Dr. Birch jerked awake with a stammered outcry. How long had she been asleep? Where was she? Why did her neck hurt? Slowly Hazel looked around and the answers to the questions came. She was in her office, the clock on the wall read 9:46, she had been asleep for roughly four hours. She'd drifted off in the midst of writing a new report about her patient, Pamela Eisley.
Pamela... Dammit! She had a therapy session with Eisley in just under 45 minutes and she was unprepared! Frantically the young psychiatrist began hurtling through lists and questions she'd drawn up in the early morning hours, things she wanted to ask Pamela during this morning's session. Some of them she dismissed for being to intrusive this early in Pam's healing process, other's she deemed to be crucial questions for the beginning of Pamela reformation into a productive member of modern society. In the comfort of her office, Hazel was free to think of herself for a brief moment, and the publicity she could get if this actually happened. If she could redeem Poison Ivy the world as they knew it would change, this woman could do incredible things. She could help stop global warming, she could regrow decimated forests, even end world hunger on a whim; she had the potential to be an amazing provider for the entire world and sometimes Hazel felt like she was the only one who saw that... She and Batman, after all, if he didn't see the potential in Eisley he wouldn't be so gentle with her, she was one of the few villains he brought in who didn't have to be rushed to intensive care immediately.
Batman... What part did he play in Ivy's current condition? It was something to consider in their meeting. Hazel was now looking forward to the session even more than she had been the night before, she was able to get ready even sooner than she expected and was in the meeting room waiting for Ivy when the inmate-patient was escorted into the chamber by her guards.
"Good morning, Pamela. You're looking better." Hazel announced, smiling at her patient and gesturing to the chair across from her.
With the morning sun shining through the window, Ivy had a rare chance to bask in the warmth of sunlight. She sat down in the chair and tossed her long red hair, back over her shoulders, letting the sun shine upon her face. In the sunlight her pale green flesh shifted hue, taking a vibrant color more closely comparable to the skin of a golden-delicious apple. Remarkable didn't begin to describe her beauty, it was one thing Hazel couldn't help but feel a slight envy toward, as most women who laid eyes on Pamela did. After the transformation brought down upon her by Dr. Jason Woodrue, she blossomed mentally a physically, gaining the sort of body that super models starved themselves for, and Hollywood starlets sought ought plastic surgeons for.
Curvaceous was putting it mildly! Pamela's legs seemed to go on forever. Her eyes were vibrant emerald green and her lashes were so long most would immediately assume them to be fakes. Of course, the biggest "fake" outcry always came down to the breasts with Isley. The woman's chest was perfect in a way both unnatural and yet impossible achieve through any sort of implants. To call them "melons" wouldn't be an insult to Poison Ivy, it was probably the most accurate word to use in describing the plant-controlling meta-humans breasts; they were rounder, fuller, and firmer than any normal woman's breasts could be, and yet they still looked soft enough to be a very inviting pillow. What man wouldn't want to feel breasts like those? What woman wouldn't want to have them! It didn't matter if it was in a costume or a asylum jumpsuit and a straight-jacket, she always looked marvelous.
Ivy always had perfect nails too, never in need of a manicure or pedicure, never even in need of trimming, they were never dry or cracked or chipped. And her skin! It was as supple as newly opened flower petals, her lips were were as plump and soft as a fresh peach; and when she walked her hips swayed like a pendulum. Dr. Birch would kill for just one of these assets, let alone all of them.
Birch was attractive, but not remarkable. Slim and fit, a bit on the mousy side, with thin framed glasses perched on her nose and her curly brown hair pulled back into a bun to try and keep it more contained. She couldn't come close to competing with Pamela Isley, no one she'd ever met could. She was suddenly aware of just how very long she'd sat their silently admiring and envying Pamela's beauty, and the fact that her patient was staring rather expectantly at her. Hazel shook her head to rouse herself from her thoughts and made a quick apology to Pamela.
"I'm sorry, Pam, my mind was still on our discussion last night. Tell me, do you feel comfortable discussing it further?" the psychiatrist asked tentatively.
"I... I think I can." Pamela replied slowly, her eyes dropping toward the floor.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" Pam asked, looking up again.
"Don't feel bad... Don't let yourself become a victim years after the fact. The psychological effects of sexual abuse are horrendous Pamela, they truly are; but what's happened has happened, and you can't let yourself slump into a horrific world of blame and "What If?" wanderings. Stay here, stay in the moment."
"All right..." Pamela replied, nodding slowly. "I'll try."
"That's all anyone can do. Now... Tell me about the garden you and your mother built."
Pamela gave a dreamy sigh at that, closing her eyes with a sad smile. "Mother loved Lily's... She adored stargazer lilies."
"Did you help her plant them?"
