This is the first in a series of AOS/SS cross-over oneshots, and our first outing with Harley! Warnings for mentions of violence/torture/suicide/abuse. No sexual violence!

AOS fans - No, we're not over their hideous treatment of Ward, we still love him, we still ship Skyeward, and we still refuse to call Skye 'Daisy'. We don't see any of those things changing.

This was inspired by a certain track on the Suicide Squad soundtrack.

As always, thanks for reading!

Gangsta

x-x-x

Trouble; it was a common word in her vocabulary these days, and she was certainly in it up to her eyeballs. It always seemed to find her, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, although perhaps working for S.H.I.E.L.D. could be considered courting it more than anything else.

After several hours of torture, her injuries had become too numerous to attempt to catalogue, and she was instead only aware of the fact that there was pain, rather than exactly where it radiated from. She was certain that at least a couple of ribs were broken, since breathing felt like being stabbed in the chest repeatedly. The only other situation she was fully aware of was the blood dripping from the gash on her forehead. It pooled on the floor beneath her, staining the cement with a widening crimson puddle, since she had been hanging upside down from her ankles for the better part of an evening. It was certainly a new position for her, and she had to give her captors points for creativity, given the fact that they had stripped her down to her leggings and camisole before shoving her into the large meat freezer. She dangled from an overhead hook like one of the half mutilated cow carcasses surrounding her, although she trembled significantly more as a consequence of the sub zero temperature.

From the adjacent room, whatever that might be, she could still hear the sound of screaming, although the voice had grown noticeably hoarse as the hours had worn on. That alone brought her some degree of satisfaction, knowing that pain had been inflicted upon Ward whilst someone had been busily breaking her fingers with a pair of needle nosed pliers. He had never really struck her as the screaming under torture type before, but she was loathed to admit that she had hardly been quiet herself. She would have liked to have pretended that the blame for their abduction rested squarely on Ward's shoulders but the fact of the matter was, she was the sole reason that they had been made. Stubbornly, she had insisted on retaining both her comms. device and the handgun she kept holstered to her thigh, ignoring Ward's warnings that the people they were mingling with possessed the uncanny ability to sniff out an intruder at a thousand yards, let alone crammed into an underground club like sardines in a can. Embarrassingly, she had barely made it through half of her cocktail before she was being led to the office by two goons in cheap suits. They remained silent as they frog marched her to the upper offices, where her heart actually sank as soon as she set eyes on Ward being hauled in the opposite direction, slumped unconscious between two men sporting gold tracksuits. She almost snorted in amusement at that, vowing not to let Ward live down the shame of being bested by two of Beyonce's backing dancers even as she was being stabbed in the neck with a sedative, the sound of booming laughter reverberating in her skull whilst she slid into unconsciousness.

That had been hours ago, and she had come to in the freezer of the meat packing plant with her weapons and her comms. missing, and her ego severely bruised. Her eyelids had barely fluttered open before the sound of metal grinding against concrete had filled the air, and the door had swung open. Disappointingly for Skye, the man standing on the threshold of the doorway, clad in a Winter jacket and leather gloves, had most definitely not been their maniacal green haired mark. It appeared that he had deemed her not worthy of his own presence, and instead her inquisition was to be carried out by some nameless, faceless lackey, who was admittedly extremely talented with a screwdriver.

For a time, she had passed out, only to regain consciousness rather abruptly when a bucket of ice water had been flung in her face. Thus it had continued, for so long that she had been almost on the verge of begging rather than simply allowing silent tears to roll down her face as she fought waves of agony and nausea in equal measure. Finally, she had bled and endured so much that she had been pulled under so deep that nothing could have roused her, and then she had been left in solitude.

As soon as her eyelids had fluttered open once more, she had expected the door to swing open again and her torture to commence. When it didn't, she allowed herself to experience the tiniest amount of relief, before the aching in seemingly every inch of her body had become nearly too much to bare.

She listened to the sound of her own shallow breathing in an attempt to calm herself, which was no easy feat given the periodic yells that bled through the walls. A small part of her felt almost triumphant that Ward was also in pain - after all, he was a traitor and a murderer and he deserved a world of hurt that she was only too happy to see him endure. On the other hand, she found herself surprisingly concerned for his well being, although she would much rather call her torturer back in to make good on his threat of extracting the rest of her fingernails than admit as much aloud. One thing she was forced to come to terms with, however, was the fact that no matter how much pain she might want to inflict upon Grant Ward for all the wrongs he had committed, she did not want to see him dead. No; she had been there before, faced with his mortality and the promise of a tomorrow lived in a world where he no longer existed, and the idea did not sit right with her. So, whilst she found herself hoping that Ward was having a cactus shoved up his lying, duplicitous ass, she also found herself sending up a silent prayer for his life. She wasn't certain that God was still taking her calls, especially since her foray into the world of government agency and contracted murder, but she wasn't above trying when the chips were down.

The sound of shrieking metal wrenched her from her reverie once more, and Skye didn't quite manage to choke down a groan as she listened to the footsteps echoing against the tarmac. She wasn't certain of how much more she could take and, since S.H.I.E.L.D. was probably still a handful of hours away from exacting an extraction/ rescue, that was indeed a problem.

