The girls' stealth abilities varied at times, from "ninja mode" to "herd of elephants." The Captain was particularly effective as a ninja—when she wasn't heavily sedated and still fighting off the effects of Joker Venom and its opposite number.

Accordingly, ninja mode was out. Still, they managed not to draw any attention to themselves as they settled into a pocket of green where they could peer down into Poison Ivy's underground home without being spotted. The visuals weren't great, but they could hear just fine.

"Hey, Red!"

"Harley's home," Techie muttered. Al perked up. "You can't go down and visit her, you know. We're still supposed to be dead."

"I know, I remember. Not retarded. Hi."

"Yeah, yeah. What do you see in her, anyway? She's like an ambulatory squeaky toy."

"Whatever happened to, 'It's healthy to have friends'?" Al murmured, leaning forward to peer through the green. "Did we miss something important?" They all went silent and watchful.

"Harls, I'm not running a hotel here," Poison Ivy said sternly.

"Please?" Harley flashed some very effective puppy dog eyes. Ivy visibly wilted. "He needs a place to stay, just for a little while. Come on, Red. It's cold out, and he's hurt, and he's all alone. And hungry."

"Oh, so that's why you like her?" the Captain teased. The others shushed her.

"I told you, I don't want to stay," came the voice of Harley's unseen male companion.

"Oh, come on, Professor. You don't think we'd really let you stay alone out there, tonight of all nights?"

"Professor?" Al whispered.

"Yes, I do!"

"He's right, Harl," said Ivy. "If we're going to keep pets, I'd think my plants and your hyenas would be enough for anyone. Nothing personal, Jonathan."

"Jonathan?" Al squealed, and clapped a hand over her mouth. They all jockeyed about, trying to get a look at the guest. Too bad their view was blocked. He seemed to be trying to stay as near to the exit as possible.

"I don't want to be your pet! What is it about you insufferable women and your need to collect cuddly things?!"

Harley disappeared from sight, and the tirade cut off abruptly.

"Sit down and enjoy your Christmas!" she bellowed in a voice utterly unlike her usual bubble-and-squeak. A violent shove sent Jonathan Crane stumbling out into the room.

The girls let out a collective squee, which turned into a collective "Aww!" followed by a collective shush.

He wasn't looking at all well. In point of fact, he looked like a drowned rat that had been trodden on by a tap dancer.

"He's wet."

"He's bleeding."

"He's bruised."

"He's shivering."

"He's lost weight."

They all stared at each other.

"He does need us!"

"You aren't going to touch anything, are you?" Ivy asked with a disdainful glare. "I don't want to wake up in the morning to find that one of my babies has gone into your toxin."

"I don't want to stay here; I told Harley that. I don't want your…help." He waved them away with his left hand, holding his right arm close to his body in a way that just screamed of pain.

"Time for a daring rescue?" Al whispered eagerly. Her companions wanted—very much—to agree, but their hopes were dashed by the Captain's dreary practicality, a sure sign that her higher mental functions were returning.

"We're still supposed to be dead. We can't just go bursting in there and announce, 'We're back from the dead and ready to kick some ass!' It just doesn't work that way."

"Maybe he'll be okay," Al said doubtfully. Techie snorted.

"With the tree-bitch? She's going to do something to him. I don't know what, but she's going to try something, and then I'll have to kill her." She said it so matter-of-factly, the others couldn't have found fault with her logic even if they'd wanted to.

The Captain did interject, "We'll kill her."

Al shushed them both and directed their attention to the spectacle below, which wasn't going to stop just to let them have their conversation.

Ivy was waving a hand, and the plants were stirring all around them. Techie made a sound uncomfortably like a growl.

But when one vine knocked the Scarecrow's feet out from under him, another was there to catch him before he fell. They looped around behind him, forming something like a hammock—or a chair?

"I won't tell you to make yourself comfortable, because this is only for tonight. Don't touch anything." She stalked over to the break in the foliage that, presumably, led to her private bower. Then, with an irritated sigh, she turned back. "All right, Harl, stop looking at me like that. You might as well get him something to eat. And take a look at that wrist. You see the plant with the long, pointy leaves? Take one. Not a handful. One. And don't go digging anything up. And stay out of my room."

That last was spoken like a petulant teenager annoyed by her younger brother. It might have been impossible to slam a curtain of vines, but Ivy managed to convey the impression beautifully.

"You want somethin' to drink?" Harley asked, as if nothing at all was wrong. Without waiting for his answer, she turned around and started fussing with one of the plants, turning one of its leaves into a cup into which it poured an unidentified pink liquid.

"Think she's trying to poison him?" Techie grumbled.

"Too complicated," said Al. "Besides, this is Harley. Probably the only Gotham villain who can wish you a merry Christmas and mean it."

As much as she hated to say it, Techie had to voice her thought.

"So he's going to be okay with them."

"He'll leave here in one piece as long as he behaves himself," drawled an unexpected voice from behind them. "I can't say the same for you three." They all looked up at Poison Ivy like guilty schoolchildren caught in the middle of a prank.

"Oh, hi. Um…we can explain."