharp hip bones protruding above the elastic. Her body was long and lean, well-toned from training but so soft. Her hips were slightly flared, and her breasts were small and full, her olive skin perfect, unmarked aside from a mysterious bruise on her shoulder, mostly hidden by the long wave of her dark hair.
Dinah propped herself up on her elbow, her heart beating a little faster. It felt like the completely wrong time for sex, inappropriate even, but it also seemed impossible to refuse. She hesitated a moment, then wiggled out of her pajama bottoms and panties and rolled up onto her knees to sit back on her heels. She pulled out the elastic holding her hair up so it fell loose and wavy to her shoulders, and tugged her camisole off over her head, her nipples peaking as Helena's dark eyes swept over her body.
Dinah straddled Helena's hips and leaned down to kiss her, feeling her own body come to life being bare and pressed against her soft skin. She nuzzled Helena's neck and kissed along her collarbones and shoulder, stroking her hips with her fingertips as she traveled down her chest to run her tongue over one dark nipple. Their eyes met, and Helena's breath grew shallow, her fingers tangling in Dinah's hair as she licked the sensitive little bud into a tight peak, pulling it between her lips until Helena groaned, making a deep ache settle between Dinah's thighs.
Helena rolled her over so swiftly Dinah's breath caught, and she found herself on her side facing the wall. Helena pulled her back against her, her breath soft and sweet in Dinah's hair as she stroked her thighs, her breasts, her stomach. She pulled Dinah's leg back, splitting her open so she could run her fingers over her pussy, holding her close with her arm around her waist. Dinah moaned softly as Helena steadily applied more pressure, massaging her clit as their hips rocked together, making an intoxicating heat spread from Dinah's core up her body to her cheeks until she was breathless and trembling.
She twisted her head over her shoulder, finding Helena's mouth, their breath mingling together as Dinah worked her hand inside Helena's underwear behind her. Her heart pounded when she felt her slickness on her fingertips, making Helena moan into her mouth. Dinah wiggled out of her arms to roll on top of her, her breath oddly shaky as she helped Helena out of her underwear.
It was a brief reprieve from their troubles, sweet and distracting, but the morning couldn't last forever. Helena had to go to work and Dinah's 'morning off' was officially over before the clock struck eleven. Montoya called to inform her that she needed to get her ass in gear because they had yet another hot lead to chase down. She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice, but Dinah could hear it through her usual caustic drawl.
She got dressed in her camel-colored H&M suit, applied some mascara, and tied her hair up in a messy ponytail, then headed out, the sun reflecting off the newly-fallen snow so brightly she had to pull out her Wayfarers. Montoya instructed Dinah to meet her at the recently-reconstructed Gotham General Hospital, where a known member of the Wonderland Gang was recovering from multiple gunshot wounds. Dinah found Montoya waiting at the visitor's entrance, a pair of mirrored aviators covering her eyes and a thick file under her arm as she sucked on her Juul.
"God, you look like a fuckin' hipster," she greeted Dinah, wrinkling her nose at Dinah's Ran Bans.
"And you look like the cop from every 80s action movie," Dinah countered drily, making Montoya chuckle. "So, who's our perp?".
"Lewis Yarnell, aka the Lion," Montoya shoved the folder of papers into Dinah's arms as they strode through the hospital's corridors. "He's muscle for hire and spent a lot of time in Tetch's inner circle. Lately, he's been workin' for more traditional employers here in Gotham, most recently Johnny Viper, who got himself killed last night in a shootout in South Channel."
"How are we getting access to this?" Dinah frowned, just as a mustachioed, middle-aged detective wearing a trenchcoat and a trilby swept into their path.
Detective Robert DeCarlo, head of the MCU's Rogue Task Force.
"Through me," he shot Montoya a self-satisfied smirk before he turned to Dinah. "So this is your rookie, huh? She's cute."
If Montoya was the surly heavy-drinking cop from every 80s movie, DeCarlo was the slovenly misogynist who consistently failed upward.
"Where's Bullock?" Montoya sneered. "This is supposed to be his case."
"It's mine now," DeCarlo hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. "Looks like we got a new Rogue. They put two bullets in your boy Yarnell last night."
"Jesus, another one?" Montoya rolled her eyes. "What's this one's gimmick?"
"She tagged five guys at Carluccio's night before last, including Carluccio and a busboy," DeCarlo fished his phone out of his trenchcoat and thumbed around on the screen. "Then last night she took out nine guys at a warehouse in South Channel, all on her own. Yarnell's the only sonofabitch lucky enough to make it out of there alive."
"She?" Dinah asked, surprised.
DeCarlo turned his phone screen toward them and swiped through a series of crime scene photos of bodies sprawled across a warehouse floor before coming to a video. It was grainy CCTV footage of a restaurant interior — Carluccio's, Dinah assumed. Three men were sitting around a table while two others were standing.
Dinah folded her arms over her chest, her brow knitting together as the CCTV footage began to play.
