WHO: Harley Quinn & Seymour Birkhoff WHEN: around the 7th of March? WHERE: Birkhoff’s apartment WHAT: MATCHUP! Harley goes to see if the bomb in her next is still active. WARNINGS: Language and mention of abuse, maybe. STATUS: Gdoc, complete.
______________
Harley had an itch she needed to scratch. No no, not that itch. Merlin took care of that itch. Well, maybe that itch, the person she was after was pretty cute. But the itch in question had to do with the side of her neck. She could feel the puncture wound from where they put the bomb in the side of her throat and she kept fiddling with it. Joker had it disabled… but was it really disabled? Or was it just a window of opportunity? He’d gone through the trouble of kidnapping one of the scientists in charge. Aw, Puddin’ was always lookin’ out for her. Something in the back of her mind spoke up, Yeah, because if someone else hurts you, it’s a problem. If he does it, it’s no big deal. Shut up, voices!
Either way, she wanted it gone. She wasn’t sure who to go through and took a little bit of time spying on the network. Seymour Birkhoff. He called her freaky because of her hair and tattoos. What a loser. But! But! Maybe he could help her. He was a tech nerd after all. And those tech nerds always came in handy. J used a few of them to rob a bank once. There was always one techie on their teams.
If he thought she was freaky before, wait til he got a load of her today! Wearing one of the new outfits she sewed together and a jacket to match, she went to his apartment. It wasn’t hard to find. This place would be easy to be a stalker in! She knocked with the heels of both hands, “Open up, it’s the fuzz!”
---
Birkhoff was still trying to get a proper set up going, only that required more money than he actually had and Shadownet wasn't freaking working. He couldn't even access the NSA, FBI, CIA, and all the other alphabet soup agencies. All he could access was the local government and there wasn't anything of value there. Stealing money wasn't going to be a viable option, at least not right away. He'd been up half the night trying to figure out a plan and had dragged himself to bed around four in the morning.
When he heard a very loud knock on his door bright and early, Birkhoff woke up with a start, heart pounding. What the hell were the police doing knocking on his door? He was careful. Figuring there wasn't shit they'd find on his laptop, Birkhoff hollered, "Hold your goddamn horses," as he made his way toward the door, opening it only to find the crazy lady in a straight up ridiculous getup.
"What are you? Some kind of hardcore cosplayer?"
***
“A what now?” She gave him a look, one that said you’re an idiot. “I’m not really the police, duh, I’m Harley Quinn,” she held her hand out to him, for a shake. “I gathered you’re the fella I need to talk to about …sensitive subjects.” She held her hand to the side of her face when she said ‘sensitive subjects.’ “And I ain’t talkin’ about what color underpants you’re wearin’!”
Harley went to push him aside and walk into the apartment. She was used to doing as she pleased.
---
The name sounded familiar, but Birkhoff couldn't place it. He was too blown away by the fact that she didn't know what a cosplayer was. "You know. Dress up as your favorite fictional characters?" He shook her hand as he replied, and took a moment to look her up and down. Bizarre. That wasn't to say he didn't appreciate it, because he appreciated any time he got to see a hot chick in her underwear. This particular hot chick just also seemed to be chock full of crazy.
She waltzed right in and all he could really do was shut the door behind her. At the mention of his underpants, Birkhoff glanced down and realized he was only wearing a pair of boxers with his t-shirt. Great. At least his body was behaving.
"What kind of sensitive subjects?" he asked, gruff and put out. He was most definitely put out.
***
Harley scoffed and waved her hand at him, “I’m not dressed as a fictional character, I’m dressed as me, okay? Stop commenting on my clothes or I’ll pop you one.” She probably wouldn’t pop him one, she was just feeling self conscious. People always called her a clown. Well… she kind of was.
“I have a bomb in my neck. I think it’s disabled, but I can’t be sure. And I think you, nerd boy, might be able to help me!” She looked him up and down. Heh. T-shirt and boxers. “Speakin’ of clothes, I like yours.”
---
Feisty women were not a new thing for him, so he just rolled his eyes at her threat. If she wanted his help, she wasn't going to beat him up too badly. "Yea, whatever," Birkhoff waved her off and locked the door, even though he figured he probably needed some kind of clear escape route.
