"Here's the case file, doctor."
Harleen accepted the offered folder, setting it down across her desk along with the morning coffee.
Four days at Arkham Asylum, two conversations with the Joker, and her position there had already been solidified. At that moment, one of the orderlies was applying her name in print to the frosted-glass window of the office door. The definitive proof that she was there to stay, regardless of what her colleagues thought.
After the attendant left, she leaned back into her chair for a brief chance to clear her thoughts. Proving her ability to not crack under the Joker's hostile approach had solidified her capacity for the insane. Which meant he was not the only one she was tasked with looking into going forward. And the list of those still waiting for a new turn at treatment was bound to grow by the end of the year.
The Joker was her long-term project. Years in and out of the asylum had burned out plenty of others, all too eager to cut right to the heart of his problem and get a prize-winning resolution within months. Wearing away, peeling off the layers bit by bit was going to be her approach.
To balance that out, she needed immediate results to sift through in the meantime. Minor victories to prove she was staying on top of things, getting patients out of the asylum, and money flowing into her funding. The sad reality of trying to save people from their own nightmares.
She sat up after feeling that she had taken long enough to clear. The first few in the folder went to the side for later viewing, all part of her case study prior to arrival, and none that were beyond what others working there could handle already. A fresh perspective was best applied to the worst offenders first.
Some of the more notorious cases she moved to a different pile. The costumed sadists and manipulators, those that weren't active murderers, and thus weren't nearly as vital to see real progress on. Machinations by the Riddler paled in comparison to massacres by certain others.
"Harvey Dent."
His case was definitely one of the most infamous. She had been watching the broadcast live when the impetus occurred, a small bomb hidden in his phone that had taken half his face off. Right after his campaign speech had ended in a roaring success.
Helping the once-hopeful mayoral candidate back to the realm of sanity made him a promising study while she built one for the Joker. The rest of the files were soon set aside as she went in for deeper reading.
"Manic episodes correlating to cognitive dissonance. Fixation on duality in all aspects, ranging from personality to attire, to statistics and probability. Inconsistencies noted in attitudes towards crime and order, namely increasing resentment of law enforcement and notable vigilantes, defying the expected binary behaviour."
She tapped her finger on the page in thought. Like the Joker, there was clearly more to Dent than what her predecessors had deciphered, putting him more in that camp of a career-making resolution than a bankroll ticket.
As she went to put the file up alongside the Joker's, she stopped for a bit more thought, then brought it back for another pass.
"Prior to the debilitating incident, Dent was closely associated with Bruce Wayne, as well as botanist-turned-terrorist Pamela Isley, whom he purportedly shared intimate relations with. Dent has refused any attempt to inquire about his relations with Miss Isley, as has Mr Wayne, who potentially developed relations of his own with the former botanist following Dent's demise. Both individuals are considered volatile subjects and should not be mentioned in his presence."
She tapped a nail on that paragraph, then lifted her head and removed her glasses for some thought.
"Scorned lover jumping ship to the best friend? Political favours to a billionaire's account? Two big names tied to one woman."
On a hunch, she flicked through the rest of the case files, only to be disappointed when Pamela Isley was absent among them.
So absorbed in her studying, she hadn't noticed that the orderly had finished the printing and closed the door silently in that time. It saved her the trouble of asking for privacy while she reached for the office phone. The hunch told her there was a real gain to be made by putting in a bit of leg work, and a good chance at the easy break she had been hoping for.
"Hi, yeah, do we have anything on a 'Dr Isley'? She's a patient here? No, I'll come down and look at the file myself. Why wasn't it included with the others?"
The exchange was brief on her end, but it was enough to convince her she was on the right track. Patient files were meant to be a long-standing record that evolved over time. Mentioning 'outdated' in the same sentence as them was all too clear an indicator that there was something awaiting discovery.
The archive room looked more foreboding than even the inmate's cafeteria when it was empty. Many of the walls beared the open marks of madness, paint and plaster clawed out wherever it wasn't open brickwork. Even the lights felt gloomy, barely strong enough to make the rows of labels readable.
