maskormenacelogs | Thread: Barbara and Harley

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Thread: Barbara and Harley

Who: Harley Quinn and Barbara Gordon
When: After this
Where: The Snooty Fox, a burlesque/cabaret club and bar
What: Drinking, discussing their AU memories, maybe finding some common ground. IDK.
WARNINGS: Language (definitely at least on Harley’s end). CW for child loss.

Harley’s true to her word.

She’s called for the ImPort equivalent to an Uber and shows to pick Barbara up in that instead of a stolen car. On top of that, she doesn’t look a bit like Harley. She’d told Babs to wear her cheapest outfit — as in: put on whatever you own that’s trashy — but Harley herself, who typically paints her face within an inch of its life, doesn’t seem to have bothered with a single smear of makeup. Her hair, normally perky blonde pigtails when they’re not stuffed into a harlequin cap, is loose and tangled like maybe she didn’t bother brushing it after getting out of the shower. And her clothes, a typical carnival of sparkles and sequins and spangles, and often leaving little to the imagination, have been traded in for what looks like a tracksuit with a zip-up hoodie. It’s made of her traditional red and black material, but that’s only because she doesn’t own anything else.

Harley’s unusually quiet for the ride there other than to figure out what help (if any) Barbara needs or wants to get into the club. And from the way they almost immediately get a table near the front of the stage and how the hostess greets Harley by name it’s pretty apparent she’s been spending a lot of time there. It had started as a way to pass the time maybe once a week after the Apocalypse shit hit the fan. Now she’s there most nights, drinking her weight in tequila or vodka or whatever else sounds good.

The first thing she does that’s vaguely Harley-esque is put her fingers in her mouth to whistle loudly to her the waitress’ attention. Though what would, at first glance, seem ridiculously rude is obviously also routine when the waitress looks up, waves, and mouths gimmie a minute.

“What do you want?” she says, slipping the drink menu to Barbara. “The Cement Mixer’s shit.” And was actually vaguely reminiscent of drinking cement. “But the rest are pretty good.”

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Barbara considered ignoring Harley's instructions - or taking them literally and showing up in her gym sweats - but dressing like someone she's not has a dangerous appeal. Besides, that leather miniskirt she'd bought on a whim hasn't left her closet yet, and she has a skimpy red top to pair it with. She even does her makeup, because she keeps lipstick and mascara around in case Cass wants to experiment.

Might as well use it for something, now.

It means she and Harley contrast in a way she'd never have expected, but that kind of fits the theme, doesn't it? So she doesn't begrudge it, really, or dwell on how different Harley looks when she's not putting on a role for anybody. On the trip over she focused on what, exactly, she was going to order. Anything her first dad ever drank is out; second dad, too, while she's at it. Anything Zinda liked would probably knock her out in about five sips.

She's still at a loss, when Harley hands her the menu, but then she finds just the thing.

"Sweet Heat." For the first time, she smiles, crooked and wistful. It's one of Dinah's favourites.

She can’t help but notice that Barbara looks more like Harley than Harley does, but she doesn’t comment. For the first time in a long while, Harley’s trying to think before she speaks. She’s wondering if drawing attention to Barbara’s outfit and makeup will only make the other woman uncomfortable or boost her self-confidence or mean absolutely nothing at all.

In the mood Harley’s in, she’s erring one the side of the last one, but the fact that she’s considering it at all is enough to make her feel even more off balance than she already does.

Fear isn’t a normal part of Harley’s life, even when that life includes high-speed chases and shoot outs and all sorts of other criminal behavior. But she’s suddenly struck by the very real fear that she’ll push this woman away. And right now, despite her better judgment, Barbara’s the only real person she’s had significant contact with since returning from that alternate reality. Other than the employees of this bar.

She feels like she’s drowning and she doesn’t know how to stop it. For once, Harley’s terrified that she’s going to die because of something she can’t control.