A figure dressed in black and wearing either a balaclava or some form of face-covering burst onto the restaurant floor and immediately began shooting. From her height and build, it was apparent she was a woman, and the way she moved made it clear she was well trained in martial arts and firearms. She shot the men at the table, then disarmed the two on their feet, moving so fast they didn't have a chance to retaliate before she killed one of them and knocked the other to the floor.
She stood over him, and she executed him.
Dinah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Masked, highly capable, and taking the law into their own hands...
This killer wasn't a rogue.
"We think her schtick is hunting down influential Italian families," DeCarlo continued, making Montoya laugh incredulously at his choice of words. Influential Italian families, ie: mobsters. "We're callin' her the Hunter."
"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," Montoya scoffed, shooting Dinah a smirk that Dinah ignored.
Her attention was still on the phone, of the frozen image of the woman in black executing a purveyor of organized crime.
She needed that video.
She needed to get that video to Bruce.
DeCarlo was about to spit something vile back at Montoya when Dinah cut him off with a bright smile.
"You'll have to excuse Renee," she jumped in. "She went a little overboard on the sauce last night so she's not feeling great today."
Montoya's eyes widened, taken aback, and DeCarlo predictably ate it up.
"Ooooh, Renee," he whooped, grinning. "You got a spicy one on your hands."
"You know, when I transferred to Gotham, I had my heart set on your department." Dinah flashed him a winning smile.
"Is that so?" DeCarlo puffed out his chest proudly; Montoya appeared speechless.
"It must be so exciting catching rogues," Dinah doubled down.
"Eh," DeCarlo shrugged, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "Someone's gotta do it, honey."
"Hey, do you think I could get another look at that footage?" Dinah beamed at him. "Sir?" she added for good measure.
DeCarlo grinned back at her, basking in the attention.
"Sure," he agreed cheerfully, passing her his phone. "Why not."
Dinah shot Montoya a loaded look as she took the phone, and thank God she wasn't hungover because she immediately caught up.
"Stop trying to steal my rookie, old man," she snapped, throwing out a few other insults to distract DeCarlo while Dinah texted herself and then Bruce the video. She opened the messaging app and, with two quick swipes, deleted the sent messages. It was a poor attempt at covering her digital tracks, but she was pretty sure it would be good enough for a corrupt idiot like Detective Robert DeCarlo.
"So, are we allowed to talk to Yarnell or not?" Montoya demanded once Dinah handed the phone back. "It's the least you could do considering you couldn't catch Tetch yourself."
"Yeah, yeah, go on in," DeCarlo waved her off and shot Dinah an aging playboy grin. "See ya around, rookie."
She returned his smile until he turned away, and the corners of her mouth promptly fell in disgust.
"What the fuck was that about?" Montoya demanded.
Dinah could only shrug apologetically. "Just curious."
"Just fuckin' curious," Montoya muttered. She flashed her badge to the uniformed officer on duty outside Yarnell's room. "I'll give you fuckin' curious."
Dinah started to follow when her phone vibrated in the pocket of her blazer. She fished it out and was relieved to see a message from Bruce. It was the first response she'd had from him in months.
What is this? He wrote.
Dinah's thumbs hovered over the screen as she tried to think of the quickest way to explain over text.
"Lance!" Montoya hollered impatiently.
MCU roof, 10PM, Dinah w9rote.
She was about to tuck her phone away when the screen suddenly turned white, and a gray spinning wait-cursor appeared, making Dinah groan and tap the screen impatiently.
Her background and all her apps suddenly reappeared, and the app store opened as if someone else were using her phone. The letters "S-I-G-N-A-L" were typed into the search bar, and Dinah's eyes widened as the 'GET' option beside the app was selected, followed by 'INSTALL' before her password was entered, all of it happening in such rapid succession she could hardly keep up.
Her phone began to download Signal, and the notepad app opened, and someone — not Dinah —began to type.
BC! I told you I had intell! WTF?!
Someone was hacking her phone, Dinah realized.
Her phone, which among other things, contained messages to and from Bruce Wayne.
Panicking, Dinah did the first thing she could think of and threw the phone on the ground, then stomped on it with the heel of her boot.
Montoya stuck her head out of the hall, looking even more cantankerous than usual.
"Hey!" she snapped. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I—" Dinah faltered. Her heart was leaping in her neck. "I dropped my phone."
"Well, aren't you just serving up home runs today," Montoya sneered, disappearing back into Yarnell's room.
Dinah swallowed thickly. She thought about the email she'd deleted from "youknowho oracle dot com" and squatted down to examine her phone. It was trashed, the screen black and cracked, but maybe it had stopped whatever the hacker intended.
BC.
"Shit," Dinah hissed.
Harley -
Once again, Harley was grumpy. For two reasons.
The lesser of the two was thanks to the Bad Bat Lady. Watching a masked woman karate chop a pair of thugs into submission reminded Harley of Dinah, and thinking about Dinah always annoyed her. She still couldn't explain why she'd saved Dinah's life that night at the Janus plant. Even more irritating, she couldn't explain why Dinah's betrayal still rankled her so much when she'd never considered Dinah to be anything more than an efficient hench girl. Years later, it still bothered her. It didn't make sense. She'd never cared about Dinah as she cared about Pam, her best friend, and confidant.