His eyes narrowed when she said she had a bomb in her neck. "You're not Division, are you?" Maybe she was one of the guardians? Birkhoff didn't know everyone at Division and now he couldn't even check because he was completely cut off from the system. It was like Division didn't even exist anymore, but a bomb in the neck wasn't out of the question at all.
***
Harley looked confused for a second, “Division? I don’t even… what? Are you paranoid as hell or what? I work for myself.” And J. Well, maybe not that second part anymore. “I’m not Division, or a cosplayer, I’m just Harley and they put a bomb in my neck because they wanted the worst of the worst!” She announced it with one hand in the air like she did a magic trick.
“And baby, it was supposed to be deactivated, but I’m not too sure. Either way, I don’t want it there anymore.”
---
"Of course I'm paranoid," he replied. "I'm a hacker who works for the government black ops program." Duh. Although, maybe he shouldn't have said that. Oh well. It didn't seem like Division was around at all, even though he'd hoped that maybe it would exist in a small part so he could have access to Shadownet. No such luck though, which was why he was currently in this predicament of being broke. Worst of the worst sounded like Division to him, though, so that got his interest more so than the bomb in her neck.
"Kinda think you should see a doc or something for that. I'm a tech guy, lady. Not a surgeon." Although he could at least tell her if it was active or not, but he'd need to cobble something together because it wasn't like he had his whole set up here. Seriously not cool.
***
Harley absently scratched at the wound on her neck. “But you could tell me if it’s still active, couldn’t you?” And she didn’t know any surgeons. All she knew was this guy was a techie and techies kept their mouth shut. They were good about it, even if they usually were skinny nerds.
This guy wasn’t a skinny nerd though-- well, he was, but he also wasn’t. He was kind of hot. Harley put her hands together in prayer. “Please please puh-leaaaase tell me there’s something you can do to check? I’ll make it worth your while!”
---
"Stop scratching," he chastised, before realizing he basically just told her what to do. Birkhoff wasn't so sure that was his brightest idea, so he quickly went to rummage around in his things to see what he could cobble together to get her the answer she wanted.
"Yea, I probably can. Hold on, alright. Just keep your pants on." He glanced at her. "Literally. Please keep your pants on." Birkhoff didn't want to know what she'd do to 'make it worth his while'. After a couple of minutes of pulling a couple of things apart and cobbling something together, he gestured her over.
"Let's give this a try."
***
If looks could kill, Birkhoff would be deader than a doornail right now. Chastising her only made her ornery and she scratched harder. “I can’t help it! It itches!”
She watched him rummage like a raccoon and pouted when he said to keep her pants on. “Don’t flatter yourself, buster.” Though, she did think he was cute and would probably take her pants off for him. Maybe if he took her out to dinner first. Or took a bomb out of her neck. You know, whatever came naturally.
“If we explode, I just want you to know… I love you.”
---
Birkhoff had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from telling her she'd just make it harder to remove the damn thing if she had a open wound going. What he was holding would tell him if there was a live signal coming from her neck where she said the bomb was, but he also had a sinking suspicion that she was cut off from whatever network that had been monitoring her, same as he was.
When she declared her love, he rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic," he replied, because he didn't want her to think she was going to die or explode. Birkhoff was still super careful though as he lifted the makeshift device to her neck. His free hand was positioned so that she could take it if she wanted, but it hadn't been a conscious decision on his part.
The device didn't make any sound at all, didn't light up or anything. Birkhoff waited a full minute and a half before declaring, "Totally disconnected. No signals are going in or out of whatever's in your neck."
***
“But-- but I am dramatic!” She said, dramatically. Harley noticed his hand and grabbed it, squeezing it hard. Not too hard, where he’d pull away or get hurt, she wasn’t super strong. Harley was still a squishy human here, there was no Poison Ivy to give her a boost.
As they waited, she twisted her fingers around his, lacing them together. She was nervous. But to think about it, why would Joker only get it disabled for a little bit? Maybe he was going to rescue her and get information out of her, only to let her get blown up. No, that’d give him problems too. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Joker anymore and it was getting confusing in her brainmeats.
“Phew.” She didn’t let go of his hand. “Thanks, Seymour.” She grinned when she said the name. She liked it, it reminded Harley of Little Shop of Horrors.
---
"Very dramatic," he agreed, and even though it maybe seemed like he was put off by it, Birkhoff didn't really mind all that much. It kept things interesting, that was for sure. He also didn't pull away or anything when she took his hand, going so far as to giving her a comforting squeeze so she could remember that he was right there with her. If she got blown up, he'd get blown up right alongside of her.
