Yes, I know it's been too long- blame school, as usual. But anyway, here, a brand-new chapter, double-length to make up for the wait, and because I had an idea I liked. Also, I changed the genre, because let's face it, the girls do talk a lot about their love lives, and that's part of the fun. And because you all are so awesome, and would hate to get on the bad side of our fair characters, I won't even bother hassling you about reviews. Enjoy!
If you ask the average person to describe an insane asylum, they will probably talk about dull hallway, silence punctuated by screams, locked and bolted doors, and a aura of foreboding. In short, they will probably describe Arkham Asylum.
The place made Ivy shiver. It was so far away from anything green. But at least she was here for an amusing reason. Apparently old Victor had gotten hold of a newspaper and seen her picture under the social column. He was now blathering about Bruce Wayne dating Poison Ivy, and demanding to see her. She had laughed all the way there- I mean, honestly, could you buy a better disguise than a certified lunatic hurling accusations at you? Victor had once terrorized Gotham with his freeze ray in a sledge drawn by polar bears; not a living soul took him seriously. Besides, she and Bruce were still in a pretty low-key relationship; hardly an obvious plot, other than one for her own amusement. She smiled at the doctor who was escorting her to his cell- he was younger than she expected, maybe just a year or two older than her, and, she couldn't help but notice, cute in a skinny, nerdy sort of way.
Dr. Jonathan Crane smiled back, a little nervously. He had always defined the quiet bookish type- at least when he wasn't dealing with his experimental treatments, which always seemed to bring the life out in him- but there was something bold about this pretty woman he liked very much. She looked fearless; this fascinated him. But still, away from his . . . area of expertise, he was very shy. "Here you are," he muttered outside Victor's cell. "Do you want me to wait, or you could ring when you're done speaking to him, or . . ."
"No, please stay," Ivy said, more quietly than she had intended. What was her problem? Now was no time to play damsel in distress, she had to deal with Victor! She shook her head, smoothed out the silver-and-green wrap dress she'd worn specially, and walked into the cell to speak to Victor.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Crane and the cell guards heard screams, and had just wheeled around to open the door when Ivy emerged, laughing softly. Men. So alike, really. She was surprised to see the doctor, Jonathan Crane, his name tag read, looking at her with fast-subsiding alarm. "Are you okay?" he asked. "We heard screams and . . . well, he's a very unstable patient . . ."
"I'm fine," Ivy laughed. He looked so flustered, so concerned, she thought with a giggle. Wait. A giggle? No, it must have been a derisive laugh, she realized. Of course.
Dr. Crane was surprised at himself for that brief moment of, well, fear for her well-being, but immediately reverted back to business. "As I was saying," he went on, "Victor is one of our most unstable patients. These large-scale criminals usually are. I've been thinking of trying an experimental treatment on him, using some new nerve toxins I've developed; triggers a powerful psychological response . . ."
Ivy stopped in her tracks. "You like nerve toxins?" She asked. "Not organic, by any chance?"
"Of course," Dr. Crane looked surprised she'd said anything. "Mostly plant-based. Why do you ask?"
o!o
In her life so far, Selina Kyle had climbed walls, robbed museums, killed exactly one man, and fallen in love. All of these things had been scary, but she had been able to overcome her fears to accomplish great things. And look where it had gotten her? A lucrative career, friends who were like sisters to her, and she was engaged to Edward Nygma, her one true love. Clearly it paid to face your fears. She reminded herself of this as she picked up the phone in her apartment and dialed a distressingly familiar number.
"Kyle residence," answered a low female voice. Drat. She had been hoping for the answering machine.
"Mom?" she asked.
"Selina!" Instantly, the voice went up to a chirp to rival Harley's. "So, our city girl finally remembers she has a family, eh? Well, well. How are things, honey, no trouble, I hope?"
"No, of course not," Kitty sighed. When Selina Kyle was eighteen, she had left the tiny farm town where she was born, headed to Gotham City for college, and never looked back. Because of the long-standing differences between her and her family- Town Mouse vs. Country Mouse, you might say- as well as the . . . unconventional twists her life had taken, she didn't stay in too close contact with her family. Mostly birthdays and holidays, that sort of thing. And yet, there was still a tiny part of her that was glad to hear her overbearing mother's voice.
"Well, that's good to know. Say, how is that job of yours? That Mr. Schreck still running you ragged? Because you know, a girl with your brains could get a much better job here at home. And if you lived here at our house, you wouldn't even have to pay rent until you found yourself a nice home, not like that ratty old apartment that must cost you a fortune each month."