But, thanks to the Bad Bat Lady, she was once again annoyed and thinking about Dinah. And in truth, thinking about Dinah was preferable to dwelling on the bad feeling, which Bullock's warnings once again stoked in her.
Harley tried to pinpoint the origin of this bad feeling, which had been building for weeks. She'd initially thought her instincts were warning her about Ed, but now that she knew he'd constructed in an inevitably ill-fated plot to kill the Batman, it seemed unlikely he was the source.
It made her feel like something else was coming.
Something she couldn't see yet, an idea that made her tense and sulky, and worst of all, powerless to prepare for it.
They stopped at Lonnie's to collect the Gotham History Museum's blueprints and details of its night security staff. Lonnie also had a new pair of phones he insisted they exchange their current ones for. Harley noted he was looking twitchier than usual. Instead of snarking at her, he just muttered something and lit up a joint, but she wasn't in the mood to torment him.
The Joker knew something was up, but asking her what was bothering her was hardly his style. He'd raised one eyebrow when they left the Grace, which was his way of giving her an opening to talk if she wanted to, but she'd declined.
She tried not to sulk as they walked to their abandoned townhouse to collect what she needed for the heist. It was afternoon by the time they trooped over the threshold into the foyer, its black and white marble floors thick with dust. Most of the curtains were closed, only a few shafts of light sneaking in to refract off the many gold-framed mirrors decorating the black-lacquered walls.
Like the rest of the house, the parlor beside the foyer was opulently decorated — seashell-shaped armchairs upholstered in pink velvet, golden pineapple lamps with emerald green shades, glitzy glass side tables, and even more mirrors. The rug was a head-spinning geometric print, and the couch was a sea-green swirl covered in a thick layer of dust.
The Joker turned a light on at the wall, making a cobweb-ridden chandelier shaped like a starburst flicker to life overhead. He caught up to Harley halfway across the parlor and grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him.
The light from the chandelier was dim, but Harley could see him raise his eyebrows, giving her another opening, less patiently this time.
"You don't want to know," she sighed.
"Uh huh," he looked and sounded unpersuaded, his tongue flicking over his scarred bottom lip impatiently.
Harley laid her hands flat on his chest, running them up to his shoulders and around his neck before she met his gaze.
"I'll talk to Pam," she promised, playing with a curling lock of his hair.
"Mmm," he widened his eyes conspiringly and looped an arm around her waist, hauling her up against him. "At least Red's good for something," he observed, his voice husky.
Harley laughed and rose up on her toes to kiss him, the slow, unhurried kind of kiss that still made her stomach flutter. She remembered the first time he kissed her like this, seven years ago in Bruno's kitchen after they killed a mob boss and his wife. She was still working at Arkham, and she'd been scared out of her mind. The Joker represented everything she'd feared in herself. The chaos, the lack of control, the wild, feral lust for violence she knew to be inside her, right below the surface. But then he'd kissed her, lazily, sensually, his hand tightening in her hair and pulling it just right, slowing everything down like he was now.
Suddenly, Harley realized what she needed.
She pulled back abruptly, her lips parting as she searched the Joker's face. He stared back at her curiously, waiting to see what she would do.
Harley slapped him across the face, making a surprised grunt slip past his lips.
Slowly, he raised his head to look at her, his flashing eyes making Harley's heart pound.
"Take your clothes off," she ordered quietly.
He stared at her as she stepped away, the backs of her legs hitting the swirly green couch. Something nervous and excited tightened in her stomach, and she embraced it, shrugging out of her coat, which prompted the Joker to discard his jacket. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it and watching her the whole time.
He was all long, lanky muscle under his clothes, his arms lean and ropy, his chest and stomach hard and angular. His body was decorated with a constellation of scattered scars, many Harley had tended to or caused herself.
"Do I get to take your clothes off?" he asked slyly, testing the boundaries of what she had in mind. "You know—"
Harley slapped him again, harder this time, excitement racing through her entire body when his head snapped to the side.
His hair fell into his eyes, his jaw working before he looked at her again, eyes narrowed as he raked a sandy flop of hair off his face.
Harley reached behind her head and pulled the jumpsuit's zipper down her back, sliding her arms out of the heavy velvet before she let the garment fall to the floor. She could feel his eyes roll over her as if he was touching her, skimming her plain black briefs and boring triangle-cup bra, then the white ankle boots she'd not yet taken off. Harley reached for his belt, unfastening his pants without breaking his gaze, then lowered herself to perch on the edge of the couch. She stared up at him as she tugged his pants down far enough to free his hardening cock, her hand curling around it, making him growl quietly.
Harley hadn't decided exactly how she wanted to play this yet, but she gave in to the urge to tease him. She leaned forward and let her tongue slip out, circling and flicking the head of his cock until he let out a ragged breath, and she drew him into her mouth completely. His fingers sifted through her hair as her lips glided up and down his length, slowly at first, the way he liked, but steadily growing more eager. She looked up at him, hollowing her cheeks and bringing him right up to the edge until she could taste that he was about to cum.
