December 15th…
"R…Red? I don't understand…"
"Quiet,"
"But, Red…Red, why did you—"
"I said, quiet, Harley…"
The blonde bit her lower lip, looking up at the curvaceous redhead with wide blue eyes that spoke more of innocence than they ever did of madness—childlike orbs that struck a stark comparison to the vivid green irises of her companion. Ivy's eyes were among her most expressive features and could hold many emotions—anger, frustration, seduction, even a maternal sort of protective nature when it came to her plants…but there was always a gleam of madness to heighten the sharp glow of her eyes. Harley's had never had such a look, which was probably why the law tended to be more lenient with her than with her fiendish employer.
Speaking of the Joker…
Harley dared to force her body into a crawl, moving slowly towards the window while privately petrified of what Ivy would say when she noticed the clown girl disobeying her orders. Mistah J never liked it when she did that, and it only took the tiniest act of disobedience for his hand to crack down on her face, arms, back…whatever portion of her small frame he could reach with little effort on his part, always with enough force to leave a definite mark. She hoped Ivy wasn't so quick to anger, at least not tonight.
Her hand touched the window sill timidly, her eyes finding the police guiding the Joker towards the bus for Arkham. Her ears rang with the harsh cry of laughter, that trademark sound echoing through the otherwise empty streets; his body convulsed with hysteria for reasons which she wasn't certain. Then again, he always found things to laugh about, even when he was bruised and battered from his fight with the Bat.
She could see the dark cape of the vigilante fluttering about in the wind, distinct even against the shadows of his place beside Commissioner Gordon. Uniformed officers skulked about with guns at the ready, their eyes sharp and alert. She knew what they were looking for, and why Batman and Gordon looked so grim—they were looking for her. But, once again thanks to Red, they weren't going to find her. They would never think about looking in the tiny crawlspace built into the top level of the warehouse—small and narrow, the air so thick and stuffy that one nearly suffocated with each drawn breath. It was this warehouse that had been the sight of the Clown Prince of Crime's secret hideaway, at least until the Batman had crashed in and ruined the party…again. It should have been the scene of her death, an unmarked gravesite for her to rot away without much concern from the law and certainly none from her so-called beloved.
Harley bit her lower lip to stifle a whimper; her body had all but screamed in protest as she made the two foot crawl to the window. Her ribs didn't feel broken, but they were at least severely bruised from Joker's fists and shoes. It had never been this bad before, but she had never messed up this bad before. It was all her fault…if only she hadn't been so clumsy and stupid. She wasn't trying to mess everything up…she hadn't been trying to shred his newest plans. He always had her destroy all and every document that laid out the plans for his schemes, so those miserable policemen and that pesky Bat couldn't technically pin those brilliant plans to Mistah J. Normally, everything went perfect, and his plans worked out just fine. But this time…she'd been so stupid! She'd been gathering up the papers. She hadn't noticed the newer date on the last pile of papers she'd grabbed. She hadn't realized it until she heard him screaming and hollering for her, and mere moments later, she found herself thrown against the wall. The dry wall had been unyielding against her head, and there had been a sharp pain against her skull, immediately followed by a warm trickle down her face. It was the old familiar feeling of the skin being cut and her blood spilling out. Her whimper had barely been granted time to escape before his hand was around her throat. She had choked—again, a familiar sensation. His voice had been so high, so cold and angry in his screams of rage.
Only one thought had been able to pulse through her oxygen-deprived mind—a thought so familiar and rehearsed that it was almost engrained in her every thought: It's my fault…all my fault…
And then the beating had begun, once he'd choked the confession out of her. There had been no rhyme or reason to his beatings. There never was. Sometimes he started with the fists; sometimes he just let her fall to the floor—or throw her down—and then the kicking would begin. All the while, he was never done with words…cold, hateful, vicious, empty words. But this time…this time it had been much worse. It was her deserved punishment for destroying his plans. It was the foundation for his ultimate plan—perfection, complete and absolute. This time, he would have brought Gotham to its knees, destroyed the police and brought the Batman to ruin. Gotham City would have been his, once and for all.
