Chapter XII- Winter's Labyrinth
Ava's nerves clanged against her bones. She could barely halt the shakes in her hands. A knit green jumper and pair of black sweats were her only companions for the evening. The apartment was so quiet now that Pam was gone. There was no one to banter with, no one to bounce article ideas off of. She only sat at home and gawked at the dreadful reality shows on the popular networks. My mind is atrophying, she'd think, shoveling too-salty chips into her mouth. But she never moved. After all, there wasn't much to do besides wait for a phone call or revise an article she'd finished weeks ago.
"The treatments aren't working, Ava. Her blood—" Doctor Taylor let her words drop into dire silence. Ava urged her on, olive eyes steeling for bad news. She'd known as soon as they'd stepped outside—this couldn't be good. Her fears coiled tight together and ran chills down her spine. A weighty sigh from Doctor Taylor brought the news.
She was hardly home. Between story hunting and checking up on Pam, Ava barely had time to stuff her mouth full of whatever was in the fridge, and that wasn't much. Pieces of cold fruit rested on the shelves flanked by a carton or two of milk. She pushed them aside and found a lone crust of bread. There's got to be something, she thought frustrated. Her stomach groaned and she shoved aside a jar of half-eaten peanut butter; there was always some in the house. Pam gobbled it by the spoon. Some days Ava would come home and find her friend with a plate of celery and a jar of Jif.
She's always doing some outrageous thing. Now, there were no escapades. The apartment was oddly placid.
With a desperate shove, she moved the last bit of old lettuce from the bottom shelf. Her mouth curled into a vague smile and she hungrily yanked the glass dish from the fridge.
"Pasta it is," she sighed, dishing a plate of penne vodka. Pouring some old sauvignon into a squat glass, she shuffled back to the couch and flicked the TV to an oldies film channel. Pam's seat—a blue chaise draped with a white shaggy blanket—had no one to fill it. A campy Astaire-Rogers comedy was on. Blaring trumpets cued a musical number that was all too loud for a quiet night, but Ava didn't care; she wasn't there. Her mind churned the words she'd heard just this afternoon, trying to make sense of what simply couldn't. She shifted a phrase here, pondered an odd word there—no matter what she did, the puzzle wouldn't fit.
The doctor searched for an eloquent term, something Ava could hope on. "It's changing. We don't know how or why, but—"
A stern knock on the front door tore her from the well-deserved wine. Who the hell? She certainly hadn't planned on any visitors. Who was there to call except for Pam? A stray name flashed in her head—Harvey. To hell with him. He'd called and texted, trying to make amends for some perceived offense. But Ava wouldn't hear it. She'd dodged, kicked and screamed her way out of any attempt to meet up, any chance she'd get hurt again. At least that's what she told herself. Still, that damned tightening in her chest pried the truth from her stubborn heart. Pull it together, Ava.
She cautiously opened the door, eyes widening until only a halo of hazel rimmed the black.
"Hi," rasped his all too familiar whisper. The word was strained, like he was unsure of his voice. Harvey Dent stood at apartment 117, grey eyes dancing with thoughts that couldn't morph into words.
Ava was blank; she couldn't say anything. A million thoughts—from rage to sadness to the telltale guilt she wouldn't admit—whizzed in her head. You've gotta be kidding me. Her knees buckled a bit, but she braced on the doorframe and feigned normalcy. Cocking an eyebrow, she asked the silent question: What the hell do you want? To be honest, she wasn't too shocked by the man on her doorstep. She'd ignored almost everything he sent, half because of Pam's hospital stay and half because of spite. If anything, Harvey was persistent, and she knew he'd show up one day for answers.
And you'll get them, you arrogant, manipulative son of a—
"Can I come in?"
Ava knew it wasn't a question. She stepped inside, waving for him to follow. She wasn't ready for this—not tonight. All I wanted to do was watch this movie and eat. But no, you have to arrive and ruin everything don't you! You honestly think you can just show up? She felt his eyes studying her, trying to figure out what she was up to. Fists formed at her sides, but she stilled her breath and attempted conversation.
