"How come it's been a whole three days and we still haven't seen Mom?" Jo demanded. Or, pouted, really, as Harleen strapped her into the backseat. Something she was perfectly capable of doing on her own, but was at the moment unable to because her arms were crossed petulantly over her chest.
"Hey, Jolene, remember a whole 15 minutes ago when I said we were going to see Mom?" Harley asked, rhetorically. "Well…there we go. The wait is over."
"Yeah, but why did it take so long?!" The girl huffed. "First of all, she never gave me my present from space, and also you guys said she was gonna be home MORE because she doesn't work. So you lied."
Harley sighed, closing the back door and walking to the driver's. Anthony had been kind enough to start the car for her and he now sat in the passenger seat, his buckle done of his own accord, thank God. "We didn't know she was going to get sick, Jolene."
"What sorta sick is she?" Jo asked, looking at Harley's reflection in the rear-view mirror.
"I don't really know. Plant sick, I guess."
"Like she needs ta be watered?"
"No, not like that." Harley tried to think of a better explanation for the extremely vague one Bruce had told her over the phone. "Just…I guess she might be more—I don't know—planty?"
"Like we're gonna have to put her in a flower pot?!" Jo's intensity rose tenfold. "But, Ma! Mom says its disrespectful to put a flower in a pot that's not as pretty as the flower, and we don't have any pots as pretty as Mom!"
"Oh my God, Jo!" Anthony turned around to face his sister. "We are not going to put Mom in a flower pot! Right, Ma? We—we're not, right?"
"Of course not," Harleen assured them. "I really don't know what the deal is. I haven't seen her either."
"M—m—mama?" Jo prompted, her lip quivering and her eyes now filled with tears. "Is Mom gonna die? Cuz I know people die alotta times when they get sick, but you promised Mom would never die!"
"OK, everyone just needs to chill." Harley tried to sound stern and in control—like Pam would. "Whatever it is, it's going to be fine. Just…keep it together, please. You guys get to just hang out and meet some real-life superheroes while I talk to her, and then you will get to say hi."
Harleen glanced back at Jo then to make sure her message had been received. The girl's jaw had tightened resiliently, her eyes still glassy but now determined in their gaze. Where, to most, "putting on your brave face" was just a figure of speech, to Jo it was literal. She had perfected the brave face.
Jolene looked like Harley, that was undeniable. With her round cheeks and wide smiles, her button nose and softly angled brows. But that splash of freckles across her nose had come from Pamela. And her eyes, too. That intense, almost unnerving green. And just like her Mother, there was a coldness rooted within them that seemed easy to tap. Beautiful, yes, but dangerous too. Harley wasn't sure if Jolene meant to do it, but at rest her brow furrowed and her usually expressive features darkened, giving the illusion that whatever was behind those glimmering emeralds was something…disquieting.
Of course then Jolene would blink and grin and it feel as if Harley had hallucinated the rest of it.
Anthony was the opposite. His eyes were wide and soft and likely betrayed his emotions far too readily for his liking. He would attempt to harden his expression, just as Harleen did, by narrowing them and setting his jaw, but like Harley he would always be the deer rather than the hunter.
…Other than that he was mostly just Pam—meaning just a truly gorgeous specimen. His hands were—at the moment—twisting nervously in his lap while he stared resolutely ahead…and good lord that kid had a lot going for him, what with the cheekbones, delicate nose and cleft chin of a goddamn champion.
"Hey, Ant?" Harley murmured, startling him as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. "It's all going to work itself out."
She took his hand with the one not occupied by the steering wheel and squeezed reassuringly, and after a moment, he squeezed back, chewing on his bottom lip as he did.
"I just…" He started, his voice quiet, timid. "I wasn't very nice to her."
"Oh, Dude," Harley chuckled. "It's totally alright to be pissed at your parents sometimes. Even if she does die I swear she wouldn't hold it against you."
Anthony's jaw went slack, his eyes bugging out fearfully. "What? So there's really a chance that she'll—"
"Die?!" Jo was riled up again.
C'mon, Harleen…
They took Bruce's private jet (not the Batplane, but his civilian jet) to Washington DC, and while that experience seemed to placate Jo, it had clearly amplified Anthony's anxiety.
By the time they were scaling the front steps of the Hall of Justice, Anthony's tie was completely wrinkled due to his nervous fumbling…which, of course, made him more nervous.
"Oh, here!" Jo exclaimed, snatching Harley's bag off of her shoulder and pulling out one of Anthony's gray, v-neck sweaters she'd smuggled. "I made Mama pack this cuz I thought you might get cold." Her smile was prideful, a blush rising in her cheeks.