"Okay… I guess… it's… time to… party…" Skye slurred, blinking for a moment longer than usual as she found a flash light beam directed into her eyes. There was a pause before the light was swung in an arc, up and down her body, as though her latest visitor was taking stock of her condition. Skye fidgeted in impatience, waiting for the haze to clear from her field of vision so that she could attempt to identify the person that had entered her prison; she dearly hoped that it wasn't screwdriver guy.

"You don't look too hot, y'know," a decidedly feminine voice, tinged with the hint of a Brooklyn accent, declared.

"You don't fucking say," Skye snarled, her head swimming as the prolonged blood supply to her brain combined with the flash-light beam illuminating her face caused her to wince.

"Hey, watch the language, lady!" the voice chirruped, adding as she reached up a hand towards the chains that bound the woman's feet, "now... lemme see, how do we get you down from there? Hmmm..."

Before Skye could so much as offer a solution or indeed ponder why the woman was assisting her, she heard a triumphant 'aha!' shortly before she landed unceremoniously on the ground in a heap.

"Thanks," she dead panned, able to get a better look at the newcomer as her foggy head began to clear. A deathly white face stared back at her, with two wide blue eyes rimmed in far too much eye-liner and a curious combination of bright red and blue eye-shadow. A wide smile twitched across crimson lips, and yet the woman possessed an almost eerie beauty, despite being caught somewhere between a crazed circus clown and a child playing with make up.

"Come on, honey. We need to get you out of here. Can you stand?" she asked, and this time there was an almost kindly tone to her voice that made Skye feel somehow at ease - despite the situation and her less than conventional appearance.

Skye waited patiently whilst her would-be rescuer fidgeted in the pocket of jeans that were so tight they were almost painted on, before producing a metal key. The chains binding her ankles were made short work of, although her hands remained cuffed together, and the slight woman wrapped an arm around her waist in order to haul her to her feet. Skye swayed helplessly, blood loss and fatigue weighing down on her so hard that she was almost on her knees again in the blink of an eye.

"I got'cha," the woman promised, one lithe arm seemingly enough to set Skye right. Now that they were close, pressed together side by side, Skye could feel only muscle and sinew. The woman was impossibly strong for someone of her stature but Skye could hardly bring herself to care, only grateful for her sudden release.

"You're her, aren't you?" Skye queried, wincing at the rawness in her throat, probably from hours of intermittent screaming. She paled at the memory and swayed again, only for the woman to tighten her grip almost to the point of pain.

"Who's that now?" she asked, voice light and airy as though she had no idea as to whom Skye referred.

"The Joker's partner… you're her," Skye accused, dearly wishing that she possessed enough strength to pull away from the woman, "you're Harley Quinn. I recognise you from… well… I know who you are."

Harley let out an almost girlish giggle, "Partner? He's not my partner, silly. He's my puddin'."

"Right," Skye drawled, feigning a brief and wholly confused smile. "Yeah. So... why are you helping me, again?"

Releasing a sad sigh that passed from lips pulled into a melancholy frown, Harley shrugged. "Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right, honey?"

"That's... so not an answer. But you know what? I don't even care. Look... I... I was brought here with someone. A guy..." Skye began, almost wincing as she found herself on the verge of pleading with her new 'friend' to help her rescue Ward - an idea that in itself was both infuriating and deeply confusing. Harley's eyes visibly brightened and she nodded enthusiastically,

"Tall, dark, and delicious? Yeah, I saw him. Mmmm-mmm," concealing a knowing smile, Harley arched a barely discernible eyebrow, "he your puddin'?"

Skye's face instantly crumpled into a look of sheer revulsion, and she shook her head as energetically as her condition would allow.

"What? No! He is not my... my... puddin'."

Harley shrugged, throwing open the door to a luxuriously over the top suite that Skye assumed belonged to her, if the décor and colour scheme were anything to go by.

"That's a shame," she pondered, suddenly chewing with obnoxious dedication on the piece of gum in her mouth "cos I can't go risking upsettin' my puddin' to rescue just anyone, ya know?! Are you sure you and he aren't... you know?!"

She winked and her grin was altogether filthy.

"No. Ward isn't even my friend, he's a lying, murderous, treacherous asshole, but... I can't let him die," Skye finished quietly, groaning as Harley helped her to sit in a gold gilt chair, complete with satin upholstery. Taking a seat opposite Skye and sweeping her gaze analytically over a mound of medical supplies that would have made Simmons green with envy, Harley cocked her head, her eyes narrowed as she mulled over her captive's claims.

"Does he know that? Cos I gotta tell you, hun, he's making a whole lot of noise over you," blowing a pale pink bubble from between her lips, she widened her eyes gleefully as it popped, before sucking the gum back into her mouth with aplomb. Skye visibly shuddered as she recalled hearing Ward's muffled and yet terrified cries. She'd never pegged the Specialist as one to crack under pressure, even the most heinous of torture, but his screams and anguished cries would stay with her for a lifetime.