"Right at the start of spring... Just... Just before my father said he- Said he wanted a divorce." Pamela choked up suddenly, clenching her eyes shut and ball her hands into fists upon her thighs. "He never... He never explained why! She was a faithful wife, a loving mother... She was wonderful... I suppose if I'm truly honest so was he. He wasn't the brightest man in the world, blue collar through and through, but he did his best to make sure we lived a decent life. And then... When it happened... When he shoved me down, I landed on the stargazers, they never had a chance... The poor things."
Hazel gazed sadly at Pamela as she began to sniffle, then she with drew handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to her patient. Handing Poison Ivy a box of tissues was a very, very, very bad idea. It would be the equivalent of showing a catholic priest a bottle of stem-cells. You simply didn't take such risks when you were sitting in a room with a convicted murderer. Isley took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, then lifted them to look at Hazel.
"I... I still don't remember a lot, Doctor. Just, images, flashes."
"It's probably better if you don't try to remember it all, Pamela. You know what happened now, there's no reason for you to have to relive every detail of it now that you do. Let's focus more on the things that have led you down the path you followed, the more we uncover the better chance we have of help you rid yourself of your compulsions."
"All right."
"Good." Hazel smiled reassuringly, then decided to shift the topic further away from the sexual abuse to help relax Pamela after noticing how stiffly the green woman was sitting. "Tell me something Pam, last night you said you hated dogs... Why dogs? I would think you'd be more upset with herbivores... Maybe cows?"
Pamela blinked, then sneered softly. "You know, everyone assumes plants are all I love. That's not true. I love everything about nature, in equal balance. All of nature's creatures, plant and animal alike, have a place in this world. Without animals most plants can't successfully fertilize. Without plants, animals have no way to get oxygen or proper nutrients. As cliché as Disney made it sound, there is a great circle of life in nature. The antelope eat the grass, the lions eat the antelope, the lions die and become fertilizer for the grass. It all balances out.
"I don't hate cows, but I hate that humans turn millions of acres of forest into nothing but grazing fields for cows that will serve no purpose save to fill mankind's gluttonous belly... As for dogs, well, I didn't say I hate wolves, or coyotes, or hyenas. No, I hate the modern domestic dog. There was a time when they were partners to humans, the two co-existed, helping one another survive... Now dogs are just pets, fashion accessories, or living toys for children whose parents are to lazy too look after their offspring. And what do dogs do, that gets them into more trouble than anything except peeing on the carpet...?"
Hazel blinked, then suddenly nodded in understanding. "They dig up the garden."
"And do you know why?" Pamela persisted.
"Why, Pam?"
"Because the damned human who bought the dog doesn't take the time necessary to help the poor beast get proper interaction, companionship, exercise! Plants and animals alike, they need attention. A healthy, happy, well cared for dog does not dig; A dog digs when it's upset. They dig when they feel trapped, they dig when they have too much energy and not enough room to run around, they dig when they feel frenzied and have no one to play with, they dig when they're aroused because their master refused to spay or neuter but also refused to buy the poor thing a mate! I hate dogs because of what they've become. Honestly, I feel sorry for them, because the usefulness of most breeds is dying out and now they're little more than another pretty decoration in the picturesque American family."
Hazel listened to this long-winded explanation intently, not so much for the context of it but for the underlying meaning behind Pamela's words. For the next hour and a half Dr. Birch listened to Pamela discuss her mother, her father, her life before the experiment and the general experience she had with her family. Pamela shared how her neighbor's dog broke into their yard and ate her pet bunny just weeks after she'd gotten it on her 7th birthday. She learned of Ivy's difficulties with a particularly debilitating and demoralizing science teacher in grade school, and with the hardships of coming to terms with her sexuality in high school. Her father had rejected the idea that she was gay and had promptly stopped associating with her; Hazel knew that such a vehemently negative response probably only reinforced Pamela's already growing hatred of men.
The more Pamela talked about her past, the more she opened up to her psychiatrist, the more the young doctor began to realize that Pamela Isley was most definitely not a lost cause; she was a woman driven over the edge by a life filled with unpleasant experience and unfriendly people, and if they could just worked through those issues and hardships Hazel believed wholeheartedly that Ivy could have a second chance at life.
Half a mile underneath Arkham Asylum another person listened to the confessions of Pamela Isley, his observation of the therapy session completely unknown to patient and doctor alike. In the background there was the soft drip of a leaking plumbing fixture, accompanied by a chorus of squeaking rodents deeper in the old tunnels that ran through out the underbelly of the asylum. The only source of light came from the soft glow of a flat screen computer monitor which displayed the combined files with every scrap of information he had about the patient.
The information on the screens was nothing compared to the vast amount of knowledge held within his own brain. A full psychological mock-up of every frequent opponent he ever faced was memorized within his brain. With a single flick of his finger across the screen he minimized the file on Pamela Isley and brought up the information on her psychiatrist.
As he listened to the seemingly heartfelt and intimate knowledge Pamela was sharing with Doctor Birch he knew one thing with unshakable certainty... Poison Ivy was lying.
