'With that sweet smile of yours, and the look that held an endless gratitude.' ;

“Y’know, ya’ gonna have to tell her at some point.” Harley mused as she waited for her espresso to brew, tapping her nails on the table as she turned to Rick, her tone bored but her facial expression otherwise.

Knowing.

Pushing.

A mischievous glint in her eyes. 

Oh, well, that last one was just her.

Rick raised a brow, about a mere five minutes into his station at Harley’s cell, smacked right in the middle of the prison, one of the usual rotations he had to do. He had a feeling he knew what she was referring to, but he didn’t show it. Not on his face, at least. 

The others? It couldn’t be said the same. The idle hold on his firearm tightened, even the faintest stutter in his heart.

Besides, Rick was partially at fault for telling her about Waller’s secretary, and hell, even if he hadn’t, Harley was a professional. At some point, she would have known the colonel had a thing or two for her.

He scoffed, not bothering to act stupid, knowing she’d amp up the teasing, “Oh, great idea.”

“I know, that’s why I said it.” She replied cheekily, her grin and her first sip ticking him off.

“Any other bright ideas you got?” He sarcastically asked.

“Oh, plenty,” She nodded in excitement, putting her cup down on the table to list her ideas with a count of her fingers, “Compliment her hair, ask her on a little walk when ya’ not showin’ ya’ guns off, take her out to dinner, buy her a ring…”

She only grinned at him, a great contrast to his narrowed eyes.

“Or y’know, steal it or whateva’,” She casually added with a shrug, “You know some of us are pretty good at that.”

Rick rolled his eyes, “Some psychiatrist you oughta’ be."

Harley gasped, stomping over to the bars, “Now, you listen here, ya’ little–! At least I ain’t the one mopin’ and broodin’ ‘cause someone doesn’t wanna believe me when I tell him that he and his honey bee could most definitely be a thing!”

“Would you keep it down?” Rick chided.

“Why? Ya’ scared? I’m tryna’ help!” Harley challenged, turning to the CCTV camera at the very corner of the room, waving at it, “Hey! Ya’ hearin’ me?” 

“Harley!” Rick warned.

Squeak.

“Guys?” 

Rick and Harley stood frozen in their spots, then turned to the source of the sound, the softness of the spoken word, and seeing none other than the very person he found himself looking forward to seeing every day for the past few months.

“Hey,” Rick offered a little smile, clearing his throat and straightening as he approached, making sure to stand in Harley’s line of sight as she waved.

And in some way, avoid any of Harley’s ideas from happening.

“Everything okay?” Rick asked, one eye almost twitching, when he heard Harley let out a little ‘aww, young love’ under her breath.

“Just came over to see you guys.” You smiled, ever a treat in the ears of the colonel and the anti-hero, the latter cooing at your generosity for your time.

“See, I’m her favourite,” Harley teased Rick before turning to you with a pout, “He’s bullying me.”

“Am not.” Rick growled under his breath, whether it was because she was accusing him of bullying or that she called herself your favourite, well, you weren’t certain.

“Are too!” Harley countered, bantering (read: arguing, on Rick’s side) with one another like siblings when you chuckled.

“Guys, guys,” You raised your hands, hoping to stop them before it could get out of hand and draw in a nosy guard or three to come over, “You both are great. My favourites. I promise.”

“But I bet he’s ya’ bigger favourite, right?” Harley gave an eyebrow waggle, her grin widening at your gaping, confused, and dare she say, embarrassed, and with Rick righting up at the very change of the ‘favourite person’ to him, she quickly continued, “Really! The other day, he told me—” “Okay!” Rick interrupted before she could even get another word, “I think we're done here,” 

He turned to you, mustering a smile, “You, uh, wanna get out of here? Harley's my last station for the morning.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden turn of events, and whatever these two knew about that you didn't. 

“Oh, well, I don't mind. Don't let me be in the way if you've got something else.” You responded, letting him lead you to the door, side by side.

“Nah, all good. Thought lunch would do us good.” Rick reassured, and when you turned away, he took the opportunity to glare at Harley, who only stuck her tongue at him, mouthing ‘tell her, or I'm tellin’’.

Damn it, Harley. 

“Bye, Harley.” You waved when you turned back to the woman, not noticing the two pretending they weren't silently arguing for a moment there.

“Bye, hun!” She waved back, cupping her hands to really make sure you both heard her, “Have fun!” 

