Harley squinted under the fluorescent lights, the flat glow inescapable as the reflection on the white linoleum floor shined up at her from below as well.
It felt so…clinical. Like the infirmary wing at Arkham Asylum.
Of course, this was a grocery store, so slightly different concept, but still, same terrible ambiance.
Harley tentatively grabbed a basket. She wouldn't need a cart, would she? And offered a semi-awkward nod to the cashier nearest to her.
Did she look suspicious?
She shouldn't, she wasn't doing anything wrong. Just…shopping. Like a normal person. Last time she checked, it wasn't against the law to buy breakfast cereal, so why was she so jumpy?
The why didn't matter. She needed to stop it. You're fine. You can buy groceries on your own. You're a grown-ass woman.
Harley took a deep breath, gathering her wits and attempting to ignore her mounting headache before heading down the first aisle.
Fruit. There were so many different kinds of fruit. Why couldn't Mother Nature make things simple? Why did she have to be such a bitch? Who really needs variety, anyway? Just grow like one thing. Do it well. Bananas and apples and grapes and peaches and strawberries—it was overkill!
What would Pam want her to buy?
No, stop, that didn't matter. Not right now. She could do this on her own. No Joker, no Poison Ivy. She didn't need someone to take care of her. Harleen Quinzel was perfectly capable of choosing fruit on her own.
Apples. I'll eat apples, won't I? I like apples?
She tossed a few in her cart before she could second-guess herself—granny smiths.
Green….
Bread for sandwiches. Or toast. Or French toast! Harley could make French toast, couldn't she? That didn't seem to hard. She'd seen Pam do it before. Just gotta dip the bread in some egg, yeah? Slather it with syrup? Easy peasy. No problemo. Oh! Eggs!
She grabbed a loaf of French bread before hurrying over to the dairy section.
Gotta make sure they're not cracked. Harley remembered her Ma always opening the carton to check if the eggs were OK, so she did the same. And yep! Everything checked out.
Harley was really getting the hang of this grocery shopping thing.
She picked up a carton of milk too, for cereal, and started in the direction of that aisle.
When she was in college, she'd lived off of ramen, cereal, and yogurt. Plus, McDonalds. Even though it made her feel like crap back then. She'd been a collegiate athlete. She'd needed her protein, and protein was expensive. But McDonalds…that was cheap.
Harley wasn't so poor now. In fact, she wasn't poor at all. When Joker died, he did so with a full safe. Their entire haul from that bank robbery was all hers. Not to mention the gold bricks he kept in there just for set dressing. Selina had helped her sell those off, getting the cash equivalent in exchange.
She didn't have to eat at McDonald's anymore, but…now she was sorta craving it, shit.
Harley used to eat fast food with Pam only on special occasions. Only after successful heists. And then Pam would ask that she brushed her teeth before she kissed her.
Pam was weird.
Joker didn't let her kiss him anyways, so her diet never really mattered.
Fruity Pebbles…Fruity Pebbles…She scoured up and down the cereal aisle. It was her favorite because it dyed the milk rainbow.
Pam had once called it "radioactive".
"No, Pammy, look! It's gay, just like you," Harley giggled.
"Excuse me," Harley muttered, trying to reach around a man obstructing her path to her cereal of choice.
"Excuse you is right," he scoffed, taking a step back. "Have women no patience?"
The voice was familiar…
"You have no patience, Edward." A second man was coming down the aisle. "Last time I checked, you were adequately male."
Wait…
Harley suddenly stepped back, eyes wide at the realization that she was staring at a civilian outfitted Riddler and Scarecrow.
"Waita—h-hey, what'er you—." Harley pointed an accusatory finger between them, puzzling Riddler in the time it took for him to recognize her.
"Fancy meeting you here," Scarecrow was the first to speak a complete sentence. "And in plaid, no less."
"It's comforta—what the hell are you guys doing here?" Harley suddenly felt righteous, changing to a harsh whisper mid-sentence. "If you're gonna rob the place, I'm getting the heck outta dodge. I am not going back to Arkham, especially cuz Riddler and Scarecrow suck at petty crime."
