"Were you paying attention when the doctor was talking?"

Ivy sighed, trying her best to remain kind. 'This is not Selina, this is Harley', she reminded herself. "Yes, Harleen."

"OK." Harley shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "Just checking. You've been demonstrating a lack of focus recently is all."

Pam gritted her teeth, ignoring the dull pain in her jaw that persisted even after having the brace removed. "Harleen…" She said, her tone cloyingly sweet. "Are we underestimating my intelligence?"

"Nope." Harley shrugged again.

"God, the passive-aggression is palpable." Ivy groaned.

"I just…I don't even know if you can lift me."

"Harleen," Ivy was clearly getting frustrated. "It has been well documented that I can lift you."

"Yeah, but I'm way heavier now." Harley huffed. "Just a big, fat cow."

Ivy closed her eyes and leaned her head back in the now universal symbol for 'strangling her would feel good, but I'm going to take a deep breath instead.' "I know I promised I would try using my feeling words, or whatever…" she stared directly into the light above them, praying for the rapture. "But according to your chart- you know, that pesky official medical chart- you have actually lost 15lbs since arriving here."

"Sure, all my fucking leg muscle." The blonde grumbled.

"This conversation is ridiculous. You're being petulant and horrible. That's my job." Ivy leaned over and slid one of her arms behind Harley's back and the other under her knee. Lifting upwards, she pulled the girl to her chest before depositing her in the wheelchair. "There." She said, her hands on her hips. "Was that so bad?"

"No." Harley mumbled. "But I don't want this." She forcefully slammed her fist down on the arm rest of her new, state-of-the-art automatic wheelchair. "I want one that I can move by myself."

"Well you never know, you might want both, Harl."

"Don't tell me what I want, Pamela!" Harley snapped.

Ivy was too surprised to be angry. "I was…I was just thinking there might be times when you get tired…and you're going to want a break, eventually."

"I'm sorry, are you an expert on paralysis? Are you that type of doctor?" Harley's face was twisted in anger. "Radical idea, but maybe you don't know everything about everything you fucking psycho."

"No, she doesn't like her dresses, Mother." Pamela whined. "Look, I made this for her!" She held up the doll excitedly so that Mrs. Isley could admire the outfit she'd constructed from leaves and glue.

Her Mother tore the crown of flowers off the doll's blonde head. "If you're taking it to school, it will not be dressed like it belongs in a mental institution, or that you do, for that matter."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Dr. Quinzel repeated over and over again until the trigger had been circumvented. "It's OK." The anger had left her voice. "You went away there for a second, but you can feel my hands on your wrists and you can hear my voice and now you're going to look at me." She waited for Ivy to blink the fog away and make eye contact. "Here, come here." Harley kissed urgently up the other woman's arm, clearly feeling guilty. "I'm going to remind you of the trigger we desensitized last week and tell you that you're beautiful, and out of all the faces in the human race, yours might be my favorite, OK? So even though I'm mad, I'm glad I get to be mad at you. I'm sorry. That word was…I crossed a line."

Ivy's expression was pained. "No, I'm sorry." She whispered.

Harley sighed, "I know you are."

/

Harleen rolled along the sidewalk behind the hospital grunting every so often as she pushed the wheels of her chair, propelling herself forward.

Ivy was kneeling a few feet in front of her on the flowerbed, her fingers softly brushing the petals of the colorful blossoms. They responded to her touch, craning their stems to reach her. She giggled with a sort of child-like amusement as she leaned down to smell them and Harley felt a smile spreading over her lips despite herself. If she could just take a snapshot of this right now, Pamela happy among her flowers…unencumbered, even for a moment…no more memories or disorders or sensory integration issues…just Pamela and her flowers. She could keep some version of this, she knew she could, but it would require jabbing the knife in a little further. Perhaps it was time to stop playing Ivy's game. Stop being a threat. Perhaps it was time to employ a winning strategy.

Harley pushed herself forward, approaching the edge of the flowerbed. Ivy plucked a red flower from the ground, apologizing profusely to it as she did so, and turned around to slip it into Harley's hair.

"Can we go in the shade?" Harleen asked, pointing to a tree across the grass.

