"And how are you today, Mr. Tetch?" the little nurse asked, setting the hospital tray down on the foot of Jervis Tetch's bed. "Good news! The doctor says your fracture is healing very well."

The patient heaved a deep sigh and turned in his bed, eyes fixed on the window. The worn hospital blanket slipped off one shoulder and off the bed, and Jervis Tetch, aka the Mad Hatter, made a pitiful attempt to pull it back. His left arm came to a sudden stop about a foot from the bed rail, arrested by the solid circle of a police cuff. His right arm was similarly secured- not painfully, but restrictively. The nurse, a Chinese woman in her upper forties, came to his rescue, pulling the errant cover over his shoulder and patting it kindly. For a moment, Jervis was almost tempted to call her Alice.

"I wonder," he said shyly. "I wonder, could you open that window?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but it stays closed," the nurse replied apologetically. "Police orders. But cheer up. It's time for lunch."

"I-I will take some more tea," the Mad Hatter said. "Thank you."

The nurse's face scrunched up in confusion. Jervis waited- would she, won't she, would she, won't she, would she join the dance?

"But you can't take more tea," she said. "You haven't had any yet."

Jervis beamed at her.

"You mean I can't take less," he said happily. "It's very easy to take more than nothing. -mark!"

Unfortunately, this confused the nurse even further.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked, passing him a plastic cup- of water.

"Perfectly wonderful, but someone else won't be," the Hatter said promptly. "I want a clean cup."

"Oh! well, you don't need to worry about that," the nurse said.

"Yes, but- well, I am worried," Jervis confided to her. "You see, it isn't an advantage at all. Just think of what it would make with the day and night! You see, the earth takes twenty-four hours to spin on its axis- we're all going to be late, but him especially. Very, very late."

The nurse nodded sympathetically, carefully situated the tray on Tetch's lap, and withdrew.

"I will be back," she called out. "Fifteen minutes."

Jervis Tetch did not seem to be listening.

"Twenty-four hours, I think; or is it twelve?" he said dreamily. "But I never could abide figures! I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen."


"Oh, for the love of-" Ivy's hot pink Cadillac swerved and skidded around an oversized grey van. "Well, thank you, sir, for being so considerate and thoughtful to other drivers! Taking up two metered spots, parking a foot and a half away from the sidewalk... oh, and a fifty-four? You have got to be kidding me. The carbon output alone-"

"Do you want me to go have a, uh, word with him?" Crane inquired. "I could easily-"

"Uh-uh. We can't afford to call attention to ourselves before the fact," Poison Ivy snapped. "The last thing we need is the Batman dropping in for a surprise visit."

Scarecrow couldn't think of an answer to that, and so fell silent.

"Now, get your mask and follow me," Ivy instructed, pulling into a parking spot a few meters ahead of the van.

"What, we're just going to walk into Gotham General Hospital, murder Jeffrey Aster, and walk right out?" Crane asked sarcasically.

"That's right," Poison Ivy said.

Jonathan Crane considered commenting on his partner's mental state, but wisely thought better of it.

"How?" he snapped. "I don't see any remarkable plant-based weaponry, no means of mass distributing toxic spores or rapid-growth vine pods. You- you don't even have a gun!"

Poison Ivy turned and flashed a frighteningly sweet smile at the spindly ex-professor.

"That's right, Crane," she said. "Watch and learn."

With that, she turned, red hair fanning out around her shoulders, and began walking towards the entrance of Gotham General Hospital. Behind her, Jonathan Crane hesitated for a half second before slipping the burlap mask over his face and following her. Poison Ivy was either completely insane, utterly wrong, or totally justified in her confidence. As a trained (former) psychologist, Crane could easily dismiss the first; as a Rogue familiar with Ivy's alarming prowess, he was fairly sure the second was wrong as well. But even if Poison Ivy was wrong, and he stayed behind...

"Tom fool, Tom fool, leads ahead," Scarecrow muttered, clapping the much-battered straw hat over his mask. "Jack fool, Jack fool, follows anon."

Just outside the entrance, Poison Ivy stopped and pulled a small silver tube from her... Crane blushed under the mask and looked away. Why couldn't she just carry a purse? When he looked back, Ivy had opened the tube and was liberally applying a dark green substance to her lips. When she had finished, she twisted open the bottom of the tube. A handful of fine pink dust fell into her hand. With a wink to Crane, Ivy tossed the dust over herself.

"Just primping a little before the party," she said. "You do have a gas mask in that stitched sock, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Crane retorted haughtily. "You don't think I would-"

"Good. Now, be a gentleman and hold the door."

Grinding his teeth, Scarecrow stepped to the door and yanked it open.


In the lobby of Gotham General Hospital, the desk clerk was just starting to nod off. After the momentary excitement of last week's Scarecrow poisoning, there had been little activity. A few cancer victims checking in and out, a boy with a broken leg, a couple old ladies coming in for various tests, two or three heart attacks... and most of that had been earlier in the week. Today, there had been almost no activity. The clerk's head drooped towards the desk, then jerked upright. He wasn't going to fall asleep on the job... the manager would have his head...

"Hello there, handsome," a female voice purred.

The desk clerk woke up with a jerk. Standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long red hair curved around her face, falling almost to her waist. Her low-cut dress was a deep, leafy green; her eyes almost glowed with the same color. Leaning provocatively against the desk, the woman gave him a seductive smile.

