Title: Changing Seasons
Rating: PG-13
Poetry is mine.
Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.
Gotham City was damp and dark with the coming of the fall. It's colors barely changed to mark the season, being built of looming Gothic buildings, shadowy streets, and a cloud of smog that even the newest emissions laws could not quell. The city only showed the seasons in small ways. Summers were wet with sweltering heat. Spring dotted the cracks of sidewalks with green weeds hell bent on growing anywhere, and in the structure of the city's central park that struggled to breath life into a landscape that wanted to strangle it. Winters were frozen wastelands of sullied snow against the black of bare trees and grey buildings. Being autumn the city was succumbing to dark grey skies and bitter rains. A city of extremes with hardly a will to even attempt a humble season.
Pamela Isley saw the city in such a way. She caught the hard edges of concrete stamping out Mother Nature's gifts, the life of the earth finding a way, but slowly being crushed by Gotham's muddy boots. She thought about the city and wondered if she had been away too long, and she considered that there were some who could still see a brightness there. Though, truly, she thought most of the human element in Gotham blind, willing participants in the death of what little remained of the city's natural wonder.
She sat on a park bench overlooking a pond. A jogging trail skirted the edges and wound off into the bare stalks of trees the city dared to call a wood. The wind picked up, and her red hair blew wildly into her face. She hardly dared to tame it but, eventually, reached up with a pale hand that, under any other setting, would have seemed almost green. Almost, but it was so ashen any passersby would say their eyes had deceived them.
Pamela Isley had an intention to follow in the city. She did not return because she wanted to. She found she was forced to by her own convictions. Her own obsessions, and a calling for justice no one understood but herself. She had long since decided that if no one else was willing to be the protector of nature it was going to have to be her. In everything she did there was that calling, and now, more than ever, the connection was absolute. There were distractions, of course. There always were. So, soon she would shake off the last shackles of Pamela Isley and step fully into the guise that had become her true self, Poison Ivy.
Every masked hero and villain had to come to that bend in the road. Everyone dealt with it differently. Nothing was actually keeping her from making the distinction, but somehow, for a time, the distinction felt important. It wasn't any longer. She glanced at her hand, and noted that the physical change had made little difference.
A little blue from the yellow and the green
In the black, the dark
Turning red and pink
Lovely sighs
Muttering regret
And endings...
Because there is no lasting way for us
The park bench wobbled slightly as a young woman Pamela had not noticed took a seat. From the corner of her eye Pamela decided the young woman was a college student. The girl had hair a shade or two different from her own, and was loosely bundled in a black coat. At the first drop of rain the young woman popped open a yellow umbrella with such quick and precise grace Pamela found herself curious enough to turn her head. And here, here she found something she thought she recognized in the line of the young woman's jaw, the easy confidence hidden behind dark rimmed glasses that were worn (almost) like a mask, and blue eyes. Yes, blue eyes, that were dimmed slightly by life in such a city, but still bright with a spark of hope. Hope that tugged at the villain's memory.
She brushed the rudimentary attempts her mind was making at forming a guess as to the girl's true identity. She shut those thoughts down for the time so that she might enjoy the moment of being alone in the park with someone who seemed to be enjoying what there was of a scenic view. The moment broke though, because the girl made a silent offer to share her umbrella.
Pamela declined with a raised hand.
"So," Pamela said, and her voice caught the bitter winds that were beginning to sharpen. "What do you study?"
"Library sciences and computer technology." The young woman took a breath, and it made Pamela realize the girl had been holding it. "What do you do?"
"I'm a botanist and chemist."
"Work in the city?"
"Not normally, " Pamela replied, not quite grinning, but nearly. "I...I'm a private researcher."
The young woman nodded.
"I probably shouldn't have returned," Pamela confessed.
"Oh?"
"But, research doesn't fund itself," she paused and then added, "Though I could have made what I had last a bit longer."
"Where do you do your research?"
Pamela grinned then, fully, almost laughed at the game. Her mind long since abandoning her request to leave the girl's identity an unsolved puzzle. "I work all over. Jungles mostly. Secluded places no one in this city could ever dream of."
"Better views there I take it," the young woman said.
"Yes, and no." She looked at the girl, and the girl met her gaze. Pamela winked and watched the young woman hold her breath again for a moment. And then a few more playful little moments exactly like that flitted across Pamela's memory. She said, "You've seen some heartache."
"And you've seen some bitter defeat."
Pamela nodded, and then reached out to brush her thumb against the young woman's cold cheek. "And, I told you, little bat, that the next time you sought me out I wouldn't let you go."
"But you did," the young woman replied, adding, "I told you-"
"You told me you'd have to arrest me," Pamela interrupted, "Are you?"
A little blue from the night and thick trees
From the brief surrender
And the never again
With each purple mark
Painted across pale skin
Claimed canvas
They had kissed years ago. They had kissed, and in a moment so much could have been different if Pamela Isley were not Poison Ivy, and perhaps if Batgirl were not Barbara Gordon. It was an out of place moment in time, and then old patterns reasserted themselves. Poison Ivy couldn't stop teaming up with Harley Quinn, saving her sometimes and leaving her others. Lusting, but never loving, or so Poison Ivy had decided. Batgirl could not just ignore illegal activity. She actively foiled Ivy's plans. Actively allowed criminals of the earth to escape justice, Ivy's justice, that came at the ultimate price.
And now, they were no longer two strangers on a park bench. They were hero and villain, but unmasked, and bare to the sharp scrutiny of the other.