Harleen suddenly felt guilty for just assuming Jo was stealing it…and for being complicit in that theft, which yeah, turned out not to be an actual theft, but…oh, whatever.
She passed them off to Miss Martian, who seemed delighted to meet them, smiling and humoring Jolene by shapeshifting into her, which, of course, thoroughly blew her mind.
Harleen slipped off while they were distracted, navigating the halls in search of the conference room they'd assigned her.
"Ooh, I know exactly who you are." A male voice echoed behind her.
Harley turned around, an eyebrow raised, to find…ugh. "Umm…Booster Green, right? Or…Gold. Booster Gold?"
The man gave her an almost uncomfortable look over before his face broke out into a grin. "Alright, I get it now."
"I'm sorry?" Harley adjusted the bag on her shoulder.
"You're boning the plant, right?" Booster inquired, his tone making it seem like that was a totally appropriate question. "Mad respect."
"Uhh—thanks, I guess?" She shifted under his scrutiny. "I—I think I'm lost."
"You're here to see her, right?"
"Yes, I was supposed to meet a…" she pulled the piece of paper where's she'd scribbled down the cryptic instructions out of the back pocket of her jeans and squinted at her handwriting. "Boo—oh, you."
Booster chuckled, putting a strong arm around her shoulders. "Let's go find you lady, Kid."
"I think I'm older than you," Harley mumbled as she was led through the halls, down to an elevator that they used to descend into the basement, which somehow seemed more expansive than the other floors.
"I was sort of exposed to the stuff, so they figured I might be a bit more resistant to it than someone who wasn't on the mission," Booster explained.
"Oh?" Harley was a bit confused, as she hadn't asked him a question.
"That's why I'm your guide." He clarified. "I just, thought it might be a bit strange seeing me, since—you know—it's no secret Isley isn't exactly my biggest fan. I'm sure she's complained about me."
"Mmm…" Harleen furrowed her brow in thought. "Actually, I don't think she's ever mentioned you."
"Not once?" There was some hurt in his voice that Harley was sure Pam would have enjoyed.
"Not once."
"Oh." He stopped outside of a thick door and looked to Harley. "So here's the deal…past this is the medical wing. You'll see the signs for the quarantine unit…follow those, Bruce and Barry are in there right now, I think. Good luck. Tell her I said 'hey'." And with that, he punched a code into the keypad and started back down the hallway, leaving Harley to enter by herself.
She followed his instructions, making her way past glass-walled hospital rooms that looked suspiciously like the cells one might find at Arkham, although clearly better funded.
The quarantine unit wasn't hard to find…it was clearly marked, just as Booster said it would be, and soon she was standing in front of another metal door. This one without a keypad, though.
Harley was looking around, unsure of what to do next, when the door unlatched on its own accord and slid open, revealing a dimly lit control room with an observation window. What was meant to be observed, however, was more of a mystery, as the room beyond was clouded with verdant mist.
Bruce was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans; a look Harley was only familiar with given their personal relationship. Still, it looked wildly out of place in these surroundings. She'd at least had the decency to wear a polo shirt. But Barry was wearing a lab coat, which helped things to feel at least somewhat official.
"Harleen," Barry greeted, warmly. And she couldn't help but smile in response, despite the circumstances. She liked Barry, even if she'd only had a few run-ins with him. One does not forget a man who asks to dance with your bride at your wedding.
"Barry…Bruce…" She acknowledged both men, her expression sobering when she saw the dark rings around the latter man's eyes. "So, what's the deal?"
Bruce cleared his throat, dimming the lights further in the observation room, making it easier to see into the mist. Harley took a step closer, now able to make out a shadowed figure against the far-wall of the cell.
Before her eyes could fully adjust, though, that figure was barreling forward, moving through the mist and slamming both fists on the glass.
"Harley!"
"Ah!" The blonde jumped back, alarmed by the bright green eyes seeming to stare right at her. It was Pam…or, a version of Pam, anyway. Ivy. Some terrifying variation of Poison Ivy.
Her eyes shone her angriest green, but her tone had been frantic. Her eyes were wide and fearful rather than furious. She was wearing what seemed to be a shirt the Justice League had issued her, but it was rolled up at the sleeves and held together with only two buttons just under her breasts, exposing her stomach and legs. And the view of those expanses of skin was what made Harley's guts tighten. It was as if Pamela had truly become a plant, requiring roots that ran in spiraling patterns beneath her skin. Like the veins of a human, but thicker, stronger and alive. Pulsing. Crawling.