And she'd ruined it.
He would have killed her this time. She'd known it. She saw it in those yellowed, madness-filled eyes. He was going to kill her. He was going to end it there and then.
Everything had transpired so fast—one moment she was begging for death at his hands, the next she could hear the sirens outside. Were they her redemption or condemnation? Surely they were meant to be another death sentence, for they held no more regard for her well-being than him. To die at his hands would have been agonizing, but it would have been almost merciful compared to being locked away to starve and wilt like a trampled flower.
But all at once, she had been denied death yet again. He had fled, running away with the hired help, and then there were the shouts from outside. Her ears had faintly registered the well known shouted demands and forceful commands emitting from all sides of the warehouse. The police had covered the back exit and had no doubt already seized the Joker. They had been trying to break down the front door, and she'd closed her eyes in preparation for rough hands hauling her upright and throwing her upon the stainless steel floor of a van.
Suddenly, there had been two hands on her, softer than previously anticipated; one had reached for her neck to check for a pulse, and then moved to lift her up. A quiet curse had slipped past lips—lips that were so close to her ear. She had felt herself being half-dragged across the concrete floor with that voice telling her to walk. She'd tried, really tried…but it had hurt to walk—felt like she was being shot. Even still, that voice had never stopped encouraging her onward, and so she had never stopped trying to walk. The next thing she knew, she had been half-forced through a dust-covered slot that led to the crawlspace, and she'd found herself staring into the darkly determined green eyes of her friend and told in no uncertain terms to be quiet.
"It's my fault." Harley whispered, watching with reddening eyes as the doors closed; the bus drove away with no delay, taking the Clown Prince back to the asylum, "It's all my fault…none of this would have happened if I hadn't—"
"Oh God, would you change the record already, Harl!" Ivy's sharp voice cut over her whimpers, making her cringe instinctively at the bitter rage lacing her friend's every breath, "Do you want me to drop you down there? Is that what you want? You want me to hand you back over to the police, and then your precious Puddin?" she was shaking, green eyes blazing with a fury that Harley had come to expect from Joker, but not Ivy…never Ivy, "Then maybe that's what I should do, Harl! Lord knows it will be much easier on me if that's the case! I'll dump you back in your precious clown's arms, and then why don't we see what happens next time, hm? We'll see how sweet and loving he is next time you make him angry! You know what I'm betting? I'll bet my greenhouse that next time I see you, it will be identifying you in the morgue!"
"Red, stop! Please STOP!"
The blonde was huddled on the floor, tears seeping down her bruised and battered face, hands clasped tightly over her ears to try and block out the stinging truth of her companion's words. The whole sight was, no other word for it, pitiful, and the redhead felt her gaze softening ever so slightly at the miserable appearance of the clown girl. It would have been so much easier if she couldn't be bothered to give a damn, but she did. She always cared, always was there to wipe away her tears and soothe away every whimper. And each time, she was just driving a stake into her heart.
"You don't understand, Red…you don't know what it's like! You've never had to deal with this! I…I threw away everything—I threw away my life for him! If he doesn't love me, then what do I have left in my life?"
The long silence that followed gave birth to a fear inside Harley—a fear that Ivy had gone through on her word and left her in the attic. Her tear-streaked face rose slowly, feeling a steady rush of relief flood her as she saw the green-clad figure still standing before her. There was a strange expression on her face, something that Harley couldn't read—especially not with blurred eyes. Finally, Ivy knelt down, slipping both hands beneath her arms and bringing her up onto unsteady legs. She whimpered as she made the feeble attempt to walk, only to feel one of the redhead's arm slip around her waist to bring most of Harley's thin weight against her stronger frame.
"Calm down, Harley…I'll do most of the work. Just keep quiet."
The greenhouse was alive, as it always was. So alive, in fact, that it made Harley feel utterly dead inside. She wasn't sure why, and she was even less certain that she would be able to feel revived any time soon. Ivy's words, though they hadn't been repeated in the hour she'd been in the greenhouse, still rang painfully loud in her ears.
"I'll bet my greenhouse that next time I see you, it will be identifying you in the morgue!"
