It's All the Same
A song-fic by TaylorMade
Author's Note: The song "All The Same" is by Sick Puppies. I did not write it. I did not create these characters. I'm just manipulating them in this story BECAUSE I CAN! *maniacal laughter*
I'm guessing that this song is public domain due to the fact that I've seen it used a number of times on other sites in the past. If I'm wrong, I'll be happy to rewrite it without the song - especially since I mostly just used the song to limit my story length. That forces me to end the story and not keep going indefinitely.
Also, I'm thinking of rewriting this in the first person, from Ivy's perspective, so let me know if you guys think that would work better.
Thanks! ~ T.
Updated Author's note: I'm removing the song, but leaving the reference if anyone wants to hear the song that inspired this. Now, I still want opinions on the Ivy POV idea, so let me hear from you, guys!
Thanks! ~ T
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(:)
Gotham City
10:34 p.m.
Dr. Pamela Isley pulled up to the usual rendezvous point, parked her convertible, and checked her watch with a sigh.
It was a nice summer's night. Not a cloud in the sky... The stars were shining... A light, warm breeze gently lifted the length of her red hair, making it billow up off her neck in a way that would have been fit for a movie. On her car radio a pretty, soft, slow song was playing. Nearby, a young couple held each other as they walked down the sidewalk, oblivious to her presence and clearly in love.
None of these things improved Pamela's mood.
Her stomach clenched as she stepped out of her car to scan the street, hoping to spot a certain familiar face. Wondering how bad it would be this time...
A voice spoke from the shadows of the dark alley adjacent to the jewelry store to Ivy's left, but not the one she was expecting. Still, she wasn't terribly surprised.
"Poison Ivy."
"Batman," she acknowledged without turning.
"I hope you're not looking for trouble."
Well, that was fair... She was a known criminal parked in front of a jewelry store.
"I'm meeting a friend."
"Anyone I know?"
"Sure," Ivy scoffed derisively. "You know all my friend."
Under his cowl, the vigilante raised an eyebrow at the singular form of the word, then tipped his head, conceding her point. He supposed Ivy's next move might have been to tell him to get lost, except he no longer held her attention. Her nearly in audible gasp and stricken expression caused him to follow her gaze up the block. There he saw a small figure staggering towards them. The wisp of a silhouette made it to a streetlight and took a moment to cling to the pole for support. In the weak glow, Harley Quinn's streaked clown makeup looked even more ghostly than usual. Twin black eyes only furthered the impression. There was dried blood caked on the side of her chin - the result of a split lip. Her left ankle barely held her slight weight and her right hand grasped her side, an indication of yet more injuries hidden beneath her clothing. The blonde's hood had been ripped from her costume, revealing a bloody place on her scalp where someone had ripped out a handful of her hair. She valiantly pushed off the street lamp that she would have normally used as gymnastic equipment and half fell against the hood of Ivy's car.
"My God," Ivy whispered. "Harley..."
"Hiya, Red," she managed weakly with a fake smile.
"Harley, what the hell has he done to you now?" She stepped in to better examine the battered face.
"Aw, it's nothin'," the little clown grinned. "An' it's not like Mistah J means it, Ivy..."
Batman stepped out of the alley and frowned at Harley. Her ankle was swollen and oddly bent. She shouldn't have been walking on it.
"Quinn," he said. "Let us take you to the hospital."
Harley scowled at Ivy. "Don' tell me ya invited him!" She jabbed a thumb at the hero. "I already told ya, Red, no hospitals! They'll just make up some excuse ta try an' lock me up again."
"I didn't invite him," Ivy promised, then turned to the masked man. "I can handle this."
With a glance toward Harley, who was already climbing into the car, Batman pulled Ivy closer to the jewelry store, somewhat out of earshot. The security lights inside the store hit the gems displayed in the window and made rainbows shimmer on Ivy's pale green skin.
"She needs a doctor, Ivy."
"I am a doctor."
"You're a botanist!"
"I said I can handle this!" Pamela snapped. "I know the whole song and dance, okay? I've done it all before."
In the passenger's seat, Harley was digging through the glovebox, searching for something. All she came up with were three ponytail holders (which she promptly stuck on the gearshift, precisely where Ivy didn't want them) and the paperwork for the car.