Fortunately for Harleen, she didn't need to go looking for Pamela Isley's file herself. The clerk's office behind a heavy door and reinforced glass took longer for her to find than she cared to admit.
"Dr Quinzel, we spoke a few minutes ago?"
"Sure. Got the one right here." He slid the file through the small letter opening. "Like I said, been listed as non-applicable by all the other shrinks that tried to get through to her. She's nothing like what's described there anymore according to 'em."
Harleen frowned at that, but there was little to be said until she had formed an opinion of her own. "Anything else on her that's more up-to-date then? Tapes? Videos?"
"I'll send them by your office when they're all collected together, that takes longer. If you want some first-hand advice, Dr Merideth's the one to ask. He was the first to take a crack at the new Poison Ivy before movin' on. Lasted the longest, which ain't saying much."
"I'll keep that in mind then." Harleen left with the folder in hand, stopping by the staff cafeteria on the way back to her office. A second coffee seemed called for given her day of study ahead.
The other files were soon piled up out of the way, leaving her desk free to spread out the full contents of what the asylum had on Pamela Isley.
"Let's see. Doctorate in biology, employee at WayneTech, relationship with Dent and Wayne in succession…" Her throat went dry as the real issues with Isley began to unfold. "Pamela murdered co-worker Jason Woodrue and department head Olivia Harper in the process of resisting attempted sexual assault by the former. Olivia is believed to have been overseeing illegal activities at the time, and blackmailed her into participating prior to her own death. Isley then disappeared, returning as self-proclaimed eco-terrorist Poison Ivy three weeks later."
What she had caught of news coverage at the time hadn't mentioned anything about the assault, or that Pamela had been blackmailed into whatever she was working on. The revelation left her with more concern than ever.
"Since her return, Isley has been held for evaluation on multiple occasions. Behavioural problems include rampant misanthropy, indications of sociopathy, an acute fixation on plantlife as being sapient and in communication with her, and a violent drive to attack any whom she deems as causing harm to the environment with unrelenting prejudice."
She set the file down in a moment of awkwardness upon noting it likely wasn't sustainably sourced.
"Repeat encounters with the Batman have seen a correlating increase in Isley's stress levels, likely resulting from an escalation of fighting between the vigilante and the villain. Full mania is expected to occur in the near future if treatment remains unsuccessful."
It was a condensed reading of the file, and the thought of it being an inaccurate report of what Isley was now like gave her even more to mull over. Seeking escapism in the wake of sexual assault and murder was far from unheard of, but the jump to bonding with plant life stuck out to her as being far too specific. Possibly the link to what had changed her behaviour.
As far as she was aware, Isley had been off the radar for months, and nothing in the news had been mentioned of her return to Arkham. If it had been one more encounter with Batman that had broken her as predicted, there was either a sizeable gap before or after her readmission.
Getting the chance to talk to Batman was nigh on impossible to begin with, and asking him whether he had driven Isley to insanity was bound to be met with silence. The other three sources left to her were the videos, Dr Merideth, and Isley herself.
What had started as an intriguing minor project had taken her attention for the day. Deconstructing the Joker would always be the end goal, but learning more about the woman with an affinity for plants was becoming a strong contender.
Dr Merideth's office looked to be in as poor a state as the archives, on the outside at least. More and more, she was getting the impression that her office was the only one left in good condition, and thus the hot seat for new members of the staff to avoid scaring them off.
Harleen didn't care about that, though she also had the good sense to keep quiet about it around the others. From what she had gathered, Merideth was one of the old guard of the asylum. The sort more likely to be bitter about working conditions and the like.
That he answered the door after the first knock, with her name no less, startled her slightly. She looked over to the hallway camera on a guess that he was monitoring his own door, then thought better of keeping him waiting.
When she entered the room, she again had to hold back her startlement at the condition of both the office, and Dr Merideth himself.
It was practically a monument to dissatisfaction and failures. Outdated files, photos and newspaper reports lined many of the walls. Merideth himself was slouched back in his chair, staring at the water-stained ceiling with full abjection.
"I don't do favours. Not interested in covering shifts for new arrivals to skip a day."