"Shopping," Riddler answered her initial question, indicating the shopping cart that Scarecrow had just dropped a can of baked beans into. "And we don't shit where we eat, Dr. Quinzel. If anything's going to get us caught, it's you whisper-yelling our aliases in the middle of the grocery store."
"Jon and Edward," Scarecrow helped her out. "Just for now."
A brief silence passed between them. Time Harley took to openly stare at their "casual" outfits—Jon wearing a checkered shirt and khakis, while Edward opted for an ascot beneath his pink shirt, tucked into a pair of brown slacks—seeming to altogether ignore his signature color for the night. Something Pam was never able to do.
"I take it you lost Pamela in the produce aisle," Jon offered.
"Pame—no, I," Harley was still a bit floored by the evident normalcy of this interaction. "We…she's not—we're not…"
Edward stopped her by raising a curious eyebrow. "Messy breakup?" he sounded intrigued.
"She's gone," was all Harley could say.
"Huh." Eddie glanced over at Jon. "We assumed the moment Joker bit the bullet, you'd be dressed in a green leotard."
"Well, I applaud Pamela for mustering some self-respect." Jon seemed to exclude Harley from their conversation. "I found their whole dynamic a bit beneath her."
"Pamela would say the same thing about you and I," Edward chuckled.
"Thank goodness we never ordered a glass of her opinion."
Harley blinked, her headache worsening. "Wait, you mean, you two..."
"Are married, for all intents and purposes," Eddie finished for her, prompting an eye-roll from Jon.
"I'm not buying you a ring."
"But you—you—," Harley interrupted before Edward could pout. "You're both, I mean, you're bad guys. How do you…I don't understand."
Eddie evidently missed the "bad" in her sentence, because he instantly began to say: "There's more than one hole to heaven." Before Jon elbowed him in the ribs.
"How do we what, child?" Jon asked, ignoring Edward's grin.
"How do you—how do you make it work?" Was, Harley guessed, the question she wanted to know.
Jon mulled that over for a moment. "Well, not being terrible monsters is a start," he offered. "…or lesbians."
"Honey, they're synonyms," Eddie cackled.
"Oh, stop," Jon tried to hide his smirk. "Now was it you who finally did the boogie man in? Or did she do it for you?"
"She did it for her," Harley answered, her stomach turning sour. "Boogie Man" wasn't her favorite Joker nickname, and reliving that night still hurt even now, a few months later.
Jon blinked. "Come again?"
"She did it for her," Harley repeated. "She didn't believe he could change. Didn't want him too."
Edward looked confused. "You…actually thought The Joker could change?" it seemed like he was trying to hold in a laugh. "And here we thought you just liked it rough. We didn't know you were that stupid."
"Whatever," Harley was angry now, and she dropped the cereal into her basket with some force, brushing roughly passed them, trying to get away. From them and from this fluorescent hellscape.
"Well now look what you did."
"What? It's the truth, Jonathan! She could have held Gotham in the palm of her hand!"
Harley stopped at that, whirling back around to face them. "I did!" she was struggling to keep her voice at a conversational volume. "Me n' Mistah J brought this shithole to its knees! We had a bomb! That was it. Game over."
"Oh, goodness…" now there was pity in Jon's voice. "She still doesn't understand."
"Understand what?" she took a hard, almost threatening step towards them.
Edward was already chuckling. "You chose the wrong horse to hitch your wagon to, sweetheart."
Maybe it was the headache's fault, or maybe Harley was just a bad listener, but she had no idea what they were talking about at this point.
Eddie rolled his eyes at her apparent lack of comprehension. "Poison Ivy, all-powerful metahuman, Mother Nature incarnate, little miss principled and vain…you were in her bed! Her inner sanctum! Ivy could bury this city with a snap of her fingers, and she wanted you! God!" he went as far as to melodramatically bury his face in his hands. "What a waste. Just a tragic waste of potential. Man vs Goddess and you choose the mortal."
Harley opened her mouth to defend herself…but found there really wasn't much to say, other than: "But I…I loved him."