"Hey, Red?" She called. "Didja bring any of that plant juice stuff that makes ya all giggly an' pain free? I like that stuff!"
"I can heal her."
"Then what?" She'd never heard him speak so gently before. "She'll just go back to him. He'll hurt her again."
"I know." Then she sighed and shrugged helplessly. "I've got to get her home."
Batman didn't stop her, though she felt his eyes on her back as she slipped into the driver's seat and drove away.
(:)
Ivy drove slowly on the way back to her place. As she approached the driveway, the vines, bending to her will, untwisted themselves to allow the car passage to the garage. Poison Ivy had the best security gate in all of Gotham. Once she'd parked, she helped her friend into the house and ran a hot bath with healing oils derived from her plants. She carefully assisted Harley out of her ruined suit and guided her into the water. She assessed a myriad of injuries and did her best to treat them.
"Broken ribs, broken ankle," Ivy murmured. "Dislocated elbow..."
"An' a partridge in a pear tree," Harley concluded with a dismissive laugh on her lips.
With that, the two fell into their familiar routine. Ivy painstakingly set and bound the broken and dislocated bones, medicated all the cuts and scrapes to prevent infection, and mixed up a concoction of natural remedies for Harley to ingest. Her beloved "plant juice stuff". After retrieving the well-worn crutches from the closet and pulling out an over-sized T-shirt for her patient to sleep in, Pamela helped the other woman dress and tucked her into bed.
Ivy showered and soon joined the little clown, staying close in case she was needed before morning. Hopefully, things would go smoothly tonight. Ivy was always worried, unable to sleep for the first day or so. After all, the Bat was right: she was a botanist, not a medical doctor. She wasn't trained to care for internal injuries. It always frightened her when the Joker broke Harley's ribs. Ribs were dangerously close to lungs.
"Sometimes," Harley said sleepily as Ivy slipped under the covers next to her. "I... think I should..."
"You think you should what, Harl?"
A snore was the only reply.
A small, exasperated laugh escaped Ivy's lips before she snuggled in closer and whispered, "Goodnight, Harley."
(:)
One day faded inescapably into the next until, weeks later, under Ivy's care, Harley Quinn was herself again - bad jokes and all. And, as always, found herself eager to return to the Joker's side.
It never seemed to matter how strongly Ivy argued or how desperately she begged. In the end she always found herself watching the spry little pixie cartwheel away.
"Who's he gonna turn to if I'm not there, Red?" Harley would inevitably say.
"Let him take care of himself!" That was Pamela's usual retort.
But this time was different. Ivy just stared at her friend, silent and weary.
"Pammy..." Harley whispered, a small tear at the corner of her eye. "Ya know I've got to go."
"No... You don't..."
Harley gently pressed a kiss against Ivy's lips, smiled, and walked out the door with a wave.
"You could stay..." A defeated Ivy said to the air.
But she always opened the thick vine gate, allowing Harley an easy exit. Trapping her, holding her against her will - Well, that was what the Joker would do... While manipulating her into believing it was all her idea. Her choice.
Ivy couldn't bring herself to do that.
(:)
Two months later, Ivy's phone rang. She knew immediately, of course. She always knew. She rushed to answer, barely sparing a glance at the clock, already estimating the time it would take to dress and drive out to the jewelry store.
"Harley?"
A teary, broken voice responded.
"Hey, Red... Can ya pick me up? Mistah - Mistah J n-needs some space."
"On my way."
Of course she was.
Even when she hated herself for it.
She would always drop everything and go.
Harley was already sitting on the sidewalk in a ripped-up T-shirt and a pair of ratty denim shorts. She must have called from the old relic of a pay phone down the block. The side of her face was swollen. She sobbed uncontrollably in the pouring rain. Her hair was loose, plastered against her face like a tangled blonde web.
When she saw the car pull up to the curb, she stood and wiped her face with equally wet hands. Then she forced a smile.
Ivy stepped out and opened an umbrella over the two of them. The redhead silently took stock of Harley's face before green eyes locked onto blue ones.
"I honestly just fell this time," Harley laughed. "Off the fire escape..."
Ivy raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"After... After Mistah J locked me out on the balcony..." Harley admitted.
Ivy said nothing.
"A-at about... three o'clock this morning..."
