Harley Quinn

You are one sexy muchacho.

Gordon!

- I need your help. - I hit a blood vessel.

Listen, I was here last night for the Nightwing's Dead party,

and I saw another Harley.

I gotta know if I'm losing my fucking mind.

So, can you please check the security cameras now?

You know, I thought I saw my doppelganger once,

but it was just a plate of carne asada and nachos atop a trash can.

- Who the hell is this? - Get ready for some cuteness.

Okay? Give Daddy his gun back now.

Come on.

Hey! This is my...

- You find what you need? - Hey, where is the rest of the footage?

I got some bathroom stuff, some make-out stuff.

The rest, I kind of taped over.

So fucking worthless!

When I'm looking for something...

I need to know what's happening to me.

Gordon, do I seem insane to you?

Um... No. You seem good.

Obviously, guys, I've been owning the game, lately.

Fucking owning it, and all the haters along the way.

But we don't want to have owned it.

We want to always be, present tense, owning it. Right?

ABOI. Always be owning it.

No, no, no. That sounds like BO in the middle.

Not everything needs to be a thing.

Anyway, the Legion of Super-Heroes' time-sphere

is being moved to the Smithsonian at 3:00 p.m.

And we are gonna hijack it.

Sick! A time-sphere.

I'm gonna visit past atrocities and learn how to do 'em better.

I'd love to go back and tell my younger self

that snake-eye contacts are more weird than intimidating.

I can go back in time and do extra work

without missing any work.

Okay, guys, we're not going to actually use the time-sphere.

I just want it

'cause it's like gonna look really cute on my wall.

Total power move.

Everyone, shut up! I have news.

I'm starving.

What are we doing for lunch?

Volcana, don't you dare say you're "fine with anything" again.

I'd rather have a bad suggestion

like all the ones Tefe gives.

- Hey! - Okay, screw you. I'm ordering gyros.

Oh, and they moved up the time-sphere transfer to, like, right now.

Oh, shit. We gotta go.

Wait. I'm not paying the delivery fee myself.

Batgirl, I need to have a very one-sided conversation about my mental state.

So, could you...

- Hello! - Sorry, what?

I can't hear anything with my headphones on.

They're for busy girls in loud places. See?

So, um, I just wanna, like, talk about last night.

Weird. You didn't bring this up two hours ago

when you brought me half an egg sandwich.

I did? I don't remember doing that

or eating half of an egg sandwich.

Oh, my God. I'm really losing it?

Okay. Well, there's nothing to talk about.

I had a nice cold shower, and I'm totally good now.

Okay. Well, cool. But I am not totally good. I'm more...

I don't think Joker murdered Nightwing.

- What? - It doesn't add up.

If Joker really did it, why would he wait an entire day to tell everyone?

Oh, my God. You're right. He is the worst at keeping secrets.

I mean, he always tells the kids

where the afikomen is hidden at Passover.

We gotta prove Joker's lying or no one will believe us

when we find the actual murderer.

Whoa! You look like do-do.

Right! That's, kind of, what I was hoping to talk to you about.

Okay, sorry. But I can't be the friend you need right now.

I owe it to Nightwing to find the real killer.

Can't you talk to Ivy?

I'm trying to respect her boundaries

and not to bother her with this stuff.

Because, you know, she's been so busy with...

Awesome. You're the best. Thank you.

Please close the door.

Good to have you back in the poker game.

An evil game!

Killing Nightwing, ooh, very tight.

Moral politics was fun.

But you can't change the soul of a villain.

So quotable, you're going to slay on my podcast.

Excuse me. James Corden.

Don't cover the phone. I know Corden.

Oh, you want me to host one of your little musical-comedy traffic jams?

Co-host. Hmm?

Yeah, sharing isn't really my thing.

Little shit is trying to leech off my comeback.

God, he's a needy motherfucker.

Oh, it's my deal. Gotta go.

Bye bye.

It's good to be back, boys.

House always wins.

I knew it!

Way to trust your gut. Barbara Gordon Junior.

- Hey, babe, um... - Hey.

What the fuck's with the red wig?

Oh, I'm expecting the IRS sometime this week.

Gotta throw them off their game.

Okay? Whatever. I need to talk to Ivy.

Sorry. She left.

- She had a hard-out at quarter to. - Quarter to what?

That's privileged information.

This is important.

What about a 4:00 a.m. hallway walk-and-talk on Tuesday?

Okay. Yeah, sure. 4:00 a.m. is the perfect time to have a coherent conversation.

Oh, sorry. I just lost that time.

What about 5:00 a.m?

Just FYI, she'll have a hard-out at 5:15.

Stop saying hard-out and tell me where Ivy is right now!

Where is she?

Really?

I had a UTI at Jazzapajizza.

This is nothing.

Ivy!

Oh, we love a power fem.

Time to go green, bitch.

Fetch, doggy!

No one gets in the way of me owning the game.

Hey.

Harley, what are you doing here?

I'm working right now.

I know. Listen. I tried to make an appointment,

but all you had open was 5:00 in the morning next Tuesday.

So, um...

Did Nora say that I had a hard-out at 5:15?

- Listen, I need to talk to you. - Harley, come on.

Oh, man. People don't just show up at their partner's work like this.

Yeah, Harley.

Imagine if the Supreme Court justice got Frenched on the bench.

I would not have come if it wasn't super important.

Can we just talk about this later?

I don't think we can.

Baby, are you trying to stop me from stealing the time-sphere?

Geez! There's a time-ball on this truck?

Yes, I am a big-deal super villain.

And sometimes I steal time-spheres. Okay?

ABST. Always be stealing...

Enough with the fucking acronyms.

Baby, I'm doing all of this because I'm building something.

So, when we're, like, 60 years old and still hot,

we can sip wine in our chateau and have plenty of time to talk.

Fine! If you won't make time for me now,

I will go find 60-year-old Ivy and talk to her.

Wait, what?

Harley, what are you doing?

Fuck! She is in no state to be messing with the time-space continuum.

BRB.

Her acronyms are so much cooler.

Hey, baby. Baby, look at me.

You do not know how to operate a fucking time-sphere.

- It's intuitive. - What?

Ugh, drama.

Mind the gap.

Oh, cake dick.

- Damn it. - What year did you take us to?

Hmm? Interesting.

It may not have been as intuitive as I thought,

which honestly is on the time-sphere.

What? Hey, Harley. Where are you going?

We gotta get back to our time. Okay?

Oh, what? Sorry. Do you have a hard-out?

No, I don't.

I... At least I... I don't think so. Let me check.

You know what? There's no service.

Fuckin' A.

Argh! We shouldn't be here.

This looks like a goddamn apocalypse.

Well, guess what?

There's an apocalypse happening in my brain.

The emotional chickens came home and they are roasting, Ivy.

Hey, shh. Let's not bring out whatever cursed beings...

Cluck-cluck, Ivy. The chickens are fucking...

Harley, get back in the time-sphere.

Argh! Ground-people!

Shit!

Hey, is someone gonna tell us what in the future-fuck is going on?

Sure. We only had two men left.

And your dumb ass murdered the hot one.

Now we just have Steve.

Oh, fuck you, Kaya.

Good luck repopulating the Earth now.

I'm not in the mood.

You have ten seconds to explain yourselves.

Oh, and what an honor to meet you.

My daddy spoke so highly of you both.

I'm sorry. Do we know you?

Ten seconds.

Okay. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I'm terrible at brevity.

Okay. So, I hijacked a time-sphere

because I'm, kind of, going through some shit.

And I thought I'd grab my lady here and travel 25 years in the future,

where I could meet our older, wiser selves.