She knew it was true…horribly, sickeningly true. She had seen it in Joker's eyes. He would have had no qualms about killing her this time. Just like he'd said, she'd failed him for the last time. There would be no more chances….no more forgiveness. No more of anything.
But she would keep going back—she had to go back to him. She had nothing else left now…Joker was everything…wasn't he?
"Here," Ivy's voice spoke softly from behind her. She turned slowly to see the redhead standing with a small covered pot in her hands, "I want to show you something."
"W…what?" she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Ivy slowly sat down on the bed, "You asked me earlier…what do you have if you don't have him? Now it's my turn to ask you a question, Harleen. Do you honestly, truly think so low of yourself that you would let yourself wither and die in this…this rotted and infertile soil that he has planted you in?"
Any sane person might have blinked and never quite grasped what she was saying, but their friendship had opened Harley's eyes, so to speak, and she never had to worry about understanding her, certainly not after all this time. Swallowing hard, she looked down, unable to answer. Her silence served as a more honest answer than her words would have offered.
A soft rustle made her look back up. Ivy had tugged the covering off the pot, and inside amidst a soft layer of dirt was a flower. Truthfully, Harley couldn't say it looked awe-inspiring or anything of the like; in fact, it looked utterly bland and weak compared to the splendor that surrounded them in the greenhouse, so uncommon and even a little ugly. It looked as though it really didn't belong there at all. But there was nothing in Poison Ivy's greenhouse that didn't have a purpose and reason for being there. Taking another look, closer and more intently this time, Harley attempted to see the beauty in the dark pink blossom, but it was heavily laced with a thick white trim that bore a distinct resemblance to mold. Yet even so, the trim possessed a crystalline appearance that spoke of some inner beauty, hidden within a rather withered looking bud.
"It's a winter rose, Harley." Ivy continued in a calm and neutral tone—a slightly unnerving change when she had been so angry only an hour earlier. "Many people don't believe they exist, simply because they've never seen them. There is no place for them to grow here in Gotham…not in this concrete scab of a city. I have the only living one here in my greenhouse."
Harley nodded mutely. That was an unsurprising fact. Much of Pamela's greenhouse contained flowers and plants the likes of which could never otherwise thrive in Gotham. Even the city's famous botanical gardens couldn't hold a candle to the vast collection that was always in the female rogue's possession. Every single flower bloomed and every plant thrived in Pamela's care, as though her touch alone could bring life even where life otherwise didn't exist. It was one aspect to her character that had always intrigued and fascinated Harley…just one of many.
"You see," Pamela's voice lowered to a murmur as she sat down beside the blonde, "something makes this little flower very, very special, Harleen. Do you know what that is?"
As expected, the blonde slowly shook her head. She didn't possess half of her friend's botanical knowledge, only minor details about plant care that stemmed from a long and tedious learning process.
Ivy only nodded and continued, "This flower blooms only in winter, Harley. From the darkest, most infertile earth comes a flower with incomparable beauty. All it needs," two gloved fingers ran up the stem to the bud, "is a little help, a chance for life…and the willingness to survive. You see, this little treasure is a survivor. It has to push its way through frost and cold and ice, and it fights for every last inch…until it finally comes to life."
She set the pot in Harley's lap, the flower once again covered and hidden from view, "It's yours."
"What?" blue eyes widened in shock, hands trembling so much that she nearly upset the pot clean out of her lap. "Red, no…you know me! I can't take care of plants, not even if my life depended on it!"
"That's the point, Harl," Ivy quietly replied as she stood up, "Your life does depend on it. And this time, you're on your own."
The blonde felt something twist in her stomach, almost as though she was nauseous, but this was far more potent than a simple twist of the stomach. It was something else…something of which she wasn't quite sure…it felt like fear, but not the kind of fear she'd felt with the Joker. It was worse.
Her hands slowly wrapped around the edge of the pot, and after a long moment she found the strength to meet Ivy's eyes, trembling under the gaze of piercing green eyes. "W…what are you saying, Red?" she whispered, her voice sounding completely unnatural to her ears.