She pulled away at the last minute, letting him fall out of her mouth.
The Joker cleared his throat, plainly uncomfortable, and Harley smirked up at him.
"Ask me nicely," she said.
He chuckled, but it was weak, and when Harley's fingers danced lightly up the side of his cock, he made a hilarious disgruntled sound, his eyes darkening.
"Come on," she coaxed, offering him a smile. "We both know you'll do what I want eventually."
"Oh-ho," the Joker rasped. "You're gonna have to try much harder than that, Harl."
Harley lifted her eyebrow, letting her hand drift up and down, her featherlight touch earning a rough grunt. Making him beg for an orgasm was a marathon-like exercise in self-control, and that wasn't what she was in the mood for. But there was something else she was pretty sure she could get him to beg for in a more timely fashion.
Harley reached behind her back to unhook her bra. She tossed it away and leaned back against the couch's stiff cushions.
"Get on your knees," she instructed, her gaze unwavering.
The Joker considered her warily, judging the request for about five whole seconds before he acquiesced. He dropped to his knees, his hands landing onto the couch on either side of Harley's hips, close enough that he could bow forward to bury his head between her thighs if he wanted to. But instead, he waited for instructions.
"Kiss me," Harley said.
The Joker offered her a lascivious smirk before he ran his hand up the inside of her calf, from her ankle to her knee.
"Kiss you where?"
Harley sat forward and slapped him, much harder this time. He made a rough sound as his head snapped to the side, making Harley's pulse leap between her legs.
His eyes narrowed as he looked up at her, his Adam's apple bobbing before he leaned forward to meet her lips. He bit her to make a point, making her gasp so his tongue could sneak in to tease hers. Harley threaded her fingers into his hair while his hands remained firmly planted on the couch. She could sense how badly he wanted to touch her, making her ache to be touched. She grabbed his hand and brought it to her chest, his palm covering her breast.
"Here," she breathed.
He squeezed her obediently, teasing her nipple with his thumb as he kissed her, the most basic foreplay but somehow enough to make Harley pull back to pant weakly, unbearably aroused.
She grabbed his shoulders and dragged him on top of her, needing more of him. They shuffled sideways so she was flat on her back across the couch, and he hovered over her, his breath shallow as he kneeled between her spread legs and braced his hand beside her head.
He ducked down to suck on a tendon in her neck, and Harley lost track of the game she was supposed to be playing. Her head fell back, and her eyes rolled as his mouth slid down her throat, his bare cock rubbing against the hollow of her stomach as he thoughtlessly thrust against her.
She gave into him, moaning when he moved from her neck to her breasts, pulling on them with his teeth and his lips until every swipe of his tongue sent molten heat racing to her core. She could feel him getting lost in her too. She could feel it in the way his hands tightened on her waist as he shifted her higher up the couch. She felt it in his breath, hot and erratic against her skin as his mouth moved down the line of her ribcage. And she saw it in his dark, frightening eyes when he looked up at her, dipping his tongue into her navel before he hooked his thumbs through her panties, his intentions obvious.
Harley grabbed a fistful of his hair before he could go any further, yanking his head up.
"You need to ask nicely," she breathed, pulling his hair harder to make her point.
He blinked at her, confused and a little lost.
But he quickly covered it up with a lazy smirk.
"Uh..." he managed to raise one smug eyebrow. "I think you might be confused..."
Harley sat up and slapped him with more force than she meant to, the lust inside her spilling out. The blow knocked him off balance, and he went crashing to the floor, only just managing to catch himself on his knees as Harley struggled out of her underwear and threw them across the room.
She was shaking, her heart racing as she swiveled toward him and spread her legs, baring herself to him.
If she weren't so worked up, she might have laughed at the pained look on his face or how he planted his hands on her knees to stop himself falling forward to taste her. Something like longing bled into his expression when she started touching herself, his tongue repeatedly sliding over his bottom lip while he stared.
"Don't you want to make me come?" Harley breathed.
He looked up at her sharply, his eyes smoldering, making her stomach tighten.
"Say please," she panted, rubbing herself faster in a final threat.
The Joker caught her wrist abruptly, his jaw clenched. Harley stared back at him expectantly, her chest heaving as she waited to see what he would do.
He licked his lips again, then lowered his eyes, and when he looked back up there was a tension in his face Harley wanted to remember forever.
"Please," he said quietly.
Harley nodded distractedly, and he let go of her wrist, her hand falling bonelessly to the couch. He met her eye again, his gaze overwhelming as he dragged her to the edge of the couch. He threw one of her legs over his shoulder and buried his nose in the flat plane of her lower abdomen, his hands inching up her thighs, spreading them wider.
"Please," he growled against her stomach, making Harley pant weakly as she leaned back on her elbows. She gasped when he turned his head to the side and bit the inside of her thigh, sucking her skin between his teeth and then letting it go with a hot, heavy breath.
"Please," he rasped, looking up at her. "Harley..."