"And she loved you," Jon said like he was truly enlightening her. "Do you honestly think the esteemed mad doctor Pamela Isley would keep anyone around that she isn't absolutely and completely in love with? Does she strike you as a woman who casts a wide net of affection?"
"No, she's awful," Eddie answered, rather than letting the question remain rhetorical.
Jon gave a curt nod of agreeance before continuing. "It's you and that domesticated feline she keeps around. That's it. That's where the net ends. And even with Ms. Kyle, I'm sure the dynamics are different."
Eddie frowned. "Are they?"
"I have no idea," Jon quickly admitted. "Lesbians are essentially an alien race, as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, come now, Jon," Edward chastised. "Aren't we just male lesbians, when it comes down to it?"
There was venom in Scarecrow's tone when he said: "You need to stop watching The L Word." Eddie waved him off, but Jon doubled down. "I'm serious. Your Showtime privileges are revoked."
Riddler crossed his arms sulkily, mumbling: "You're such a Bette."
Harley had tuned their conversation out at this point, her thoughts turning, as they often did these days, to Pam. Wishing, just for a moment, that she really had simply lost her in the produce section.
They were right, though, Harley realized. Riddler and Scarecrow. Edward and Jon.
The only thing more intoxicating than being in love with the most "powerful" villain in Gotham, is having the most powerful villain be in love with you.
/
The twinkling lights of the city lay spread out before Harley like a map of the sky above. Except the stars were a little harder to see through the smog, even from her perch atop the roof of an old business building. There was a steady breeze that tousled her hair, blowing the scent of rotting garbage and damp streets into her nose.
God, she hated this place.
And yet, there was a strange beauty in the quiet serenity, so high up. Above the wail of the police sirens, or the shouts of thugs and robbers. Closing her eyes, leaning back on her palms, giving herself to the tranquility of the moment, Harley nearly missed the scuff footsteps behind her.
"Not as sneaky as you like to think you are, Bats," she muttered, cracking on eye open as a dark, caped figure came to stand beside her. She looked up, surprised to see a mane of red hair spilling down the back of her companion. And for a moment…
"Not trying to sneak up on you tonight, Quinn," Batgirl said, glancing at Harley out of the corner of her eye. "Feeling guilty?"
"I didn't do a damn thing," she huffed, focusing on the city again. "You're the one who barged in on my alone time."
Batgirl didn't answer that, merely stared out at the lights as well, her cape fluttering lightly in the wind. "It's nice to see you standing still for once. And, you know, without the make-up. And the ridiculous outfit."
"You're one to talk," Harley snorted and she could have sworn she heard Batgirl loose a small chuckle.
"I'm just glad I'm not chasing you down a dozen city blocks."
"Yeah, well. A good friend once told me, it's never too late to turn over a new leaf."
"Sounds like a wise friend," Batgirl replied, taking a seat on the ledge next to Harley.
"Don't you have a city to save?" Harley nearly snapped. Not in the mood for the presence of another person.
"Sure. I'm just on my lunchbreak."
Harley rolled her eyes. "Leave the jokes to the professional, doll."
"It seems to me that jokes aren't really your area of expertise anymore," Batgirl replied, gaze on the city.
Pursing her lips, Harley leaned back on her palms, tucking her chin against her chest. "I guess I just don't see the fun in things nowadays."
"Mmm, growing a conscience?"
"Don't diagnose me," Harley snorted. "You don't even know me."
"I've known you for years," Batgirl shot back. "Hard to keep a professional distance when I had to carry your bruised and bloody body back to Arhkam over and over again."
"You didn't have to," she mumbled. "I never asked for your help."
"It's my job to help people. Which is why I didn't leave when you and Joker set up the bomb."
"Stupid of you," Harley grumped. "I-I was gonna pull the trigger."
When Batgirl spoke, there was genuine curiosity in her voice. "What stopped you?"
Harley's breath caught in her throat. For a while she wasn't sure what to say. Finally: "A lot of things."
Batgirl studied her but didn't push for more of an answer, which, Harley appreciated. Batgirl had always seemed to have a more considerate presence than her allies. A comfortable silence enveloped them and Harley found herself staring at Batgirl's red hair as it fell around her shoulders, tousled by the wind. "You know, I bet you're real pretty underneath that mask."