"We've been in this…relationship for almost two years," Ivy's voice was quiet and calm…too calm, "Two years, Harleen. And in those two years, all you've done…your only actions…have been cruel ones. You have taken advantage of my sympathy, my compassion, my hospitality…each time giving me some small fragment of hope that you would stay with me for good, that I wouldn't have to watch you go back to that animal with this disgusting fear inside me that the next time I saw you would be my last. You took my feelings for the only friend I've ever had—the only person I've ever let into my life this way…you took all of that, Harley, and then you never gave it back to me. I've never suffered this way, not as much as I have in these last years with you. So…I suppose I'm simply wondering how on earth you plan on making up for all that."
"Red…it's not that." Harley whimpered, shaking, "I was never trying to hurt you—I wasn't! You just don't g-get it…you've hurt me worse—worse than him! You…you've always been the one…I'm most afraid of! N-not Joker…you!"
Tears were slipping down her cheeks, unpleasantly cold when they should have been hot, "I thought…thought you were my friend…the only friend I could hang onto, go back to when things went wrong with me and Mistah J. But…but even when you took me in…you were so far away. You were there, but you weren't. Even when I came to you, and you t-took me in…I felt that inside….you were just pushing me away, further and further! Like you didn't want anything to do with me!"
"I had to keep my cool, Harley. I had to keep my head somehow." She spoke as though her answer was the most logic response in the world, never allowing a drop of real emotion to enter her tone. "If I didn't stay fickle and keep pushing you away from me…I was afraid I might burst."
She laughed. Harley had never heard her laugh like that before…she'd heard the wicked laugh that heralded and exalted her madness. But this laugh was so…so sad and empty. It was the first real taste of emotion she'd heard from Pamela in the last hour. "There were so many, many times I thought I had you. But then…you would just go and flutter off…going right back to his arms. Again…and again…and again…"
Harley was shaking madly now, nearly to the point of convulsing. This didn't mean….how could she…?
"I suppose in my own way, even if I'd like to deny it…I can be not only cunning…but quite childish at times. After all…" there it was, that horrible laugh again, "I don't think there has ever been such a selfish little girl quite like me, has there? A little girl who doesn't like getting hurt. A little girl who hates to lose. Once I've gotten a hold of something, I never want to let it go. And I don't like sharing."
"Red….Red, what are you saying?" her voice was barely a quiver.
"If you're planning to reject me, Harley," she answered quietly, "Now's your chance. And that…is your goodbye present."
"G-Goodbye?" she whispered, tears bubbling up in her eyes, splashing down her face, "Goodbye? R-Red…?"
"I'm giving you some time to get away, Harley." She said softly, "You can stay here until you feel better. I'm going away…back to my own paradise. Here's your chance, once and for all."
"B-but—"
"But," she said quietly, turning back in the doorway, "If you come to me one more time…" green eyes met blue, an unwavering connection even amidst conflicting emotions stemming from both hearts, "You know what will happen."
December 24th, Midnight.
Snow was falling outside, swirling about in the cool night wind. The streets and sidewalks alike were covered in a thin blanket of white crystals, an indiscriminate blanket of perfection stretching as far as eyes could see. But inside an expansive greenhouse—a hideaway built with the assistance of an architect Ivy had encountered a few months ago. He had been smitten with her mystery and charm, and then with a little kiss he was hypnotized and eager to do her bidding. He'd built her this greenhouse, specifically located on the furthest outskirts of Gotham on a former plantation that was now currently locked away under condemnation by the Gotham Health Board for toxic waste. Yes, it was a familiar setting and it would be mere time before the Bat and police tracked her down here. But for now, the redhead would enjoy the small comforts of her paradise, surrounded by all the glorious wonders of Nature.
Ivy shifted to an upright position, looking at the admittedly lovely view from her glass windows. She sighed softly, face propped up on her hand with her toned legs drawn up to rest against chilled glass. Glass and tile were set refreshingly cool against her skin, heated from her extensive work in the hothouse down below. She had shed both her usual leafy attire and cargo pants with cotton shirt. Despite this being in the dead of winter, she was far too overheated from the previous exposure to cover herself up with an abundance of clothes. Instead, she'd donned a strapless top and pair of minishorts, both green. Perhaps in a moment or two she would wrap herself in a cocoon of blankets to protect herself from the bitter chill of winter. But for now, she was content to remain in place without incident.