Ivy pulled herself up and circled to the back of the other woman's wheelchair. "Why not?"

"No." Harley raised her arms like a child would ask to be picked up by their mother.

Ivy walked back around to the front a bit apprehensively.

"I don't want to scuff up the grass." Harleen explained. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

Ivy smiled. "I told you fresh air would be beneficial." Harley wrapped her arms around the redhead's neck and Ivy lifted her from the chair, carrying her over to the tree's shade and propping her up against its trunk.

The tone of this conversation would be important, Dr. Quinzel realized. She would need to establish it right off the bat. It couldn't be accusatory and she would need to be careful of her own tone, since Pamela seemed to be triggered by anything even bordering on shrill recently. If she had to wager a guess, Dr. Quinzel thought it probably had something to do with her mother. She figured that would be a good place to start and she patted the ground, motioning for Ivy to sit next to her. The older woman obliged, pale-skinned for this outing in hopes of not drawing any extra attention. Harley leaned her head against her shoulder and waited for Ivy's breathing to normalize before asking "why did your mother only grow roses?" in a curious and innocent tone.

Pamela idly wrapped a red lock around her finger. "An idealist is one who, on noticing a rose smells better than cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup."

Harley turned her head to stare questioningly up at the plant queen and Ivy couldn't help but chuckle at her expression. "Mother was an idiot who preferred aesthetics to function."

"Oh." Harleen said, flatly. "Who said that?"

"H.L. Mencken." Ivy informed her.

"Oh." The blonde repeated, laying her head back down on the other woman's shoulder. "I don't know who that is."

"I thought not."

Harley rolled her eyes, and was glad Ivy couldn't see for how dramatic the movement was. 'If I ever get invited on Jeopardy, I'm getting Ivy to go in my place.' Her mind began to wander. 'She smells really good. Why does she always smell so good? Snap out of it, Harleen! Do your job.' The doctor cleared her throat. "Did you love your mother?"

"You have to learn not to love your mother." Ivy said as she shifted her weight to run her fingers over the legs that Harley could no longer feel.

"Don't." Dr. Quinzel swatted the older woman's hand away. She felt Ivy's body language change, tense slightly, and realized if she were going to get anywhere, she'd need to get over some of her own uneasiness. She took the green hand in her own, but even with compromises was unwilling to let her make movements that Harley would never feel.

"My mother made me call her 'Mrs. Isley' in public." Ivy murmured.

'That's…strange.' Harleen had to admit. "What did she look like?"

"Nothing like me." Pamela quickly assured her. "Except for her hair, I suppose. And her eyes were a similar color. She had freckles too, like me, but she would cover them up in the mornings with powder so she always appeared paler than she was. Like a corpse prepared for an open casket."

Harleen furrowed her brow. "But you don't have freckles." She turned to look at the other woman, just in case they'd sprung up overnight.

"Not anymore."

There was a sadness to Ivy's tone that Harley wasn't expecting just yet. Maybe this would be easier than she'd thought. "How old was she when she died?" she asked.

Ivy thought for a moment. "As old as I am now."

She didn't elaborate, so Harley pressed. "How old were you?"

"33." Ivy was curt.

Harley did the math. "That's the year of your transformation, right? That must have been hard…going through all of that and then losing your mother."

Ivy chuckled softly. "I didn't lose my mother, Daffodil. I chose to end her sorry existence. It was a long time coming, honestly."

Harleen froze. That definitely wasn't in her file. Suddenly Harley didn't feel so safe in the other woman's arms. "Is that…" she ventured. "Is that what you've been seeing? When you go away?"

She felt Ivy shake her head. "I've been seeing the reasons why I did it."

And there it was…Dr. Quinzel saw her path to victory. She grimaced as she slowly slid her back off the trunk, her upper body falling to the ground with a thud.

"Harleen?" fear was etched into Ivy's expression as she moved quickly to the girl's side.

"It's fine. I'm fine." Harley exhibited more discomfort than she was actually in. Ivy only engaged an adversary. She took pity on her now, Harley could see it in her eyes, and though that nearly broke her heart, Harley knew that she could use it to her advantage. "How'd you do it?" She asked. "How'd you kill her?"