"No, he... that was because of..." she nodded down to her own hand, where her fingernail was now worryingly absent, and a mess of dry blood stained her wrist. As if happy to impart wisdom, Harley shook her head, bunches swaying violently.

"No, doll. He wasn't doin' all that shoutin' over himself. Uh-uh. He was beggin' and pleadin' for them to leave you alone."

Skye swallowed hard, reluctant to believe anything even marginally positive about Ward - the man she attributed nearly three years of emotional pain to.

"He wasn't… he's not been tortured?" she pressed, irritated by the relief that crept into her own voice.

"Nope," Harley replied, pausing a moment to regard Skye, expression unreadable, "not even a little bit. Mr. J's an expert at this kind of thing. He knows how to break even the toughest guys into itty bitty teeny pieces. Guess he knew it wouldn't cut it with your honey."

"Great, so I was the weak link…" Skye grumbled, her irritation spiking as she realised just how close she had come to spilling classified S.H.I.E.L.D. information, if only to make everything stop. She hadn't, of course, since Melinda May's training hardly would have allowed for such an oversight. But still, the idea that someone, the enemy, had identified her as weak upon sight was disconcerting and a definite blow to the confidence she had developed as a field agent.

"No, you're not gettin' me," Harley answered, reaching for a comically large bottle of iodine and beginning to douse cotton swabs with it, her nose wrinkling at the stench, "he pokes a few holes in you, Agent Cheekbones listens to you hollerin' a little bit, and then he tells Mr. J everything he needs to know. One of the oldest tricks in the book."

"Nice," Skye huffed, visibly jumping as Harley began to clean her wounds with an unnerving level of precision and care. "So... not like I care, but... what will they do to him when they realise I've gone?"

Harley poked the tip of her tongue out of her mouth, frowning in evident concentration as she cleaned the angry, reddened nail bed that had felt the full wrath of a particularly pointy screwdriver.

"Well that's why I set the surveillance tape on loop. So you and I could have a little girl time, and I could fix you up! Then maybe, if you tell Dr. Harley the truth, I'll help you spring Mr. Hotness and you can ride off into the sunset together and make beautiful little S.H.I.E.L.D. babies."

Skye snorted with laughter, although the pain radiating from her hand as Harley set to work applying a splint to her finger soon dampened her exuberant reply.

"Yeah, see the only thing harder to believe than Ward and I doing... that, is you being an actual doctor," she replied, noting the slightly irked glare that Harley rewarded her with.

"Well where'd you think I learned to do this, lady?" she retorted testily, tapping the side of her head for effect as she leaned forward and added, "I'm crazy, not stupid."

Skye blinked, utterly fazed and searching for a response that seemed to escape her. Harley appeared at first glance to be totally, stark staring insane, yet also perhaps teetering somewhere on the precipice of actual coherence. There was a kind of gritty honesty clinging to the woman that Skye found oddly charming, although her overall appearance certainly took some getting used to.

"How did… If you're really a doctor, how did you end up here with…" Skye paused, jerking her aching head in the direction of the doorway, from behind which silence mercifully reigned.

Harley paused in her task, encircling a support bandage around Skye's wrist, which she could tell from the dull ache alone was badly sprained. She was particularly thankful that there seemed to be an odd absence of any mirrors in the room, since she didn't want to even imagine what she looked like, let alone behold it up close.

"It's a real long story," Harley replied thoughtfully after a moment had passed, "you could say I worked for Mr. J, in a manner of speakin', before I knew just how sad my puddin' really was."

"Sad?" Skye blurted out, eyes narrowing as hostility seeped from her every pore, "you mean totally fucking crazy, right?"

"That's rude," Harley accused, meeting Skye's enraged stare levelly as she tightened the end of the bandage a little harder than was truly necessary. Skye let out a strangled gasp of pain, and Harley seemed to soften somewhat, her strange bedside manner taking over.

"I got some pills… for the pain," she offered, arching a brow as though it were a question rather than a statement. "Promise there's nothin' deadly in 'em. Unless you're allergic to codeine or you're taking…"

"Okay, thanks," Skye interjected, closing her eyes momentarily as she allowed her head to gently fall back against the cushion, exhaustion overwhelming her as adrenaline began to wear off.

Using her teeth to twist the cap off the bottle, Harley tapped out two round, white pills into her palm before offering them to Skye with a smile. She pushed a glass of water across the table towards her guest, and sat back in her seat, arms folded across her chest.

"So... what's the deal with you and the hottie in my boyfriend's basement?" Harley asked interestedly, "I'm sensin' some serious history. It'll make you feel better to talk about it."

"No. It wouldn't," Skye countered, eyes widening as she swallowing a gulp of water and felt the pills stick awkwardly in her throat. Although in hindsight, that could perhaps have been Harley's question.

"Sure it would. Trust me, I'm a professional!" Harley assured her, pushing a pair of dark rimmed glasses onto her face and rewarding her new companion with a beaming smile. "So, what's the sitch?"

Shaking her head with a heavy hearted sigh, Skye stared into the glass and shot Harley an irritated glower. "Fine. I'll talk. But then you help me rescue him."