"You came alone, again," Pamela said, "and unmasked."
"I meant to… figure out your plan," Barbara replied with hesitation, a lovely hitch in her breath that did not go unnoticed. "You aren't in costume either…" She paused and then asked, "You aren't a trick are you? One of Ivy's plant people?"
"Too convenient a ploy I'm afraid." She turned and faced the water, sighed, and then said, "You know, since this larger change in my physiology I've discovered that a touch is enough to bend a man to my will."
Barbara blinked slowly, and nodded.
"And, those very persuasive pheromones work just as well on women, Miss Gordon." She looked over at the girl, saw the expression on her face, and frowned. "But it's still just poison."
Barbara's eyelids began to droop and Pamela moved to pick the girl up.
"And, it won't do if you die," Pamela said, cradling the girl in her arms. "Even if it would make my life so much easier."
A little blue from the no I-love-yous
Darkness drenching intent
"Feeling better?"
Barbara blinked awake, and tried to collect her thoughts as Pamela Isley pulled into focus. They were still in the park. Intuition and memory allowed Barbara to make the logical leap to concluded that they were in the old greenhouse. The space still abandoned after so many years, but it seemed to remember Pamela. It remembered Poison Ivy's call and touch, because it was alive with greenery, warm like those days when spring turns to summer.
She sat up, and nodded. "Why am I alive?"
"I don't need the Bat following me back into the jungle to avenge you," was the cool reply.
"But, really," Barbara asked, "He doesn't know I'm even-"
Ivy bent down and kissed her. And without the coat, the normal vestments of humanity, she was Ivy. Perhaps with only a little Pamela left in the depths of her eyes, which Barbara could not see because she had closed her own against the suddenness of such kiss. It tore through her before she could think, and left her returning the passion of it without an ounce of trepidation. But it could not last, and Barbara found a way to pull back. She questioned Ivy's intent, remembering what the woman had said before she fainted on the parkbench.
"If you're alive, you might just be temporarily immune," Ivy said softly. "Go ahead...Say, 'No.' Ask to leave."
Barbara blinked, and stood up. She picked up her coat and was ready to leave. The door swung open, and she stepped forward, but stopped. She had tried before to find something in Ivy that she could not name. She had tested Bruce's resolve regarding Ivy's bent as a villain, and he had been right. Ivy was dangerous. But there was something still there that longed to connect, which meant Barbara had been right too.
Twice Ivy had let her go, and, again, the door was open. Barbara searched her own intent. Her own attraction. She could not save Ivy from the darkness in her heart. She couldn't save Dick from his either. And all there was to differentiate the two was a twist in the road, and the moral ambiguity that was the line between vigilante and villain. For the moment the line was so blurred and lost she could hardly see it at all.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and so she turned to look into Ivy's eyes. She still didn't know what she wanted, but she knew she didn't want to leave. Ivy tilted her head up with the end of her finger and removed Barbara's glasses with her other hand.
"Are you trapped, little bat," Ivy asked with warm seduction.
"No," Barbara replied.
Ivy kissed her again, and Barbara allowed herself to get lost in the moment. Allowed the unanswered questions to still themselves under the weight of Ivy's lips, the feel of the older woman's hands around her waist, and the force of wanting that had been building up since that first night in Ivy's greenhouse. Never wanting it to end, knowing the momentum could only travel so far, because there would have to be a morning. There would be a morning, an empty space by her side, and the wondering, constant and fevered, like a cloud of hope on her tongue that it could ever happen again.
But for the time being there was warmth, soft lips, and kisses so deep they could not be escaped. A touch so full of desire for whatever it was Barbara offered, and she was offering dreams so naive and sweet that Ivy could not help but make the girl think them possible. Taking and tasting, and offering and giving little prayers of lust that could never be anything else, with no promises to bind them.
A little blue from the yellow and green
Mixing on the pallet
The wanting to stay
The repeated never again
Never...again
Because we have to lie
"I take it you encouraged Ivy to leave town," Batman said gruffly as Batgirl entered the cave. "I'd advise you not to go alone again."
"It was fine," Barbara replied softly. She looked at the file displayed on the giant computer monitor and bit her bottom lip. "Was that her target?"
"Yes, her old employer," Batman replied. "I believe she was going to seek revenge."
"Yes," Batgirl said and bent down at the keyboard. She typed rapidly and another file popped up. "But she was thinking about this as well."
"A cure?"
"Pipe dream." She sighed and said, "I'll take Tim out on patrol."
"Barbara?" Batman watched the girl stop in her tracks. "Are you sure everything is okay?"
"Yes," she lied, and swallowed the anger she felt for being heartbroken.
A little blue from the green and yellow
Together in the black…
The dark of night
Ivy descended the steps of the plane and looked around at the small airport. She declined every request for a cab and walked right into the thick green clutches of the jungle. It was humid, sweltering, and she began to sweat. Inside she felt a chill, the sharp bitter edges of autumn becoming winter. Perhaps one day she'd truly feel the spring, but all she could think of was another chance at peace she'd allowed to slip by.
The vines of the jungle stretched down to greet her, and she allowed them to lift her up to the tops of the trees as it began to rain. She shut her eyes against the glory of nature, drifted to sleep in the safe hold of the trees, and dreamed deep of young lips that could not voice what they wanted. Young lips, and blue eyes that she knew wanted to save her, wanted to find a sort of salvation reflected back as a cure for darker obsessions. Knowing all too well that they were both lost, forever, to the dark of Gotham nights.
End.