The floor of the greenhouse was separated into various sections by some undefined borders. One side, the side furthest from her position on the window, was where the plant life began. It took up most of the top level, and certainly extended down to the lower level below ground. But there was a small area without plants strewn upon it, one that had somehow taken a half-moon shape around the window sill. A tiled island in a sea of earthy ground, with a single aisle extended out from the glassy windows to lead to a far doorway on the other side of the house.
The tiles were currently covered in scattered papers, all of them bearing the title Gotham Times. The headlines mostly proclaimed that she—addressed in print as "Gotham's Vixen of the Vines"—was still at large after returning to Gotham from her "vacation" to South America, but the newest one, the one resting closest to the sill, had a different headline:
Joker in Arkham, Quinn Still At Large
So Harley hadn't thrown herself back at the feet of the police, or worse yet, the Bat. Ivy supposed she was still at the other hideaway, or perhaps some other place that she and the clown had used at some point or another. Either way, her decision appeared all-too clear, and as much as Ivy would have like to believe she wasn't hurt or even disappointed by the blonde's choice, the truth of the matter remained that she was, in fact, hurt and disappointed.
But at least Harley had something to keep herself occupied with—tending to the flower. Maybe having to play pet sitter for a while might keep her mind off the Joker. But Ivy wasn't entirely hopeful—wasn't even willing to hold her breath on the matter. If Harley's past was anything to go by—
"Red?"
Her heart quite literally skipped a beat, hope swelling high within her chest against her better judgment. She took a calming breath, willing such foolish desires from her face before she turned around. A part of her already deemed this a ridiculous fancy, perhaps some dream her sleep-deprived mind had contrived to further torment her heart. And even yet…she wanted this to be real. No more dreams, no more torturous illusions…just for once in her life, let reality be kind to her.
There on the leaf-trimmed tiles of her greenhouse, shivering in place with her hair hanging in a thick mess around her face, stood Harleen. As her eyes carefully examined the blonde, Ivy realized she hadn't previously noticed the extent of her friend's injuries the last time. Both arms were bruised blue and purple from the protective stance she had taken to try and protect herself from the Joker's blows; there were multiple cuts mixed in with additional bruises on her knees and shins. Her face and upper chest seemed to have received the worst of it; there were more cuts than bruises on her sickly pale flesh, none of which looked like they'd healed properly. There was dark purple bruising around her throat where the maniac's hand had clenched down, trying to strangle the life from her. She was not wearing her harlequin costume; in fact, she wasn't wearing anything that was appropriate to be wondering around Gotham City in the middle of winter—black shorts, similar to the ones currently on Ivy's body, and an overlarge cotton sweater. The collar was tattered and worn with use and fell loose to bare her shoulders entirely, and beneath it all she wasn't wearing anything aside from a cotton brassiere. Really, she looked as though she'd grabbed something from her closet and left. Her bare feet were red, the skin nearly raw from the cold.
In her hands, tightly wrapped in her arms to shield it from the cold as she hadn't protected her body, was a brown clay pot covered with a white cloth. Wordlessly, Harley walked over to the window sill and slowly set the pot down. Her fingers, numb from the bitter chill, fumbled with the covering for a moment. Finally the thick brown cloth gave way, falling with a quiet rustle to pool around the pot.
The rose lay there amidst the soft dirt, petals of luscious pink spread out in all their glory with a thick trim of white floral lace. The leaves stretched out in parallel to the petals, pristinely pruned and watered. It looked healthy…as though Ivy herself had been taking care of it, and a small smile curved the redhead's lips as she considered all those lessons regarding proper plant care to have actually been retained when many other thoughts were not.