"Yay!" Harley clapped her hands together like a little child, before adopting a solemn expression and swiping her fingertip in an x shape over her left breast. "Cross my heart and hope to die. Soon as you tell me why you're pretendin' to be all 'rawr, I don't love him', you're free to go. Both of you. So... talk!"

Skye blew out a shaky breath and immediately regretted the move when her ribs twinged, and one arm encircled her abdomen instinctively.

"It's a long, long story," she replied finally, grimacing when she added, "like Biblically long."

"Those are the best kind," Harley assured her with a wink, smile only growing as she settled herself in the chair parallel to Skye.

"Okay, well, I guess Ward and I were a thing a few years ago, but then he betrayed me, hurt a whole bunch of people I love, and turned into a raving psychopath, which… I guess you have some experience with," she stated, eyeing Harley tiredly as the woman fidgeted in her seat.

"Oh hey, I got gummy worms somewhere around here, you want some?" Harley inquired, reaching behind the cushion at her back and letting out a triumphant cry when she withdrew her hand, fingers wrapped around a small brown paper bag of candy.

She threw a glance at Skye as she probed, "Continue."

"Alright, look... Cliff Notes version? Ward had a pretty messed up childhood, abusive parents, his older brother's crazy, and they did... they did some not nice stuff to him."

"Poor guy," Harley frowned, shaking her head at the revelation, "I'm tellin' ya honey, our childhoods shape us, whether we like it or not. Sorry..."

She batted her hands at Skye to encourage her to continue, miming a zipping motion across her mouth and grinning beguilingly.

"Anyway, he ended up in juvie... and this guy... a S.H.I.E.L.D. guy, except that he wasn't S.H.I.E.L.D., he was Hydra," she paused for a moment, "you know who they are, right?"

"Oh, sure. Uh-huh," Harley nodded, "they tried to recruit me once, but... I kind of like doing my own thing, ya know?!"

She twirled her bunches around her fingers. "Awesome health plan, though."

Skye opened her mouth to reply, suddenly pausing as she shook her head at the concept of Hydra's employee benefits package.

"So... this guy got Ward out of there, and I... I guess he..." she glanced down at the ground, "he dumped him in the woods for like, five years. Made him learn to survive."

Harley's mouth dropped open and she slammed her palm onto the table as she suddenly leaped forward in her seat, eyes wide, "Shut. Up."

Her lips pursed, the young woman pondered the reveal, and when she glanced up Skye was surprised to find a tear trickling down her cheek. Patting the errant droplet demurely with the pad of her finger, Harley sniffed and regarded Skye with a probing gaze, signalling that she was ready to hear the rest.

"Garrett… that's the guy… he was dying and, well, Ward betrayed us all to save him," Skye recalled bitterly, shaking her head as she recounted the past to her captive audience. "He killed people - good people - and he hurt God knows how many more."

Harley nodded, sucking on a gummy worm that hung half out of her mouth as she listened to Skye. There was no need for further prompting; soon enough, Skye found that almost three years of back stabbing, violence and broken trust had poured out of her mouth at an alarming rate. Perhaps it was the pain meds. or perhaps it was her gratitude shining through, but Skye could scarcely remember being so open with another person before, despite her monthly sessions with her S.H.I.E.L.D. therapist. Harley sat perfectly still for the whole, messy story, her eyes widening slightly every so often or her mouth falling open in parts to reveal pieces of chewed candy. To her credit, she managed not to make so much as a peep, simply watching Skye from behind the impossibly large lenses of her glasses.

Sucking the end of a red gummy worm into her mouth, Harley nodded slowly, processing the details of the story. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a glossy crimson nail, she demanded askance, "Okay, hold up... So your big boss man knew all the crazy stuff that Ward's family did to him... but he gave him up to his brother? Like, the meanest, baddest, asshole of them all? You guys surrendered a victim to his abuser? Holy shit, lady, and people say my puddin's got a mean streak."

"Well, I guess, I..." Skye faltered, reflecting on their actions now that her intense and immediate rage had cooled somewhat.

"Oh, I'm not done yet, honey, now it's my turn to talk! 'kay?!" She beamed, seemingly thrilled to be back in the role of psychiatrist, "So you're pissed cos he continued to make... arguably bad choices?"

Harley cocked her head, one eyebrow arched questioningly. Before Skye could reply, Harley clasped her hands together on the table and levelled a demanding glare at her 'patient'.

"So who was giving him better options? Guy can't make good choices if all of his options are screwy, right?!"

Skye faltered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, which perhaps wasn't an altogether bad analogy of her situation. It wasn't often that her kidnapper became her confidante, and she wasn't entirely sure how far she dared to push her luck. She knew how deadly the woman before her was capable of becoming, at the drop of a hat, and she was certainly in no position to put up a good fight.

"Ward was… is… a killer," Skye repeated, shaking her head as though her words drew a satisfactory line through Harley's argument.

"Ain't you?" the woman retorted, cocking her head as she surveyed Skye from head to toe, "you've taken lives. You've been responsible for that last breath… the dying of the light an' all that jazz, so, tell me. What makes your actions more righteous than his?"

