[Shazam] Ch: 7 [Pizza, bullets & Harley Quinn]

AN: Slightly big chapter. Approx. 3k words.

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John stood frozen in the hallway, hands still half-raised, while Harley Quinn leaned against the doorway like she was in the middle of hosting a tea party instead of a murder scene. The pizza bag lay forgotten at his feet. The man in purple kept groaning on the floor, dragging his shredded knees across the cheap tile. His cries were background noise now.

Harley twirled the pistol on her finger once, then pointed it lazily at John’s foot, not aiming, just gesturing.

"You ever wonder how a girl like me ends up with a guy like him?" she asked, motioning behind her to the bleeding mess. "Lemme tell ya a story. Or two."

John didn’t move. Didn't speak. He knew better.

Harley’s eyes sparkled. She grinned. The kind of grin that said 'I’m about to say something really messed up, and I’ll be smiling the whole time.'

"So! Puddin’, back when he wanted to impress me, he told me this real sweet story. Said, ‘Wanna know how I got these scars?’ Right? Classic line. Real rom-com material."

She mimicked a deep, gruff Joker voice and tilted her head, eyes wide and wild.

"My father was a drinker. And a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit."

She stepped forward, pacing slowly, like a cat in a cage.

"So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it! Then he turns to me, and he says, ‘Why so serious, son?’"

She licked her lips and mimed holding a knife.

"He comes at me with the knife… ‘Why so serious?’ And he sticks the blade in my mouth… ‘Let's put a smile on that face!’"

She put her gun into the waistband and stretched her mouth with her fingers and whispered, "And… why. So. Serious?"

Her voice dropped with that last line, her body still. John could feel the shift in the air.

Then she blinked. Snapped out of it. Tilted her head the other way and chuckled.

"But guess what? That wasn’t the real story. Not even close. That was just the version he gave me."

She walked back to the doorway, stepping right over the groaning Joker like he was a stain on a rug.

"Last night, I got all worried. Y'know? He said he was goin’ on a job, important stuff, top secret, kiss kiss goodbye. So I tail him. Real sneaky. Full Harley ninja mode. Harl was worried about Puddin'. Couldn't help."

She grinned widely, but the corners of her eyes tightened.

"And what do I find? Huh? You wanna know?"

John didn’t answer. Just watched.

"I find him in some crummy apartment with this other girl, sweet little thing, all doe eyes and daddy issues, and he’s spinning her the same shtick."

Harley’s voice dropped an octave again. Her grin turned venomous.

"Oh, you look nervous. Is it the scars? Wanna know how I got 'em? C'mere, look at me. So, I had a wife, who was beautiful…like you… tells me I oughta smile more…"

She mimicked Joker’s limp hand gestures, mocking him with eerie accuracy.

"She gambles. Gets in deep with the sharks. One day, they carve her face. We got no money for surgeries. She thinks she's hideous, but I wanted her to know that she is the most beautiful woman in my eyes. So I put a razor in my mouth… and do this to myself. For her."

Harley stopped in front of John again, her smile gone now. 

"And she leaves. Can’t stand the sight of me. And now I see the funny side. Now I’m always smiling.”

She looked down at Joker, still groaning.

"You believe that crap? He’s been feeding different sob stories to every lost girl with eyeliner and a trauma folder."

She looked up at John again, and for a second, the madness slipped. Just long enough to show the pain beneath.

"Turns out, I was just another version of the lie."

Harley’s smile came back, sharp and toothy. She turned, lifted her boot, and stomped hard on Joker’s bullet-wounded ass.

The man screamed like a banshee. His voice cracked and echoed down the hallway.

“Aw, shut up, ya big baby,” Harley muttered.

She glanced at the pizza bag on the floor.

"Hey, is it still hot?"

John shrugged.

She skipped over, crouched, unzipped the bag, and pulled out a box. She opened it, the steam rising like a holy offering.

"Ooooh, meat lovers. Jackpot."

