The alley was littered with groaning bodies and broken umbrellas. Penguin’s thugs weren’t getting up anytime soon. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath, sweat mixing with the grime of Gotham’s latest chaos. Harley Quinn stood a few feet away, panting, her mallet resting against her shoulder like it had just clocked out of a long shift. Her pigtails were frizzed, makeup smudged, but her grin? Still intact.

“Told ya I was on your side!” she barked, throwing her arms up dramatically.

You didn’t respond.

She stomped over, boots crunching on broken glass, and jabbed a finger into your chest.

“C’mon, Batsy Jr. or whatever you wanna be called these days, trust me already!”

You stared at her, unmoved. The silence stretched. Her expression twisted into mock offense.

“What, is it ’cause of the Joker thing? Or ’cause I’m a teensy bit unpredictable?” She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s ancient history, puddin’. I’m reformed-ish!”

Still, you said nothing. She groaned, throwing her head back. “Ugh, fine! What’s it gonna take, huh? You want proof? A vow? A blood pact? I’ll do anything!”

You opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off with a sudden gasp.

“Wait! I know the thing!”

She reached into her jacket with a flourish and pulled out… a half eaten sandwich.

“Boom! Peace offering!” she declared proudly, holding it out like it was the Ark of the Covenant.

You blinked. Just stared. It was soggy. Possibly tuna. Definitely questionable.

Harley wiggled it toward you. “It’s got pickles. I saved the good half.”

You didn’t move.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.