“Sounds like barbecue. But, hey, whatever sounds good.” Honestly, she’s just glad Barbara agreed to come out at all. And doubly glad that she’s actually going to drink with her instead of simply watch Harley end up in a hazy, drunken stupor.

When the waitress comes over — Gracie — who she introduces to Barbara as the best damn waitress in the Snooty Fox, Harley adds, “A Sweet Heat for the redhead. And tell them not to water it down. You know what I want.”

Which basically meant bring whichever bottle you can spare.

It was only once they were alone again that Harley rubs at her eyes, and it might just be a trick of the light, but they look puffy and bloodshot. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. That probably sounds like bullshit coming from me. But.” She shrugs as if to say what can you do?

Because, really, what can she do? Barbara must have some willingness to take her seriously if she’d agreed to come out. But who truly knew?

“What happened? This place just snaps people up and poof, they’re gone?”

"...I know you mean it." She gets that out of the way first. She's not here just because Harley made the first offer; she knows the capacity for empathy is there, that it was never entirely strangled. It's why she's never quite given up hope on the woman, no matter how dangerous or devious (or, frankly, obnoxious).

Of course, she's never seen her like this, face to face, both of them raw and vulnerable.

"And...yeah, pretty much. The Porter just - " She raises a hand to snap her finger. "And no one knows why it happens, or how to prevent it, or if it can be reversed manually. Or if they do they're not telling us." Her lips curl around that last part, and her eye flash with the kind of desperate anger that, frankly, is dangerous when you're about to get drunk with Harley Quinn.

She can't bring herself to care.

"She's back home. But that's cold comfort when I know she's hurting and I'm not there with her." When the last time she saw Cassandra's face, she was being used as a weapon.

Harley’s from a time before she would have recognized Cassandra. And, if she’s being honest, aside from the last name and Barbara’s commentary about her, Harley might not have even made a connection between the two. But she’d heard Barbara’s voice on that post, and even Harley can’t just sweep the genuine emotion she’d heard under the rug and ignore it.

She thinks her empathy has been an unused muscle for years now. Certainly before she’d ever taken the name Harley Quinn. And even before she’d first met the Joker. Harleen Quinzel medical student had been tough as nails and had kept people at arms length. Harleen college student hadn’t been much different. Even Harleen high school All Star Gymnast made sure not to make too many friends and never, ever let her mother or brothers know how she really felt. Empathy, for her, had seemed to curl up and die on Coney Island when she was 7.

But in this bar, as performers are starting to get the stage ready for the evening’s entertainment, Harley can’t stop herself from suddenly reaching across the table to cover one of Barbara’s hands with her own.

“And you’ve tried.” To reverse it manually. Oh, Harley had no doubt that if anyone had tried it was Barbara Gordon. And the fact that she didn’t have an answer, well... the rest of them were shit out of luck when it came to figuring it out. “Ain’t there someone we can hold hostage for information? We don’t even have to rough them up. Or we can just rough them up a little.”

Her eyes widen at that, but she resist the urge to pull away. It would be safer, sure, but she doesn't care much about safe right now.

She does, however, shake her head. "The main Porter is heavily protected, and most imPorts don't have the clearance to fiddle with it. An unregistered high school teacher isn't going to be on the list. A hostage - "

She's about to quip about it, but the words die in her throat because the Oracle she was a week ago wouldn't hesitate. She didn't kill, at least not with intent, but acquiring information from people complicit in the system? She'd sent agents on that mission hundreds of times, over the years.

Probably still is.

Breathing deep, she shakes her head again. "Um. Wouldn't work. Probably." God, she'd chide Dinah mercilessly for that lame ending.

"Maybe that's because you didn't have the right sidekick."

And it might be partially true. When Harley sunk her teeth into something, or when she was given a mission that truly caught her interest, she was like a goddamn Terminator: she didn't stop until her goal had been achieved. This, the idea that they might be able to figure out the porter, and how it took people from one world to the next, it's something that fully has Harley's attention.

After all, if they can figure out how to control the porters then it stands to reason that they can get to whatever world Lucy's in.