She picked up a slice, folded it like a pro, and took a giant bite.

“Mmff! Mm-hmm. Yeah. This’ll do,” she said, mouth full, still chewing. "Tony finally listened. Extra cheese."

She took another bite, sauce already on her chin.

Then she kicked Joker again.

“That's for lying about having gout. Who even lies about gout?”

Another kick.

“That’s for throwing my good hyena plushie in the trash!”

She paused to chew, then kicked him once more for good measure.

“That’s for ruining my life.”

Joker wheezed, curled into a sad little ball of agony. His makeup was smeared, one eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over the floor.

Harley licked grease from her fingers, then looked up at John.

“You want a slice?”

He shook his head slowly.

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, tearing into another slice like it owed her money.

John turned and was about to walk away.

"Enjoy your pizza," he said.

“Wait.”

John paused.

Behind him, Harley’s voice had changed. Smaller. Quiet.

“I need a hug.”

He turned around. She was standing there with pizza in one hand, tears running down her cheeks, her mascara smudged like war paint.

"I know I'm a psychopath," she said. “I know I’m nuts and loud and violent and did unspeakable things with a bazooka once, but right now... I just want someone to hold me for, like, ten seconds without me threatening to stab them.”

She sniffled. Then tried to smile, but it crumbled.

John stared at her for a beat, 'Shit! She's too cute... Fuck! My soft spot for Harley Quinn. Just a hug and I'm out of here.'

Then walked back.

He opened his arms.

She threw herself into the hug like she was diving into a pool. Nearly knocked him over.

“Don’t read into this,” he muttered.

“Mmhmm,” she said, face buried in his chest. “Just ten seconds.”

“Just ten seconds.”

“You smell so good. Maybe fifteen.”

“Don’t push it.”

They stood there in the hallway, Joker moaning on the floor, a half-eaten slice of pizza still in Harley’s hand.

Joker groaned on the floor, blood dripping from his nose, knees wrecked, lips cracked. He rolled over just enough to glare at Harley and spit a thick wad of red onto the tile.

"You goddamn psychotic bitch," he growled, voice raspy and wet. "You shot me. In the ass! You shot me in the fucking ass!"

Harley didn’t flinch. Still buried in John's arms, she just gave a small hum like she was listening to music.

Joker coughed and looked up at John with one swollen eye.

“You. Delivery boy. You want cash? Real cash? Help me. Kill her. I’ll pay you anything. Ten million. Twenty. A blank fucking check. Just end her and get me outta here.”

John didn't even look at him. He tightened his hold on Harley slightly.

"You're not worth half a meat lover's pizza," he muttered.

Joker wheezed. “You’re a goddamn moron. She’ll turn on you too. They all do.”

"After lying and ruining her life, what do you expect? A fucking medal?" John said with his usual expressionless face. 

Harley gave Joker the finger over John's shoulder without even lifting her head.

Then, a scream echoed from the stairwell.

"Boss!"

John’s eyes snapped toward the sound. 'GUNS!' He moved fast.

“Down!” he barked.

He grabbed Harley, spun, and tackled her to the ground just as a barrage of bullets ripped through the hallway.

The walls exploded in a hail of plaster and splinters. Fragments of wood and tile sprayed over their heads. Light fixtures shattered above. The pizza bag took a round straight through the side, exploding in a puff of pepperoni and cardboard.

John held Harley close as they hit the floor hard. Her pizza slice flopped onto the tile next to them.

From the stairs, four of Joker’s goons poured in, dressed in clown-themed riot gear, SMGs in hand. One of them had a grenade belt slung across his chest like party favors.

“That bitch shot the boss!” one yelled.

“Shoot around him, idiots!” another screamed.

Bullets ripped the hallway apart. Joker screamed again, not from the pain in his legs but from pure frustration.

"Stop shooting near my fucking spine! Goddammit, my kidneys! I need those to laugh properly!"