That much didn't surprise Harleen. Merideth didn't at all give her the impression of someone who would turn down covering shifts out of professional integrity either.
"I'm here to ask about a patient. And before you tell me not to bother, I'll be doing this with or without your advice, so save it."
Merideth lifted an eyebrow in mild amusement. The sharp attitude impressed him more than anything else. Enough to give her a bit more actual attention.
He sat up from his apathetic slouch, turning off the ambient music and brightening the lights a little more, then gestured to the seat opposite him.
Harleen used that time to ready herself, taking a moment to breathe after sitting down before deciding to get it over with.
"I want to try working with Pamela Isley."
Merideth went through the anticipated reactions, barely holding himself back from telling her it was a lost cause, then sliding into a more frustrated mood as the recent memories were dredged up.
"All the others have tried, why stop there?"
He opened a drawer to retrieve a notebook, heartily tearing out two pages to pass over to Harleen. "You've already read the old file then?"
"Yes. I'd like to know why everyone says it's outdated."
"Simple. We weren't diagnosing the real Pamela Isley at the time. The mess that got dragged in here a month ago is the real woman. From what we've been told, everything before that was a mental construct, made of drugs and mind control. We'd have to redo the whole process for writing her file, if it were even possible to get started."
Harleen gave him a quizzical look. "What's stopped all of you from doing that?"
"If you haven't already asked for them, there's plenty of video footage that sums it up nicely."
"Enlighten me, I'm waiting for them to be sent up."
"She's in a state of full blown hysteria. Extremely violent to anyone who goes near her. Screaming, swearing, physical assault. And before you ask, she can't be sedated, at all."
Harleen removed her glasses again, resting them on her lap as she thought about the short version a little longer. "So, she's been here a month, with little to no psychiatric help, no sedation, and no hope of treatment?"
"There are a lot of patients here, doctor. Pamela Isley as she is now will take far more resources and man hours than we can spare." When seeing that she wouldn't relent, Merideth pulled out a medical report from the drawer as well, handing it over to her.
Already feeling disgruntled, she read through it quickly, then had to go back for a much more thorough read with her glasses back on when it didn't make sense.
"Bloodwork shows mass saturation of organic toxins? All sedatives legally approved for human use rendered totally ineffective?" She stared back at him in disbelief. "So, what? Her moniker of Poison Ivy was more informative than for show?"
Merideth shrugged belatedly. "Within two days of getting here, she tried to strangle herself with her own hair. It took six orderlies to hold her down, and another two to shave it off. She needs a full team to have any chance of recovering. Arkham Asylum has barely half the staff dictated as necessary by the medical board as is. She's not viable."
Harleen closed her eyes with a deep sigh, grasping at the bridge of her nose. Beating the stigma of lost causes, those beyond help, that was why she came for the Joker. Taking on two such cases at once was possibly more than she could cope with. Or, everyone was wrong about Isley, and she was the one to prove it.
"I'll go over the videos, and any other research I need to. I'll decide once I've seen her in person."
"Don't count on getting extra help when this falls flat. I certainly won't be there to clean up when this plan of yours goes to shit."
Knowing that she had obtained everything she would from him, Harleen opened her eyes and put on a professional smile. "Thanks for your time, doctor."
"Don't burn yourself out, Quinzel. You and I both know there's much more to be gained from fixing the white freak over the tree hugger."
Harleen kept the smile up while making her way out of the office. The dimming of the lights and return of the ambient music on her departure left a mild discomfort that she couldn't quite shake on the way back to her office. Like the rips in the walls, apathy and a decay of hope leaking into the open. Something she couldn't help but fear would spread to her too eventually.
It was well into the evening when the video files arrived at her computer.
Harleen was resting her eyes when the alert went up. A fight amongst the patients had cancelled her next appointment with the Joker, leaving her with more time to scrounge what she could about Isley instead. She was still waiting on approval for a secure line to the GCPD, not keen on making the trip in person.
Pouring through footage wasn't her idea of a good way to end the evening, but it was certainly better than picking her way through the internet's plethora of conspiracies, inappropriate glorification, and memes.