"Do you want some pasta?" sneered Ava, glaring at Harvey through hardened eyes. "It's not much, but I haven't got around to cooking lately."
Slight clinks followed as Harvey quietly got himself some dinner. Ava rolled her eyes and looked at the clock—it was only seven. This isn't going to be simple, is it? She sank onto the couch and gulped some wine, the hairs on her arm already standing on edge. Her heart beat a little too quickly and she watched Harvey from her seat—it appeared he'd had a hell of a day. His eyes were tired and his jaw was hard set; with every action, he sighed, the weight of the world on his taut shoulders. Part of Ava wanted to hold him close, tell him that it'd all be okay—only part. The majority of her wanted to slap him, scream at him for not being there, for forcing her to care. She was wearing the necklace he'd surprised her with a few weeks ago— a silver 'A' pendant studded with white crystals.
She hadn't taken it off. "'A' for amazing," he joked, fastening the clasp. Now, it seemed like a brand, a reminder she wore on her neck. 'A' for awful.
"You're wearing it," he commented with a light laugh. Ava dropped her hand from the necklace; she had a habit of fidgeting with the tiny trinket. Harvey hesitantly took a seat in the blue chaise, looking at Ava for a sign of something.
"Yeah." She refused to meet his gaze. Her head was too full of Pam and Blud Sun articles and grocery lists—there was no vacancy for deep conversation or overdue confessions. Sighing, Ava whipped her black hair into a ponytail and stared at the screen, afraid to look at the future DA in her peripheral. Silence reigned over the couple as they finished their food. It was that kind of quiet that couldn't be broken, a holy hush that heightened the anxiety in one's head. Please just leave…I don't need this.
Yet he stayed. After a while, Harvey cleared his throat and spoke up. "Ava…"
Her heart quailed, and she dropped her fork. It clattered against the plate and Harvey shot her a questioning glance. Her eyes darted away; she was afraid of what he'd say, of what she'd say back. When forever had passed, she founda bland reply. "Why are you here, Harv?" It was the only thing she could manage without blurting out the three words that threatened to fly from her mouth. "I love you."
The realization wasn't too much of a shock to the Bludhaven reporter. After all, she had a track record of 'too hard, too fasts'. But this was different—she'd taken her time with Harvey, fact checking her mind's mirages against who he actually was. In her head, he was a perfect gentleman, and the reality wasn't far off. Of course he wasn't perfect, but he'd gone through a lot of trouble for her already, namely giving her stories that no ordinary reporter would have access to. Sure, he wasn't exactly hers yet, but he'd made promises. "Soon, Ava, soon." She believed him. Pam called her naïve, but after what she pulled with Jason, Ava took her advice with a grain of salt—her Aunt Hazel was ecstatic. According to her, they were 'a lifetime overdue'. Then again, Ava conveniently left out the bit about Rachel.
It all left her terribly confused and she wished he'd say something worth hating.
"You're a smart girl, Aves. Why do you think?" he answered suddenly. His mouth twisted into a frown and his words gained an incredulous edge. "You've ignored me for almost two weeks. No calls, no texts—you expect me to let that slide? I'm worried about you."
"Well, you've gotten what you came for, right?" spat Ava, crossing her arms on her chest. Let it go…"I'm not dying; I'm not sick. I told you, Harvey—I'm busy."
Harvey slammed the dish on the coffee table; Ava jumped, caught off guard. "So that's it then? You expect me to leave it at that? 'Oh yeah, Ava's fine, guess I'll just leave now'!"
"Yes!" No. "I haven't—" She collected her thoughts, gathered them into a Pandora's Box, and dared him to open it. "I don't know what to tell you, okay? I'm dealing with a lot right now, and I can't afford for you to keep doing this. Not now at least."