Harley had barely managed to breathe 'yes' when he leaned forward and pressed his tongue against her clit, making her swear breathlessly. He waited a beat, holding himself back before he gave in, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue slid over her in a wide circle, his head bobbing with the movement.
The Joker went down on her like he was starving, greedily licking her and sucking her clit between his lips. Harley covered her face with her hands, crying out and bucking up off the couch, but he shoved her back down, holding her there with an arm flat across her stomach. He teased her slit with a fingertip, still holding himself back.
"Please," he pleaded, sounding half delirious.
"Yes," Harley nearly sobbed.
His finger slid inside her, all the way to the knuckle, and Harley nearly shrieked in pleasure. Her voice pitched higher when he added a second digit, curling them where she was most sensitive and pinwheeling his tongue. Harley's body crackled like live wire as an orgasm bloomed hot inside her. She let him drive her right to the edge, until threads of pleasure began to unspool inside her, and she grabbed him by the back of the head, yanking him off before he could make her come apart completely.
The Joker looked up at her, confused and wild-eyed, his lips shining with her arousal. Harley sat up and gave him a sharp shove that did little more than prompt him to sit back on his heels. He still had his pants on, but his cock was hard and flushed, standing straight up. Harley slithered into his lap, straddling him so it was nestled against her, the tip in line with her navel making her ache to feel him inside her.
His breathing was ragged as Harley pumped her fist over him, giving her body a chance to calm down. He exhaled roughly and grabbed her by the waist, flipping them over so she was on her back, the carpet rough against her bare skin. He lifted one of her legs so her knee was tucked up against her chest, his cockhead pressing against her, intensifying the throbbing ache inside her tenfold when he didn't push inside.
Instead, he pressed his mouth against her ear, his breath hot as his fingers dug into her skin like he was trying to rip through her
He pleaded with her, rough and breathless, begging her to let him fuck her until she was screaming.
Harley nodded quickly, and he immediately plunged inside her, burying his cock in her completely, making her moan as her body rippled around him like she'd already come.
The Joker growled her name as he started to fuck her, steadily building up pace. "Harley, Harley."
Harley clung to him, overwhelmed by the sound of her name on his lips as he drove into her, over and over. Her orgasm began to build again, slow and deep with each stroke of his cock. Heat like liquid gold spread from her core up her torso and down her legs, her pussy squeezing him as her body tensed in anticipation of release. She groaned obscenely in his ear as her climax kept building, not breaking.
"Jack," she begged.
His hands tightened on her to hold her in place as his thrusts became more frantic and erratic, his voice in her ear as crazed as Harley felt. Then he wedged a hand between them to find her clit, rubbing it with his thumb as his hips slammed into her until she came apart with a shriek of pleasure. Glittering warmth flooded Harley's entire body, blinding her as it spread down her limbs to her fingertips and her toes, her cheeks hot and breasts tingling as the Joker spilled inside her with a huffy, strangled sound.
He collapsed on top of her, boneless and shaking, his mouth slack against her naked shoulder. Harley could only smooth her hair off her face as she tried to catch her breath, her chest heaving as she slowly floated back down to earth.
She lifted her head to look at him, uncertain if he'd passed out on top of her, but when she touched his hair, he lifted his head.
"Mm," his eyes rolled over her face. "You tricked me."
Harley tried to widen her eyes innocently, but it was a losing game. Instead, she patted him on the head, her smile crooked, making him chuckle weakly before he lowered his face to her shoulder again.
Helena -
Helena had skipped her training session that morning. She'd been too tired, her face puffy and eyes aching from crying herself to sleep. Then she'd woken up to Dinah pressed up against her, lovingly, until Helena looked at her, and the happy light dimmed from her eyes—it was an empathetic kind of pain, but it was also disappointment. Helena didn't want her pain. She wanted a distraction from her misery.
A few minutes later, their pajamas were on the floor, their limbs sliding together, and their hair falling in each other's faces as they traded touches and soft moans.
Dinah had rolled Helena onto her back and settled on top of her, her small breasts pressing against Helena's as she kissed her cheek and their hips rutted together. Helena felt overwhelmed, her arousal blending with despair as Dinah moved down her body, kissing all of her while her small hand softly caressed her sex.
When Dinah's mouth finally reached the apex of her thighs, Helena threaded her fingers into her blonde hair, gathering it up in her hand so she could watch, and when Dinah licked a gentle line over her, Helena threw her free arm over her face as a sob caught in her throat. Tears started leaking from her aching eyes, and when she came with three of Dinah's fingers inside her and her tongue on her clit, she couldn't tell if she was sobbing in grief or pleasure or both.
Then she hid her swollen, tear-streaked face between Dinah's thighs, making her come twice in quick succession until Dinah asked, very nicely with an awkward little laugh, for her to stop.
At work, Helena went straight into meetings with Miranda, including one with Wayne's board of directors. Bruce Wayne hadn't been there himself, of course. 10AM was far too early for him to make an appearance. Then there were the usual tasks of organizing Miranda's diary and haggling with the PR team about the press release announcing the reactor's launch date. She found herself in the bathroom after that, sobbing helplessly into her hands until someone walked in. She stuffed her fist in her mouth, trying to be quiet as she cried even harder.
