John stood frozen in the hallway, hands still half-raised, while Harley Quinn leaned against the doorway like she was in the middle of hosting a tea party instead of a murder scene. The pizza bag lay forgotten at his feet. The man in purple kept groaning on the floor, dragging his shredded knees across the cheap tile. His cries were background noise now.
Harley twirled the pistol on her finger once, then pointed it lazily at John's foot, not aiming, just gesturing.
"You ever wonder how a girl like me ends up with a guy like him?" she asked, motioning behind her to the bleeding mess. "Lemme tell ya a story. Or two."
John didn't move. Didn't speak. He knew better.
Harley's eyes sparkled. She grinned. The kind of grin that said 'I'm about to say something really messed up, and I'll be smiling the whole time.'
"So! Puddin', back when he wanted to impress me, he told me this real sweet story. Said, 'Wanna know how I got these scars?' Right? Classic line. Real rom-com material."
She mimicked a deep, gruff Joker voice and tilted her head, eyes wide and wild.
"My father was a drinker. And a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit."
She stepped forward, pacing slowly, like a cat in a cage.
"So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it! Then he turns to me, and he says, 'Why so serious, son?'"
She licked her lips and mimed holding a knife.
"He comes at me with the knife… 'Why so serious?' And he sticks the blade in my mouth… 'Let's put a smile on that face!'"
She put her gun into the waistband and stretched her mouth with her fingers and whispered, "And… why. So. Serious?"
Her voice dropped with that last line, her body still. John could feel the shift in the air.
Then she blinked. Snapped out of it. Tilted her head the other way and chuckled.
"But guess what? That wasn't the real story. Not even close. That was just the version he gave me."
She walked back to the doorway, stepping right over the groaning Joker like he was a stain on a rug.
"Last night, I got all worried. Y'know? He said he was goin' on a job, important stuff, top secret, kiss kiss goodbye. So I tail him. Real sneaky. Full Harley ninja mode. Harl was worried about Puddin'. Couldn't help."
She grinned widely, but the corners of her eyes tightened.
"And what do I find? Huh? You wanna know?"
John didn't answer. Just watched.
"I find him in some crummy apartment with this other girl, sweet little thing, all doe eyes and daddy issues, and he's spinning her the same shtick."
Harley's voice dropped an octave again. Her grin turned venomous.
"Oh, you look nervous. Is it the scars? Wanna know how I got 'em? C'mere, look at me. So, I had a wife, who was beautiful…like you… tells me I oughta smile more…"
She mimicked Joker's limp hand gestures, mocking him with eerie accuracy.
"She gambles. Gets in deep with the sharks. One day, they carve her face. We got no money for surgeries. She thinks she's hideous, but I wanted her to know that she is the most beautiful woman in my eyes. So I put a razor in my mouth… and do this to myself. For her."
Harley stopped in front of John again, her smile gone now.
"And she leaves. Can't stand the sight of me. And now I see the funny side. Now I'm always smiling."
She looked down at Joker, still groaning.
"You believe that crap? He's been feeding different sob stories to every lost girl with eyeliner and a trauma folder."
She looked up at John again, and for a second, the madness slipped. Just long enough to show the pain beneath.
"Turns out, I was just another version of the lie."
Harley's smile came back, sharp and toothy. She turned, lifted her boot, and stomped hard on Joker's bullet-wounded ass.
The man screamed like a banshee. His voice cracked and echoed down the hallway.
"Aw, shut up, ya big baby," Harley muttered.
She glanced at the pizza bag on the floor.
"Hey, is it still hot?"
John shrugged.
She skipped over, crouched, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a box. She opened it, the steam rising like a holy offering.
"Ooooh, meat lovers. Jackpot."
She picked up a slice, folded it like a pro, and took a giant bite.
"Mmff! Mm-hmm. Yeah. This'll do," she said, mouth full, still chewing. "Tony finally listened. Extra cheese."
She took another bite, sauce already on her chin.
Then she kicked Joker again.
"That's for lying about having gout. Who even lies about gout?"
Another kick.
"That's for throwing my good hyena plushie in the trash!"
She paused to chew, then kicked him once more for good measure.
"That's for ruining my life."
Joker wheezed, curled into a sad little ball of agony. His makeup was smeared, one eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over the floor.
Harley licked grease from her fingers, then looked up at John.
"You want a slice?"
He shook his head slowly.
"No thanks."
"Suit yourself," she said, tearing into another slice like it owed her money.
John turned and was about to walk away.
"Enjoy your pizza," he said.
"Wait."
John paused.
Behind him, Harley's voice had changed. She looked smaller and lonelier.
"I need a hug."
He turned around. She was standing there with pizza in one hand, tears running down her cheeks, her mascara smudged like war paint.
"I know I'm a psychopath," she said. "I know I'm nuts and loud and violent and did unspeakable things with a bazooka once, but right now... I just want someone to hold me for, like, ten seconds without me threatening to stab them."
She sniffled. Then tried to smile, but it crumbled.
John stared at her for a beat, 'Shit! She's too cute... Fuck! My soft spot for Harley Quinn. Just a hug and I'm out of here.'
Then walked back.
He opened his arms.
She threw herself into the hug like she was diving into a pool. Nearly knocked him over.
"Don't read into this," he muttered.
"Mmhmm," she said, face buried in his chest. "Just ten seconds."
"Just ten seconds."
"You smell so good. Maybe fifteen."
"Don't push it."
They stood there in the hallway, Joker moaning on the floor, a half-eaten slice of pizza still in Harley's hand.
Joker groaned on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, knees wrecked, lips cracked. He rolled over just enough to glare at Harley and spit a thick wad of red onto the tile.
"You goddamn psychotic bitch," he growled, voice raspy and wet. "You shot me. In the ass! You shot me in the fucking ass!"
Harley didn't flinch. Still buried in John's arms, she just gave a small hum like she was listening to music.
Joker coughed and looked up at John with one swollen eye.
"You. Delivery boy. You want cash? Real cash? Help me. Kill her. I'll pay you anything. Ten million. Twenty. A blank fucking check. Just end her and get me outta here."
John didn't even look at him. He tightened his hold on Harley slightly.
"You're not worth half a meat lover's pizza," he muttered.
Joker wheezed. "You're a goddamn moron. She'll turn on you too. They all do."
"After lying and ruining her life, what do you expect? A fucking medal?" John said with his usual expressionless face.
Harley gave Joker the finger over John's shoulder without even lifting her head.
Then, a scream echoed from the stairwell.
"Boss!"
John's eyes snapped toward the sound. 'GUNS!' He moved fast.
"Down!" he barked.
He grabbed Harley, spun, and tackled her to the ground just as a barrage of bullets ripped through the hallway.
The walls exploded in a hail of plaster and splinters. Fragments of wood and tile sprayed over their heads. Light fixtures shattered above. The pizza bag took a round straight through the side, exploding in a puff of pepperoni and cardboard.
John held Harley close as they hit the floor hard. Her pizza slice flopped onto the tile next to them.
From the stairs, four of Joker's goons poured in, dressed in clown-themed riot gear, SMGs in hand. One of them had a grenade belt slung across his chest like party favors.
"That bitch shot the boss in the ass!" one yelled.
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