Have fun?

With the heavy military-grade door closed behind him, the two of you walked down the hallway. You turned to him, the curiosity in your eyes almost too much for him to bear, “What was that about?”

He huffed, he had to admit, it was all amusing, “Beats me. Just… Harley being Harley.”

The two of you shared a chuckle, filling the walk with a comfortable silence after. 

“Hey, I… Thanks for the coffee this morning,” You smiled, small but nonetheless warm, never failing to prompt Rick to smile back, as well, “And, well, almost every morning, too. But this morning, especially. With Waller calling me in at the last minute with some big guys past midnight, and then getting the paperwork done before seeing her today, and then—”

You huffed before taking a deep breath, exhaling, “Thank you. I probably looked like a mess when I clocked in.”

A cute mess, he'd argue, before pushing that thought down, “Glad I could help.”

“Bet the other guys can count on you for anything.” You jested, earning yourself a fond scoff out of him.

The Squad? Somewhat. The guards? Kind of.

You?

Well, he didn't have to spell it out, did he?

“Eh, not really,” He admitted, turning to you with a wry smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes becoming more prominent.

Should he tell you?

“Don't do it with the rest of the guys.” He added after.

“Oh,” You looked at him, a little surprised, “You… Don't do it with them, they don't do it with you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head, “You think the guys would wanna take their time buying me coffee?” 

You gave it a thought—he wasn't wrong. Sure, not all of them were bad; some were knuckleheads, and a handful were just assholes. You've seen some of them being a dick to the prisoners in ways you'd think were more cruel than the criminals themselves.

Rick, on the other hand, made sure none of them targeted you, even in a rare instance, threatened one or two of them with the unknown. While he didn't outwardly say what, they could only guess it had something to do with anyone from the Squad.

After all, they weren't totally invincible by being on the other side of every cell, and Rick's influence around the prisoners wasn't to be questioned. 

Men he knew like Killer Croc could be the least of their worries.

“Okay, well, not even John? Emi?” You asked, a tilt in your head, an endearing habit of yours.

“Nope, they can get their own coffee.” He joked lightly, prompting a laugh out of you, too. 

Rick didn't mean to make it a habit. The first time he did it, he bought it at a coffeeshop he was familiar with, as a ‘welcome’ gift after finding a little greeting gift on his desk. A little box of chocolates from your hometown, something some of the other A.R.G.U.S. members received, too.

It was a simple thank you, really. 

You were really thankful that he went out of his way.

With that sweet smile of yours, and the look that held an endless gratitude.

And, well, it never became a one-time thing. 

It wasn't always coffee, and he didn't always buy either. He knew his way around making a good cup of something in the pantry, and it gave him a more solid reason to see you, be it in the pantry or at your desk. 

He had learned to ignore Emilia's or John’s knowing looks.

But the Squad?

“Better not let some bloke sweep her off her feet before you do.” Dubois once scoffed, a lighthearted one, in all honesty. 

If anything, Waller’s secretary was one of the few people he didn't mind, and like Rick, in all honesty, respected. For someone so soft-spoken, for anyone to handle Amanda for a living, 9 to 5, and oftentimes, more?

An achievement on its own.

But like Harley’s words, Rick would find himself thinking over Dubois’ statement as well, no matter how many times or how hard he'd try to push it all aside.

He'd chalk it up to being polite, just people trying to get by, someone who was… Like him. 

Did that make sense?

But deep down, deep down, Rick knew it wasn't the whole truth, and with how much you had wormed your way into his mind, and more, a sliver of him knew he'd have to address it at some point.

For now, he was playing it safe. At a distance, somewhat, but he knew he couldn't ignore it, and maybe, as Dubois told him during a moment of genuineness, that he had denied himself a good thing for some time.

But one thing Rick did know was that he'd do it right.

“Hey,” He stopped at the final door to where the offices were, “You up for dinner later? Together? With Friday and all, and… I know a good Italian spot. I can drive you home after, no problem.”

Your heart fluttered at his suggestion, always the gentleman, and even more so when he, dare you say, looked hopeful at your response. Encouraging your feelings for the rugged colonel who had been by your side since working alongside Waller.

“Yeah,” You began softly, then with a little more confidence as you nodded, returning his smile, “Yeah, that'd be really nice.”

Rick could almost see the bigger smiles of his friends now.

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