While she was attempting to eat lunch at her desk, she got a text from Molly on the burner.
Got a lead. Be ready tonight. Mx
Helena threw her uneaten lunch away and walked ten blocks from Wayne Tower to the Marshall's tucked among Midtown's more affordable shopping area. It was her third visit in three days, and once again, she headed straight for the sportswear section. She picked out black running gear and black Nike sneakers, then dug out another padded black ski jacket from the sale bin, one which would keep her warm but wasn't bulky enough to slow her down. She picked out a new multipack of black face coverings too.
As she stood in line, she thought about how fast she'd moved the night before. The satisfying feeling of watching herself from above as she'd landed every single shot. It was strange to feel satisfied but somehow simultaneously miserable because of it.
She tucked her purchases into her tote bag and returned to Wayne Tower, where she sat in more meetings with Miranda, grateful for the work to keep her busy.
She escaped to the bathroom three more times to cry before the day was over.
Miranda was throwing her annual Holiday party the night before Christmas Eve, when she would be announcing the reactor launch to Gotham's high society. Helena signed off on the caterer's fee, then met with the party planner at their office Uptown, to go over the final plans.
It was approaching eight by the time they finished. Helena didn't want to go home, not knowing that she would need to go back out again, so she wandered through the less rowdy part of Uptown, eventually finding herself outside St Margaret's Cathedral.
It was a huge, gothic building with gargoyles and spires, and two-hundred years earlier, it would have stood alone on this patch of land, long before the skyscrapers and brownstones grew up around it. It was the church where her parents were married. It was the church where her family went for mass on Christmas Eve, and it was where she would bury Pino beside Franco and Maria.
Helena was raised catholic, and she regularly sent up prayers to an unlabelled deity, but she wasn't religious. The boarding school she was sent to had been secular, and as a queer person, she didn't have an exceptionally high opinion of organized religion. But right then, she felt drawn to it. She ached for the certainty religion gave people. The knowledge that they were right, just like Dinah knew she was good. Helena had none of that certainty.
The cathedral was beautiful inside, with pews made of shiny, polished wood and long, kaleidoscopic stained-glass windows below the vaulted stone ceilings. A handful of people were praying, and Helena eyed them all warily as she walked down the aisle. Her hand trailed over the pews' smooth, lacquered wood as she thought about her mother and father's wedding pictures. Her mother, beautiful and elegant, all in white. Her father, broad and sturdy, unyielding, but wearing a dopey smile that day because he was so in love.
She slid into a pew near the middle and touched her father's cross beneath her blouse as she closed her eyes and prayed to God for guidance. She prayed for strength to finish what she'd started, and she prayed for forgiveness. Dinah's forgiveness. God's forgiveness. Any forgiveness she could get — she would take the slightest shred if she deserved it at all.
Her throat constricted, and she was overcome with another bout of crying. She scrunched her face up in a vain attempt to stop the tears spilling down her cheeks, squeezing her father's cross until it cut into her palm. Her face crumpled, and she ducked her head to hide a gut-wrenching sob from the other patrons.
The phone in her purse beeped — the loud cheap beep of the burner. Helena opened her eyes, her lips trembling as she lowered a shaky hand to her bag. It was a text from Molly.
We got him, love. Come now. Mx
Sniffing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Helena tucked the phone away and rose to her feet. She shouldered her purse and the tote bag filled with the clothes she would wear to kill the man who killed her mother and her brother.
Her eyes were still streaming as she left the cathedral, but the deep need to sob subsided. That ache for guidance began to fade as she realized she knew what she had to do. The hollowness for Pino started to fill with certainty that she was doing the right thing, no matter how bad and painful it was.
Dinah -
It was hard to focus on her job when her past was crawling at her back. Her secret past as Black Canary. Her past that she considered very much in her rearview mirror and had no interest in ever revisiting.
The year with Bruce was better than the years she spent alone on the streets, but that was a low bar to cross. There had been moments of happiness, but there were plenty of toxic moments too. Dinah searched her feelings, but she couldn't find the desire ever to embrace "BC" again.
So it was concerning that someone, a hacker, no less, knew her name, knew she was a police officer, and knew she was back in Gotham. What they wanted was less clear to her.
Without her phone, Dinah communicated with Helena via Montoya, keeping her abreast of her schedule. With Miranda's Christmas party coming up and the reactor launch on the horizon, Helena was slammed and stuck at work too. She'd be home late, she said.
She also said that Pino would be buried at eleven the following day, and please could Dinah invite Renee, making Dinah wince. She hadn't forgotten about Pino's funeral, but she knew she wasn't being the best girlfriend she could be.
Montoya was surly all day. Dinah knew she'd hurt her in front of DeCarlo and then hurt her again when she didn't explain herself. It was awful because Montoya was a closed book, and she'd only recently begun opening for Dinah. The day moved so quickly—again filled with repeated moments of triumph, though they were less satisfying with the tension between them—there wasn't time to pull her aside until it was late that evening. They'd both been plowing through paperwork, Montoya repeatedly brushing off Dinah's attempts to talk, forcing Dinah to corner her on her way out the door so she could get a word in.
