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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel	By : Risen86 Category: DC Verse Comics > Suicide Squad Views: 6735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
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15
Taking a few deep breaths I push myself off the couch and hobble painstakingly towards to the closed door he'd indicated. The doctors had warned me against getting soap scum, or really just anything other than water and disinfectant, on the stitches but I feel icky from the sweat and my muscles are aching. I push the bathroom door open and reach into the blackness of the room to drag my hand along the wall; I feel a switch there and flick it. The lights blink on and I'm staring into a very modern, very stylish, bathroom.
The first thing that catches my attention is what looks like a very large, emerald colored soup bowl in the center of the room. It's a bathtub sitting in the middle of an island of grey stone; despite having just been thoroughly owned by Joker, the first thing that flashes in my mind is him reclined in it, his emerald hair blending with the marble and me rocking on top of him. I blink repeatedly to snap myself out of it; then look quickly at the shower to my left, I drop the tatters of my harlequin costume to the floor and observe myself in the wall to wall, floor to ceiling mirrors at the other end of the room. I'm a mess, hair all over the place, face paint smudged, the beginnings of bruises on my arms and what I can see of my back; I've obviously been manhandled, battered and well used. I finger a bruise on my arm and sigh at the ache; I feel decadent and magnificent. Winking at myself in the mirror I push open the glass door and turn on the shower.
After a full hour of steamy bliss, I wrap myself in a plush white towel that I pull from a shelf and walk into the other room. Short of driving to my house and snooping through my own closet or ripping them off a hooker, I don't know where puddin' thinks Frost is going to get clothes from at this time of night. I giggle at the thought; considering Frost does report to Mr. J, I wouldn't be surprised if there is a stunned hooker roaming naked at the nearest street corner.
When I see the dress laid out on the couch I know that Frost definitely didn't get it off a hooker; I rip the tag of it and get dressed quickly. I mourn my shredded underwear and am forced to forgo my bra because of the dress' deep V-neck and non-existent back. Not bothering to look at myself in the mirror, I pass my fingers through my already drying hair and head for the door into the club. I have no clue where I am going; thankfully Frost is waiting for me by the door.
"Dr. Quinzel-" I smile warmly at his inexpressive features.
"Harley." I correct him "You can call me Harley." He shifts on his feet.
"Mr. J would not appreciate that." I start to laugh then realize from his stone expression that he is, in fact, being very serious. Pleasure flutters through me.
"Drop the doctor then, Miss Quinzel is fine."
He nods and gestures for me to follow him "This way."
Puddin' spots me right away at the entrance of the small room Frost leads me to.
"Honey, darlin', baby, sugar, pumpkin pie." He gestures me over even as the room goes quiet "Come here, baby." He pats the seat beside him "Come to daddy." I flush furiously at the endearments then shrug off my embarrassment, it seems I will be getting a lot of attention if I'm going to be around Mr. J. I walk over and sit carefully beside him; I still wince at the aching in my behind though and puddin' smiles at me. It's not a mean smile, I can tell from the warm glow in his eyes; it's just a silent acknowledgement of our shared experience.
"Now, boys." He sounds pleasant "Any more starin' and I'll have to start spooning eyes out of faces." He places his hand on my thigh. A low hum of back and forth starts again in the room, something about a machine gun; I touch Mr. J's arm to get his attention.
"Mmm?"
"Are you still mad at me puddin'?" I whisper trying to keep the conversation confidential.
He touches my cheek "Mad? Do I look mad?" he laughs and waves his hand in the air "No, no, wait. Wait a second. Don't answer that." He chuckles and then amends "Do I look angry?"
I giggle at his silliness and shake my head "No, but earlier- "
"Earlier I was not angry."
"But your car!" I glance down "And then in the room you…" I stop talking not daring even to whisper what I'm thinking surrounded by unknown men. His grin turns wolfish when I make reference to our sexcapade in the other room; my body reacts immediately to the smile and I inch closer.
I chug down half my cup of brandy and watch as the clown schmoozes with his bitch. She is all laughs and blushes for him, beaming at him like some brainless pet bimbo begging for cock. This is what Bix died for? He died because this whack job likes busting a nut in that ho? The shootout we had with the police would never have happened if she hadn't been there! This crazy fucking clown would'a never shot Bix if she hadn't been there!
"Dis bitch?" My boys beside me tense, they say they're fearless but they all shakin' when this crazy white boy sneezes. "You smoked our boy for bustin' a cap in dis bitch? " I pour the rest of the brandy down my throat; Mac D puts his hand on my shoulder but I shrug it off.
"Bix was WEK, he was a brother and now he dead!"
The clown doesn't say anything so I stand up and bang my hands on the table; his boy Frost moves towards me but stops when J waves him away.
"Come on bitch stand up and show us what's got J so hard up for your pussy."
She doesn't move at first and when the bitch looks at J to save her all he does is gesture for her to get up. She hesitates only very briefly but then, like a good little pet, she does what she's told. I give her a good look over, and then signal for her to turn around; she glances at her man and when he doesn't react she turns.
"She's a fine girl, Clown." I move around the table towards her "Bend over."
"Puddin'?" He taps his hand on the counter but doesn't even look at her. The boys told me to watch myself around him, they said that he's a hard man to read, that he is deadly and unpredictable… He seems like just a man to me, a man who's outnumbered and outgunned especially now that his boy has left the room.
The bimbo puts her hands on the back of her seat and bends over.
"Nice… I can see what the deal is J. She is good enough to eat, isn't she?" I reach over to run my hand over her ass but before I can touch her severe pain explodes in my head. My vision has gone black, my body is limp and for a second I can't hear a thing; then gradually it all starts coming back.