"Doing what, Ava?" he demanded, bewildered eyes locking with hers. "I haven't done anything! You don't want to—"
"Showing up, Harvey!" screamed Ava, anger bubbling in her veins. So it's my fault you have a girlfriend? Tell me, what else have I done to you? "You can't just pop into my life for a few short hours, act like you give a damn, and then leave so you can play house with the Lawyer Queen!" The last bit was mumbled, but Harvey caught it.
He was struck silent, and Ava waited with bated breath; tears threatened her eyes and her chest clenched in pain. He sat beside her on the couch, tried to touch her—Ava swatted his hand away with a broken cry. He drew back and settled for a ginger kiss on her cheek. "I'm not leaving anymore."
A bolt of hope struck her but she fought it off. "Don't play with me, Harvey," she pled frantically; her voice was soft and sad. "And don't make promises you can't keep. Rachel would never—"
"She knows." Harvey smirked when Ava's mouth wrung in confusion, then protest. "I don't know how, but she asked me who I was speaking to, if anyone had my attention. She asked me if I was lying to her, Ava. Rachel's never questioned me before, especially not about a phone call."
Ava almost laughed, but restrained herself when she saw that he was serious. Honestly? That meant nothing. The tabloids had more concrete facts than his. Because of a few questions? It can't be that simple. But if it was—no, she wouldn't allow herself to think of it. Rachel couldn't know, Harvey would never be free and it was as simple as that. No it's not. You don't want him to go and he doesn't either. Reason swooped in to give her pause. Did he? It was worth asking. At least she'd know. She decided to give him a choice.
"Why don't we just call this off?" she plowed past his objecting scowl and continued. "It's causing way too much trouble and I'm forcing you to choose between Rachel and I and—"
"I love you," he butted in, cutting her off. The three words were faint, but she watched his lips form them. For a moment, they didn't register.
Purely bewildered, Ava wanted to make sure that her ears were working. He couldn't have, he didn't just… "What did you say?"
Harvey took her confusion as a sign of softening and drew closer, taking her hands in his. They seared against Ava's cold fingers, and she shook her head in doubt. Aware of her disbelief, he was sure to say it slowly, looking her in the eye.
"I love you, Ava Madden." His voice was searching and his eyes widened in expectation. She'd heard right, and all hopes of letting go disappeared.
Ava closed her eyes and waited for the warm and fuzzies, the twitchy grin she couldn't control. She wasn't quick to put faith in anyone, long-time friend or not; she had made that mistake one too many times. Derek…a hand jerkily flew up to rub the crux of her neck. With him, the words burnt her skin, scorched her heart. His 'I love yous' were violent—more of intrusive question than a sweet declaration. Ava often found herself returning the words as a means to pacify him, to silence any real emotion before a fight broke out.
She gazed at him, sifted for any sign of a lie. From his expectant silver eyes, to his flushed cheeks, to his tight mouth and creased brow—he meant it. There was vulnerability on his face, fear of being turned down.
Now, there was no tension, only pure relief. Her shoulders sagged and a trembling breath cleared her head. There was no magic way out of this mess, but that was okay—they'd figure it out as the days rolled by. The important thing was that he actually cared. She wasn't a new toy to be used up and cast aside when he got tired of her; he didn't simply talk to her because of the promises their bodies made at night. Do I love him? The question brought split-second consideration. To tell him the same was to agree to stick it out, agree to follow wherever the road may lead.
"I love you too, Harvey," she said with a pent up sigh. A tight smile parted her lips and he laughed, pulling her into a hug. Ear against his chest, she listened to it rumble. I really do.
They turned their attention to the movie; Ava curled into Harvey's outstretched arm. The old comedy was just what the two needed. For the first time in almost two weeks, Ava relaxed. Everything—from her pulled-at hair, to her anxious eyes and coiled shoulders—let out a collective sigh. Her brain was allowed a rare moment of rest, and she found herself giving voice to whatever thought happened to fly out. Harvey hummed some agitated, idle chatter about his latest cases; Ava offered well-timed nods and slight opinions when he asked for them.