"Montoya!" She called after her retreating back. "Renee!"
Montoya sighed heavily and turned back around, her face tense.
"What is it, kid? It's been a long day. I need some fuckin' sleep."
She meant "I need a drink," but Dinah didn't comment.
"I'm sorry for earlier, at the hospital with DeCarlo," Dinah said, making Montoya cringe.
"Stop, you don't gotta—"
"No, I do," Dinah insisted, determined to be honest. "Look, when I saw that footage, it didn't remind me of a rogue. It reminded me of the Batman."
Montoya pulled a flask from her coat and took a swig.
"Yeah, I see that," she agreed wearily.
"I sent the video to myself from his phone," Dinah admitted, and Montoya's eyebrows shot up. "I wanted to watch it again. It felt important. Like something I couldn't just hand over to DeCarlo."
"And then you broke your phone?" Montoya's voice was thick with disdain.
Dinah smiled bitterly. "I'm an idiot."
At that moment, she kind of meant it.
Montoya ran a hand over her face, exhausted, but some of the tension between them began to lighten.
"Alright, next time," she pointed her Juul at Dinah. "Next time you fucking tell me what you're up to, okay?"
"Okay," Dinah agreed. "One more thing."
Montoya shot her a dubious 'don't press your luck' look.
"Helena wants to know if you'll come to Pino's funeral tomorrow," she explained. "I think she wants to feel like there were more people who cared."
Montoya's face softened. She nodded and slapped a hand on Dinah's shoulder, meeting her eye meaningfully. "I'll be there, kid."
Nothing more needed to be said. Montoya turned and plodded through the snow toward her car, and Dinah returned to her desk in the bullpen to pack up her laptop and shrug on her coat. But once outside, she didn't turn left toward the metro. She made sure she was alone, then slipped down the alley running the length of the MCU, finding the oh-so-familiar fire escape to the roof, and climbing to the top.
It was painfully familiar, painfully the same. Her feet hit the roof's tacky surface, and she turned toward the shadows, spotting the Batman immediately. Bruce taught her how to disappear into the darkness—she would always see him when others could not.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Bruce stepped forward into the moonlight. Dinah's eyes swept over him, from the pointed ears on his cowl to the clunky boots, which were lighter and springier than you would expect.
She hadn't stood before the Batman in five years. Not since the night of the Janus Plastics fire, but they immediately slipped into the same language they'd used back then—no formalities, just action on the matter at hand.
Copy cats were something they took seriously.
"The woman in the video killed five men at Carluccio's on Wednesday and another nine at a warehouse in South Channel last night. DeCarlo's team is calling her the Hunter," Dinah explained, plunging her hands into her coat pockets. "All of the victims worked for the Commission. I spoke to the only survivor. He said the men at Carluccio's reported to the men killed in South Channel, but he wouldn't say who was next in the chain of command."
Bruce sighed roughly. "Fourteen dead in two days. And they all work for the same boss in the Commission."
"I'd bet anything she goes after that boss next," Dinah predicted. "Yarnell wouldn't name him, but…" she raised her eyebrows. "He's in room 114 at Gotham General. Maybe you could get him to talk."
Bruce grunted in the affirmative, not looking at her. Dinah knew then that he wouldn't share his findings with her. He didn't want her involved, not even in this capacity as an informant.
"She was fast," he observed gruffly. "Skilled. Not like the usual copy cats."
"Maybe she's not a copycat," Dinah pointed out. "That video didn't look like she was trying to protect Gotham, and it certainly wasn't to inspire hope."
"She could be an assassin," Bruce agreed. "Someone could be paying her. Someone within the Commission. Or externally."
"In which case, it's just Gotham business as usual," Dinah said drily.
Bruce grunted, sounding distracted, unsure.
Dinah offered him a strained smile. "When you find out who the boss is and what he's been getting up to, you'll have your answer."
Bruce began to turn away, but Dinah stopped him.
"Wait," she faltered, uncertain how to continue. "I got an email at work a couple of days ago. From someone calling me BC. They said they're thrilled I'm back in Gotham."
Bruce turned sharply toward her, and Dinah kept going.
"Earlier today… I think they hacked my phone."
"Hacked your phone?" Bruce used his natural voice, surprised and slightly accusatory.
"They were trying to contact BC again, or they were trying to contact me again," Dinah explained, struggling with the fact that she was 'BC' even if she wasn't anymore. There was no other BC. "I destroyed my phone before they could see anything."
Bruce sighed, lowering his gaze. "Lucius could have tracked it."
"I panicked," Dinah shrugged helplessly. "They know who I am… they know who I used to be… and I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that or how to even feel about it."
"Lucius will look into it," Bruce said quietly. He looked up, finally meeting her eye. "I'll take care of it, Dinah. You focus on your work."
Dinah licked her lips. "What if it happens again?"
"Call Lucius," he instructed her sternly. And the subtext was clear.
Don't call me.