Her bravado was cracking now. Ivy checked her watch. That had been eighteen hours ago.
She only stayed for three days. Ivy collapsed into tears as soon as she was gone.
In the absence of the only person she cared about, Pamela went through the motions. She tended to her plants. She targeted corporations that harmed the environment and attacked them.
She told herself she preferred her life this way.
But she would also imagine she felt a pair of strong, slender arms around her waist and the weight of a non-existent head leaning against her back when she washed dishes or sorted through old pots. She would reach across her bed in her sleep, searching for a presence. Then she would wake to find herself alone. She swore she heard laughter more than a few times.
And she stared at her silent phone, both anticipating and dreading the moment when it would finally ring.
(:)
The next time she saw Harley was on the morning after a big job taking down an oil refinery responsible for countless EPA violations. They had, in fact, poisoned the river behind their facility so badly that Ivy had decided to spend her day looking into new ways to repair the damage.
She entered her greenhouse to find someone standing there, holding a newspaper in her face. The red and black nail polish on the fingers holding the paper would have been a dead giveaway even if Harleen Quinzel hadn't been the only person (aside from Ivy herself) capable of scaling the poisonous vine gate without dying. The headline read "Big Oil Faces Big Problems".
"Some-one's been biii-zeee," came the sing-song greeting.
Ivy laughed. She couldn't help it. And Harley just draped an arm around her and skimmed the article. With a subtle shift, Pamela was able to rest her head against the blonde's, pretending to read while soaking in her friend's energy the way her plants did the sunlight.
"Boy, that C.E.O. sure is a crybaby," Harley mused. "Lissen ta this quote! 'This company has stood for fifty-six years and now, after employing the people of this city for decades, we have no choice but to close down. It's heartbreaking to think that the inability of the police to prevent this kind of eco-terrorism has destroyed the family we built here at our company'. An' never mind that his so-called company family were all dyin' a' cancer, right?"
"Hmm," Ivy mused. "I hadn't considered that... I was focused on - "
"On the trees an' the flowers an' the river an' the spread a' toxins killin' Mother Nature. Yeah, Red, I know."
Then, impulsive as ever, Harley turned and planted a kiss on Ivy, deepening it until they were both lost. Later, neither of them would remember precisely how they ended up in Ivy's bed. Hours passed and Ivy found herself laying on her back, Harley's head resting on her chest, her fingers absently stroking the other woman's hair.
She managed, somehow, to push aside the troubling questions that grew more prominent with every visit from the former psychiatrist, and, for the moment, allowed herself to feel content.
The two of them worked side by side, searching for new ways to clean up the disaster created by the oil company. When they needed to, they used the money Ivy had collected after scrapping out the dismantled refinery equipment at the recycling yard. The manager there had stopped asking questions years ago, and he paid well enough for the tonnage to fund some research.
It would take years for the eco-system to truly heal... But using a special moss that they had developed together, Harley and Ivy soaked up most of the black goo that polluted the river. Once collected, they shipped the moss anonymously to the EPA with instructions on how to extract the oil and a note asking for the most eco-friendly company available to handle the job.
Neither of them spoke about Harley returning to the Joker. Ivy hadn't even asked why she'd left him this time.
A week after their clean up job, Ivy found herself wishing she'd asked. She woke up to find Harley's side of the bed empty and cold. She threw off her blankets and ran downstairs.
"Were you going to leave without saying good-bye?" She asked when she found her lover trying to slip out the door.
"Ah, Red... It just always turns into a spat when I go, so I thought maybe... Maybe this would be easier..."
Finally the worst of Pamela's pent-up questions came out.
"Am I just some form of revenge for you?" She demanded. "Am I the thing you use to get back at him for the way he treats you? What did he do this time anyway?" Then she held up her hand, stopping the answers before they came. "No. Never mind, don't tell me... After all, why should I care when you don't."
"Red, I - "
"Just do what you do, Harley. It doesn't change anything. I'll still be here. And, damn you, you know it."
She turned on her heel and locked herself in the bathroom, shocked to realize she'd been crying the whole time.
When she emerged, Harley was gone.
Her quiet routines were lonely now, but they kept the botanist going. No matter how she felt, her plants required tending and she had to eat and sleep. It was cathartic, in a way, though she sometimes wished throwing a temper tantrum would be productive somehow.