"I don't know if I'm doing the right thing anymore…" Harvey's confession flew from his mouth and dropped into listless silence. It wasn't for her, and Ava knew it. After a lull, she suddenly blurted out the thing that'd robbed her of proper nights' rest.
"Pam's in the hospital." She heard Harvey's shocked 'what?' and kept on. "Been there for two weeks now; some ass poisoned her. She's pulling through alright, but something's happening to her blood—it's turning green. Can you believe that?"
Ava explained everything to him, and he promised to go see the sick redhead in the morning. The next few hours blurred as they sang idly along to the old swing numbers and commented on old film vixens in their ball gowns; he laughed at her jokes and she bantered with him about some old book he'd read. All the while the thud of his heart pounded in her ears, a lullaby that forced both of them to bed before the clock struck twelve. His arm wrapped around her stomach and a smirk surfaced as she fell asleep.
Yep, it's real.
"Fine, we'll give you half. Just get him gone." That's what they'd told him. Maroni had tracked him down and appeared at his warehouse door dressed in a ten thousand dollar suit. He told his chauffer to leave the limo running, and threw a cash-stuffed duffle at the jester's feet. "You better deliver."
Will I ever. He'd barely said anything to the Italian gangster—Maroni's only guarantee was a false gold smile. Yet despite his condescension, Joker intended to put on the best damn show they'd ever seen. He wouldn't kill Batman; there was no fun in that. He only wanted to say hi, maybe get together for a play-date. Hope he likes clowns.
A laugh twisted from his mouth, bouncing off the four walls of his office turned bedroom. His bed was a dingy mattress, covered by a green and purple sheet set. Sure, it was flashy, but he deserved comfort just as much as the next guy. A holey bulletin board littered with pictures of future targets hung on a slate brick wall, lit by a sole dim lamp. If these won't draw old Bats out, I don't know what will.
Dent. A campaign poster with his stoic face was marred by penciled-on black eyes and a red Glasgow smile.
Loeb. Various shots from the Commissioner's endless newscasts were strewn below Dent's photos, pinned in place by black chewed gum.
Garcia. The most conceited of all, his false smile hid the contempt he had for Gotham's people. Mayor Eyeliner, Joker laughed, noting the self-important strip of kohl on the mayor's lower lids. The supposed 'savior' of the city always had a squad of quasi-loyal sycophants with tins of matte powder and eye pencils on hand in case of an unplanned photo op. A snort left the jester's throat. I don't have a makeup team, and look how good mine came out. He scratched at a spot under his eye, grinning when a streak of black smeared his finger.
He stalked out, his footsteps kicking up clouds of dust from the floor that hadn't been swept in ages. A quick once-over of his home revealed all was well—no crate or gun was out of place. Rows of rickety black tables held weapons of all sorts. Pistols, daggers, grenades—he had it all. His men were eating food on a table they'd cleared off. There was a hum of chatter in the air, but it died as soon as Joker neared; walking to them, he sensed their collective recoil. Interesting.
"Hey boys," he chirped out, shoveling a fistful of fries into his mouth. "Where's Brian?"
All was quiet for a moment while they pondered the question—all of them had different reactions. Joker rolled his dark eyes. Really? It's not that hard. Chuckles and Parker paid him no mind, regarding the question with jaded conceit. Schiff looked enthralled, but confused—was he supposed to answer? Ryan shrugged and took another bite of his cheeseburger. "That wasn't rhetorical, if you were wondering." Joker's hand slid down into the pocket of his plum pants, reaching for his little motivator; Ryan saved him the trouble.
"He's in the next room, tied up and blubberin'—same way we left him. He quieted down though. Before, we couldn't hear ourselves think."
