Harley Quinn's psychological evaluation didn't take a short amount of time. Understandably so—she was practically a valedictorian at the gifted-and-talented loony bin known as Arkham Asylum.
Final result?
Completely normal.
"Their definition of "normal" is truly all-encompassing," Dante muttered, holding the official report from the Federal Bureau of Investigation with a deadpan look, turning to Ada Wong with a faux smile. "If Harley Quinn weren't standing right in front of me right now, I might've actually bought it."
"Maybe Fury's right," Ada replied. "People who are too normal can't do our line of work."
"I can't believe I actually bought into your nonsense…"
Dante rolled his eyes, but truth be told, he wasn't that surprised.
In a world teeming with supernatural forces, multiverse freakshows, and people who treat reality like a suggestion, everyone was a little unhinged. Superheroes, supervillains, and anyone in-between—nobody here was filing clean psych reports.
Trying to live a "normal life" while having god-tier powers? That alone proves you're abnormal.
Normal people live normal lives.
Special people live special lives.
No crossover required.
"Only an idiot would care what's scribbled on some paper," Harley said with a stretch as she bounced off the couch in the therapy room. "But man, do I miss places like this. I used to be the one sitting across from the loonies, legs crossed, stockings tight, mind control on full blast…"
"…Go back to the stockings part—wait, never mind!" Dante checked his terminal. "Already ten minutes past quitting time. I'm clocking out. Goodnight, ladies!"
With that, Dante bolted out of the medical wing and jumped into the elevator.
When he turned around, there they were—Harley Quinn and Ada Wong—riding the elevator down with him.
"…Why are you following me?"
"Oh~ Pudding, you're my direct superior now, remember? Plus, Fury said you're my temporary guardian. So if I don't follow you, who else do I follow? Besides, does the Bureau look like it's got spare dorms? I'm fresh out of Arkham, babe—I don't exactly have a lease."
She actually wasn't wrong.
Dante turned to Ada, skeptical. "Okay, she's a mentally unstable ward of the state. I get that. But what's your excuse? You're a Level 4 Agent. You're probably about to get bumped to Level 5. Salary's not bad. Benefits solid."
"My dear Captain," Ada said sweetly, fluttering her lashes, "First of all, I also want to go home. Which, for the record, requires this elevator. Secondly… my place is being remodeled. I've been living out of a hotel for days now. And since I just so happen to know you live in a 400-square-meter apartment…"
She trailed off, giving a sly little wink. Harley, about to say something that definitely shouldn't be said in elevators, got her mouth covered immediately.
"…You're mooching off me, aren't you?"
"Think of it as practical budgeting," Ada said. "I'm saving up for that new grappling hook gun Stark Industries just launched. Very sleek. Oh! Speaking of Stark—Captain, since you and Tony hit it off, could you maybe help me get an employee discount?"
"You just dropped the FBI's dignity to the level of a beat cop at a pawn shop…"
---
Eventually, Dante gave in and led the two wildly different women toward his place.
Along the way, he took in the sights of Washington D.C.—this version of it, anyway, smashed together by multiverse shenanigans.
And honestly?
It was fine.
There were still drunk guys passed out in flowerbeds. Street vendors packing up their carts the second city enforcement came into view.
They stopped for hotpot on the way—an unexpectedly authentic spot—and for the first time that day, Dante felt like he was really off the clock.
A few hours ago, he'd been dealing with the world's most toxic relationship (Joker and Harley). Now, he was casually boiling yellow tripe while watching Ada Wong's expression twist in agony because she couldn't handle spice.
Somewhere along the way, they hit up a mall to grab basic supplies.
His apartment? Total bachelor den.
Four hundred square meters, and only one pair of slippers.
One bowl. One set of cutlery.
And he certainly couldn't let two fully grown women roam around wearing his old T-shirts—or worse, nothing at all. Even if he was weird enough to be okay with that, they definitely weren't.
Especially Ada.
She might flirt like a Bond girl, but she covered her collarbones like they were state secrets and always kept a dignified distance. Her sense of restraint was... infuriatingly attractive.
---
And yet...
"Okay," Dante muttered, lying flat on the bed like a mummy, eyes wide open, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting to be buried. "What is even happening right now."
Because the joke Ada made a few hundred words ago?
Totally real now.
Two mature women.
One on each side.
Sure, his bed was massive.
Still… contact was inevitable.
"Oh~ Pudding, you really think I'd feel safe sleeping alone in a strange new place?" Harley cooed, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Lady, you looked pretty comfy in your room back at Arkham," Dante grumbled. "Three square meals, guaranteed entertainment… I was jealous!"
But logic didn't work on Harley. Mental instability doesn't play by the rules.
So he turned to the other side.
"Ada. Your turn. Harley's excused. What's your story? Did she infect you?"
"No," Ada sighed, looking genuinely annoyed for once. "I miscalculated. I ordered the furniture online and accidentally only bought one bed."
"…Then you sleep on the couch?"
"You're making a woman sleep on the couch?"
"…Then I sleep on the couch?"
"The guest is making the host sleep on the couch?!"
"Fine. Let's just sleep. We've got work tomorrow…"
(To be continued.)