John and Harley crawled inside and rolled behind a tipped-over table just inside the apartment. The table didn't last long, and they somehow managed to roll behind the kitchen counter. 

Harley stared up at John’s face. Hard lines. Calm eyes. No flinch, even as bullets cracked past them and glass rained down like angry confetti. He was holding her tight, body coiled, chest heaving. And for a second, just a beat too long, she forgot about the shooting. Forgot about the Joker bleeding in the hallway. Forgot about the world.

Who was this guy?

She didn’t know him. Delivery boy. Pizza hands. Big eyes, low voice, didn’t talk much. One of those quiet weirdos you never notice until they’re body-slamming you out of a bulletstorm. Bat's moody and broody cousin?

Why?

Why was he doing this?

Why put his life in danger for her?

Her brain spun like a busted carousel. Guys didn’t do this. Not for her. Not without strings. Or poison. Or a loaded laugh track and a knife in the back.

Besides, she was the reason the bullets were flying. She was the psycho ex with the bleeding ex and a bad case of emotional whiplash. He should’ve run. He should’ve let the clowns ventilate her skull and collected his tip from Satan. Instead, here he was. Arms around her like a human shield with opinions.

She blinked. Bullets punched holes in the cabinets above them.

"Why?" she shouted over the gunfire, eyes locked on his. “Why are you helping me?”

John didn’t answer. He just checked her over, hands, arms, blood, not hers, and looked back at the counter. 'Good, she ain't hurt.'

The man had the emotional range of a toaster.

She huffed. “You some kinda white knight in crusty jeans, or what?”

Still nothing. Just a flicker in his brow.

“Are you, like, into me or something?” she asked, still panting. "Like love at first sight?"

“I just didn’t want you to die while holding pizza,” he muttered.

“Oh my God. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Harley.”

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up and look for your gun.”

She reached for her gun, the one she’d tucked into her waistband like a cocky idiot.

Gone.

Of course, it was gone. Had to have skidded under something during the roll. She patted the floor, nothing but dust and a lone pepperoni slice sliding slowly toward the fridge.

“Shit,” she whispered. “It ditched me. Unreliable little traitor.”

“Yeah,” John said without looking. He was watching the hallway like a hawk, eyes tracking movement between bursts of gunfire.

He peeked over the edge of the table. One of the goons was trying to flank. He ducked back just as a bullet nicked the tabletop and sprayed chips across his knuckles.

Joker's voice came from outside, "Keep shooting. Shred them to smithereens. Hehehe! Ahahahaha! DIE BITCH!"

"Just how many goons did he call?" John asked. 

"No idea. 10, 20... No idea. Nada."

Harley scrambled, scanning the floor like she was hunting for an earring. There, under the radiator. Her pistol. Spun just out of reach. Of course.

She rolled onto her stomach, wiggled forward. John's hand shot out, grabbed her belt.

“Too exposed.”

“Don’t kink-shame me right now, I’m busy.”

“Harley.”

“I almost got it!”

Another burst screamed past. She grabbed the gun, twisted, and kicked back toward cover. John yanked her the last couple of feet. She landed in a heap next to him, victorious, gun in hand.

“Ta-da!”

“Good. Now shoot.”

“With pleasure, sexy.”

She popped up, pistol first, and fired three quick shots. One of the goons dropped with a grunt, purple feathers flying from his clown wig.

“Ohhh! Right in the nosehole! You see that?” she yelled.

“Focus!”

“Let me have this!”

Another hail of bullets sent them ducking again. She shot down another one. The bullet hit the poor guy's groin. 

A burst of laughter popped from Harley’s throat as the second clown dropped, squealing like a stepped-on squeaky toy. She pumped her fist in the air before John pulled her down. 

“Two-for-one special! That’s a BOGO, baby!”

She peeked up again and...

Click.

Harley blinked. Pulled the trigger again.

Click.

“…Oh no.”

She looked at the gun like it had personally betrayed her.