"It bloomed," Harley whispered. Her voice sounded hoarse, as though she hadn't been using it much in the last few weeks. The hollow tone of her voice, the distinct bruising along her throat and cheeks, and the dark shadows beneath her eyes…it was a broken image left in the wake of so much cruelty, such hopelessness and despair that she almost seemed beyond repair. A human being hadn't found its way into her greenhouse, but a trampled flower barely able to drag itself through one more day.
Ivy looked at it for a long moment, then let her eyes rise once more to Harley's battered face, "So it did." She replied quietly, "Now the question remains…why are you here?" her voice caught slightly, and there was a slight redness blooming in the whites of her eyes. Emotion—anger, sadness, and hope alike—could only be contained for so long, much as she would have rather it stayed buried.
You're so cruel…
"I wanted…to return…the plant." Harley whispered, trying to wet her lips and failing completely. "I don't…deserve it."
It's not fair.
"You could have just left it by the door. It would have been fine."
You make it seem like you never do anything wrong. Ever.
"I…I wanted to give it to you…in person."
You're as childish as you said you are.
"Why?"
And yet…
"I…" her voice caught under the sway of unshed tears. "I…I just did. So you would know…it was…s-safe."
You look totally unbothered.
A sigh passed venom-filled lips, a hand brushing with frustration through red curls, "Why, Harleen? Why are you really here? No beating around the bush," she hated that phrase, "No more lies, no more games…just tell me why you're really here."
You look like you're fine, even if you're all by yourself.
"I…I told you w-why…"
Ivy slowly rose from the sill, standing to her full height. Her eyes were calm and collected, so different from Harley's—blue irises that seemed to tremble even when she wasn't looking into Ivy's green ones, "You never were a good liar, Harley. And you have never, ever had a need to lie to me. Why start now?"
It's irritating.
Harley twitched instinctively as she felt Ivy's hand come up to touch her. She expected sharp thorns…but Ivy's touch was soft petals. Like the petals of the rose still clenched within her hands. Instinct—or perhaps something stronger, more rooted within her heart—brought her cheek further into the cradle of that warm palm. It was a tender touch, compassionate and understanding…and she thought she could weep from the touch alone.
It makes me want to get you to turn and look at me.
"R-Red…Red, I…"
I want…
"I just…just w-want…"
…to swallow up your entire body.
"Want what, Harleen?" somehow, her name always seemed more beautiful, more lively when it passed from those lips, painted red by Nature and not clown paint. Full and elegant with subtle curves that embodied femininity and somehow made the fate of any who foolishly accepted a kiss all the more ironic.
Into my cells. Down to the bones.
Harley dared to step closer, wanting to feel that heat…the warmth that radiated from Pamela's skin and welcomed her forward, never pushing her back but always inviting her closer. She shook violently, worse than before—but not from cold. This was from something that Nature hadn't brought upon her. This was something far more potent, far more curious…far more wonderful. Something that she'd never felt before and desperately yearned to claim for a love-starved heart.
…to penetrate…deep, deep within…
Their foreheads touched. Lungs constricted deep within Ivy's chest, forbidding her from drawing breath. It hurt, and yet she could not quite recall the necessity for breathing right now. Her mind felt utterly clear even in the absence of oxygen…she felt light and free. Harley was so close to her, standing there mere inches from fingertips that longed to learn her skin—the feel, the heat…the taste.
…to spread you through me, and saturate you with my scent…
Fingers brushed up against each other. Harley felt Pamela's unblemished fingertips twitch as though longing to grasp and bring her closer. But she didn't. She still had control…for now. And despite what might have been considered better judgment, Harley didn't want the other woman to possess any kind of control. She would eagerly submit to such advances, if for no other reason than it would be Pamela's hands upon her…Pamela's lips offering no danger when they would promise instant death to any other man.
…until you can't breathe.
Harley moved even closer to fully press her forehead to Pamela's. Strands of red hair trickled down to mesh with blonde strands. The redhead's breath was warm, exhaling against cold cheeks and sending a shiver through every fiber of a pain-wracked body.
This feeling…this desire…
Harley slowly opened her eyes, though she could not recall having closed them. The fire stirring through her veins seeped into her eyes, bringing a new light to blue irises. Intrigued, she watched as Pamela's bottle-green eyes slowly darkened to a vibrant shade of emerald. Normally, such a transformation would have indicated rage, but this was not anger. This was something else…something that was even more natural than a base emotion.