"It's different, I was trying to protect people!" Skye protested, her voice rising an octave, on the verge of becoming shrill.

"Isn't that exactly what he was trying to do?" Harley inquired, smirking as she watched Skye deflate before her, sagging into the chair as though the wind had left her proverbial sails. "Maybe he wasn't protecting the people you wanted him to be, but he was still fightin' for what he thought was right; the one person that had made him feel like he mattered in his whole life."

"What?" Skye murmured, confusion scrawled across her features as she protested quickly, "No, I… we cared about Ward. The whole team. He was our friend."

"And maybe if you guys had gotten to him first, that would've carried more weight," Harley answered, examining a fingernail and scowling when she discovered that the polish was beginning to chip, "but the fact is, it wasn't you that yanked him outta his own personal hell, built him back up again, and gave him purpose. It wasn't you that made him feel like he mattered for the first time in as long as he could remember."

Skye paused, one eyebrow arching as she regarded Harley sombrely, somewhat pained to see the fleeting sadness descend across her features. For a moment, she was downright wistful, which was a haunting thing indeed to behold against the backdrop of her pallid complexion and waif-like frame.

"Sounds like you have some experience," muttered Skye, wincing when Harley sharply glared at her.

"It's called Stockholm Syndrome," she said, voice flat and even, and perhaps somewhat reminiscent of the put together, intelligent woman she had once been. "Look it up."

This time is was Skye who adopted the petulant expression, and she sat back in her seat, wincing at the too energetic motion that jarred every bruised bone in her body.

"Why do you even care? What has me and Ward got to do with you, anyway? Don't you have like... places to be, people to kill?!"

Deflecting her barb with a roll of her blue eyes, Harley shot Skye a look that indicated all the bullshit in the world was not about to get her out of their little therapy session.

"I'm a romantic... unrequited love makes me sad. Besides, I'm bored, figured I'd stretch the old head shrinking muscles. Now, back to you, honey... Why do you pretend you hate him? I could see through it, and shit, I mean... I was only watching you guys through the TV monitors."

"You record torture sessions?" Skye narrowed her eyes, wholly disgusted by the concept.

Harley nodded thoughtfully, "Well, you know Mr. J likes to watch 'em back and use 'em for self-reflection and performance evaluation. He's a real perfectionist."

Eyes wide, Skye could only nod. "Right."

Harley picked up a green gummy worm and held her head back, dangling it above her lips before she chomped the head off in one go, giggling to herself as she tossed the rest of the body into her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she began, intercepting Skye's gaze, "you want one?"

Embarrassingly, Skye's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly and, with much chagrin, she found herself accepting a handful of gummy worms. It had been nearly twenty four hours since she had last eaten and her battered, exhausted body could certainly use the sugar, she decided.

"I could make us a couple of espressos if you like?" Harley queried, shooting a proud glance at the machine set up in the corner on the unlikely perch of a vintage dresser. Skye peered at the machine, amazed at just how human the wanted super villain was suddenly appearing.

"We could have a real party," Harley enthused, eyes gleaming as she hopped down from her perch without waiting for a response from Skye. She began toying with the machine, pushing a series of buttons with a manicured nail as she hummed under her breath.

Skye glanced around the room, wincing when stinging, burning pain gnawed away at her finger, and she flexed the bandage experimentally before she stretched her hand out in front of her.

"Yeah, look... I'm real sorry about that," Harley sighed, placing a small, bright red cup down in front of the brunette. Her eyes widening excitedly and she gushed, "Oh, you like pizza, dollface? I've got some leftovers from lunch if you want? Stuffed crust!"

Harley disappeared for a few minutes, re-emerging with a large pizza boxed balanced on the tips of her fingers. She opened the box with a flourish, nodding in approval as Skye lifted out a slice and she did likewise, before setting it down on the table between them.

She toyed with a slice of mushroom, cocking her head as she suddenly declared, "Look, girl to girl, we both know you've forgiven him. I think the real reason you pretend to hate Mr. Sexy Pants downstairs, is that... you've not forgiven yourself."

Skye swallowed hard, shaking her head incredulously, and suddenly feeling at once embarrassed and outraged that an arguably certifiable criminal had been able to so easily psychoanalyse her.

"I feel guilty? Why... Why would I feel guilty? He's the traitor, okay?"

Harley smiled, although this time it was a sympathetic expression that settled on her painted features, and she looked at Skye as if she pitied her.

"Look honey, I know I'm nuts... I own that shit. What you need, is a little self-awareness. You want chips? I think I got a bag of chips somewhere..." she trailed off, entirely caught up in her quest for potato snacks.

"I don't need chips," Skye bit back, somewhat more harshly than she had intended. Her eyes drifted downwards to her lap as she felt a wave of guilt wash over her; although self-admittedly insane, Harley was showing Skye a kind of patience and empathy that had long since been lacking from her life.

Harley, however, appeared unconcerned, shrugging her shoulders and concentrating on wrapping her index finger around a loose string of cheese that was oozing off her pizza slice.