Mandragora -
Mandragora lowered himself into the hot spa bath, the water scented with the kind of essential oils his first wife rubbed into her wrinkled, sun-spotted arms in a vain attempt to stay young. She gave him three daughters, two of them sluts and one a dyke, but at least the dyke had the decency not to blow through his money the way her sisters did.
Women. They were always the source of his problems. His ex-wives, his mistresses, his daughters. Lucy Falcone up on her high horse, inviting him to be part of her Commission that all these Cosa Nostra cucks went along with like they weren't kissing her fucking boots. Like she wasn't running the show.
And now he had a woman with a vendetta against him. Johnny Viper had been his right hand for a decade. He'd been loyal and filtered out the bullshit. Now he was fucking dead because some bitch decided to put on a mask and hunt down wiseguys.
Mandragora sank back into the hot water, letting it ease the tension from his muscles. He had bad hips, arthritis in his knees, skin cancer on his back, and gout in his right foot. Not to mention IBS that made him flatulent, especially while he was fucking a woman. His girl put up with it because she was a greedy whore. Same for his third and current wife. He didn't fuck her anymore, but she would wrinkle her nose in disgust if he let one rip, and that was when he liked her best. Smelling his farts but keeping her mouth shut about it.
All of it but the skin cancer flared up when he was under stress like he was now. He needed a little something extra, something his mistress couldn't give him, and this joint was where you could get anything and everything. It was run by what remained of the Lucky Hand. They'd once been Gotham's premiere heroin dealers, now reduced to running a brothel ith a side of sex trafficking thanks to Lucy Falcone. She'd handed their territory over to Alexandr Kosov, then brought Mandragora back from Chicago to take over when the Kosov bitch couldn't handle the job.
The girls at this brothel would let you do anything to them, but first, Mandragora needed the viagra to kick in, and a bath while he waited was how he liked to start his nights. This place had history. Once the Lucky Hand's headquarters, Harley fucking Quinn bombed it and killed all the top brass in one fell swoop. They'd cleaned the place up nice enough since then, but it would never look like someone hadn't attempted to blow it to smithereens.
He thought about seeing Harley Quinn up close at the Iceberg Lounge. When she didn't paint her face like a freak, she was a knockout—blonde hair, great face, great body, great everything. At first, he'd wondered if she wasn't Lucy's little plaything, something to keep her satisfied if Mario wasn't cutting it. But Lucy let it slip that the blonde killed Franco, and everyone from Chicago to Miami knew who killed Franco Bertinelli. And once you realized you were in the same room as Harley Quinn, it was impossible to ignore her. She was like a bolt of lightning, frying everything in her path.
A commotion out in the hall made Mandragora look up sharply. He had two guys guarding the door and two at the front entrance, along with some Lucky Hand goons. He strained his ears to listen and picked up a shout, a few dull thumps, and a much louder thump that made the walls rattle. Then there was a high-pitched cry of pain before everything went quiet.
Mandragora sat up, the water sloshing around his fat, pink nipples. He started reaching for his gun at the side of the bath when the door crashed open, and a slender woman dressed all in black stepped inside, her hair and face covered.
She had a Glock outfitted with a suppressor, and she was pointing it at him like she was at the fucking gun range.
"You're makin' a big mistake," he sneered. "My boys'll be through that door in ten seconds. You ain't makin' it out of here alive."
She didn't say anything. She just glared at him over the top of her face covering.
Mandragora chuckled indulgently.
She wasn't gonna shoot him. She didn't have the balls.
"So who the fuck are ya, huh?" he drawled, aiming to distract her while he reached for his gun. "Did I kill your boyfriend or something? Hehe—"
She ripped away the mask covering her nose and mouth, revealing perfect pouty lips to match her dark doe eyes.
Those eyes were blazing with hatred as she pointed the silenced gun at Mandragora's bloated belly.
"I'm Helena Bertinelli, you fat fuck!" she snapped, then emptied the clip of her gun into his gut, seven quick ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! ZIPs!
Mandragora howled in pain, gnashing his teeth as he started to slide under the bathwater. He tried to find the words to call her a dirty cunt, but his brain wouldn't communicate with his mouth — there was just pain, pain, pain as his chin and then his nose, and finally his eyes disappeared below the water, slowly turning pink with his blood. He could see her through the haze, a blurry back shape through a bloody lens.
And then she put him out of his misery. She put a bullet in his head.
A/N: How are we already on chapter 7! It's a weird chapter, and editing it today I'm hyper aware that Harley & J are basically coasting. But that ends next week!
And of course, the Joker begs!
But my favourite is Bullock's Bad Bad Lady. LOL.
I'm traveling for work next Sunday, but i'll try to figure out an update. I'm also traveling the following Sunday so I may take a week off then.
Next: Ed lets us know ho he's feeling about Shimmie's face tatoo (I'm sorry, Shimmie!), more smut (why not), Oracle continues to plague Dinah (is it time for Oracle's mood board yet?) and Pam & Harley's heist does not go as planned.
Thank you sooooo much for reading, If you're reading every week, please leave a comment/review to show me some love!