“Really? You run outta bullets now? After everything we been through?” she said, shaking it like it owed her child support. “I fed you! I cleaned you! I let you shoot my ex’s buttcheek!”

John’s eyes were already scanning. “How many shots did you fire?”

“I dunno! Two? Three? Plus the kneecap. And the ass. Worth it.”

A metallic clink bounced against the tile next to them.

Harley turned her head. Her face froze.

“...Aw, hell.”

Grenade.

John grabbed her, one arm around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head like he was dipping her for a dance… except this dance ended in defenestration.

They crashed backward through the already half-shattered window, glass raining around them in sparkly death confetti. Harley shriek-laughed the whole way down.

"WHOO! GERONIMOOOO..."

BOOM.

The explosion behind them blew out what little was left of the apartment wall. A shockwave of fire punched them mid-air, sending them flying like two action figures yeeted by a sugar-rushed toddler.

They hit a dumpster with a loud, fleshy THUNK, metal echoing like a gong in a comedy funeral. Harley bounced once. Then rolled. And landed on top of John, face-first into his chest.

Silence.

Then, a muffled groan.

“Uuuggghhhhhh…”

John.

Harley lifted her head, hair a mess, mascara a war crime, her face a perfect O of wide-eyed shock and delight.

“We lived!”

'Fuck! My back!' John just blinked up at the sky like it had personally betrayed him. “Barely.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, it was a soft garbage landing! All banana peels and broken dreams.”

She sniffed.

“Okay, and maybe a little rat pee.”

She sat up on his chest, straddling him like a very chaotic cowboy. Bits of pepperoni stuck to her elbow. She flicked one off and inspected his face. 

Although chaotic... But for a moment, John noticed the other side of her. A tiny flicker of a worried face, which was instantly replaced by that classic grin.

“Eyes working?" Harley said. She then opened his lips and checked. "Teeth alright." She touched his ears and checked. "Ears still symmetrical and not shot. Good.”

“I think my spine left without me.”

“Ohhh, poor spiny,” she cooed, poking his nose. “You need some chiropractic revenge later.”

John groaned again. “Get off.”

Harley grinned, didn’t move an inch.

“Aww, but you’re so comfy. Like a hot beanbag with commitment issues.”

He raised one eyebrow.

She sighed, dramatically. “Fine, fine. But I’m gonna remember this. You and me. Garbage ballet. We made art, baby.”

She slid off him with all the grace of a drunken cat, then reached down and helped him sit up.

Behind them, the fire alarm in the building started howling. Screams and distant gunshots still echoed from above. Sirens, too.

John winced and rubbed his shoulder.

“You okay?” she asked.

“No.”

“Cool, me neither.”

She plopped down beside him on the asphalt, both of them slumped against the dumpster like the world’s weirdest couple’s photo shoot.

She glanced sideways at him.

“You ever think maybe fate brought us together?” she asked.

John coughed. “You mean the grenade?”

“No, not that fate. Like, the metaphorical kind. The meet-cute one. You, me, pizza, bloodshed, betrayal, and now garbage hugs.”

“I didn’t hug you in the garbage.”

“You fell with intent.”

John didn’t answer. Just stared at the road.

Harley leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You’re weird,” she whispered.

He didn’t argue.

Then she lifted a soggy slice of meat lovers from the bin between them. It was half-melted, probably contaminated with seven flavors of dumpster disease.

She offered it to him.

“Still want a slice?”

John slapped that piece away from her hand as he stood up. "Get out of here before your ex's goons arrive. God! I need a bath and a new job." He walked away, leaving Harley there alone...

Or, that's what he thought.

Harley kept following him, keeping her distance and hiding here and there... Not to mention, she was giggling when a couple of street dogs were barking at him for the whole three minutes, but he didn't even bother with them and kept walking. 

John finally stopped before his tiny apartment. The heavy rain washed some grime and smell from his body. He sighed and looked back. Yup! There she was hiding in the alley. He could see her thanks to the car parked near that alley. The car's side mirror.