However tepid and unpleasant watching a woman in complete mental breakdown was, it was still a look at the real person.
"Time to say hello, Dr Isley."
She started with the one marked for Dr Merideth. For the first few minutes, little at all happened. Aside from incoherent mumbling, Isley remained in one corner of the cell, her face still draped with thick red hair at that point. She had yet to be put in a straightjacket too.
The change when footsteps became audible on the recording was immediate.
Isley was on her feet, standing towards the middle of the cell, watching for the arrival of Merideth. Her face still wasn't visible to the camera, but the muttering had definitely stopped.
"Pamela Isley, I'm Dr Merideth. I'll be-"
"Fuck you Jason! I'm never going back!"
"Pamela, I'm Byron Merideth, a psychiatrist."
"Fuck you! Fuck you!"
The swearing continued as Isley launched herself at the plexiglass wall, hammering it fiercely with her fists. Shortly after, Merideth and the attending orderly moved out of her view, leaving her to continue pummeling her knuckles into a mess, until her aggression eased off again.
Harleen tapped her pen on her own notepad, glancing at the provided notes, then her own blank page.
"Hallucinating her abuser in a position of power over her. Extreme fear and violent reaction to falling back under his control. So why did it take so long to surface, after she killed him herself?"
It was a similar reaction for the next few attempts Merideth made to speak with her, in the middle of which Isley's hair was suddenly shaved, before his file ended with him claiming out of sheer exhaustion that she wasn't worth the headache. After what she had seen of him earlier in the day, the unprofessional attitude no longer seemed out of place.
As she went through the next few files of the attempts by others, the pattern became clear. Male or female, psychiatrist, orderly or even civilian, Isley had the same reaction of extreme violence towards each of them. Always calling them Jason, a harsh fear of being taken back that caused her to lash out to an excessive degree.
She leaned back from her screen at that point, needing time to collect herself. The next on the list was footage of Isley's attempted self-strangulation, something she wasn't remotely keen on viewing.
After careful thought, she decided to leave it aside for the time being. Not to be completely removed from her study, but certainly outside what she could stomach for the night.
Another alert came up unexpectedly, not from the GCPD that time. She was about to close it for later viewing, only for a black window to pop up instead.
"Oh great. They don't even have a proper fucking anti-virus subscription here."
Before she could close it, the window changed to a stylized dark display around a text box. What caught her attention was the fact that surrounding the box was an unmistakable symbol that she often saw in Gotham's night sky.
Dr Quinzel. Are you genuine about helping Pamela Isley?
Harleen blinked a few times, then smudged her hand up across her face and eyes, shoving the glasses upwards.
"I'm getting instant messages from Batman? Fuck me."
She considered closing it and looking for how to do a manual scan. The sheer specific nature of the question was too much to ignore however. And in a way, the divide of computer screens between her and the supposed other felt less stressful than a face to face meeting.
Yes.
Her fingers hesitated on the keyboard while she eyed over her reply. Whatever was being sent over was taking a minute to download. One opportunity of contact she had with Batman, if it truly was him on the other side. However much she wanted to scour his brain over his interactions with the Joker, in that moment she had a different priority to consider.
Are you?
There was no answer. As soon as the file finished downloading, the program closed and erased itself. She could hear the fans spinning up as the computer started wiping over the drive to be sure.
A backdoor into the asylum computers, monitoring their usage for key patients. As much as upset her that the vigilante was getting away with such an obscene invasion of privacy and security, sheer curiosity was the stronger feeling that night.
It turned out to be another video file, marked with an identical format to the ones she had just viewed. Confiscated directly from the asylum, and for reasons she could clearly deduce.
"So, bringing her in, or coming by to visit? Which is it, Batman?"
The first frame of the video showed a near-bald Isley, automatically discounting the former. A short while in, Dr Simon Ecks came by, explaining why his listed visit seemed like the second of two when only one was provided to her.
"Pamela Isley, I'm Dr Ecks, and I'd like to-"
The same aggressive behaviour flared up yet again, that time with Ecks continuing to try and calm her down throughout the screaming and punching.
