mistletoe - PUZZLEBORN XOXOXO
“– That’s just ridiculous,” Harley’s saying to the barista as she whips up a toffee nut latte. “That’s ridiculous, you shouldn’t have to work on Christmas. I mean, I know I’m not gonna be here, an’ I know nobody else is gonna be here– y’know what? Y’know what? Jus’ don’t come in. No, I mean it, jus’ don’t come in on Christmas, I don’t care what th’ manager says. I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t know,” the barista responds slowly, sounding less like she’s trying to be a good employee and more like this is just too good to be true. “I don’t know, I mean, I could get fired for–”
“Stevie.” Harley’s got her drink, now, and she catches the girl’s hand before she retreats back behind the counter. Stevie doesn’t mind; there are only two customers in right now, Harley included.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harley insists. “I’ll take care of it.”
Stevie cracks a smile. Harley cracks a smile back.
“I feel like this is how people get roped into being henchmen.”
Harley chuffs a laugh and picks up her two drinks. “You’re too smart t’ be a henchman.”
See, the Starbucks on Fifth never complains about supervillains as long as they’re civil. Many of its employees have received hefty tips after serving a weary criminal just looking for some peace and quiet and overpriced coffee. Harley herself has personally seen that one of the baristas got into a good culinary school. Because of this arrangement, as one might imagine, there is a regular criminal clientele. Right now, an hour before closing time, the only customers in are Harley Quinn and the Riddler. They’ve just finished Christmas shopping.
Edward, bless his heart, has been texting or Tweeting or doing whatever on his phone the whole time that Harley’s been talking with Stevie. He doesn’t even look up until Harley nudges his phone with the hot paper cup. He blinks, pockets his phone, thanks her, takes a drink.
“You can’t come here on Christmas,” Harley tells him matter-of-factly.
“Nobody’s comin’ t’ work. I told ‘em I’d take care of it.”
They lapse into intermittent silence and idle chatter. Half an hour later, they’re ready to go. Edward stands, puts his scarf and hat on, pulls on his coat; Harley follows suit. He starts to go around the table to leave but she stops him.
“Hold on, you forgot something.”
He holds his hands up and starts looking around. “No I–?”
“… It’s… a bulletin board.”
“I can’t, Eddie, it’s tradition, I have to–”
She’s giggling when she moves around the table. He tries half-heartedly to dodge, but of course she catches him; she holds onto his coat with one hand and pulls a chair out with the other, and then she stands on it in order to reach.
“Merry Christmas, Eddie.” She puts her hands on his shoulders and plants a kiss (mmmmmmmwah!) on his cheek.
He huffs a little, blushes a little, says a quiet Merry Christmas back to her and helps her down from the chair. He keeps a careful watch all the way out the door for any other mistletoe.
A day later, there’ll be a picture of Harley kissing his cheek all over the internet– Stevie’s doing, of course.
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