Joker squinted his painted black eyes and took a big breath, white cheeks puffed. He let it out in a shrill whistle and skipped to the room where his captive was rumored to be.
One. His hand was on the knob. He thought of what he would say, how he'd speak to the idiot who dared dress up like Batman. It didn't matter. Hell, Joker juiced the sorry bastard with so much fear toxin that a room full of pink ponies would trigger a mental breakdown. All things considered, he was lucky to have found Brian at all. He knew Crane had a deal to make with the Chechen and stuck around in case something happened—he got more than he bargained for. One Batman was plenty, but—
Two? That was just a regular Christmas miracle. After the real Batman chained Crane to a railing, Joker came in and took the impostor away. He twisted the knob to the right, relishing the slight shriek that rang out from the other side. Oh, this is just too good. Batsy wouldn't be able to resist saving his number one fan, hockey pants or not.
Three. The door clicked open.
Brian was a fat piece of slime, the raw rope-burned flesh of his stomach bulging through the restraints he'd been put in. At least he's among friends. The room was adorned with carcasses of butchered meat—sinewy racks of rib, runny hunks of uncooked cow—the very things he probably gorged himself on. Joker almost laughed, but held it in, gagged by the noxious fog of rotting flesh. His captive whimpered and squirmed in his chair, beads of sweat pouring from his forehead into his wide, fear-stricken eyes. Joker was as quiet as possible, making sure he still had the element of surprise. He ripped the camera from its stand and flicked the 'on' button.
"Ready to become famous, Brian?"" he asked, smiling when the man answered with a series of half-assed screams. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Stay still, dear! If you keep jerking around I'm never going to find this vein," instructed Winnie, a gray-headed nurse who'd taken a liking to Pam. The chatty woman, clothed in blush pink scrubs with yellow smileys, said Pam reminded her of her daughter, Kaitlin, a girl about Pam's age with the same fiery hair who's an elementary teacher in a quaint little town in Maine and just got engaged to a lovely man named Robert and—
"This is the third time today, Winn—I'm a little tired of being prodded," responded Pam like an impatient child. Despite the complaint, Pam held out her arm and allowed the elder nurse to plunge the glinting needle into her flesh; she watched as the connected tube ran red with her blood and dripped into a glass vial. Pam saw the shock on Winnie's face and wiped the emerging smile from her face. It's working.
She was aware of her previous tests and the whispers that followed: "Why is it green?", "That's not normal…" and her personal favorite, "Is that…chlorophyll?" Pam knew what was going on, but she refused to divulge any information. She liked the doctors well enough, but something told the botanist that a conversation about her unsanctioned and previously untested experimental drug wouldn't go over quite well. The increasingly green blood samples were only confirmation, yet she couldn't bring herself to fear.
"Doctor Taylor's orders, sweetie. I don't like poking you any more than you like feeling it."
Surprised I haven't turned into a hydrangea yet, she mused dryly. The formula she and Jason came up with was supposed was a drill of sorts—it left gaps in her DNA for the plants to fill. Whatever plant was closest, that's what spores she absorbed. At the moment, a periwinkle bunch of hydrangeas sat on the bedside table. Winnie brought them for her yesterday along with a contraband bag of gummy worms from the corner store down the street—Pam was only supposed to eat the 'vitamin enriched' hospital food that tasted like a mouthful of sawdust. Good thing, really. Unwittingly, the friendly nurse brought her one step closer to leaving her Gotham General prison cell.
"Concentrate, Pam!" scolded a voice from her head. Pam looked at her blood—it was turning green again. Quickly, she stared at the tube and focused, relaxing only when it reddened again. The powder blue petals reminded her. "You can't let them see your true state." It was right. Though she'd adopted the hydrangea's color-shifting abilities, she had to work to make it her own. The robust, yet delicate voice of the bouquet guided her, giving her instructions to mask the chlorophyll that was coursing through her veins and the greenish color that'd stolen her nails and lips.