But what had pitching a fit ever accomplished?
(:)
Across town, there was a clown who wasn't laughing. Harley sighed and, careful not to awaken the green-haired man next to her, rose from bed. On silent feet, she moved toward the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. She found herself staring sadly at a dead plant on the window ledge of an apartment across the alley.
"Harley," the Joker sneered ten minutes later. "What are you doing?"
"Nothin', Puddin'," she sighed. "Just restless."
"Get back in bed," he ordered. "I'm cold."
An odd calm settled over the slight woman, though she knew what her response would likely cost her. She was very familiar with that particular note in his voice.
"No."
The reflection in the window could have been scripted for a horror film. Slowly, Joker sat up and turned towards her. The sheet fell from his body, revealing his pale skin and a nasty smile made all the more frightening for the scars on his face. He placed one foot on the floor, then the other. He stood and moved closer to his prey.
Harley didn't flinch. She didn't move. Her eyes gazed past the make-shift mirror created in the glass and fixated on that dead plant. She knew who could breathe life into it again.
She knew what was coming.
She didn't care.
(:)
3:10 a.m.
Ivy gasped and opened her eyes, shaken from a deep sleep.
Something was horribly wrong.
A few minutes later, the phone rang. Her heart nearly stopped, but she snatched it up.
"Harley! What happened?"
But the voice wasn't Harley's.
"Ivy," the man said. "You need to come to the hospital. Now."
"How bad is she?"
The man hesitated.
"How bad?" Ivy nearly screamed.
"I found her unconscious half a mile from the jewelry store."
"Batman? How'd you get my number?"
There was another pause.
"She needs you, Ivy."
(:)
Batman was still there when Ivy burst into the emergency room. He caught her before she crashed into the information desk. She instinctively tried to push past him, her green eyes wild and fixated on the doors that led to the rooms behind the lobby where patients were triaged and treated. He held her tight.
"Calm down," he said in that same gentle tone she'd only heard from him once before. "You can't go in yet; they're working on her now. But they told me she'll live. Let them do their jobs."
"I'll kill him," Ivy gasped, openly crying now. "Let me go, I have to kill him..."
But instead, she fell against the vigilante and began to sob. He wrapped his arms around her, draping his cape across her shoulders. She realized, amazed, that he was hiding her from the view of the civilians. In her jogging pants and sweatshirt, with her face buried against his chest, and his cape over her neck, her green skin was out of sight. She could be any red-haired woman experiencing a moment of distress - any citizen being comforted in a hospital... by a man in a mask...
Surreal.
She felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. The Bat could have left the known rogue to die in the street. He could have left Ivy in the dark and waited for someone else to locate her - or, worse, to locate the Joker instead. He could have walked out and left Ivy to deal with this on her own.
But he had stayed.
Finally she took an unsteady breath and stepped back from him. She hoped he sensed her sincerity.
"I don't know how to begin to thank you."
"Hmm," he mused. "Why don't you work on saving the Earth without all the human casualties?" She thought she even saw him smile.
"I'll look into that," she promised with a shaky laugh.
"You know," he reflected. "It's strange... I know she's far more intelligent than she lets on. But the way she consistently goes back to the Joker, no matter what he's done to her... It seems a bit - "
"Stupid?" Ivy supplied miserably. "Well, I suppose I'm no smarter."
"Meaning?"
Ivy shrugged, marveling that she was having this conversation with a sworn enemy.
"She's in love with someone who beats her," Ivy sighed. "And I'm in love with someone who continually abandons me to return to someone who beats her. So if loving someone who doesn't love you back makes you an idiot..."
If he was shocked by her personal confession, he didn't let on.
"You come every time she's in trouble."
It wasn't a question.
She nodded.
"Every time." She let her gaze become critical, then. "How did you get my number?"
"Harley woke up briefly in the ambulance," he said. "Asked me to call."
"Thank you."
A slender woman in scrubs emerged from the double doors. Her eyes immediately fell on the pair of them. Ivy didn't get her hopes up just yet. Maybe this was Harley's doctor. Or maybe it was just natural to stare at the man in the bat suit and the green-skinned lady - especially when they were standing together. Then the woman moved toward them.
"Dr. Isley, I'm Dr. Everett," she said. "Batman tells me you're Harleen Quinzel's emergency contact?"
