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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
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22
Joker
The tension zings through my body like electricity contracting every muscle and pulling me up into a sitting position. As I sit still and silent in the blackness that surrounds me the initial tension thrumming through my limbs dissipates. It's replaced with an unfamiliar ease, a kind of comfort and silence of mind that I haven't experienced in a very long time.
At first my roaming eyes work fruitlessly to see past the black, but as the seconds meander by I make out a shape. A body. Slender but shapely. Quiet but captivating. It's a beautiful woman lying on the floor beside me; she's close enough that I can see the slight rise and fall of her breathing in the darkness. Her breath comes out in puffs disturbing the blond strands of hair resting on her cheeks and lips.
"Harley…" The name sucks the fog of sleep from my brain and memories of her hands in my hair, her fingers stroking my cock and the worship in her eyes floods my thoughts.
I brush the hair away from her face in awe of the warmth that's spreading through my chest. It feels like the intensity of it will burn a hole through my ribs; it's an odd sensation and I grip at my unbuttoned shirt to contain it. As much as I tried to deny it before I know this feeling. I know what it is.
This was supposed to be a game, a fun little game I played at the expense of somebody else, but she was right. I am falling in lo –(HERE BE MONSTERS!). I jerk in shock at the intensity of the interjection.
"Ah… my internal commentator has returned." I sigh, well that at least is a relief.
What was it I said before? That love was for the foolish masses and I was not one of them (rrriiiiiggghhhtttt…). I thought I was incapable of that feeling or that I had forsaken it but she is proving me wrong, just like she proved me wrong about my asexuality.
My hand travels up my neck and the warmth in my chest turns into an inferno, it's burning all the oxygen around me so I can't breath and I scramble up to my feet gasping for air. This is not who I am. I wrestle my pants on and leave the bathroom. This is not who I am. I rush out not bothering to pick up the vomit splattered shoes that I trip over.
When I reach the outside door I push it open and welcome the cool blast of air that hits my face and chest; I lean against the frame and gulp it in frantically, closing my eyes to get the thundering in my chest under control.
This is not who I am. This goes against everything I represent. This is not what I am. This is below me. I got what I wanted from her (pussy), I got what I needed from her (that truth serum) and now even if I can't kill her (urgh) I can discard her (like a used condom).
Suddenly feeling much better I pull myself back up to my full 6'5" and, ensuring that I don't make a noise that could wake her up, I hurry back into the bathroom to pick up my phone.
I start texting Frost once I'm outside again.
'Pick up lambo at Harley's', His response comes almost immediately despite it being just after 3:30 in the morning (good man).
'Ok. You?'
'5:30 Abigail & Crescent', then, when my stomach grumbles, I add 'Bring breakfast'.
'Got it boss.'
I pop the hood of the lambo and pull out the suitcase full of clothes I stashed in there. Yes, I have spare clothes in my hood; being me is messy work and I never know what (blood/guts/gore) I may be bathed in at any given time.
I take out a pair of red track pants and a black hoodie then, ignoring the cold (aka shrinkage), I change right there on the street. I don't bother with running shoes; I wasn't lying when I told her that I preferred going barefoot.
When I've stashed my dirty clothes in the car I tuck my gun into the waist of my pants, pull up my hood and start my 2-hour run towards Abigail and Crescent.
Harley
My back aches, the sharp pains arc up my spine and cause explosions behind my closed eyelids. I stretch my back out, blinking repeatedly to accustom my eyes to the darkened room before taking a look around. It takes a few minutes but then the room starts coming into focus. A bathtub. A sink. A toilet A medicine cabinet. A hamper.
"Oh. Right…" I mumble, my lips curl up in a contented smile at the erotic images flashing through my mind. Every time I think the sex with him couldn't get better he proves me wrong. I close my eyes again and reach over to where Mr. J had been laying when I'd fallen asleep but my hand lands on a cold empty space. Jerking to a sitting position I look around the room.
Gone.
Shuffling to my feet I turn the lights on and take a better look around the room; there is no evidence that he'd ever been in here. His clothes are gone and his phone is too. I wrap the blanket around my body and head towards the sitting room.
"Pudd-"I stumble over something but catch myself in time to avoid face planting into my floorboards. I glance behind to see that I'd tripped over the shoes he'd left scattered on my floor. Rolling my eyes I kick them both towards my bed only to watch them bounce off Quincy and back into my path.
"Oh, you're still here." I mumble when I register him still lying on the bedroom floor.
Hellooo! What did'ya think it would do? Walk away? You're gonna hafta move it.
My body jerks "What?"I look around the room. "Mr. J?" there is no response. I frown and look back down to Quincy's covered corpse; I am going to need to move him-
It! Not him! It!
I place my hand on my forehead and take a steadying breath. Yes, I was going to need to move … it… at some point but in the mean time, "Puddin'!" I sound out again and keep going into the sitting room. Other than the carnage in the room it's completely empty. I rush towards the window to check for his car and as I had suspected it's gone. The bastard's gone!
Didn't even have the decency to slap you in the face to wake you up… how rude!
He left; he just got up and left. He didn't wake me up to say 'goodbye' or 'see you later' or give me a peck on the cheek. We had a moment last n-
Bash and dash!