"All done, Pammy." Pam cringed at the use of her nickname, but said nothing—Winnie couldn't have known that was his name for her. She offered Winnie a feline smile and watched as she carted three vials of sanguine blood to the door. "I'll be back at lunchtime to bring you something to eat. D'ya like Marty's? " Pam nodded, mouth watering at the thought of a big greasy burger from the famous shop. Everyone went there, even Bruce Wayne.
"Who doesn't?" she replied. "A Phat Lady with extra cheese and Cajun fries, please."
Winnie looked at her with slight disapproval. "And extra pickles. You need your vegetables, young lady." Pam gave a fake exasperated sigh and nodded; Winnie beamed at her small victory and left, whistling some old showtune down the ICU hallway. Just like Aunt Viv…Pam was sure she'd almost miss her. Not too many people in Gotham were too willing to sneak you goodies from your favorite restaurant and tend to your every need—all Winnie wanted in return was a listening ear.
But only almost. She had a job to do, Winnie or not. A little while later, after Pam had her morning chat with the big oak tree outside, three rapid knocks sounded. They gave way to Ava's smiling face and a figure following just behind her. Well I'll be damned.
"Harvey?" laughed Pam, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks again. But it was him; she knew that blonde swoop anywhere. He answered her shock with a halfhearted shrug. She rolled her eyes. He always sucked at pretending. Worry was etched in the lines on his face. "What's wrong, never seen a girl in the hospital?"
"Pam!" he greeted, dropping the act. He left Ava's side for a moment and drew the ginger into a bear hug. "What the hell! Are you okay? Who did this to you? You know I have people that—"
"God Harv, take it down a notch!" she croaked, gasping over his shoulder. "I'm fine. No need to call your people, whoever they are."
"Brought you some breakfast," said Ava, handing Pam a foil-wrapped bagel. "Cinnamon raisin with cream cheese and peanut butter—your favorite."
Pam beamed at her friend, snatching the food and peeling the silver wrapping away like it was a long awaited Christmas present. Ava laughed, and Harvey took a healthy step back as Pam went to work on the unsuspecting bagel. Chewing with hungry fervor, she finally got around to speaking with her visitors. "I'm surprised you came, Harv," she pondered, casting a glance his way; he had Ava's hand in his. Oh brother… "Don't you have some important legal bull you should be doing?"
"Yeah but I figured I could at least drop in. Last night, Ava told me what happened—we're gonna find this guy, Pam. And he'll pay." Ava seconded him with a firm nod, cheeks flushing with some unreadable emotion.
Oh yes he will. A flare of anger lit Pam's green eyes, heaping coals on her heart. She was getting stronger each and every day—she felt it. Just a little while longer, and she'd be out. Just a little longer and she'd be able to tie him up, break his weak bones—what a sorry excuse for a man. She'd render him the helpless, sniveling piece of shit that he was inside and drag him through halls of Gotham University so they could see what he was—a loathsome worm. Inch by sorry inch, she'd do it. You have no idea how much.
Ava's gaze jolted her to the present. Pam met it, vaguely aware of how vehement she must've looked. Her friend stared back, the brownish green eyes asking a thousand questions; Pam answered none of them, only kept the rage blazing in her chest until it filled every part of her body. "Stop it! Get control of yourself!" the hydrangeas screamed at her and Pam snapped out of it. She looked in her lap and saw the green in her nails returning; little green spots appeared on her arms, shaped like ivy leaves. Alarmed, she covered her skin with the sheet and willed the anger away. Eyes closed, the frenzy subsided and the leaves gradually faded.
"You won't ever get out of here if you keep slipping up."
"Is she okay?" Harvey whispered, all too loudly. Ava jabbed his side and he yelped a slight 'ow', rubbing the spot.