"Yes," Ivy said quickly. "How is she?"
"She's stabilized," Everett assured her. "A few broken bones - left arm and clavicle, several broken fingers... The concussion was the worst of it. Because she lost consciousness, we'd like to keep her overnight for observation, but we should be able to release her in the morning." The doctor's eyes went from Ivy's face to Batman's. "You did the right thing, bringing her in. You make a great friend."
"Even to his enemies," Ivy quietly agreed. "Can I see her?"
"Certainly," the doctor nodded, then waited for Ivy to whisper her good-bye to the vigilante before leading her to Harley.
(:)
The tiny room held little more than a few pieces of equipment, monitors, and the gurney on which a battered Harley lay in a green hospital gown. Ivy found a rickety stool and sat beside the prone form. Her hand found the other woman's, and (mindful of the I.V.) held it gingerly.
A moment later, she heard a rattling gasp and then heard, "Hey, Red... You got... any of that... plant juice stuff?" This was followed by a laugh, interrupted by occasional fits of coughing.
Ivy moaned, but then lowered her head to the gurney and laughed.
(:)
Three months later, when the clown had healed, Ivy and Harley took their first "straight job" in years. Billionaire Bruce Wayne - at Batman's suggestion, apparently - had hired them to outfit one of his buildings with solar panels. He also asked them research and report on the hypothesis that working in an eco-friendly environment increased morale, and therefore increased productivity.
Odd, Ivy thought, that he so conveniently found a project requiring the help of an eco-warrior and a psychiatrist. She wondered if the idea had really been in the works for as long as Mr. Wayne claimed. But, regardless, he took the job seriously, and so did the women. Well... As seriously as Harley took anything... And there was the possibility, if this first experiment went well, that he would keep them on to retrofit his other properties as well.
Meanwhile, however, Ivy had noticed Harley getting quieter, more thoughtful. She knew the pattern. The little gymnast was thinking about the Joker... Harley sometimes stared at the vines that led to the world outside Ivy's safe haven.
And one night Ivy woke up alone. There was no sign of Harley anywhere.
(:)
On the other side of town, a petite figure scaled the fire escape. She passed the fifth floor, the sixth... Just one more flight... Her fingers closed around their target and, tucking her precious cargo under one arm, she descended carefully to the pavement.
She had finally realized she'd been running away from the person who cared for her the most. She could only hope this would begin to make up for it.
Upon her return, she slipped easily over the vine gate and bounced happily into the house. The lights were already on, so she peered around, looking for Ivy.
Then she heard it.
Sobbing.
Harley's heart sank.
'Does she always cry when I leave?' she wondered. 'How bad have I hurt her?'
Harley found her girl in the greenhouse, hidden away among a tangle of plants that precisely matched her skin. But for her mane of red hair, she was pretty well camouflaged.
"Baby?" Harley ventured. "Pam?"
There was a sharp intake of air and Ivy's head snapped toward her.
"I thought... you went back to... to..."
"No," Harley said, sitting down on the floor beside her. "I just... had to get somethin'... and... I gotta ask ya somethin'..."
"Okay."
Pamela wiped her face with her sleeve. Her eyes fell on the item in Harley's hands. It was a pot with a dull brown plant, leaves brittle to the touch. But a few sprigs of green clung desperately to life just above the dry, barren soil.
"I brought this for ya," Harley said. "I figured... maybe, if ya don't mind, you could teach me how to heal this thing..."
"It's a Rademachera Sinica," Pamela smiled. "A China Doll plant. They're popular house plants, actually. They do well in - " She cut herself off. Harley looked like she had something else to say.
"So, I was thinkin'," Harley eyed her almost cautiously. "I... When I wake up there, with Mis - with the Joker... I wake up feelin' like... Well, like I need ta hurry up an' get home... But I don't get the feelin' when I wake up here... With you... So, do you think, maybe... I could stay? Move in with you, like... For good?"
Harley found herself suddenly folded in Ivy's arms.
"For as long as you can stand me, Love."
Harley smiled.
"Th' rest a' my life it is," she laughed quietly in Ivy's ear.
The End
(:)
Author's Note (last one, promise!): I've been out of the game for awhile, guys, so constructive criticism is welcome.