It came to an abrupt halt when the lights in the hallway went out, causing the glass to turn reflective on Isley's side.
After a few seconds, the lights in the hall came back on to allow two-way vision again. Dr Ecks and the waiting guard were gone. Batman was standing in their place, staring right at Isley.
To Harleen's great surprise, the violent behaviour died down immediately, shifting towards restrained anger and revulsion instead.
"I'm not talking to you, Batman!"
She stopped the video there, needing time to fully contemplate the implications. After so many other visitors were all seen as projections as Jason Woodrue, she had anticipated Batman to receive the same. Instead, he seemed to be the only one capable of defying whatever delusion had gripped her mind.
"Yet another on the list of people with a fixation on Batman? Or something else?"
It was progress towards an actual way past the hostile stage in any case, something she could potentially use when going to see Isley in person. An actual visit from Batman to help still seemed unlikely, even after the aid provided.
She sat forward for more focus when resuming the video, leaving the notepad aside altogether.
"I followed the lead you gave me, Ivy. Floronic Man has been neutralized, and is being transferred to a secure facility at this exact moment. He can't terrorize you any longer."
"It won't work! It never works! He's always here! Always watching me! He keeps coming back to taunt me! And you don't care! None of you care!"
"Ivy. He cannot come after you. I made sure he can't escape through the Green this time. Jason Woodrue is in custody. You have to acknowledge that."
Harleen stopped the video for a second time, her eyes going wide as she took the glasses off altogether.
"Custody? A dead man in custody? Can't escape through the Green?"
She looked over to the office phone again, then back to her screen for the rest of the video. It turned out to be little more to see, as the conversation soon ended with another blackout that ended with an empty hallway. With no further stimuli, Isley returned to her own corner in silence, the clip ending shortly after.
"She murders the coworker that tried to assault her, then becomes a plant-based villain, only for that coworker to return from the dead as…" Harleen closed her eyes again with a regretful sigh. "Another plant-based supervillain."
She switched the screen off and went for her notepad, writing down a rough timeline of events with plenty of space for anything she was unsure of.
"Drugs and mind control, a mental construct. Jason Wuudrue, the Floronic Man, her attacker and tormentor. Killed by her, and yet alive and in custody after Pamela somehow ratted him out. Poison Ivy, an eco-villain with killer pot plants and a wristbow, now a screaming victim of her own delusions. And the Batman, protecting her from her once-dead abuser, and making contact with those trying to help her."
Another long look at the file folder brought her some clarity to it being dismissed. So many incorrect assumptions and diagnoses. Both about the fake attributes displayed by Isley, as well as Batman's relation to her growing disorder. He was fighting her, but also potentially freeing her from Jason's influence. And it had gone tragically wrong in the end.
It was speculative, but enough for her to go on in preparing the rest. Hard facts would hopefully come from her call to the GCPD. And with everything in hand, a face-to-face evaluation of Isley would put the rest in perspective.
"Always there. Always watching. Always you. Only you.'
"Pamela Isley."
Huddled her quiet corner of mumbling, Ivy lifted her head abruptly at hearing the voice. It was modulated, familiar. Close to how Batman's voice sounded. But not quite there.
"Go away!" She pressed herself against the wall as a means of standing up, her feet digging at the floor while her back and bristled head dragged along the fabric. "I know you're not him!"
"That's right, I'm not Batman. I'm Dr Harleen Quinzel, and I have a theory about how to get through to you."
Ivy went right for the glass wall once fully on her feet. The light in her room had been turned up to keep it reflective, keeping her from seeing Harleen.
"It won't work Jason! I won't go back!"
"Pamela, listen to me. You're experiencing extreme hallucinations that cause you to see and hear his face and voice in place of everyone else's. I know what he did to you, both a year ago and up until recently. I know why you're in hysteria over what you're experiencing. I want to help you overcome it."
Ivy snarled at the glass, then threw her shoulder against it, struggling against the straightjacket. "Fuck you Jason! I'm not giving it up! You're not taking me back!"
"Jason is being held in stasis under guard. I've seen footage provided by the GCPD myself. He is not here, Pamela. He is not coming for you. Tell yourself that. Break the delusions. He is not here."
