A/N: I really liked the Poison Ivy/ Magpie pairing in Arkham Asylum: Living Hell, so I decided to experiment. Please enjoy

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Ivy fingered the embroidered patch of fabric label sewn into the left breast of her inmate uniform absently, her long, elegant finger digging at its edges roughly. She was stretched out against the scratchy surface of her cot on her back, her long, toned legs drawn upwards slightly and her right arm beneath the head. Her stunningly emerald eyes remained focused at the dark ceiling of the lonely cell as her fingernail continued to work at the hard fabric. On the patch was her patient number, sewn in black twine, and that name, sewn in red.

Pamela Isley.

The beautiful redhead sighed through her teeth with a certain twinge of irritation as an unwelcome burst of memory flashed across her mind for the briefest of moments. Darkness, and the smell of chemicals surrounded her temporarily as the flashback began to unlock memories from the blackest corners of her conscious, stealing her away into the past she wished she could forget.

The pain. It was too much. She couldn't think through it. She could barely see through the shroud of agony that ripped through her every muscle, rippling in mighty waves. Muscle? No. Something deeper. Something more vital. Her cells seemed to shriek in inescapable anguish with every breath she took, as if something was tearing them apart, festering within them, multiplying. Maybe if she stopped breathing the pain would stop with it. Was she still breathing? The liquid and isolating glass tank she was apparently suspended in said otherwise.

There is a voice, deep and slightly hoarse, that emerges from the chaos. She does not open her eyes to see its owner; in fact, in knowing in her torn apart mind who it belonged to, she could only force her eyelids even tighter together. A different kind of pain began creeping into her throat.

"You're coming along splendidly, Pamela. I've begun to inject the bacteria that will alter the structure of the phosphate pairs in your DNA, and your body is starting to react to its presence. This pain you're probably feeling now is the product of this reaction. If you can still hear me, as I am relatively sure you can, you'll be glad to know that it seems you will be my first successful test subject to survive past the point at which the mutated DNA will begin to undergo forced replication within your cells. Congratulations, dear. We're halfway there."

If Woodrue's words awake any emotion within her, she does not show it. She is dying. She must be dying. People simply did not survive an ordeal like this. She could not possibly survive. She…

"Pamela?"

She…

The last sensation she felt was a convulsing tremor that raked violently through her body, sending her writhing into the blanket of oblivion. If she could move she would had smiled at the frustrated and panicked yell that came from the man. Darkness enveloped her shortly after.

"NO!"

The taste of poison pulled Ivy from the flashback, the soft tissue of her lower lip finally giving way to a small trickle of blood as she bit down roughly.

It was the reason why she hated it when people used that name to address her.

Pamela.

She was not Pamela. She was never Pamela. Never. Pamela was a human girl who let men abuse and torment her. Pamela was a weak sapling, struggling to survive an endless winter. Pamela was dead. That experiment, that pain had stolen her away then.

The dead should be left to rest in piece.

She was not Pamela. She was Poison Ivy, hostess of the Green, protector of the Earth's brethren against the ignorant beast of man that threatens to tear it asunder. The new Eve, whom no longer needed an Adam to corrupt the righteous path she treads.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sloppy clattering of steel on steel as the large bolted door at the front of her cell pulled into itself, revealing two bulky guards cloaked in bright orange hazmat suits. Each of them held an electric stun rod, presumably for their own protection, and a tank of oxygen strapped to their backs. Between them stood a young woman with short, dull red hair and a slight grimace playing on her lips. She donned the trademark orange uniform of a patient and held a gray, folded sheet in her arms. Ivy pulled herself into a semi-upright position and cast the trio a curious glance, removing her hand from the abused label on her top. She folded an exposed leg (having cut the uncomfortable fabric of the uniform pants to her upper thigh) over the side of the cot, placing her tiptoes on the cold concrete floor and rested her hands on the ankle of her other leg which was pulled toward her body. The guards, having noticed Ivy's curious movements, tightened their grip around their weapons. The young woman strolled into the cell, not waiting for another rude order from the apprehensive pair, and threw the blanket onto the cot opposite of Ivy's.

"How come I gotta room with someone? I got my own cell, you know!" the girl spat, slapping her hands on her hips and scowling at the guards. She didn't seem to have seen her new bunkmate yet.

"Not anymore, Magpie, unless you'd rather suffocate in a cloud of fear toxin. Your cell was contaminated during Scarecrow's escape attempt, you know that. Play nice, Ivy." With that, the door slid shut, leaving the two to get 'better acquainted'.

Magpie sighed loudly, her back to Ivy. Suddenly, something seemed to click inside her mind.

"..Ivy?"

She looked over her shoulder, to meet the gaze of the beauty of a woman behind her. Her eyes softened almost immediately as the frown on her lips changed into a sleek smile.

"Well, hello gorgeous."

A/N: I don't know why but whenever I see Magpie I immediately think 'lesbian' XD

BTW Magpie looks like her appearance in Arkham Asylum: Living Hell in this fic, not the trihawk appearance.