…is this how it feels to be in love?
"I had to come back, Pamela," Harley whispered. Her voice shook, but it was strong and steady as her fingers carefully slipped within the hold of her companion, "I…" a sudden quiver shook her confidence as tears rose hot and fast to her eyes, blurring the otherwise clear shade of her eyes. She forced them down, not yet willing to cry and completely ruin an already fragile moment, "I had to see you. I didn't want to just leave the flower. It would be like…like saying…that I had done enough."
A few tears slipped down, no longer content to remain enclosed within the barrier of eyelids and eyelashes and instead streaming down her pale cheeks. "I…I don't want to die anymore."
I want you to protect me.
Pamela's hand released one of hers, but before Harley could protest, she felt it relocate to her face and cradle her cheek once more. Her eyes dared to open again, desperately wanting to believe this was real while fearing it nothing more than a cruelly sweet dream that would soon come to an end.
I will protect you.
"There is no death in my world, Harley." Ivy whispered, eyes never once breaking the contact, even when her hand moved to brush golden strands of hair from blue eyes, "There is only life."
"I…I fought, Red." She promised, letting the tears fall freely now without any offered resistance. "I kept fighting…and fighting…but…but I'm not strong enough anymore."
"Then let me bring you back to the light…forever." Pamela's voice shook slightly with the conviction in her words, bringing both hands up to cradle the blonde's face. Her thumbs caught the stream of chilled tears, brushing them away with firm tenderness. "Stay with me, Harley…and you will grow for the rest of your life. But if you don't…then I can't help you."
The blonde swallowed slowly, "Are you angry?" she whispered, voice trembling.
"A little," Pamela's confession was blunt and honest, but somehow it felt light and free on her tongue, "Can you blame me, Harley? After all...I've waited a long, long time for you to come back." A wry smile curved her lips, "You certainly took your sweet time."
Harley leaned even closer. Their bodies were mere inches from meshing against each other, "Will you take your time with me?"
"Oh yes," she nodded slowly and deliberately, "Just like every work of art I own." Each word passed from her lips on an exhale of breath. Her fingers twisted in the dark blonde curls, fingertips caressing skin with a distinct air of possessiveness with eyes noting Harley's full compliance, even surrender to such a gesture with vindictive satisfaction.
"You're so beautiful, Harleen." She murmured, learning the feel of her companion's hair upon her fingers, a tremor seeping through her senses as she watched pale skin tighten over a slender throat.
I can feel a shiver send goose bumps down my skin…
Slender arms slipped around Pamela's waist, trembling fingertips clutching at the curves of her body. Their bodies were brought to press flush against each other, no space permitted to exist between their bodies. It was not needed. It was not desired.
…every time…she turns to look at me.
"I'm in love with you…Pamela."
Six simple words. Who would have thought they could have such an impact?
"Please…" Harley whispered, shaking, trembling, "Please, don't make me be the only one to say it this—"
Two fingers pressed to her quivering lips, and she dared to meet Pamela's gaze once again. Fire smoldered within those mesmerizing depths with an infectious heat that stole her breath away. Her fingers pressed down against the green clothes that barred her from the view of a goddess' body, unveiled and uncovered.
"I love you, Harleen…my winter rose."
Their mouths finally met with fevered intensity while fingers roamed senselessly over heated skin. The cold chill of winter no longer existed in this place, not with the warmth of two bodies meshed and entwined together. Slender limbs wrapped together to secure their bond while promising instant torture to any who try to separate them ever again.
I love you…
Thick vines shivered to life as massive petals opened up around them, covering the floor to create a bed that smelt of roses and bore the mirage of colors duly attributed to the named flowers. The vines coiled around the entwined bodies to grant protection from prying eyes. No one was privy to witness the raw passion blossoming forth in this place, no longer contained by uncertainties and crippling fears but instead released by trust—trust that could know no other place but within two broken hearts, now finally beginning to heal.
…as long as you love me.