"Never better," beamed Pam, lids lifting to reveal Technicolor green eyes. Ava didn't buy it and Pam knew; Harvey was none the wiser. Poor thing was always a tad slow. Ava's concerned eyes scanned Pam's arms. Shit! She'd seen it. There was no way she couldn't have. Ava was always a little too smart when it came to Pam's personal mysteries. Hell, she'd ferreted out the whole Jason ordeal with only the smell of cigarettes. Smartass. Pam offered Ava's raised brow a sorry smile and acted oblivious.
"Don't play me, Mel," threatened Ava, voice low. "I saw that."
Let it go, Aves. "Saw what?" Harvey was now keen to the tension in the air and gulped, realizing he was in the middle of an emerging shitstorm.
"Oh, please," laughed Ava bitterly. "Don't insult my intelligence. You're really gonna try and bull your way out of that little episode? You turned frickin' green, Pam! I don't know how you fooled all these doctors into thinking you're fine, but—"
"She what?" exclaimed Harvey, grey eyes wide. "When did that happen?"
"Shut up, Dent!" shouted Pam, suddenly incensed. You're not getting in my way. Sister or not. The pulses on her EKG monitor rose, screeching uncontrollably. "I said I'm fine."
"Stop stop stop!" bellowed the plant, assuming an air of authority. Pam shrugged it off with an acrid chuckle—she was too far gone. "You're going to blow it! STOP!"
"Quiet," she replied silently, mentally cutting the vine that connected them. The protesting voice silenced. Ava stood and neared the bed, looming over Pam; her black hair fell in a curtain over her face but Pam could feel the waves of angry frustration rolling off her skin. "You need help," gritted Ava; Pam heard the pained confusion in her voice but couldn't care less.
"And you need to back up." Pam popped the 'p' on the word, licking her green lips dangerously. Harvey rose too, sensing that the women were on the brink of blows. He wedged himself between Ava and Pam, using his arms to distance the two from each other. Pam smiled—a vicious, nasty grin that housed wells of scalding venom. A firm knock on the door halted the impending fight and all three of them hitched. Ava ripped her arm from Harvey's grasp and sat back down in the chair, attempting composure. Harvey followed, and Pam snarled as Doctor Taylor walked in, charts in hand.
"Hello, Pam," greeted the doctor. "I have—" she glanced at an upset Ava, puzzlement dancing in her blue eyes. "Good news. Your tests are normal again, and it seems like whatever was in your system has worked its way out. Congratulations—looks like you're going home tomorrow."
Pam was blank for a moment, but a smile broke on her face; it didn't reach her eyes. Finally, was all she could think. Though overjoyed, she couldn't bring herself to look Ava in the eye. Guilt washed over her, and the gravity of their argument hit her. What had made her so angry anyway? Was it the possibility of delay? Was it how naïve she'd been in all this? She didn't know. All she knew was that Ava had seen what she was becoming, and for the first time since her accident, Pam was scared. Not of Jason, or the voices that'd taken to filling her days with plant chatter, but of losing Ava and Harvey to whatever this thing was.
Let's not do that again.
"That's great news," chimed Harvey, trying to make some reply to the doctor's comment. Pam rolled her eyes. "Isn't it, Ava?"
Ava barely gave a grunt; she bored holes in Pam's side, willing her to turn around. I'm sorry, thought Pam, squirming under the gaze. You don't understand; I can't stay here. He has to pay. He just has to. Doctor Taylor looked at Harvey, just now noticing his presence. Pam summoned some semblance of genuine emotion and spoke. "Thank you," she whispered. A distant twig snapped inside her, crackling loudly in her ears.
Doctor Taylor gave a curt nod, and digressed into the particulars, how Pam was to call if anything out of the ordinary happened. Ava was to help as much as she could—make sure she takes all her medicines. The doctor tried to make light of the room with a strained laugh, but all three friends were eerily quiet, content to let the EKG monitor keep tempo with its dull, relentless beep. A chuckle died in her throat and Pam cast a sidelong glance at Ava, catching her olive eyes. "I'm sorry" she said with the quick look. Ava was impassive, and shook her head in disappointment.