"I believe you said the same thing to me after Joker pushed you out of a moving vehicle," was Batgirl's quick response.
"And I bet it's still true…" Harley leaned in close. "Can I see?"
Batgirl shoved her away, although Harley saw a smile playing on her lips in the dim light.
"Come on, I'm not on the GCPD's watch list anymore. We're on even turf. The Bat need any part time help? Wait…Is it a requirement to wear the little green shorts?"
"You're not off the hook yet," Batgirl ignored the jab. "Joker may be dead, but you were there ready to pull the trigger that would blow up the entire city. You've got a long way to go before Batman thinks you're not a threat."
"And what do you think?" Harley asked quietly.
Batgirl took a while to respond. So long, that Harley began to squirm. When Batgirl looked at her again, there was a softness in her blue gaze. "I think you have incredible potential, Harleen Quinzel. I think you got caught up in something that took you down the wrong path for a long time. You hurt a lot of people, took a lot of lives. But if this symbol doesn't stand for faith in redemption…justice," she gestured to the bat on her chest, "then I don't know what does." A slow smile curled Batgirl's lips. "I think in another universe, Harley, you would have made a good friend."
"But not in this one?" Harley clarified, a little hurt.
"We'll see," Batgirl smirked, rising to her feet. "We've got time."
Without waiting for Harley's reply, she leapt off the edge of the building, her cape billowing out behind her as she dove towards the streets below. Harley watched, catching her breath when Batgirl scooped out of her dive and drifted silently into the night sky.
/
Pamela opened the double wooden doors slowly, hand lingering on the rusted brass knob. They'd seemed wondrously elaborate when she was a child, but now the hinges screeched and the etchings were faded, worn down by years of wind and rain.
The inside of the house was dark, the only light coming from a few shafts that slipped through the dirty windows, illuminating the heavy dust that drifted through the air. The scent of decay hit Pam's nose as she stepped into the main hallway. Rotting wood, chipped paint, dusty bureaus.
She made her way through the hallway, somehow larger and emptier than she remembered it, to the dining room. She knew the chandelier hanging above the ornate mahogany table wouldn't work, and yet she found herself flipping the light switch anyway. Force of habit, maybe.
Running her fingers over the dusty surface of the dining table, Pam took a seat at one of the uncomfortable chairs. Her feet touched the floor this time, toes no longer dangling in the air, swinging the way her mother told her not to. She looked to the chair at the head of the table, where her father would always sit. Empty now.
This table was entirely too large for just one person, she thought, as the heavy silence of the room engulfed her.
The garden was in just as much disarray as the interior, if not more so. Pam stood at the living room window, peering out through the clouded glass, to see the dead branches, fallen leaves, wilted petals. The garden was overgrown with choking weeds and brambles, crushing the beauty that once lay underneath.
Her eyes wandered to the two small hills, now covered in a dense lilac bush. Two more corpses buried just below the surface. Back to haunt her after all these years.
She could hear the quiet whispers of the dying plants. They reached out to her as she made her way outside, running her hands through the brambles and thorns, not even wincing when they scratched her skin.
"My mother and father weren't exactly a supportive presence in my life." I was lonely. "I spent most of my time in the garden." That my mother wanted and never tended to. "The plants offered me a dependability, a haven, that my parents couldn't."
That no one could.
A truth it had taken her too long to realize. But now, she was home. Where she belonged, a dead thing, in peaceful solitude….
Pam knelt in front of a dying rose bush, lifting the drooping head of one of the red flowers.
Help us, Mother.
"It's alright," she said aloud, watching as the rose began to rise underneath her touch. "I'm home now. And I'm going to take care of you. All of you."
There was a hum of excitement in the air. It surrounded her, flooding her body and mind until she felt the smallest spark of warmth tingling deep inside her.
Rising from her kneeling position, Ivy brushed the dirt from her knees, scanning the garden once more before heading to the old shed to grab her mother's tools. With luck, they would still be usable. If not, she would head into town and gather new ones.
There was work to be done.