Not Done Making This Mistake

January 10, 2018:

It's the morning after for Owen and Harley (see … With Bells On). Let's see how awkward we can make things… VERY!

Owen's Place - Gotham Arms

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions: Deadpool

Plot:

Mood Music: Bad in Love - Halsey


Fade In…

So, in the host of bad decisions that have fallen in the last few hours, pulling herself out of bed should be pretty low.

Except that Quinn isn't in her bed.

Uhhhhh, whoopsie.

She'd crashed pretty hard after the adrenaline high had worn off and some… other… things… had been taken care of. Which leaves her looking a wreck by nearly every stretch of the word. Make-up caking and smeared off in places, leaving her natural skin tone to peek through. Long, blonde pigtails in disarray. And that's to say nothing of the scrapes, scratches, and leftover evidence of the close encounter she had with the bullet on her side.

It's probably for the best that she try to make a quiet exit. And so that's what she's gonna do. Slip out of Owen's bed, get her clothes back on, and get the hell out of Dodge! Except that it's a little more complicated when you have to search your current surroundings for where all the pieces of your ensemble actually went. And so, once she slips out of bed, she sets her hand against her side and starts tip-toeing around with a theatrical flair and a perpetual wincing expression to find her things. A sock here. A boot there. Whup! There's her shirt…

*

Owen's place in Gotham is pretty sparse, which should help make Harley's secret mission a little easier. There is little in the way of furniture, and not much to speak of for making it look like an actual home. There's almost none of the usual clutter, and it looks like Owen might have been living out of a suitcase here. Of course his clothes are also strewn about, and his 'disguise' bandana.

As for Owen himself, he is passed out face down on the bed. His face is a mess of smudged eyeblack, makeup and cuts.

What wakes him in the end is not Harley, no she's far to graceful in her tip-toeing around. No, it's a snort of his own that calls him back to life. He rolls over and rubs at his eyes trying to figure out where he is and who is that? As realization dawns on him on what happened, and what is currently happening, he starts to smile and then laugh.

"I usually just grab what I can and book it naked. My walk of shame game is strong."

*

Harley freezes with a pointed toe still off the ground, knee held high. And then she slowly turns her head in Owen's direction with her face contorted in a guilty expression. One eye is squinted shut, and her lips curled up unevenly. "Is it too late for me to revise my plan?"

There's a pause, and then her body slumps as confession of her failure. "Ugh. It's too cold out in that hall, I ain' goin' out there without my pants on." She shuffles over a few more steps, and then pulls her pants up off the ground so she can pick them up. "I'll be outta yer hair in jes' a minute."

*

Slowly, and not very gracefully extricating himself from the blankets, Owen gets up. He grabs a blanket to cover himself, not for modesty but because his apartment isn't terribly warm to begin with. He laughs at her thought of revising the plan.

"Harley. You can stay. I'll put on some coffee."

That is all that really exists for food in the apartment anyway outside of booze. He doesn't seem bothered by her trying to leave, goodness knows he usually books it before they wake up. He makes his way to a duffle bag off to the side and opens it, "Crap. This is just boomerangs." He looks around, blanket pulled tightly for warmth before he finds the correct bag. He drops the blanket and starts pulling on clothes, battered sweats, a tank top and hoodie.

"Last night was great."

Normally he wouldn't bring it up, but normally he wouldn't plan on seeing the girl again. Not this time.

"Do you want to borrow something more comfortable?" Nothing about her leather outfit really looks fun to put on in a cold apartment in the middle of one of the coldest winters ever known.

*

He's offering clothes and coffee. It shouldn't be a hard question. And yet, Harley hesitates, biting her lower lip. And then she laughs. It's too loud and high, but it restores her smile.

"That sounds great!" she chirps, abandoning the pile of dirty leather in a heap - albeit a more collected heap - on the floor.

She's not using her usual bounding step, but she does cross the floor and lean onto the bed so that she can lay a kiss - lips dry and lipstick cracked - to his cheek. "Yer sweet, Mercer."

*

Her laugh is infectious, well at least to Owen. He chuckles along with her as she drops the handful of clothes. He makes an exaggerated scrunched up face as she kisses his cheek. He dumps out the remainder of the clothes bag on the bed, and it is mostly filled with like clothes, some workout gear and various bottles and baggies of what is easily identifiable as not so legal drugs. Owen doesn't seem at all phased by this and shrugs "Should be relatively clean."

He then makes his way into the kitchen to make coffee. He of course gets himself down his favorite "NORMAL PEOPLE SCARE ME" mug alongside another plain black mug. It takes him awhile in the kitchen, and when it's finally setup and brewing, he hops up on the counter to take a seat.

"If nothin' fits, I can always bring the coffee up to your place when it's done…" It's convenient that they're neighbors. Maybe.

*

There's nothing in his place that will probably fit her, Harley is slight and barely average height. But she does do an excellent job of bending clothing to her will. Drawstring pulled tight enough to sit on her hips once she's rolled the pants waistband. A sweatshirt she swims in, but she rolls the cuffs.

