Ivy had hit rock bottom. She'd thought that Jason Woodrue's seduction and betrayal was the worst thing she'd ever have to endure. But being in this prison, this – tomb – it was worse than anything she could have imagined. Dark. Cold. Forced to feed like a human on the slop Arkham served up that day. Her body was adapted for photosynthesis, and the inefficiency of ingesting and excreting nutrients was unbearable.

She felt like she was dying. She didn't care if she died. She sat on the floor of her cell, knees tucked up and head down.

She shuffled down the hall when the guards forced her out of her cell for a shower. She didn't sleep. The hours blurred together into a gray mess. She waited for it to end.

Then, the next morning – there was a tiny ray of light. A new voice outside her cage, saying, "Miss Isley? May I call you Pamela?"

She felt mild curiosity. No one had spoken to her since she arrived, aside from orders barked by guards and cat-calling from the idiot prisoners. Ivy raised her eyes a fraction of an inch and saw an unfamiliar blonde in a white coat.

"Welcome to Arkham. I'm Dr. Quinzel. I'll be your psychiatrist." Ivy snorted inwardly. Did they really think there was any hope of "fixing" her? She raised her head a little now, regarding Dr. Quinzel coolly. It was slightly jarring, but not unwelcome, to be spoken to directly.

Ivy realized two things then: one, Dr. Quinzel was actually extending her hand through the bars. And two, she was apparently not a fan of silence. "I'm here to help you, but I hope, perhaps, we could be friends?"

Friends. The very notion was absurd. Ivy let her head fall back down and, after a moment, mumbled: "You do realize I can concentrate enough toxins in my hand to kill you in seconds, don't you?"

Not a very auspicious beginning to a friendship, but Dr. Quinzel was undeterred. "All friendships have a strong foundation of trust."

Ivy was at a loss for how to respond, so she did the only thing that came naturally: she slowly rose to her feet (to Dr. Quinzel's credit, she didn't blink at seeing Ivy's long, green body unfold), walked over to the bars, and gripped the other woman's hand.

It was unsettling, but not unpleasant, this feeling of touching a human being intentionally – without the intent to seduce or maim. Dr. Quinzel's hand felt warm and alive in her cool, dry green one. Ivy could feel the slight pulse of her heartbeat where their palms touched. It occurred to her that further contact would not be entirely undesirable. She looked into the doctor's eyes then, for the first time. Dr. Quinzel swallowed hard as their eyes met and said, rather hastily, "See? Now was that so difficult?"

It was with some regret that Ivy let her hand go. They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed and with no idea of the long road that stretched ahead for them.

The moment was broken by the approach of several guards escorting an inmate past Ivy's cell. She recognized the Joker and sneered involuntarily. Despite their common enemy, Ivy felt no love for the clown.

But as he passed, Dr. Quinzel turned to see who it was, and her eyes met the Joker's. He looked her up and down, ever the king of his domain, and smirked. "Yum."

Dr. Quinzel blushed and quietly said "Oh."

In that single moment, Ivy could see the future. Complicated emotions swirled within her: revulsion, apprehension, and – no – could that be jealousy? Mostly, she felt disgusted with herself for allowing that one strange moment of connection with a human, that one moment of weakness.

She sat back down on the floor of her cell, put her head down, and listened as Dr. Quinzel walked away.

She didn't say a word to anyone for three weeks.

But things changed, as they always do. She was required to attend several sessions a week with Dr. Quinzel, so of course Ivy tried to fight against that one moment of human connection.

Ivy thought of her tactics during these sessions as variations on a silent theme. Her favorite was silent regal displeasure (impeccable posture, one perfectly arched eyebrow), but she alternated that with silent disdain (which involved a lot of eye-rolling) and even silent boredom (during which she would slump, chin in hand, and stare at a single spot on Quinzel's desk).

Dr. Quinzel, on the other hand, never lost her aura of professional cheerfulness. She obviously enjoyed the challenge, and unless Ivy was mistaken, she actually seemed to enjoy Ivy's company. At each session, the doctor shared small stories from her own life, cracked jokes, and occasionally revealed a keen insight into Ivy's psyche. She often seemed distracted, as if something heavy were weighing on her mind, but quickly brought her focus back to Ivy each time. And she never seemed to mind Ivy's perpetual silence.

One day, near the close of their session, Dr. Quinzel said, "You never answered my question, Dr. Isley." Ivy looked at her, head cocked to one side, mentally chiding herself for showing any interest. Dr. Quinzel smiled and said, "Can I call you Pamela?" Ivy didn't respond.

Then Dr. Quinzel walked around the desk and stood behind Ivy's chair. Ivy stayed motionless, not sure where this was going. She froze when Dr. Quinzel put a hand on her shoulder, fingertips lightly grazing her neck, and leaned close to whisper in her ear: "Actually, what I'd really like to call you is – Ivy."

Ivy froze, mindful of the emotions swirling through her. This was their first physical contact since the handshake, and she could feel the doctor's fingers at her neck like an electric current, her breath close against Ivy's ear.

The doctor straightened and walked away. "Well, I think that concludes our session for today." She knocked for the guard to come open the door. Ivy stood up and turned to her, slightly stunned. Dr. Quinzel was standing by the door, one hand on her hip and a knowing smirk on her face. As Ivy walked to the door, just before the guard opened it, Dr. Quinzel put a hand on her arm and said, "It was lovely chatting with you, as always. Oh – and at our next session, please call me Harleen." And she winked.

Ivy walked back to her cell in a daze.

Two days later, she arrived for her session. As the guard shut the door, Ivy turned to the doctor, cleared her throat, and said, "Hello, Harleen."

Harleen said, "Hello, Ivy."

That smirk was back, and Ivy was powerless.

They spent the rest of the session chatting like colleagues, like friends, maybe even like – no. Ivy wouldn't let herself think that way. Not yet.

As the weeks went by, the two women opened up more and more. Harleen shared far more about her own life than a professional therapist would ever share with an inmate. The most challenging part for Ivy by far was keeping her mouth shut when Harleen talked about the Joker. It made her blood boil to hear how clueless her friend was being. Ivy knew manipulation, and the Joker's expert twisting of this beautiful, intelligent woman's heart and mind was painful to watch.

She could see the road the two of them were on (a road that didn't have a place for her – not that she cared about that, oh no), so it came as no surprise the day Dr. Harleen Quinzel was escorted out of Arkham, having fallen completely under the Joker's spell.

As she passed Ivy's cell, their eyes met and that familiar feeling of mutual understanding, of loss, passed between them as they each held up a hand in a silent goodbye.

Less than a day later, the guards brought in a new prisoner: Harley Quinn. Ivy raised a hand in greeting as she was led past Ivy's cell, and Harley sadly returned her wave.

She didn't need to tell Ivy what had happened – it was obvious by the look on her face that the Joker had betrayed her.

The two prisoners had hardly any opportunities to talk now, and Harley was always preoccupied with thoughts of the Joker. So they grew apart, as friends do.

Then one day, Batman secured Ivy's release. She left Arkham, she and Harley lost touch, and Ivy did everything she could to forget how close they had been. Plants were easier, more predictable, didn't date madmen.

But something was always missing.

Next chapter: The rocket ship! The super immunity juice!