Silence dominated the room once again, and Skye fidgeted in her seat in evident discomfort, her hunger forgotten.

"I…" she began, shattering the strange calm. Harley glanced her way, half a slice of pizza hanging out of her mouth.

"I guess I have forgiven him," Skye relented softly, her eyelids fluttering closed as she continued, "for so long I was just angry, not only at Ward… at Garrett, at S.H.I.E.L.D., at his parents, at fate... I guess I forgave Ward even before he came back, but for the longest time I couldn't work out why I was still furious every time I looked at him."

"Reminds you of the part of yourself you're not so proud of, huh?" Harley queried, zeroing in on a second slice of pizza.

Focusing on the cuts and clusters of bruises that marred her own skin, Skye let the pizza slice fall from her fingers onto a napkin Harley had left on the table in front of her. Using another to wipe off her uninjured fingers, she released a weary sigh.

"When S.H.I.E.L.D. imprisoned him, he... he uh... he tried to..." She fell silent, a lump forming in her throat that had little to do with pizza and more with a sense of deep, unmediated guilt. "and... I said some pretty shitty things. I told him... I told him to try harder."

Harley widened both eyes, a whispered 'wow' exiting her lips.

"And... I guess now you understand how desperate... tormented... afraid.. he must've been, huh?" Her mouth forming a tight line, Skye turned her gaze away.

"Something like that, yeah."

Refusing to let the other woman squirm her way out of completing her confession, Harley dipped her head and actively sought out her 'patient's' eyes.

"So if you pretend you still hate his pretty guts, you don't gotta have the 'I'm sorry... No, I'm sorrier' talk," she nodded knowingly.

"There's that, I suppose," Skye admitted, reluctance colouring her tone along with something else that Harley just momentarily struggled to identify.

"Ah, I see," Harley observed, seconds later, although it seemed to Skye that she hadn't missed a beat. "You're worried about the judgement. You like to pretend you don't give a shit what anyone else thinks, but really, you crave acceptance and approval like you breathe it."

"That's not…" Skye protested, scowling so vehemently that she felt her bruised face begin to ache again.

"That's exactly the way it is," Harley chided her, wagging a finger as though she was scolding a child, "I'm guessing maybe you had it tough for a while too. What is it? Daddy issues? Mommy troubles? Sibling rivalry?"

Skye remained silent, her pain the only thing preventing her from pouting back at the other woman.

"My childhood was just fine," she lied, picking at the toppings on the pizza slice. "It was… like… full of…"

"Abandonment issues?" Harley inquired with a sympathetic cluck. She finished haughtily, "I thought so."

Rolling her eyes, Skye picked up the pizza slice and began picking off the olives.

"You know I think I'd rather be tortured again..."

Harley giggled, swiping up a napkin and bunching it in her hand before she tossed it at Skye and stuck her tongue out playfully.

"You love him and you know it. I know it... and I'm unhinged."

Skye chewed thoughtfully, a frown settling on her face as she swallowed.

"You don't seem crazy to me... I mean... that crazy," she corrected herself, consenting to smile as Harley grinned with a set of perfectly white teeth.

"Oh, I'm insane... certifiable," she assured Skye, her expression falling as she appeared momentarily reflective, "love does that to us sometimes. But then there's that pesky Stockholm Syndrome... guess we'll find out which one it is eventually, huh?"

Harley swivelled round in the armchair she had been languishing in so that her legs draped over one arm and her back rested against the other. She regarded Skye thoughtfully, the furrow in her brow deepening.

"You want to know why you need him?" Harley asked, clasping her hands over her abdomen and kicking her legs gently. She peered up at the ceiling with such intensity that it was impossible to tell if she was lost in thought or merely counting the tiles.

"If I say 'no', will you tell me anyway?" Skye replied, arching a brow and earning herself a chuckle.

"You betcha," answered Harley, barely moving from her spot. "Although you don't wanna admit it, in a lot of ways, you're just like Mr. J."

"Now hold on…" Skye protested, outraged beyond measure at finding herself being compared to a man who had racked up a higher body count than the entire complement of remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. Specialists combined.

"Lemme finish," interjected Harley, raising one finger into the air but not bothering to regard Skye even momentarily, her gaze still trained upwards. "Both of you are lost, desperately searching for someone to validate you, but the list of what you want is so crazy unattainable that it takes a legit nut case to even contemplate trying to tick all your boxes."

"Harsh…" Skye grunted, shaking her head and glowering at the blonde.

"True," countered Harley, moving onward with brisk efficiency, "you don't just need to be loved… no, that's not complex enough… you need someone that will love you more than you could ever have comprehended… to love you best, above everything and anything else."

"Are you saying I'm a narcissist?" Skye attempted to demand, although it came across more akin to a genuine question than she had intended.

"Oh honey, that's more than we got time for today," Harley apologised, finally meeting her gaze as she shook her head. "You know what else you need?"

"I'm sure you're about to enlighten me," Skye grumbled, suddenly finding that she had begun to enjoy Harley's company a little bit less.