If that requires beating the shit out of a hostage, well, Harley's not going to shrink away from it. As it is, the urge to damage and destroy practically everything is barely contained. Fragile human bones are the least of her worries when it comes to resistance.

Though she presses her lips together and withdraws her hand when Gracie comes back with their drinks. A glass for Barbara and a bottle and empty glass for Harley. "Remind me to tip you big before I leave," she says to the waitress, flashing a smile that doesn't quite connect to the expression in her eyes.

Pouring herself a glass of tequila from the bottle, she takes the time to gulp half of it down before turning back to Barbara. "I'm serious. What does it hurt to try? What're they gonna do? Slap us on the wrists and give us parole officers?"

Barbara musters a smile for Gracie, too, but it's only a flicker. She can feel those memories pressing on her, now, and it doesn't help that Harley's offer is tempting. She knows damn well how much damage she can do, and harnessing it -

Sipping her drink helps, a little. It's a distraction, new and dangerous, and she savours it on her tongue.

Finally, her voice a bit flatter, "Use us as an excuse. That world didn't go to shit over night."

Harley visibly bristles. It's at least semi-menacing when her makeup is bizarre and she's giggling like a madwoman. But now she just looks very, very tired. More like a cat after a bath that's done trying to scratch its owner's eyes out because it's worn itself out trying to free itself from a burrito towel wrap.

"That world wasn't shit." Her tone is sharp without meaning for it to be, but she can't help but feel like it's a swipe at the world that, to her, had been the closest thing to happy she'd ever been.

"It wasn't shit. And they seem pretty okay with their system so far. What'll they care about one hostage?"

She grimaces. No, Harley wouldn't think so, would she?

"...Not all of it. No world is."

She can't bring herself to say you were hiding and Lucy wasn't really safe. Instead she takes another sip of her drink, lets it burn.

"But caring isn't really the point. There are always people who want more control, more power, and manipulating fear and resentment is one of the best ways to get it."

She smiles, bleak and cynical. "Trust me, I was in Congress."

“Caring is the point because I don’t care what it takes to do this.”

This might be where she and Barbara end up diverging. Harley doesn’t give a shit if this little stunt results in CnC 2.0. She doesn’t care if other people lose their lives. She doesn’t care what has to be destroyed to make this happen.

As long as she can get to Lucy.

And even if Lucy’s not alone in that other world, even if all their counterparts are alive and well, she’d certainly be better off in this world where she wouldn’t be targeted for being a metahuman. Or the child of metas.

She downs the rest of the tequila in her glass before slamming it back on the table and using a shaking hand to pour more. “What’s the other option? We sit around with our thumbs up our asses and hope someone comes up with a way to make us forget that place?”

"Hell no." She growls it before even thinking, and only afterwards does she realise how much it sounds like her Batgirl voice.

That's fine; Harley had never heard it.

"The other option it subtlety. I'm not sacrificing this world to find that one, but I'm not just leaving them - "

Her voice breaks, and she closes her eyes. She could, perhaps, blame the alcohol for making her show her hand too much. But that would be an excuse, and she's tired of making excuses.

“I don’t do subtle.” Harley was more of a crack someone over the head while making sure someone was watching kinda gal.

She’d picks up bed glass again but shuts her eyes and tries to take a deep breath before drinking from it. Breathing has felt like an unfortunate chore since waking up that morning almost a week ago.

She’s got to be willing to at least listen. If Barbara has a plan that will work, Harley doesn’t actually care what it entails. Just that she gets to help.

“Fine. I’ll bite,” she says without opening her eyes. “What are you thinking if you don’t want to go the hostage route?”

She opens her eyes, and a faint smile curls her lips. She can work with not subtle if they listen to her when it counts.

"First of all? Casing the place. Best way to do that varies, depending on the current security and who else we have to work with. We aren't the only ones who don't want to just turn our backs on that world."

There's a bitter resentment in her tone that she knows isn't fair. She could give a damn, or she could take another sip.

It keeps on tasting better.