She had to go and spoil her thanks by calling him Seymour. "Ugh, it's Birkhoff," he muttered. He didn't even realize they were still holding hands. "And you're welcome. As for getting it out, Alex probably knows a trustworthy doctor." Harley was lucky she didn't have to die to deactivate it like Alex had. "Just stop trying to dig it out yourself, okay?"
That was when he realized they were still holding hands. "I'm going to make some coffee and probably something for breakfast. Since now I'm up." Birkhoff waited a beat before adding, "Want some?"
***
Harley was fully aware they were still holding hands. And she grinned stupidly at it. She let go when he said he’d be going for breakfast.
“Birkhoff, my dearest, sorry. I just like Seymour. It’s like my own special pet name for you.” Harley giggled and stood up. “Alex, who’s that now? You’ll have to write this stuff down for me. Or maybe I’ll just leave the bomb there, if it’s not bothering anything. It’s not bothering anything you think, is it?” She looked a little shocked and disturbed.
“I’d love some coffee, Seymour.” She waited a second before added, “Ooh, with lots of sugar!”
---
Birkhoff rolled his eyes at her antics. She was loonier than all the Looney Tunes put together as far as he could tell, but there were bits and pieces that were genuine. Plus, he understood the whole working for the government and having a kill chip stuck in your head. Those kinds of government agencies weren't good at all, regardless of the people they used for agents. 'Worst of the worst' as she'd said before.
"Alex has a deactivated bomb in her too, unless she's removed it and I just don't know about it." But it was definitely deactivated as far as he knew. Birkhoff headed into the kitchen, expecting she'd wander in after him, and turned the coffee maker on. He didn't bother correcting her again as he dug around the fridge for what to have.
"Eggs are for breakfast. Scrambled okay?" It was all he had and he pretty much only knew how to make scrambled eggs, so there weren't any real options.
***
She did wander in after him, rubbing her fingertips over every surface and knick-knack on the way there. “Alex what? There might be more than one Alex in this town.”
When they made it to the kitchen, she hopped up on the least occupied counter. She swung her legs back and forth. “Thanks for checking. Did I thank you yet? My memory’s a little spotty.” Harley put her forefingers on either side of her face and tilted it back and forth. “Coo-coo, coo-coo.”
Scrambled eggs sounded delicious and she clapped like a little kid, “Yes! Scrambled is great. Reminds me of someone.”
---
"It's Alexandra really, but yea. Alex Udinov," Birkhoff replied, glancing at Harley when she hopped up on one of the counters. He felt a little bad for her because she'd clearly been through some shit, and if she'd gotten caught up with the kind of government agency that would put a bomb in her neck? That couldn't be a good thing. "She and I work together in our world."
He got busy mixing up the eggs with a bit of milk and then some salt and pepper. It wasn't long at all before the eggs were cooking, sizzling away in the pan. "Yea, you thanked me already." Birkhoff glanced at her as he mixed up the eggs. "You sure you're okay?"
***
“C’mere, I want to thank you proper.” She hopped down from the counter before he could respond and gave him a peck on the check. Then she went back to her perch. “Yeah, I guess I’m okay. Just been through a lot lately. Nothing you wanna hear about. Unless you wanna? We saved the world, dude.”
She swung her legs back and forth. “That smells nice. Do you usually cook or is it just eggs, toast, the occasional spaghetti dinner?” Harley could cook for herself, but she’d rather go out to eat. She liked people waiting on her. “Are you okay?”
---
Birkhoff wrinkled his nose a little at her kiss on the cheek. It was kind of sweet and normal and not at all something a crazy lady would do. It made him wonder just exactly what she'd been through and why she was the way she was. Harley seemed like the kind of person Nikita would have helped, or tried to.
"I want to hear about it," he decided, "just not over breakfast or while I'm in my pajamas." Because saving the world could sometimes be very violent and he wanted to eat his eggs, thank you very much. "And yes, I can cook when I want to. I just don't want to." Because he'd had money and could order whatever kind of food he wanted all day every day. He waved off her concern as he plated the eggs.
"I'm fine. Come on, sit. At the table. Breakfast is served." He tried to be a little funny with it. Harley seemed like the kind of girl who liked to laugh.