"I don't…it doesn't matter." Ivy slid her arm behind her doctor's back and began to move her upright.

"No." Harley said firmly. "Leave me here." Ivy respected her wishes, withdrawing her arm and instead moving her hand to reverently stroke the blonde's pale cheek. That Harley didn't mind so much, although there was a bizarre glassiness to Ivy's expression that made her curious what she was thinking as she gazed at her. "How'd you do it, Pamela?" Harley asked again.

"I liberated her roses from their abuser." Ivy replied, wistfully.

Ivy needed sweetness and understanding. She needed a support system. She needed unconditional love, even though in this moment, it was hardly 'love' Harley was feeling for her. She cupped Ivy's hand against her face and tried to keep her expression as tranquil as possible. "You killed your mother with the only thing she allowed you two to share?" There was hurt behind Ivy's green eyes now, Harley could see it. It came suddenly. Another crack in Ivy's armor. "The only positive memories you shared with her from your childhood…you used them to murder her?" Ivy tried to pull her hand away, but Harley kept it in place, demanding eye contact. "You must have been very angry."

Ivy swallowed. "I was."

"What was the last thing she said to you?" Harley asked, as innocently as she could manage.

Pamela shut her eyes tightly, her body rigid. "She…she called me an abomination."

Dr. Quinzel felt Ivy's skin begin to grow hot. She would need to move her past anger onto sadness. "No one's ever loved you…" Harley reminded her, although the tone she chose was sympathetic. Selina wanted a villain? She would be that villain. 'And now to make her dependent…' "But I'm here, Pam. Look at me." Ivy opened her eyes to take-in the broken woman below her. Harley smiled, making sure the expression was bitter sweet. "Your plants love you, and they need you. I need you, Ivy." Pamela craved control, Harley knew that. So she would grant it to her for the time being. "I need you." She repeated.

Ivy's lip quivered as she leaned away from Harley.

'3…2…and…' Harleen resisted the urge to smile when Pamela drew her knees to her chest and began to rock. 'Chink, chink, chink…like cracks in a statue.' "Isn't it nice to feel needed?" Harley asked. "Do you like that? Or is it something deeper…" She jabbed the knife in. "Is there another reason you've been committed to our therapy for so long?" Harley kept her eyes wide and her voice soft as she watched Ivy pull herself into a tighter ball. "I love you, Pamela. Do you…maybe…love me?" Harley turned herself over on her stomach and dragged her body close enough to touch Ivy. She reverently placed a kiss on the woman's bare foot and watched the plant queen's eyes as she unraveled. Poison Ivy beat Harley on any level playing field. But Harley didn't play on those fields. Kill her with kindness. Ha! It actually worked!

/

Pamela closed her parent's eyes, finding their glassy quality disturbing. Seeing was for the living. She waved her hand and the rose bush uncoiled itself from their necks and slithered back out the window.

Pamela walked calmly up the stairs, stripping off her hospital-issued clothing as she went. The moon shone through the large windows, casting dancing shadows over her emerald skin. She entered the last room on the second floor. It was smaller than the rest, dustier too. But everything else was exactly how she had left it. Bed made, clothing folded, plants watered. Pamela paid little mind to who had kept her foliage alive. Perhaps just her presence in the room had resurrected them.

Then she saw her doll, propped up on her dresser. Its cheeks still rosy, hair brushed, eyes bright…but she was wearing that dress. The blue dress that matched Pamela's. She hated that dress. She HATED that dress. Her fists clenched and the anger began to bubble up in her throat. In a fury she crossed the room, grabbing the doll by the ankle and launching it at the opposite wall, shattering it into a million pieces. Pamela released a blood-curdling scream. No words, just sound. All the rage spilling out of her until she was reduced to a heap on the floor. Shaking violently, her skin began to prickle…like blades lurked beneath, prodding and teasing, looking for a way out. And then one did break the surface. Pamela arched off of the floor, biting her lip hard enough that her teeth almost cut through it, trying to muffle another scream. The sharp pain persisted as if she were being stabbed from the inside out. She looked down at her stomach and watched as a leaf ripped through the smooth surface, joining others of its kind until Pamela lay on the floor in a bloody leotard of poison ivy.