"Forgiveness," she replied, blinking wide, crystalline eyes slowly as she peered across the room at her companion, "you have to have someone there that you know, no matter what you do, who you kill, how many questionable calls you make… they'll always forgive you, because they couldn't imagine anything else."

Skye stayed silent, sucking in air through her teeth so noisily that she was confident Harley could hear it too.

"And then, on the other hand, you and I are a lot alike," Harley said, swiftly sitting up straight and propelling her long legs back around so that her feet were planted on the carpet again. "Both strong, intelligent, confident women, who get off on the buzz of it all. A mission or a heist or whatever… we crave the adrenaline. And we need a guy cut from the same cloth."

"That's ridiculous," Skye began, her features contorting in protest as she stared at Harley as though she was finally beginning to believe her claims of being legitimately crazy.

"Ride or die, baby," Harley purred, grinning from ear to ear; the cat that massacred the canary.

Lost for words, Skye pointed argumentatively at the blonde, despite the blush she felt burning up her cheeks.

"I will not be riding W..." she paused, deciding not to even bother finishing her sentence as Harley waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Clasping her hands together, Harley rose from her seat, twirling one multi-coloured strand of hair around her finger.

"So this has been fun, right? I don't know about you, but I sure had a good time."

Skye smiled wryly, "It's been... something."

"But... it's time we sprung your honey and got you two crazy kids out of here. Mr. J.'s gonna be back soon, and he'll be pissed when he knows you've escaped, so..."

She pointed with her fingertip towards the door, and Skye dutifully climbed to her feet, a frown of unease dominating her features.

"Hey, uh... Harley?" she began uncertainly.

"Yeah, dollface?"

"Are you gonna be okay? I mean... he won't..." Skye trailed off, uncomfortable with the line of questioning but not doubting for a moment its necessity.

For a second, Harley's eyes were a cacophony of emotion; haunted, terrified, and perhaps even a touch angry. As quickly as the look had descended upon her, it was gone again, and Harley straightened up to beam at her captive-come-comrade.

"Don't you worry your pretty head about me," she replied, deliberately avoiding answering the question, "I'll be just fine. And you two… you'll be even better."

"Don't count on it," Skye began to argue, suddenly falling silent as Harley glared at her. "Okay, sorry, shutting up now."

The pair made their way towards the door of Harley's suite, and Skye found herself blinking in surprise as the incredibly strange yet oddly endearing 'villain' grasped her elbow. She swung her free arm backwards and forwards as she strolled with an alarming degree of frivolity across the room.

"So... What are we gonna do?" Harley asked expectantly, patting the back of Skye's hand for encouragement.

Huffing out an indignant sigh, Skye replied, "I guess... give him a chance..."

"Good girl," she nodded in approval, growing stern as she added, "and what are we not gonna do?"

"Alright, alright. I said I'd give him a chance. Don't push it!" Skye smiled just a fraction, feeling a strange sense of liking for her new friend that was a little alarming in nature. Suddenly relenting, she added, "You were right, I... I guess I do still have feelings for him... somewhere. Like, buried really, really deep."

Harley laughed, yet the smile died on her lips as she threw open her door and found the barrel of a gun staring her square in the face.

"Where is she?"

"Well, I guess chivalry really is dead, huh?" Harley said dourly, eyes sweeping Ward's somewhat dishevelled figure in an appraising manner. "Hi there, honey."

"Don't… even…" growled Ward, flicking the safety off the hand gun he gripped so hard that his knuckle had whitened. "I just spent twenty-three solid hours chained to a god damn wall whilst I listened to my… partner… scream… I am not in the mood for you people…"

"See, told ya he cared," Harley flippantly tossed over her shoulder to Skye, who was supporting herself by leaning against the wall, one arm encircling her own middle.

"Skye…" breathed Ward, hope igniting in his eyes like a beacon in the darkness. "You're okay."

"Yeah," she nodded, her eyes locking on his as she released a long-held breath of relief, "I'm okay. Are you... I mean... are you hurt?"

Before Ward could reply, Harley punctuated the awkward silence with a cough. "Uh... hello? You wanna help a girl out here?"

"Oh. Right," Skye's eyes widened, and she reached out slowly to push the nose of the gun down and out of Harley's face. "It's okay, Ward, She... she was helping me."

Skye held up her injured hand to display the bandage and splint, and once Ward had passed a cursory glance over the blonde, he nodded in a grudging manner and lowered the weapon.

"Well, it's time for you two crazy kids to ride off into the sunset, so..." Harley shrugged, nodding towards the hallway behind Ward. "You might wanna haul ass."

His eyes still awkwardly roving Harley with evident distrust, Ward reached out his free hand and beckoned Skye towards him. Surprisingly, she found herself moving willingly into his side, not offering so much as a murmur of resistance when he cupped her cheek with one hand and turned her face this way and that in order to evaluate her.

Her clothes were bloodstained, hair tousled, and features darkened by mottled bruises; it was evident that she had been to hell and back, but she was still alive, at least, and Ward couldn't be anything other than thankful for that.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, fingers hovering over swollen flesh as he grimaced down at her, his emotions projected within his eyes and worn clearly in the set of his mouth.