On the other side of the glass, Harleen lowered the modulator she was speaking through. Waiting until the next day had given her time to rest, and think about her plan. Getting the modulator had proved worthwhile after all, by the sight of Ivy backing away from the wall in silence. Something had gotten through to her, and though there was no guarantee it would stick for long, it was an actual result.
That was enough to make Harleen smile. All she had to do was make the visits regular, pacing them out to let Ivy wear down the delusions at her own rate.
"Good, I'm going to let you think about that for a bit, and-"
The hall lights began to flicker back to full brightness in conjunction with the alarm sounding off. In response, the orderly accompanying Harleen immediately ran off to investigate, leaving her alone in front of Ivy's cell.
"Shit! Shit shit shit!" She dashed out of view and put herself against the wall, hoping beyond anything that the flickering hadn't ruined her accomplishment.
A sickening thud against the glass was her answer.
"Jason! I know you're there! I won't let you take me!"
By the time Harleen pulled herself off the wall and moved back into view, Ivy was already slamming her face into the clear wall. A smear of blood was already present.
"Shit! Pamela stop!"
There was still no sign of the orderly's return, especially with the lights continuing to flicker. She had been warned against going into any of the cells alone, but to wait could cost Ivy her life.
Harleen yanked the card from her coat on her way towards the door. As soon as it was pressed to the scanner, she smacked her fist against the respective panic button, leaving the door unlocked while asylum security was notified.
Entering the cell itself felt more dangerous than even when she had sat down at a table opposite the Joker. He had been calm and collected, holding his insanity back for whatever he deemed a suitable presentation.
Ivy's relentless assault on the window was the opposite of that. The lack of any restraint, a failure of the innate will to continue living.
Harleen threw herself at Ivy in a way intended to get her off the glass and back into the middle of the room.
It proved much harder than anticipated with Ivy positioned to keep her weight leaning towards the glass. Feeling arms wrap around her as Harleen struggled to push her back drove up her crazed adrenaline, switching targets from the bloodied glass to her face instead.
The next several seconds became a blur for Harleen as she felt the impact of their skulls. All restraint went out after the first strike, her foot lashing up and jabbing down against Ivy's until she stumbled back in more pain.
Her vision was spinning when she tried moving back towards the door, and the painful ringing from the strike was further disorientating her.
"Dr Quinzel! What happened?"
She caught sight of a guard's uniform on her way towards the plaster wall, landing against it with a heavy thud.
"She tried to cave her face in! What the fuck happened with the lights?"
The guard attending to her motioned for the other to go and secure Ivy before she did more damage to herself. "Livewire started causing a scene, tried to overload the whole building- Dr Quinzel!"
Harleen by then had started to collapse on the spot, soon gasping for air as a burning sensation began to spread from her forehead. An open wound where there had been a mix of blood. Trace amounts of the toxins that ran through Ivy's veins had entered her bloodstream.
"Oh god!" The guard went for his radio immediately. "Medical team to C Wing! Dr Quinzel's been exposed to Poison Ivy's blood! Repeat! She's been directly exposed to her blood! It's getting into her system!"
From inside the cell, Ivy watched on in sadistic glee, her bloodied face still managing a smile at seeing Jason in a heap. Even with the other guard holding her down to the floor, she felt the thrill of victory at last.
"I'm not sure getting her to Central Hospital will make a difference! She's already burning up!"
By the time she had been brought to the infirmary, Harleen had already slipped into full unconsciousness. The writing on the bed under the light restraints were purely out of reflex as the toxins continued to seep through her system. As small a mix as it ended up being, the effects were clearly headed towards permanent damage, if not outright death.
"We don't have nearly enough antitoxins on hand to begin with, doctor! Let alone the means to check which ones might have started appearing in Isley's blood since the last test! Moving her is the only-"
The doors swung open loudly, bringing both the physician and the attending nurse to look right in the direction of Batman as he approached. Scorch marks across his armour were still smoking faintly from his takedown of Livewire.
He approached Harleen's bed with an unwavering stance, already reaching up to his cowl to begin a full body scan of her bloodstream.
"I've been monitoring radio chatter. What's the situation?"
The physician swallowed lightly before bringing up his notes. "Mass poisoning through an open wound to the head. We don't even have half the antitoxins to counter what was in Pamela's bloodstream when she first came here. There's no telling how many more she's developed now that her condition has reached full term."
Batman brought his left wrist up to use the display once he finished the scan. "I'm detecting three new toxins since the last time I examined Poison Ivy's blood. One of them has no existing counteragent."
Upon hearing that, the physician faltered a little, reaching up to his chin in distress. "Her first week here. She got through two sessions with the Joker without a scratch. One minute in a room with Poison Ivy and she's beyond help. How's that any fair?"
"This isn't over. Prepare a centrifuge, keep everyone out of this room. I'll get Harleen the full antitoxin."
The two others looked to each other with an identical thought of concern. Both knew exactly what he meant by that, and that it would be best to clear the room themselves by the time he returned.
A short time later, Batman was striding the halls of the asylum, a dark spectre in the cold fluorescent light. The clamour from earlier had settled from the lockdown, and while it picked up initially at his passing, many of the inmates knew better than to test the patience of the one who had brought them there by force.
When he reached Ivy's cell, he came to a stop in a place where he knew she could see him, staring down the hallway in silence.
"Is this what you want, Ivy? To be a senseless killer?"
"No-one cares while thousands on thousands of trees are torn down every day across the globe. Where's the sense in that?"
Batman narrowed his eyes. It was a typical biteback from Ivy to begin with. But the question left him with something to latch onto, and follow back.
"You didn't give me an answer. Is this what you want to be remembered as?" He turned to look at her directly at last, going in with the verbal home hitter. "You've lost touch with your cause. Soon, no-one will care about what you once stood for. You'll just be another murdering thug set to never see the light of day again."
From a corner smeared in dried blood, Ivy emerged once again. Her face was a mess, the blood wiped across the walls, leaving more of the fresh wounds visible across her forehead, nose and chin. Coupled with the shaved hair, she was blending in more and more with the scum of Gotham's worst.
"No-one cares now. You know that, Batman. I scream at them to do one fucking good deed for the planet a day, and they don't care. I hear the plants screaming at me to save them, and everyone calls me delusional. You don't care either. You don't care about me. You only care about saving Jason because of your fucking code!"
Batman's face tightened into a scowl for a few seconds. Ivy was less hostile than their last meeting, but still suffered under the same mental loop. The sheer incapacity to accept that Woodrue was gone from her life.
"We're not talking about Floronic Man. Harleen Quinzel will be dead by nightfall because of your attack. Because of your blood. I need you to help formulate the antitoxin, now."
Ivy's lips trembled as she pulled them tight, still weeping from the bruising inflicted. A struggle between total apathy for human life, and the feeling she had done something terribly wrong.
The worst of the two soon won out.
"I'm not falling for it. Jason has you under his control! I won't help him survive this!"
Batman lost his patience, but not his restraint. He stepped away from the glass wall for a moment, then swept right towards the door. Unlocking it was effortless, his dark figure dashing into the cell and grabbing Ivy by the collar of her straightjacket before she could fight back.
Her aggression went right back up, trying to kick and struggle out of the tight grip as the screaming started back up.
"Last chance Ivy! Help me or her death is on you!"
"Fuck you!"
Batman yanked her head back, then thrust her towards the glass wall with a loud growl. At the last moment he stopped her from reaching impact, though it did leave her choking for air from the grip of the collar on her throat.
With his point of restraint made, he switched his grip to the arm bindings to drag her out of the cell behind him. His free hand reached up to his cowl for contact with the asylum control centre.
"Black out all hallways between C Wing and the infirmary! Now!"
"On it. Hope you know what you're doing, Batman."
As soon as all the lights went out, he physically hurled Ivy onto his shoulder and began running. Without the other inmates or cameras able to watch, getting her there faster without antagonizing those they passed by was possible.
Ivy's struggle against the hold continued throughout the run, and her throat recovered enough to begin screaming obscenities at him as they drew closer to the infirmary.