We had a moment last night! He'd fallen asleep right here in my home; it had felt like progress. I thought I'd had proven myself to him then I wake up and he's gone!
Hit it and quit it!
My stomach sinks; I don't even have his number. How could I not even have his number? It's the fucking 21st century!
Fuck and run!
"Shut up!" I yell then look around the room expectantly "Shut up bitch! Shut up! Shut up! Shut UP!" I fly into a tantrum; I kick through my destroyed sitting room, rip down the few pictures left on the walls and break anything I can get my hands on. I'm lost to the whirlwind of my rage, taking pleasure in the chaos already at my feet and in the little destruction I'm able to reign down. I keep riding my emotional tidal wave until the rage seeps out of me and all that's left is exhaustion; my muscles are trembling from it and my hurt, although still palpable, has exhausted it's control.
The tears begin to prick at my eyes and my breathing becomes irregular. The voice is right, that really was a fuck and run if I ever I'd ever seen one. I guess I didn't do enough; what I did wasn't enough to prove that I really was devoted to him in every way.
You couldn't even perform some light assault and battery without waterworks!
I throw my hands up in exasperation at the voice butting into my private thoughts " 'Light' is a bit of an exaggera-."
You cried! Pussies do that!
"God shut up!"
You threw up all over his shoes and his pants! Shame on you! My cheeks flame red, I'd forgotten about that little detail. I drop my face into my hands. "Ok, that was terrible…" I moan into my palms.
Damn straight it was! Get your shit together!
My eyebrows shoot up at the irony of a disembodied voice telling me to get my shit together and I burst out into a fit of giggles. My sides start aching from the intensity of the laughter and my knees feel weak so I plunk myself on the floor.
"God I'm loosing it…" I mumble whipping the mirth from my eyes. Disembodied voices don't just start talking to people; something is wrong with me. Sitting in the complete devastation that is my sitting room, I hug my knees to my chest with one hand and play with a strand of my hair with the other. If someone walked into Arkham and told me they were experiencing auditory stimulus that had no physical origin I'd be thinking disorder or some sensory processing problem. Yet here I am responding to a disembodied voice, a seemingly very real disembodied voice.
"I think I may be having a psychotic break." I mumble to myself.
Ya, and? Do you want him or not?
"Good point." I chirp as I head back to the bedroom. The sun is finally peeking through my window and the morning light edges over my bedroom floor, creeping ever slowly towards the partially covered body sprawled beside the bed. I close the curtains then walk over to my dresser and pull out a pair of black jeans and a loose white top before heading to the shower.
I may not have puddin's phone number but now that I think about it I really don't need it. I know a few places he frequents; not to mention the location of his hideout.
Atta girl!
I will prove myself to him. First though, I will need to make a pit stop at the mall; I need a contingency plan just in case Mr. J decides to take off again.
Frost
I push the door open, gesturing for our guest and her two guards to follow me into the large study where Mr. J stands, shirtless and head bent in concentration over the newest addition to his card stacking collection. He hovers over these constructions for days at a time, piling stack upon stack of cards just to destroy them when he's done. The largest one I'd ever seen him build was a replica of Notre Dame De Paris; it had been 20 feet long, 15 feet tall and 10 feet wide. He'd slaved over it for almost a week non-stop and just about dive tackled it as soon as it was done.
He doesn't look up from his new endeavor when we walk into the room until our guest a sultry, black haired woman, pushes past me. "J," she purrs at him "It's so good to see" she gives him a long once over "so much of you. I've always wondered what you-"
"Do you have them?" he interrupts dismissing the suggestive tone in her voice and the finger she drags across her low cut top.
I move back towards the door, indicating that her guards were to give them some distance before standing at the entrance. I grip one of my wrists and watch in silence as Miss Beckett walks around the cards on the floor.
It's at times like these that I find the mysteries of the female mind the most confusing. What is the attraction to him? The money? The power? The danger? The unpredictability? The certainty of death? Why stick your head farther into the jaws of a monster than you need to?
I can sense the mood flip hovering above us like the blade of a guillotine and I shift subtlety to get a better view of her bodyguards.
"All work and no play makes J a very dull boy." She runs her hands along the front of his chest and he reacts so quickly that I almost miss his fist connecting with her face. She falls back, head cracking loudly on the floor "Don't touch me!" He yells in outrage.
The bodyguards' react but too slowly, I shoot them both before they are even able to fully unholster their guns.
The rage that was on him a few seconds before disappears as quickly as it came over him. He laughs lightheartedly as he wipes at his chest "I don't know where you've been."
He pulls her to her feet by her hair "Do you have the floor plans?"
She nods frantically blood and tears streaming down her face "I-i-it's i-in my po-ocket." She pulls a USB stick out and hands it to him.
"Great!" He says placing the USB in his pocket then grips her head between his fingers and snaps her neck.
He beams at me, "We've got Robin."
I'm just about to respond when the door swings open and connects with my arm and shoulder.
"Puddin'!" I hear. My eyebrows shoot up as the Doctor storms into the room.
Mr. J throws his hands up in the air quite clearly exasperated, as he looks at me for an explanation "What is it with these women?"
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel