AN#5: Work is making me slow, miserable and busy. I'm very sorry for delays. Please enjoy. I have three interviews ready to go for you guys- get called in to work at 7. I'm so frustrated I could punch a bat. But you guys enjoying my silly interviews this much. God. It makes me so happy. Thank you for making my holidays bright!


Monday:
October the first, 4:00 pm
introductory interview #1
Patient I- AKA: Poison Ivy

"The only reason I'm even in a good mood today is because of this lovely, precious little baby right here," The dark drawl of a feminine voice spoke. "So I suppose I'll be able to handle you humans for a while…at least."

The fiery-haired woman seemed to speak more to herself than to Harleen as she entered in for their first session. The cell was open, and bare, nothing but a brown blanket on the floor, and the large, golden hue of Arkham Island's sun flooding in from a single window.

The only female patient on her roster, Harleen didn't even need to see the woman's body to know she was breath-taking. The picture that was clipped to her patient file was one of model proportions. Harleen felt the teensiest bit of unprofessional jealously over this woman's body. She was nothing but the best of what Gotham Fashion models would rip each other to shreds for. Harleen tried not to picture the flat, toned stomach, curves hidden beneath the prison patented clothes, and luscious, wild, red hair. The only thing unnaturally sexy about her was her green tinted skin. Harleen prided herself on her athletic frame and natural good looks—but the way this woman stared, even from the portrait of an old, filed photo…she was electric with sensuality.

"Pamela Isley," Harleen greeted as modestly as she could. She had scrubbed practically all of her make up off from her previous crying session, and hadn't thought to apply more. Now she nearly wished she had dumped the whole bag on her face.

Pamela turned to face Harleen with a sharp snap of her neck, a look of annoyance on her face. She was just crooning to her lonely common rose bud that had begun to grown strong enough to peek through the window—although the window itself was only wide enough to hold space for Ivy's narrow, elegant face, or a single hand to reach into the freedom of the outside world. She rolled her eyes stingily.

"Please, honey, it's Ivy. Poison Ivy, but you can just call me Ivy." Her large, gorgeous emerald eyes traced themselves over Harley's figure. "Look at you, all cute and attentive. And who might you be? Yet another tree-killing doctor who's here to waste precious paper on pointless notes about me? Please. Spare me."

Ivy never moved from the window. She simply shifted her weight from hip to hip, her full red lips blossoming and budding with each passing facial expression. Impatience, boredom, tranquility (whenever she fingers ran back over the delicate pink rose's petals).

"My name is Doctor Quinzel. I'm shall be your new psychiatrist." Harleen managed a smile. Already, there was something about this woman that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Hm," Ivy pouted, her bottom lip, extending her fingers before she opened her palm, and, to Harleen's amazement, the rose bud at the window opened up as well. It was incredible, Harleen's baby blue eyes widened. Incredible. "My last human doctor was a man. I prefer them, honestly," She smiled, her lidded eyes sliding down curiosity. "But…I've missed a woman's touch around here. I'm sure it's something that you and I can warm up too. A woman at least had sensibility to keep a garden. To care, and have compassion for all living things."

She slowly swiveled her head to stare again out the window. Her long, dazzling ruby hair cascading down her back with the motion of waterfall. "Today is a beautiful day, is it not? The gardeners have really pruned up."

Harleen's mind flashed to the sharp, curled, gnarly thorn-bushes and ancient lichen vines that clung to every moist surface on the isle. The small rose before her certainly was pretty—but outside? Even on a good day, she wouldn't even call the grounds particularly decent.

"It is lovely out," Harleen said agreeably. "Do you have the only cell window in Arkham?"

"Yes," Ivy nodded softly. "It was a lovely surprise, this window, I assure you." She leaned a magnificently gorgeous arm, decorated with the greens and yellows of tiny, wrapped leaves, to the window's frame, and rested her chin upon it. Harleen had to correct her pen from sketching out Ivy's picturesque position back to patient notes.

Harleen looked up again when Ivy sighed. A long, hushing sound like wind through the trees. "Though, it's usually only open when I've been a good girl. It's been closed for so long,"

She held her hand out into the light, and leaned back dramatically, arching her fully exposed back. The shirt had obviously been cut with something—thorns? Harleen surmised. Harleen didn't know whether to avert her eyes or make note of the physicality of her patient's actions. "I was starving for sunlight."

"What happened to make the guards close it?" Harleen quirked, tapping the end of the pen against her pale pursed lips.

"Hm," Ivy made an approving noise in the back of her throat and glanced at the rose, as if she was enjoying a private joke between her and the plant. "Well, you see, currently the lazy humans here have wizened up and made earth-friendly choices to their garden team. But before…well," She transitioned her smooth lips into a minx's smirk. "The former gardener placed a horrid, wooden step ladder on a lovely Atriplex canescens below this very window. So I killed him."

Harleen tried not to stare quizzically. She never recognized plants by their botanic name. They were nothing but clumps of weeds tended to be grown in miserable patches. She didn't want to breach her patient's comfort zone by walking over the window to look down, but even then she didn't need to see that they were high up.

"Ivy," Harleen began tentatively, slowly phrasing her words as if that would extend their logic to the red-head's brain. "How was the gardener meant to clean the window and wall without the ladder otherwise?"

"Humans are related to primates, aren't they? Couldn't he have," she waved her long, fingers dismissively, her nails shimmering in the light. "I don't know, hung from the building or something?"

"Two stories down?"'

"He would have been safer with that fall than trodding on my babies!" Ivy fumed, the toned, hardy muscles of her angular body clenching one by one. "The spores that clung to his pants and clothes, shredding through that stretchy, unnatural, man-woven fiber…saturated with harmful dyes and chemicals. How the seeds burrowed into his skin, popping into the flesh, exploding with life," She was practically elated with the mental image of her beauties as she spoke, taking a human life like revenge for thousands of years of humanoid torture. Her passion died slowly however as the sun sank lower in the evening sky, and she sighed again. "And that's why they closed my window."

Patient exploits the hormones and sexual nature to dominant towards men. But using her sexual nature…isn't that exploiting her own human structure, the thing she hates in people? Harleen's pen scratched quickly across the paper. A rustle of clothing caught her ears. The blonde's hand stopped dead, and she dared herself to look up. The tips of her ears burred. Correction. Towards all homosapiens, she added. Ivy had begun to strip.

Harleen steeled herself, and pushed her eyes up to find that Ivy had been staring at her, waiting the whole time, like the flame to a moth.

"I'm sorry," Ivy purred through scarlet lips and lidded eyes. "I'm just getting more comfortable. The ridiculous amounts of layers you humans are forced to cover your delicate skin with are practically suffocating to mine."

Harleen pretended to concentrate hard on the lines running down her paper.

"It's maddening," Ivy finished with a flash of white teeth. To Harleen's relief, Ivy had covered most of her body graciously in plant vines and leaves so that only the curves were seen, but not exposed. Ivy stretched out lavishly and leaned against the window, the sun sparkling through her hair.

"You know, honey, I could peg you for a screamer just by large amount of vitamin D glistening in your skin—but a hint of advice? Try to not scream so loud. We could hear you all the way down to the Medical Center. Gave everyone a good laugh—I think even Crane managed a scowl." She took another breath, her eyes slowly trailing down the length her slender arm, her scandalously leaved thigh, before she crossed her ankles with a flare of grace.

"But then again, he kind of gets off to that kind of thing," She quirked her full lips, giving them a pop over the word 'off'. She gave a soft huff, tossing her shiny, red ringlets over her left shoulder. "Humans, despicable against sexual nature as well."

Harleen shifted uncomfortably, and used the sun to estimate that the short first meet session was soon to be over. She stood.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Doctor? If you knew lil' old me, you know I'd never want that." Ivy's look seemed to mock upon the genuine, and Harleen was reminded of a televised interview with Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane, though she had no earthly idea why. Maybe it was the voice.

Harleen paused at the door, a sense of stress all at once knocking at her nerves. She couldn't peg why—but it was certainly entertaining talking to Ivy, in the least. She felt all at once in Gotham Academy over all again—parting the lunch table from her best friend due to the bell. The blonde reached for the door's handle.

"Joker, epically liked it. 'If one can't laugh then they must scream', as he always says," Ivy added, carefully examining her nails.

Joker.

Harleen froze, the whites of her nails creating a gentle clicking sound against the door handle as she twisted to look back, her face locked into priceless shock.

"Joker?" Harleen demanded, trying not to let the urgency colour her inquiry. "You—you talked to Joker? Today?"

Ivy slowly pushed her beautiful emerald eyes up to carelessly glance at the doctor with a knowing look. Her green tinted full lids seemed to flutter with clandestine. "We're often moved around a lot here, but I deal with him, yes. Who wants to know?"

Harleen could feel the tiniest bits of perspiration slide down her neck. It was far, far past the time for the introductory interview—how could she possibly explain this to Sharp? Could she extend an interview if the patient suddenly produced needed clientele information? She clenched her at clipboard. Furthermore, the day was nearly up, and Joker was still the only patient that refused to talk to her—or at least, well, more than five words... She'd need something about him, anything he's said today, or Sharp could remove the most notorious criminal in all of Arkham off the young psychiatrist's list for insubordination. He could be moved to another doctor.

Harleen strode back over to the chair, and sat down purposefully. Ivy's eyes seemed to take a keen, glossy sheen to them. All over again, Harleen felt like she was back in high school, being read like an open book. But she needed this. She needed Joker's words.

"Isn't our session over, Doctor?" Ivy purred, her red, shapely eyebrows rising.

"When did you talk to him today?" Harleen took up the pen in her hand.

Ivy rolled her green eyes, crossing a toned, light green leg over the bare skin of the other. "Let's see, it's about 4:15 now? So…twenty minutes ago or so."

20 minutes ago. 20 minutes ago the Joker had spoken.

"And what did he say?" Harleen's heart thudded in her chest. Joker. Joker had listened to her scream—and his thoughts—God, what did he think?

Ivy furrowed her bright brows, and pulled her lips into a look of disgust, as if she had just smelled Scarecrow's cell. "Look, honey, I'm not his keeper. If you're so interested, go talk to him yourself."

And already her heart began to sink in her chest. If Ivy couldn't tell her—No, wouldn't tell her—she'd have nothing to report back to Sharp. They would take him away. One of the greatest cases in Arkham Island's vast criminal history…and he'd be gone, poof, just like that. Striped from her grasp.

"Oh well, don't you look like a kicked, lifeless doll," Ivy's hard, green eyes seemed to glow from the inside, and Harleen felt it very hard to look away to get the time. It was only when Ivy rolled them did Harleen finally feel she could blink. "Let me guess—he wouldn't talk to you. Weird—that man is nearly as infuriating as Riddler. Always talking. And that comparison alone is saying something here, darling."

"I'm sorry to say that is personal information that I can't—"

"Honey—Harleen, right? Mm, no. Harley," She began again, "Harley sounds must better, don't you agree? Please. Nothing personal here is sacred. If you know about it, we know about it. Not much to do here but gossip. Of course, I'd much rather being talking to my babies than to these humans," she crinkled perfectly angular nose, and began idly twirling her long, red hair on her index finger, her eyes seeming to permeate the window with a sense of devoted longing.

"Since you're new, I'll clue you in just this once. It's one of Joker's greatest pastimes to completely screw with his doctors' minds. They probably just messed up his medication. Usually that man is extremely talkative – I can't imagine a time where I haven't heard a chuckle or some tone of his voice around here. Well, unless he's escaped. The things just get corporative and I'm able to tend to my plants whenever I feel like it. I do so love when he's gone…"

Harleen subtly raised a blonde eyebrow of her own, leaning in a little towards her patient. "Does the Joker bother you, Ivy?"

"Ugh!" Ivy retaliated, her green eyes suddenly blazing with a furious passion. Harleen blinked, taken back. She had seen many faces today with a look of annoyance, or displeasure, but that looked in Ivy's eyes. It was like she practically loathed him more than the entire human race. "Bother me? Bother me? How dare you—"She leaning up to her full height on her long legs.

Harleen pushed her back hard into the chair, nearly pulling away from Ivy. It was as if the woman wasn't referring to the Joker anymore—after all, Ivy was the one that brought Joker's bothersome ways up. Ivy's diction…it almost seems as if I had insulted her taste in men. Perhaps…a specific man?

"That man is everything I despise in all of this ungrateful, nature destroying, humanized world! He's just so—so damn hard to control. He's not like other men, oh no, he's from a whole another undiscovered species!"

She bit her bottom lip hard, pausing to collect her thoughts. Harleen took advantage of the moment to interject.

"Control?"

"Not to say that we "Super Criminals" are of a higher class—although we are, of course, but we're not driven just for the primal intent of sex between animals. And Joker, I find, out of all the men here, to be the least sexually driven. Well. Unless he wants it. He's…hard to predict. Hard to control. But I can smell virginity in human's from a mile off—so loud, and obvious; he shows all the signs. But yet…" Ivy gave a sharp shrug of her shoulders, the action carefully weaving her hair.

She sighed, "I truly pity the girl that ever attached herself to his arm." Ivy gave a long, cryptic look over the blonde before, blinking. Harleen suppressed a warm shiver the slid down her spine. Ivy was right. Gossip was the only thing that the "Super Criminals" indulged in here.

"Don't get me started on Riddler, though," She snapped. "He's a virgin if Mother Nature ever did make one."

Harleen's hand flew to her mouth to cover a small smile that crawled its way to her lip muscles. As unprofessionally as it was, Ivy sure seemed to know what she was talking about—and in lesser threatening way conversationally than other patients.

Harleen's eyes suddenly jumped to the rose as it began to grow. No…no, not grow. Glow. And pulse. It was continuous, and Ivy hardly seemed to notice until her eyes followed in Harleen's path. It was palpitating like the vision of a heart beating.

"Oh," Ivy gasped alluringly, "You like my beautiful baby? Yes. She's very resourceful. You see, unlike human nature, the plants are connected." She gave a small laugh, "It must have sensed my mental distress and found him. Miles beneath the Joker's cell, the roots have twisted together and creeped through the prison's cracks to permeate the air. The symbiosis of thylakoids and pyruvic acid. What you're looking at now is the Joker's heart beat—though, I could just strangle him from here, by just thinking about it. My babies are strong and this old madhouse's floor titles are brittle as aged human bone. I could rip out his voice box with a root, if you like. You did say you needed his voice, after all."

"H-how are you doing that?" Harleen gasped her blue eyes impossibly wide.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "I just explained—but I'll dumb it down for you darling. Whenever the Joker breathes out carbon dioxide, my plants absorb the air, and thus tract his input of breathing and circulation is recorded back to me."

"Stop," Harleen breathed, her own voice jumping up two octaves. His heart beat was getting faster. Like Ivy was enjoying her anxiety and Joker was sensing it with enthusiasm. Oh God—was she doing it now? Attacking him?

"I thought you wanted my help," Ivy countered, her green eyes sparkling.

"Ivy—No. No. Please don't hurt him!" She readjusted. "—don't hurt anyone."

Ivy rolled her eyes with a royal flush of arrogance at the smaller framed blonde. Harleen nearly wrote down how much Ivy's narcissism nearly paralleled Riddler's if she wasn't shaking. She had underestimated Ivy. She really, really had.

"I understand that you're trying to…help. But don't hurt him. I hope you understand that regardless of your physical or verbal threats against him are carried out or not, I have to report your undocumented recognizance through the plants in the Asylum."

Ivy's eyes suddenly flared to focus; she placed her hands on her knees, squeezing them hard until the green skin turned purple as she talked. "Don't take my babies from me—please. Harley. Doctor Quinzel, whatever! Please. Look, I'm sorry, all right? Happy? I didn't plan on doing harm in any way with my plants. This one has just begun to blossom! Don't have them removed. Don't kill my babies!"

"Ivy—Pamela," Harleen's voice lingered sympathetically. My God, she really does love these flowers.

"I showed you something very special Harleen. Very special. And this is how you treat me? Fine. You're a pity—a waste just like these other ignorant apes."

Harleen stood, and slowly made for the door, her eyes ahead of her on the silver knob.

"Pamela, I'll do my best to not have a plant touched. But you can't spy on the other inmates like this."

Ivy huffed, puffing up her chest and crossed one arm over the other. "I certainly hope you do, Harley. Because you shouldn't be making enemies of enemies. I could really…open up to a woman around here. Hm. And here I was, thinking we could've been great friends."

Harleen stopped at the frame of the door, a small twinge of guilt sitting her chest. "I'm your doctor before your friend, Pamela. Never forget that."

"Oh believe me doctor," Poison Ivy mused with a sleek, sedative smile of perfect, square, white teeth. "I won't."


EAN#7: oh my god, you people, and your lovely minds, with your beautiful words and your REVIEWS! Every morning I've woken up smiling because of all of you. Thank you SO much for enjoying, favouriting, and your suggestions. Two-Face is up next.

Sorry to stretch this part out, but I just wanted to throw this out there and all. I do have a story line for this, but I'm completely happy to write specific patient interviews, mini one-shots, or even other story lines within this fic. After all, it IS a villain study. So if you've ever had a particular question or event you'd like me to possibly write a Super-Criminal talking about, I'm all ears. I just love diving into these characters. I think it'd be fun to go outside the computer…box, with this story, and jump in and out with the exploration villains; maybe even have villains discuss events with each other! Of course, I do have Harley Quinn/Joker shenanigans I'm cookin' up. So…what do you all think my inspirational, wonderful readers?

P.S. Oh Riddly, why do I love to have everyone despise you?