"Tall, dark, and silent," she said. "Just what I like in a man."

"Uh," the clerk said.

"C'mere, honey, you don't need to talk," Ivy crooned.

Crane looked away in disgust as Poison Ivy leaned forward and kissed the man on the lips. Within seconds, there was a loud thump as the clerk's body slumped to the floor. Across the room, a blue-clad security guard looked up from his station. His eyes locked on Ivy, and his mouth fell open.

"We're just going upstairs for a little bit," the villainess called out to him. "Be a dear and make sure nobody disturbs us, will you?"

The guard nodded slowly, his eyes turning hazy. The heavy watchman's flashlight slipped from his hand and clattered on the tile. Crane shuddered and turned away.

"Now, as you suggested," Ivy said. "We just walk in, murder Jeffrey Aster, and walk right out."


The third floor of Gotham General Hospital was fairly quiet. The white, sterile hallways lay empty and still, the silence broken only by the rhythmical shunk, shunk of a respirator or the muted chattering of a television set. A few streets away, a car horn honked, the sound delightfully distant. The little Asian nurse made her rounds, delivering plastic trays of hospital food and a few kind words to each of the patients in rooms 315 to 330. The nurse-on-duty, a man, was playing solitaire. It was a new deck of cards, smooth and slick and slippery, and he took a sort of quiet pleasure in the snick, snick of the plastic slapping against Formica countertop.

The door to the ICU opened, and a gentleman- using the term loosely, of course- in a dark sweater came in. He walked to the nurse's station and said something in a low voice. The nurse nodded, and the man in the dark sweater walked down the hallway towards room 315 to 321. He paused outside one room, looked back down the hallway, and went in.

"That's everyone. I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Barney."

It was the tray distributor, her rounds finished.

"Take care. Oh, and you might want to pick up an umbrella on your way out. Looks like rain."

"I will be careful."

The nurse at the desk smiled, nodded, and turned over his next card. Ace of Spades.

BANG!

The door to the ICU flew open and hit the wall with an ear-shattering crack.

"So much for the subtle entrance," someone in the hall muttered. The nurse-on-duty recognized that voice, and immediately reached for the phone. Then he saw who was at the door. His jaw dropped, his eyes grew to the size of saucers, and he completely forgot about the phone, the security chief, Jeffrey Aster, and his game of solitaire. A few minutes later, he slid to the floor, unconscious.

"Come on, Crane," Poison Ivy commanded, stepping over the incapacitated man. "Jeffrey Aster has murdered his last tree. It's time that justice be done!"

Scarecrow's stitched mouth grinned, and his eyes narrowed behind the mask. To be honest, he didn't give a straw strand about the "murdered trees", but he'd never pass up the chance to watch a man writhe in helpless terror, screaming out his name in horror... he lived for the rush, the feeling, the fear. It had been far too long since the mayhem in the Square- he needed to hear a few despairing screams.

Suddenly, down the hall, a man in a dark sweater stepped out of a room. A piece of nylon cord hung from one hand, but when he saw Ivy and Scarecrow advancing down the corridor...

"MARK!" Scarecrow screeched, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Stop him!"

"Going somewhere?" Ivy purred.

The man dropped the rope and turned to run.

If Scarecrow had done nothing, it would have been over very quickly. Ivy's magic pink dust was spreading quickly, hanging through the air in a light haze, and it would have taken less than five seconds for the pollen to reach and overpower the fleeing henchman. Unfortunately, Scarecrow was far too eager- and far too angry- to think clearly. There was a faint hissing, and the air was suddenly full of a thick brown gas. "Mark" threw up his arms, screamed, and began running full tilt. The smoke alarms suddenly came on, deafening and piercing, followed by a gush of water from the ceilings.

"Crane!" Ivy shrieked.

"Flee before me, cowering minion!" Scarecrow howled. "Oh yes, shake with terror and-"

Poison Ivy clapped a hand over the straw man's mouth.

"Aster!" she growled in his ear.

"Aster? That insignificant buffoon should be writhing in terror by now!" Scarecrow replied, unable to hold back a laugh at the thought. "All of them! Insane with fear, stumbling blindly about in extreme trepidation..." At that moment, Ivy's subdued nurse woke up and promptly began screaming, sending Scarecrow into paryoxsms of twisted laughter.

"NOOO! Help, help, get 'em off, get 'em off of me! They're all over me, I can feel 'em, somebody help!"

"Well, I guess I'll leave you two boys alone," Ivy said, stepping over the writhing clerk and around the snickering Scarecrow. "We've got... oh, about an hour before the fellows downstairs wake up and call the police. Stay here, Crane. I'm going to give Mr. Aster a little taste of his own medicine."

With a vindictive smile, Ivy headed down the hallway, red hair bouncing behind her. Crane watched her go, the thick fog of fear toxin swirling in her wake. If there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that he was incredibly lucky not to be Jeffrey Aster. Scarecrow was about to return to tormenting the helpless arachnaphobic when he heard something. Someone was screaming... and the voice sounded slightly familiar.


...rapid-growth vine pods. They were used by Poison Ivy in the episode "Harley & Ivy" to subdue the chauvanistic members of a gentleman's club.