"Naw, it's okay! She stretches upwards to make sure she's not going to lose the pants, and immediately regrets it. Ugh. She masks it with more laughter as she turns around. "I ain' gonna leave the apartment with yer stuff. It'll give ya' a complex when everyone tells ya' I look better in it." To prove her point, she pulls the sweatshirt's bottom elastic as though it were the hem of a dress as she curtseys.

She spies that cup when she does, though, and her smile opens to an uneven grin. "You have great taste in mugs," she tells him, tone smug. And then she lifts a hand to run its back along her jaw. "I mean, mine's fabulous."

*

"It's actually why I slept with you. Your amazing taste in mugs." Thankful for a joke to crack, Owen watches her with a slight smile plastered to his face. But now that there is coffee brewing and he is starting to wake up it's beginning to dawn on him why he doesn't normally stay after the fact. He certainly has no interest in talking about what anything means, or where it might be going. They don't really do 'normal' small talk. They flirt and talk about ridiculous plans. So… where does that leave him now?

He has never been so grateful for the little 'ding-da-DING!' that tells him the coffee is done. He hops off the counter and pours two mugs.

"I'd offer ya milk, but if it exists in my fridge I wouldn't wish it on the Flash." Heh, normally that would be worst enemy but the Rogue's had a very specific one in mind they always used. "I think I got sugar though." He rummages in the cabinet and manages to come up with a small box of sugar to put out.

*

"Eh, I'm just grateful for somethin' hot," the blonde tells him, winking emphatically. "But, really. Just the coffee, and then I'll be on my way. I ain' gonna make this awkward."

TOO LATE, her brain screams, and she mutters at herself over the lip of the black mug that she takes up, the words barely intelligible: "Knock it off, already."

But then she realizes she said that outloud, and her eyes open suddenly wide. Did he hear her talking to herself? She laughs again, loud and nervous, and then immediately drops her gaze back to the coffee to stare there, desperately intent upon it as she takes another careful, surprisingly dainty sip.

Change the subject. CHANGE THE SUBJECT. "Y'get all yer money back?"

*

Why? Why couldn't he have just let her book it. He knows plenty of women had the good sense to 'sleep' through his fumbling around and leaving. But Owen, no, he's all funny quips and thinking he can make it not awkward. And now they're having coffee, awkwardly. Super.

"Yea… we don't have to be awkward. It was fun. We'll do it again some time."

OWEN, WHY ARE YOU TALKING!?!?! Shut up and drink your coffee. Owen does in fact take a large gulp of it and wince through the burning. He notices her little slip and the resultant laugh. The crazy laugh. Oh shit. He slept with a crazy person. Stupid 'crazy/hot scale'. I mean technically he knew she wasn't all there, but maybe he really wanted to believe it was part of the gimmick. Right? Why does he do this?

Hurray for a change in subject. "Yea. Yea. I was thinking. I might hire that crazy guy online, in the red suit. The one with the hots for you apparently.. to see if we were the targets. I mean.. I kinda feel bad I got all of Shooky's money and he's toast." Did he say crazy? Why did he say that?! He laughs nervously at himself, seemingly a little unhinged himself.

*

Again. Oh, the awkward again? Because this is painful and she's making it worse. "I was gonna call him!" Harley tells Owen, desperately clinging to any subject at all except the ones that they probably should be focusing on.

Because, gentle reader, this is what it looks like to be well adjusted.

"Um. I could do that now." An apologetic look flits across her features as she sets down the coffee, and then the clown abruptly turns to get her half-gathered pile of stuff. Embrace the revised plan: run with what you can. "I'm gonna go do that now," she says with more resolve, and then she's barreling on at full verbal speed with her pitch all over the map. "I mean, yer right! We could be targets and here we are drinkin' coffee like we're Parisians - Hee hee hee! Hohn hohn hohn!" (She's terrible at imitating bad French laughter, for the record.) "And you already gotcher money back so ya' could get yerself something' really nice fer the trouble. Shooky ain' really in a place to mind."

She's quicker than before, stooping to get her stuff. "Anyway, was real nice. Thanks fer the fun. …and the coffee. And the clothes. And… And you have my apartment number… My cell number. You can call if you need me."

*

Yup. This is awkward retreat that he was trying to avoid. And yet, he finds himself silently very grateful that it's happening. And double bonus, it means they don't have to talk about the state of things. As he watches her do her nervous pick up dance though, he can't help but be charmed again, even if only a little bit.

He sets down his coffee and speed bursts to get the door. He opens it for her and smiles as he makes her way encumbered as she is. He doesn't let it go quite that easily, leaning in to give her a kiss, not on the cheek but full on the mouth. He certainly hadn't planned on doing that but he is nothing if not impetuous.

"I'll call ya. Promise." And he means it. This whole thing is a huge terrible mistake, but Owen's not done making it.

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