"Now, now…" I recognize the mocking singsong lilt of J's dry voice immediately and as my vision sharpens I realize that he's slammed my head into the table. The shock rocks me, that motherfucker is fast, I never even saw him move. He waves something round at the boys, it looks like… a grenade? Where in the fuck! What kind of messed up motherfucker walks around with a grenade in his pockets?
"Let's drop those guns friends, there is nothing like a well aimed misfire to bring things into perspective." My stomach sinks as I catch the look in his eyes; he bursts out in hysterics and waves the armed grenade in front of us. The sound of weapons clattering to the floor is immediate.
I never understood why the boys held so much fear for this freak; I get it now. Those are the eyes of a man who doesn't only kill for survival; they are the eyes of a man who kills for the thrill of it. They are the eyes of a man who would just as quickly shoot me in the head and to hell with the consequences as blow this room to nothing with him still in it.
I grip the table and say a quick prayer. I may have just killed us all.
I tap one hand on the table as I clench the safety lever and unpin the grenade in my pocket with the other. I can practically feel the boys heating up (not that I blame them) as they stare at Harley bent over the chair. That's understandable; honestly I get it. She wouldn't still be alive if I didn't. I wouldn't have begrudged them peek (just a little one though), I would have let it go. This however, this is adding insult to injury. They lose my drugs, waste my money, lose my rat and now they're ogling my girl (urgh soo clichéd)?
I glance over at Harley who is still bent over the chair and watch as the goon's grubby fingers move towards her ass; the fury shoots through me like rocket fuel. Kicking my seat back I grab hold of his head and slam it into the table even as I pull the armed grenade out of my pocket. His head connecting with the silverware (and the hardwood table underneath) sends a ruckus of sound into the air and the boys all jump to their feet drawing weapons.
I watch as they pull out handguns… handguns (yawn)? What is the world coming to, I ask you, when you can't even count on thugs and criminals to be explosive? Is a little creativity too much to ask for (bazooka anyone)?
"Now, now…" I press the man's head down into the table as I wave the armed grenade in front of his crew. "Let's drop those guns friends, there is nothing like a well aimed misfire to bring things into perspective."
Eyes go wide when they realized what I'm waving around in front of their faces; one by one they drop their guns to the floor. That's right bitches, you got a gun and I got a hand grenade (Thug Life Motherfuckers!). The cackling cracks out of me uncontrollably even as I see the men in the room back away; Harley, on the other hand, she gets closer (what a good girl).
"Harley girl, why don't you come over here and hold this grenade for me?" She shuffles her feet and ends up right beside me but doesn't reach out to hold it (hmm, not so good after all).
"Honestly puddin', I'd rather not." Her voice is barely a whisper and my head whips towards her.
"Did that sound like a request?" I snap, "Because I guarantee you it wasn't!"
Her trembling hand quickly reaches out to the grenade "Two hands baby doll," her second trembling hand comes out "and make sure you hold the lever down. You wouldn't want to kill us all accidentally would?" I cackle at that as well "Although, really, why not? If we're going to go out, might as well go out with a bang!"
Just as I have her hands securely around the bomb, JonnieJonnie reappears with an automatic assault rifle hanging over his shoulder (faith in criminality restored). He takes the rifle in his hand and points it at the boys.
"You see kids, I'm not sorry about your boy, what was it again… Twix? Flix?"
"BIX!" the man smooched on the table growls.
"... whatever." I deadpan "And I can spend all night lecturing you about playing with fire… or messing with the bull… or kicking the hornet's nest… or ogling Joker's girl. But I won't."
I turn to Harley "You may want to close your eyes for this pumpkin' pie." Her whole body tenses as she squeezes her eyes shut, brings her hands up to her face and presses the grenade to her lips (…cute).
Clasping the spoon like a knife I jab it into the goon's eyeball and he shrieks (my eardrums… sheesh!) "I will simply take my pound of flesh." it makes a slimy sucking sound when it bursts out and blood gushes onto my fingers and the table. I hold the man's eye in between my thumb and index finger as he wails on the silverware.
"To answer your question, banshee, she is good enough to eat and she's rather delicious too. The real question is, though, are you?" I stuff his bloody eyeball in his parted jaws and jam them shut; there is an audible pop before a clear viscous liquid gushes from his lips. I hold his jaw shut until I see him swallow convulsively then I let him go and flare my arms wide.
"And let that be a lesson to you!" I tell them cheerfully as I walk towards Harley. She almost drops the grenade when she opens her eyes and sees the mess I've made of her spectator's face. Luckily for us I was around to take the grenade from her pretty little shaking hands.
"Oh my god." She places her hand on her belly and her face starts to go green so I take a hold of her hand.
"Shh, it's ok pumpkin'. Hmm?" I use the hand clasping the grenade to move her face back to mine; it leaves a little blood mark on her cheek. I kiss her on her plump pink lips "Look at Daddy."
Her eyes come back to me and I smile "Ferrari or Lamborghini?"
"Um… what?"
I kiss her shuddering lips again "Ferrari or Lamborghini?" Her quivering lips stop quivering and she doesn't look back at the mess of a face still bleeding on the table.
Her lips curl up "Mmmm… Lamborghini!"
I nod and lead her out the door; as we reach the threshold of the room I look over my shoulder and toss the grenade towards the boys (oops). The yelling starts and I slam the door shut; we dash away just as a loud bang sends the unhinged door flying through the air.
Harley's eyes are wide as she stares at the now demolished room; at least she's not looking green (…baby steps…).
She turns her wide-eyed gaze onto me, speechless (not necessarily a bad thing)
"What?" I chuckle "I had to do something with the damn thing!" She blinks and I throw my arm around her shoulder "Chinese?"
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel