revmeup | call me out

"Or a sweater with a nice pair of jeans," he tells her. "That could work too. We can go shopping if you don't have anything like that."

A sweater and jeans might work well for her. They might be able to find something in her aesthetic that's still appropriate for brunch.

"Alright," Harley agrees with some reluctance, "but only because I like spending other people's money."

She swings her legs up and stretches them across his lap again, so she had at least been a little bit appeased.

"What next? Hide my accent, dye my hair, laser tattoo removal? Lay it on me, babe."

He'll take that. He's probably going to come out of this several thousand dollars poorer, but if she looks good and makes a good impression on his mother, then it's worth it.

Malcolm rests his free hand on her legs again and takes another sip of his drink. "Your accent and hair are fine." He sees zero problem with them and his mother will get over them. "The tattoos are... there's not much we can do about them. Laser removal is up to you, but that won't be happening before brunch anyway."

Depending on what they pick out, most of her tattoos will probably be covered anyway. The ones on her face... aren't great, but they are what they are. Malcolm has debated broaching the topic of having some of her tattoos removed, if she wants to do that, but he's on thin ice right now and he doesn't trust it to not come out as a judgement. Therefore, he's steering clear of that topic for now.

"We should probably discuss what you're going to answer to some of the questions that she will inevitably ask you."

Harley tenses in that pause as he considers her tattoos, so leaving that topic off the table was absolutely the correct instinct. She takes a large sip of her drink and tries very, very hard not to make too much of a sour face.

The things a bitch does for love.

"Fine. What questions?"

He notes her body language. Dodged a bullet with that one. For the record, he doesn't mind her tattoos. He just knows that a lot of them are related to Joker, and he isn't sure if she still has them because she wants them or if it's because tattoo removal is a long and costly process. Malcolm is willing to help her with that if it's something she wants.

"Let's start with 'What do you do for a living?'," he says. One question at a time and they can talk about her answers.

"These days?"

Harley swings her legs down again to plant her feet on the floor. She sets her elbows on her knees and leans forward with a shit eating grin.

"Your son."

Did Malcolm really think this would ever be easy?

It's going to be a long night.

"Yeah, that's definitely not what you're going to tell her, especially not with my sister there too." Malcolm is pleased that Ainsley is going to be joining them. She'll be a buffer. He figures that Harley and Ainsley will get along pretty well. His sister isn't as uptight as his mother.

"Are you doing anything for work right now?" he asks.

Fuck him, that was funny. Harley huffs and tries to think of any possible way to describe what she does that will be sanitized enough to pass this stupid test.

"I'm..." She spins her hands in the air, as if she can grab the right answer. "Freelancing? Between gigs. At the moment."

Malcolm rests his head back against the couch and sighs gently.

"Honestly, most of the women she's tried to hook me up with are trust fund kids who don't have jobs either, so if she says anything, I'm definitely going to bring that up." He turns his head to look at Harley. "What do you technically do? Please tell me you're not technically a criminal."

Harley laughs. She can't help it. This whole thing is so ridiculous.

"It's a little late in the game to start worrying about that, don't you think?"

Has he really never wondered about this before? What kind of job does he think she could get with her history anyway?

"Oh, God, you are, aren't you?" Some profiler. Not that he didn't know she was a criminal, he just didn't think she was active any more. "Please don't do something that gets you sent to prison."

He's gone off topic now, but being without her would really mess him up. Not being able to see her or hold her. He already hated visiting his father in prison. He didn't want to have to visit her too.

"Awww Malcolm," Harley coos, realizing he really didn't know. She'd never hid it, but he'd never asked before. "You're supposed to be good at your job!"

She sets her drink on the table so she can take his face in her hands and kiss his cheek. Her fingertips are cold from the glass.

"I'm... selective with the jobs I take. No hits, no weapons deals, none a' that shit. I don't want to get my ass thrown behind bars either, you know? But I mean, what else am I gonna do? Who'd hire this hot mess for anything legit?"

"I am good at my job," he mumbles. Deep down, he'd known what she was doing, though he was hoping that she was at least trying to keep her nose clean. The fact that she's not killing anyone or committing any violent crime is at least a plus.

"You have a PhD in Psychology," Malcolm says. "I can understand it might be hard to work with patients again, but you could probably find something in research."

Harley sighs heavily and gets up. Sure, he's got trauma out the wazoo, but Malcolm is still wildly blessed with privilege. Of course he thinks starting over after burning your professional career to the ground is easy. He did it with the FBI and the NYPD handed him his dream job on a gold platter.

"No decent gig is going to have me, Malcolm. I mean, fuck, how do you think the world works?"

Malcolm watches her get up and pace. "Why not? You're smart, you're good. You've made mistakes, but lots of people have. You'd be an asset to a research facility. They'd be stupid not to have you."

Apparently he's not drawing the parallel here between Harley's life and his own. It had been nothing for him to start up with the NYPD, thanks to Gil, but he'd also like to think that it's because he's good at his job. The FBI threw away one of the best closers they had. The feds' loss is NYC's gain.

"God, Malcolm!" Harley rounds on him, pinning him to his seat with one knee between his legs and her hands on his shoulders. "It's not. Going. To happen."

Her mouth is pressed into a hard thin line and she squeezes her eyes closed as she tries to keep her shit together. "Let it go, okay?"

Harley slides off his lap to slump next to him with her head in her hands. "Just... give me a list of whatever it is you want me to say and I'll stick to the script."

His eyes widen and he looks up at her when he ends up pinned to the couch. Malcolm isn't really scared of her, even though he knows she can kick his ass.

He takes a long drink of his whiskey when Harley sits down next to him, then gently reaches for one of her hands.

"No," Malcolm says quietly. "I don't want you to have to stick to a script. Just... don't insult her and don't talk about any obvious criminal activity. We'll be fine."

He's realizing that he doesn't want to turn this into a dog and pony show. Harley is who she is and he loves her for that. Either his mother will accept it or she won't.

Harley doesn't look at him, but she squeezes his hand. Her fingers are cold.

"So we're done with rehearsals, Professor Henry Higgins?"

"Yeah," he says. Malcolm brushes a piece of her hair back, then puts his arms around her and pulls her into his lap. "I'm sorry."

He may have a point about her needing polishing - they both know it - but he's being kind of an asshole. Harley knows what she can and can't say in front of his mother. She's not an idiot.

Harley lets him gather her into his arms and curls into him. She takes a deep breath and really looks at him.

"Do you want a woman who brunches and charms moms and does and says all the right things?" Her fingers trace the contours of his cheek. "Because that's not me. That's never gonna be me. You have to know that by now, right?"

Edited 2020-05-10 00:38 (UTC)

He exhales slowly. "I just want everyone to get along," Malcolm says, sure he's sounding like a little boy who wishes his parents wouldn't fight. One big happy family just isn't in the cards for him, is it? "But you're what I want, Harley. You as you are." Malcolm meets her eyes. "I love the person that you are."

That's the first time he's said it and he knows it. Malcolm tenses, waiting to see how she reacts.

Harley goes tense all over. Her eyes are wide and fixed on his face for any sign that he might be joking, like any second now the cameramen will come out hiding and this whole thing was a prank show all along.

"Did you just--"

She swallows hard. Her throat suddenly feels so, so dry.

"Are you just saying that to get out of a fight?"

"What? No. I didn't think we were in a fight anymore." It's not the reaction someone usually has when hearing that their significant other loves them, but maybe it's pretty typical for the two of them. "Of course I love you, Harley. I know it's taken a while for me to say it. I had to be sure, but I've known it for a long time.

As much as he wants to hug her tightly, he keeps his hold loose. She already looks like a deer about to bolt at the first loud noise.

Surprise slowly gives way to amazement across her face. Harley knew he cared, but had never expected to actually hear the words.

She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him deeply. When she has to pull away for breath she keeps her forehead pressed against his.

"Say it again?"

He returns the kiss, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue against hers. His grip on her tightens now, holding her close to him.

Once he's caught his breath, he speaks again. "I love you, Harley Quinn. The two of us fit together so perfectly, I never would have imagined it when we first met. Now I honestly don't know what I'd do without you in my life."

Malcolm bites his lip. "If I call you mine, is that going to trigger anything negative for you?" He wants to make sure. Joker was so obviously possessive of her, and Malcolm has gone out of his way to be the complete and total opposite of him.

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