Story: Crazy For You
Relationship (s): Harley Quinn/Deadshot, (Past) Harley Quinn/Joker
Summary: One trip wouldn't kill him. Or her. He hoped. - Harley and Deadshot go on a road trip to Gotham. Muilti-chaptered. Quinnshot.
A/N - I'm gonna have fun and be care free about chapter length on this one. Some may be short and some may be long. i hope y'all enjoy it!
"Don't fall in love with the moment and think you're in love with the girl."
- Matty Healy
Floyd Lawton was a simple man who wanted nothing more than to visit his daughter in Gotham City. And if that meant being stuck on the road with the infamous Harley Quinn, then so be it. It's not like this was going to happen again. One trip wouldn't kill him. Or her. He hoped.
Amanda Waller set them free. No more deadly bombs in their necks that could go off any second or Rick threatening to detonate said bombs. It was a clear path ahead from here on out. He dreamt of a place to live that wasn't illegal and didn't involve relentless hit jobs (no matter how much money he got paid) and where people didn't fear him (at least to the point where they looked just about ready to call the cops). Heading to the slums of Midway City with Harley alongside him, Floyd was determined to turn over a new leaf and be the man his ex-wife said he couldn't be. Not much of her opinion mattered, though. He's doing this for Zoe and Zoe only. Fuck Susie.
First assignment: find a vehicle. So far, the closest they've gotten to a car are the ones either crushed by rocks and debris or smashed beyond repair. Chances of leaving Midway City by foot: 100%.
Harley sashayed her hips with every step, her pigtails bouncing. If Floyd didn't know any better, he'd say she was happy. But he did. He always does.
The Joker's death wasn't a secret. Taboo, maybe, but secret it was not. Seems he wasn't the only person that couldn't discuss it either. Harley rattled on and on about meaningless shit, to him anyway, like which color to dye her hair or what stores to get another purse out of. Honestly, he wanted her to be serious. Then again, this was Harley. She was never serious.
"How come you're not talking?"
"I don't necessarily want to...?"
"Are you suppose to ask me or tell me?"
"J called me clown."
"J's a twisted fuck."
Harley pouted. Staring at the ground, she muttered, "Whatever."
A couple minutes later and they've gotten nowhere. They're trekking on foot in awkward silence, rain starts to pour, and the streetlights go down. Funny, Floyd thinks, because he could have sworn those weren't up to begin with.
Harley suggests hitchhiking. No, he says, pride hung low above his head. There's a car, a functional car, around here and he'll be damned if it isn't found.
She whined, "Why can't we just walk to Gotham!"
Floyd was torn between hitting Harley with that bat of hers or whacking her with one of his guns.
Morals. Morals. Morals.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he explained rather pissed, "Gotham is in New Jersey. We're in Michigan. Do the math for the miles, sweetheart. Please. You're killing me right now."
Rolling her eyes, she said, "You're dramatic. I don't know how your daughter deals with you."
"I'm dramatic? Since when?!"
"Umm," she tilted her head and popped her gum. Innocent, she replied. "Since you thought about hitchhiking."
"That was you," he deadpanned.
"Oh!" she tapped the side of her head. "Sorry. It was the voices again."
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she sang, "Crazy for you…"
This was gonna be a long ass trip.