"No, it was my fault," Skye countered in a somewhat hoarse whisper, "I was stupid and I… being here is on me."

Ward appeared poised to argue, his protests fresh on the tip of his tongue, but he instead fell abruptly silent as Skye reached out and allowed the tips of her own fingers to brush the curve of his cheek. His eyes slammed closed and he was catapulted back to a time when things had seemed so much simpler, and closing the distance that existed between them would have been a welcome move on his part.

"I can't believe you came for me," Skye whispered, in a voice that was so thick with emotion, she felt Harley's arm bump her from behind in what she assumed was a gesture of support.

He looked at her as if the answer should be obvious; as if it could never be any other way for him where she was concerned.

"I always will, whether you need me to or not," he stated, hesitantly reaching out and tilting her chin upwards gently. His heart sank at the bruises that were already blossoming on her skin, and he fought the urge to kiss away every mark and blemish that darkened her perfect face.

"I guess I do... need you," she managed a brief smile, blowing out a breath as his fingers left her skin and she shuddered at the loss of contact.

Shattering the moment, Harley dangled a gleaming set of car keys between the pair, her grin manic as she stared at each in turn as though watching a tennis match.

"Black Porsche... the one with the fuzzy dice on the mirror. Time to go, babies..."

Ward nodded, offering her a brief and yet still wholly suspicious smile that she accepted as gratitude. Reaching out, he encircled his arm around Skye's waist, pleased when she burrowed into his side instead of being repulsed by his touch and proximity.

"Can you walk?"

"Walk? Probably…" Skye returned, hissing as she added, "run, not so much."

"You got a little time," Harley replied, gesturing to her door pointedly with an arched eyebrow as she continued, "which is dwindling by the minute because you two saps won't get out of here."

"Going… gone…" Skye answered, her eyes drawn to Harley's overly painted face one last time as she declared, "thank you, for everything."

Harley only winked before throwing up a mock salute and patting Skye firmly on the rear. Ward, eyebrows shooting skyward, didn't bother to comment, and instead looped his arm around Skye's waist in order to begin leading her to the underground garage he had passed on his way to rescue her.

Harley watched them go with a grin stretching her lips taut, her heart fluttering in delight as she noted how Skye leaned into Ward and allowed him to support her whilst they shuffled painfully slowly (for an escape attempt) along the corridor. It wasn't perfect, but Harley decided it was as damn near to perfect as people like them were destined to get. Sighing dreamily, she rested her back against the wall of her room, eyes fluttering closed as she allowed her imagination to run wild with images of ivory wedding gowns, picket fences, and chubby cheeked babies gurgling on their mother's hip.

Puffing out a breath, hands clasped to her chest, Harley sighed, "Ain't love grand."

x-x-x

He had arrived back at HQ just as she had foreseen; a bizarrely stoic figure, stalking through the corridors with a thug watching each side of his back, already aware that something had transpired here. Something he had had no say nor direction over whatsoever. And it didn't sit well.

She had managed to mould her face into a blank mask as he had tortured, maimed and murdered his way through a dozen henchmen, whose true crimes had been not to watch his girlfriend well enough. Deep down, she knew that he knew. Whether or not her defiance would prove to be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back or not, she had absolutely no way of knowing.

So, she sat in silence in the meat locker that had housed the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent she had actually come to secretly admire, and perhaps even like. Cross legged on the floor, corpses and more blood than she had seen in a while surrounding her, Harley did her best to keep her attention on the Joker; nothing else would be tolerated.

"Don't you worry, baby," she declared, clambering to her feet and poking the outstretched hand of a deceased lackey with the toe of her boot. "We'll bring 'em back in. It's what we do."

Joker failed to reply, his head hanging low as he peered across the room at Harley, teeth bared and eyes hooded. A lesser woman may have flinched, probably even backed up a few paces, but Harley maintained an air of nonchalance that was truly impressive.

"Come on, Mr. J.," she coaxed, "don't pout. If the wind changes…"

"You…" was the growl that finally silenced Harley, rousing a flutter of fear in her chest. It was a single word, barely an accusation in itself, but the meaning behind it was crystal clear; he knew that Harley was solely to blame for everything. Just what he would choose to do with that information remained to be seen.

She swallowed hard, hoping that he had failed to note the gesture. She didn't regret a single thing. She was in no doubt that long Sunday morning lay ins, quiet evenings curled up on the couch, and the chiming of church bells lay ahead in Skye and Ward's future. She was never wrong about those kind of things, and she couldn't find it within her to begrudge anyone such happiness. Perhaps she'd even buy a hat.

In an admittedly calculating and devious manner, Harley allowed her lips to form a frown that bordered on a petulant sulk. Slowly, arms clasped behind her back, she sauntered towards the chair in the centre of the room where Joker held court, surveying her like she was poised to be devoured.

"You forgive me…" she murmured huskily, drawing to a standstill just an arms length away, "don'tcha, Mr. J.?"

For a while, there was only silence. Then, almost languidly, Joker raised his arm and Harley received her response; a chilling smile painted on a hand that had already caused her so much pain, and yet promised to deliver so much more.