Kitty sighed again. Her mother was laboring under two false impressions, one understandable and one delusional. The understandable one was that Kitty was still in fact working as a secretary for corporate giant Max Schreck. Naturally, Kitty had never informed her parents that two years ago, she had heard something she shouldn't have, regarding some of her boss's more, ahem, colorful business associates (specifically the Falcone crime family) and Mr. Schreck had tried to kill her for it. The night she miraculously survived his pushing her from a third-story window had been the night she joined the business, and one month later she had killed Max Schreck, the first and only time she had ever killed someone. Of course, this wasn't the sort of thing a person just mentioned to her mother over a birthday phone call. "Happy birthday, Mom, oh and by the way, I killed my homicidal megalomaniac boss, and now I'm a cat burglar!"
The second misimpression of Mrs. Kyle, the delusional one, was that Kitty was ever coming back to Medsfield. She had picked up her heels and run at the first chance, and she was never coming back. Until now, though, she had seen no sufficient reason to deprive her mother of that last spark of hope. But now it was time to set things straight.
"Actually, Mom, I probably am going to be moving out of the apartment soon," Kitty took a deep breath before the moment of truth. "You see, Mom, I called to tell you that . . . I'm getting married. His name's Edward, and we've been together for these past eight months, and he's just . . ." Suddenly she was aware of an acute silence on the other end of the line. "Mom? Are you still there?"
"My little girl's getting married," Kitty's mother whispered. "Oh, honey, do you love him? Really love him?"
"With all my heart, absolutely, just like he loves me," Kitty said quietly, something uncomfortably like a lump in her throat.
"My little girl's getting married," her mother repeated, excited now. "Oh this is fantastic! When are you thinking of for a date? I've always liked June . . . Oh, and there'll be parties, and a shower of course, and have you thought about your dress? And . . ."
"Mom," Kitty interrupted, laughing. "So I take it this means you'll be attending the wedding?"
o!o
"Come on sevens!" Harley Quinn called, as her beloved Mr. J rolled a pair of dice down a long table. They were both out of uniform, Harley in her red satin evening gown, Puddin' in a dark burgundy pinstripe suit, no makeup, at Maxim's, Gotham City's landmark casino and hotel. Harley thrilled at how people looked at them, the strange couple- he with those terrible scars (that were so very sexy, thought Harley), and she with that laugh that filled a room.
Harley loved casinos. They reminded her of Las Vegas, the city where, exactly one year ago, she and Mr. J had, on a complete whim, signed their vows in front of an Elvis impersonator at a drive-in wedding chapel. They had celebrated by holding up the circus-themed hotel on the Vegas Strip, and putting on their own bomb-juggling act. Harley still didn't see why the police were so upset about that one. They'd hardly stolen anything, just the patrons' valuables, nobody was seriously injured (contrary to media reports, she and Puddin' tried not to kill anyone, not civilians, in their schemes. It took the fun out of it, they both agreed), and besides, it was their wedding party, and a perfect one for them at that.
The dice rolled a seven. Harley cheered. "I guess it's the, uh, luck of the devil," Mr. J said with a shrug. He was absently fiddling with a penknife in one hand, one of those somehow socially acceptable Swiss Army gadgets. "What would you say, Harley?"
"Maybe I'm your good luck charm," she smiled, striking a pose.
"As I said, luck of the devil," he muttered, and Harley laughed, when suddenly two security guard approached, telling Mr. J that he'd come up on their security computers, and would he please vacate the premises?
Harley pouted disappointedly at Mr. J, thinking of how hard he had worked to hack into Maxim's security database, as he said he would certainly leave- be happy to, even- and Harley should just meet him outside, but he had had a recent identity theft problem, and if he could see the computer for a second, just to make sure this wasn't that again?
The guards nodded. This guy looked a little weird, and for whatever reason, they'd rather not upset him.
Twenty minutes later, the Clown Prince of Crime stood outside Maxim's, practically hearing the executives' dismay inside and admiring his handiwork for a moment before turning to Harley Quinn and asking, "So, babe, whaddya think?"
Harley grinned from ear to ear. Somehow, in the chaos following the bizarre computer disaster that was even now wiring every dime in Maxim's into various untraceable accounts with unstoppable speed, no one had noticed someone using a chain saw to give the otherwise painfully serious statue of two lovers in front of Maxim's two big, happy smiles. "Oh, Mistah J!" Harley threw her arms around him. "It's perfect!"
"Happy anniversary, Harley," he said. And somehow, they were still laughing as they kissed, before running to the getaway car, narrowly passing the police on their way to Maxim's.
o!o
When Ivy got home at last, it was late at night. The plants could sense something was different about her, although even they couldn't sense if it was good or bad. Her hair was mussed. She was wearing a look she never had before, one that could only be called "dazed."
She tried to call Kitty and Harley, but Harley was out and Kitty's line was busy. She left a message for both of them, "Hey, it's me, Ivy. Please give me a call, or even drop by, I need to talk to you guys. Something . . . happened. Tell you everything later. Bye."
Ivy sunk into a chair in the sun room, sighing heavily. In all the planning her lifestyle called for, and all the other planning she did, because she liked to feel in control, she had never expected anything like this.