And there were leaves too, small ones, sprouting from the ends of the thickest protrusions. Her skin, usually a vibrant emerald in her Poison Ivy form, was now iridescent, shimmering almost golden as Harleen looked closer.
"You have to help me!" Ivy's fist opened to a palm on the glass.
"Can she—can she see us?" Harley whispered.
"No," Bruce assured her. "Can't hear us either."
"Then how did—"
Barry pointed to the potted plant on the desk in front of them. "She wanted to know who would be looking in on her."
Harley bravely turned her attention back to her wife, whose chest was heaving under some invisible pressure as she leaned against the glass. The woman's red hair was greasy and unkempt in a way Harley had never seen in her before.
"She looks like crap." The blonde murmured. That's all she could say. And then, perhaps inappropriately, "I should have brought her some shampoo."
"The plants! Can't you hear them?!" Ivy's voice was desperate, her body language communicating the same. "They're crying out to me in agony!"
"W—what happened to her?" Harley asked, now not able to look away from the plant hybrid.
"We're not totally sure," Barry sighed. "See, if this were anyone else, Pam would have been our first call, but…she's clearly indisposed at the moment. Seems she's mutated somehow. Something effected the ratio of plant to human in her DNA, and she went from something nearing 50-50 to…let's just guess 70-30."
"Please, let me out." Ivy pleaded. "They'll die without me."
Harley's throat grew thick with emotion, strangling her words as they came out. "Why aren't you listening to her?"
"Because she explicitly told us not to." Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest. "She gave us three instructions on how to handle her: 1) do not tie her down. 2) do not introduce leather into the environment. 3) do not let her out until she's fully incorporated the new stream of consciousness."
"What does that mean?" Harley wanted to know, watching as Ivy dragged her hands down the glass, leaning against it for support.
Bruce picked up a file from the desk and opened it. "According to her statement when we first admitted her…she had noticed some memory issues as of late, as well as delayed or sluggish motor skills and sensory overload. She said she just assumed the sensory stuff was connected to her PTSD, and the other two to her advanced human age."
"What?" Harley couldn't quite make sense of what she was hearing. "She didn't tell me any of this."
"Maybe she was waiting until she knew something definitive?" Barry offered.
Bruce pressed on. "She now believes those issues stemmed from her body's attempt to incorporate the plant world's stream of consciousness more fully as the mutation took over.
"More fully?" Harley almost laughed. "She can already hear them and control them. You telling me she got an upgrade on her powers?"
"Well…I suppose you could call it that," Barry admitted. "She is now able to demonstrate complete control over plant life with just a thought, as they are now an extension of herself, not just her kin."
"Meaning she doesn't need the suit anymore." Bruce sounded a bit bitter about that.
"The—upgrade—as you say, did come with some consequences, though. Like, she's currently finding the voice of the ecosystem to be overwhelming. It's louder, it's amplified and she's having trouble tuning out what she doesn't want to hear. We're bringing Superman in to help her with that tomorrow, if she hasn't already figured it out. The dude is a master of selective hearing."
"Good," Harleen nodded, pretending to be brave, though this entire situation was making her skin crawl.
"The other side effect is…" Barry cleared his throat, "Bruce?"
The taller man sighed, reaching out to the potted plant on the desk in front of him—which Harley now realized was a bonsai tree—and roughly ripping one of its branches off.
Ivy instantly screamed in agony on the other side of the glass, as if Bruce had torn one of her fingers off.
"She felt that?" Harley murmured, disbelieving. Horrified.
"Yes," Bruce affirmed, something approaching remorse in his voice.
"And what about the—the," she indicated the patient's altered anatomy.
"Right…those…" Barry leaned forward into the microphone on the control panel, his finger hesitating over the button. "You got something to piss her off?"
Harley stalled a moment, Pam's pained expression tugging on her heart strings. She didn't want to hurt her, but she knew that—at her core—Pamela was a scientist, and she had subjected herself to this. Harley needed to see what she was dealing with. So, with the pressure of tears behind her eyes, Harley told him: "Call her 'Pammy'. Tell her to be a good girl."
Barry cleared his throat, his obvious nervousness making Harley anxious. "Hey, Pammy…"
Ivy's head snapped to attention, starring straight into the control room. Straight at Harley.
"Pammy…" he repeated, glancing over at Harley, who offered him a nod. "Be a good girl, Pammy."
The redhead's eyes darted to the corner of the cell, and once she locked on to the speaker, she thrust her arm in that direction and the vine lurking just below the skin of her hand shot out, ripping its way through on a b-line straight for the speaker, which is skewered, ending any further communication.
Harley promptly leaned over and vomited.
Author's note: Kudos if you can tell me the three Ivy designs in this story