"And if she should experience any changes in skin color, what should she do?" asked Ava pointedly, unwavering glare stuck on Pam. Goddamn it, Ava, how much longer do you want me here?
"Call us immediately. Has that been happening, Pam?"
"No," answered the redhead without missing a beat. She remembered what the hydrangeas told her. Concentrate. Her skin stayed the same color, and no ivy leaves show on her arms. "See? All normal." Pam bared them to the doctor's scrutiny, smirking when she gave a satisfied nod. Doctor Taylor finished her lecture and soon left the group alone, congratulating Pam again on bouncing back. The door clicked closed behind her, and Pam sighed, knowing what was next.
Here it comes…
"You're not leaving, Mel," growled Ava, anger back full force.
"You can't stop me." Pam was ready for the fight. She and Ava had argued before, and it usually grew to an all-out screaming match. Both women would demand everything and concede nothing, satisfied only when they'd childishly ignored each other for at least six hours. She prepped her voice, made sure her words were sharpened. Harvey heaved a heavy sigh, already rubbing his temples; he knew the routine. Bring it, Ava. I'm not backing down. Normally, Pam would give in, but not this time—she was out for blood.
Maybe Ava finally got it; maybe she was too tired to bother. Whatever it was, she folded without so much as a word. Pam watched the Bludhaven reporter stand, grab her coat, and walk to the door; Harvey followed just behind her. "Where are you going?" she quizzed, somewhat bewildered. This was unlike her. Ava never passed up an opportunity for a good argument.
"Do you honestly think I have time to waste, Pam? You don't want to listen, and I refuse to sit here crying over what you won't fix. You want to stay sick, that's your problem. Me? I've got a story to catch." Ava stormed out of the room, not even pausing to see if Harvey was close behind.
Damnmit!
Pam blinked. Don't be an ass, apologize! The voice of reason scolded her, and she knew it was right, knew Ava was right. It was bad enough that her friend took time to see her every day. But asking her to condone what she was becoming, to go along with the ugly visions of revenge she conjured in her spare time? That was too much, and Pam knew it. Forasmuch as she understood, she couldn't humble herself. No one gets it. They can never get it, she lamented—she knew it was bullshit. Ava caught everything, and stuck through it all. So why wouldn't she understand Pam's anger at the man who poisoned her? There was no answer for that, and Pam knew it. The lie was a rose-colored lens through which she confirmed her right to rage. As long as they didn't get it, she wouldn't have to think about the woman who'd just walked out on her or the man she planned to kill.
Harvey cleared his throat and gave her a glance rife with pity. With a curt, final nod, he left, shutting the door behind him.
But they do get it. And they'd left her anyway. "Look what you did! You're a mess. A failure!" The hydrangeas were screaming at her again.
"Just shut up! Leave me alone goddamn it!" She cut the vine again and stared at the chair where Ava had been. "I-" It was too late. Both of them were gone, and Pam couldn't call them back. Chest quivering, heart hollow, she spoke anyway, hoping by some miracle they would come back and hear her. "I'm sorry," she said to the empty room, a reluctant tear streaking her cheek. There was no one to answer. "I'm so sorry."
Spent, Pam sunk into the sheets, praying that tomorrow would be better, and that Winnie would come around soon with those Cajun fries and stories of her daughter in Maine.
A/N: I swear I haven't forgotten about this story! Life's just kept me really busy. I'm about to make my final college choice and lock in my major. It's all insane and exciting and I'm sorry I haven't been more regular about updates.
Anyway, just a heads up that the wait times might be a little longer than usual for the next few chapters. Lately, I've been working on my novel, so EoE's been second place. But I totally plan to keep working on this story too. So please bare with me if I seem a bit slow with chapters 13-20. Thanks for reading, and hope you're all having a good spring! Message me if you have any questions.
That's all for now,
~L.L.