Casing the place.

Well, what a coincidence. Harley happens to be an expert on that sort of thing.

She's still sitting with her eyes closed as though she's trying to keep her composure, which is difficult enough when they're talking about something that could potentially get Lucy back. But it's also probably the least Harley-thing she's done tonight. Harley Quinn doesn't hold back. Harley Quinn doesn't keep her emotions in check. She blurts out what she wants when she wants, and if someone has an issue with it, too damn bad.

"So, what? Information on security? Where the cameras are? When there's a shift change, what kind of weapons they carry and what they have access to, who's on guard when and where? Which guards have a habit of leaving their post when they shouldn't for coffee? Which ones leave their post for an illicit fuck in the broom closet? That sort of thing? I can do that."

And then, without even realizing she's adding this out loud, because it's sitting so heavily on her heart that it just pushes its way past her lips: "I just want her back." She needed to make sure Lucy was safe, that their counterparts hadn't vanished from that world and left her all alone, decide which world Lucy would be better off in.

There's a reason she chose that specific phrasing, and her grin is wryly approving. Right up until Harley follows up with that, and the cool calculation she'd fallen back into teeters underneath her.

"I know." Her voice is fraught, now. "I - look, I don't think she's alone over there." She's had this conversation with Joker already, but she doesn't know what he's told Harley. Doesn't know if he's shared anything with her, because she sure as hell doesn't look like she's had any support or comfort.

"That would mean her parents are still there. It..." The words, the risk catches in her throat. But a desperate Harley is even more dangerous, and she needs to soothe that as much as she can. Needs to find a balance that gets results but doesn't screw them over. "It means I'm there. And I worked pretty damn hard to keep the government off any metas' trails."

They have time. Time to do it right.

"But you don't know that." And that's the truly haunting part. That Lucy's over there, alone and afraid, in the middle of nowhere with no one to protect her and no understanding of why her parents had suddenly abandoned her.

It's enough to keep Harley from even considering how Barbara even knows about Lucy; Harley certainly doesn't know what the other woman had been up to in that other world. Or that she's already discussed parts of it with Joker. Hell, Barbara's conversation with Joker has already been more thorough than her own conversation with him about it.

She only opens her eyes to gulp down the rest of her second drink, needing that numbness to move through her veins like a balm. She can't stand the feeling like she's permanently desperate and scared. Scared is bad and unusual enough, but the desperation makes it impossible for her to focus too long on anything.

"I'm not going to fuck this up." She says it with a steely resolve in her voice. She not. She's screwed up a lot of things in the past, but this is the one thing she'll do right because she has to. Because Lucy needs her to.

Her head dips, because Harley is right; it may seem like the most logical conclusion, but she doesn't know.

That would mean that Lucy is all alone. That the Resistance has been gutted. (The Cass and Jason aren't the government's weapons - but so many other people are.)

"You'll need to trust me." She says it softly, but sternly, as she raises her head again. "Trust that I know what I'm doing. That I want this as much as you do."

The thing is that trusting Barbara isn’t really a choice. Harley would normally be wary of someone like Barbara, simply because licking people like her up is what people like Barbara do. But the standard rules don’t seem to apply here. And the chance that the other woman might turn on her is negligible compared to the idea of doing nothing to ensure Lucy’s safety.

Who else would she go to, anyway? With Joker gone Harley feels lost and adrift.

And, if nothing else, she believes Barbara wants this as much as she does. It’s the only thing she feels like she truly does know at this point.

“Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.” Including the things a so-called hero might not want to get their hands dirty with.

She wants to ask Barbara to trust her too, but with her track record she can’t help but feel like it would come across as comical or insincere. Never mind the fact that Harley’s not even sure if she can trust herself.

“And you can trust I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get to Lucy.” That, at least, was a safe enough promise.

And one of those things was that she was going to need to start laying off the alcohol, because she’s useless if she’s going to be in the range of half-drunk to fully blitzed all the time.

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Thread: Barbara and Harley

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