He only set her down once they were inside, keeping a grip on the straps to keep her from running off.
"I'm in. Lock down the infirmary. Keep the cameras in here on."
"Alright. Locking all doors now. Good luck Batman, we're all hoping Quinzel comes out the other side of this."
Ivy spat at him in the meantime, something he narrowly managed to avoid. Getting poisoned himself through surface contact wasn't going to make the task any easier.
He kept the grip tight while hauling her over to Harleen's bedside. "This woman spent the past two days investigating everything she could to begin treating you. She's been here a week. You are never going to find anyone who cares about helping you even remotely as much."
All that achieved was putting Ivy into defiant silence. No longer screaming and lashing out, but also adamantly doing her utmost to not look in Harleen's direction.
With her life on the line, and precious little time to waste, Batman went back to the forceful measure out of controlled desperation.
He gripped onto the back of Ivy's skull fiercely while the other arm wrapped around her shoulders, forcing her to turn back and stare at Harleen's face directly.
"Look at her! That is not Jason! He is locked away in stasis! This is Harleen Quinzel, your last chance at escaping what Floronic Man did to you! Ivy!"
She struggled harshly against both grips, trying anything she could to not look at his face. She could cognate that it was a woman's body on the bed, that she had blonde hair instead of Jason's dark brown. But his face remained.
"It's him! It's always him! I won't help him live!"
"Ivy! Jason is immune to everything you are! You know that for a fact! How could your blood be killing him then? Think, Ivy! Think!"
It took moments to sink through, her eyes straining as she found herself locking onto that face. The wound to the head, since cleaned, but definitely the point of entry. The one fact she couldn't ignore of the shared toxin immunity. Her minute of hesitation when Harleen had talked to her through the modulator.
Bit by bit, her struggle against Batman eased off. Little by little, the taunting face of Jason Woodrue melted away from her sight. For however long the clarity would last, she had a true reprieve from the nightmare.
Sensing the change, Batman eased his grip carefully, eventually leaving only one hand on her shoulder to be sure.
"Poison Ivy. She needs your help, as much as you need hers. We don't have a lot of time."
Ivy looked back to him, still lacking real thought or words. She drifted back to Harleen with a bit of prompting after. The convulsions had slowed, and were much weaker, which if nothing else meant applying the antitoxin would be somewhat easier.
"I…" She tried to reach up to her face on a reflex, having forgotten she was still bound. "I don't know. I'm not-"
"Ivy, whatever else has happened, you are still a master in biology, and have a strong grip on chemistry. I need both those talents from you. Prove to me that you can get better. Help her."
Still lost in thought, Ivy began to look around the rest of the infirmary. Equipment had been prepared by the staff and left ready. The relatively small poisoning also improved the odds, both for Harleen's time and how much antitoxin they would need to distill from her blood.
Slowly, she turned around to face Batman directly, doing her best to look at him square while her face was still a stinging mess.
"I need my arms free. To work, and for you to get at the right vein. We prepare one dose, then I'm done. I won't have my blood stolen to be weaponized by others. Not even you."
Batman glared at her sternly until convinced of her intent. He withdrew a batarang from the belt to cut through the straps directly, helping her out of the jacket once it was loose.
In the moment of truth when she was completely free, Ivy reached up to her face, then stopped herself before touching it. More cross-contamination was exactly what she had to avoid.
"Prepare a hypodermic needle. I need to scrub first."
Early into the next week, Harleen was back to full health. Slightly above, if anything, based on what the doctors had told her about her bolstered immune system. Courtesy of the antitoxin that had saved her in the end.
It was encroaching on the night, a light rainfall casting the aged building in a particular lighting that was outright gothic. Her first week there had managed to be even more chaotic and awful than years and years of school and college, and yet she was still inclined to return there before she officially returned to work.
The reception felt a lot colder in tone at that hour, as did the halls leading to her office. No longer disturbed by the wear and tear, she actually found the decayed state charming in its own way. The building had been around a long while, its walls had stories to tell. Horrifying, nightmarish stories, but ones that were undoubtedly entertaining nonetheless.
No-one was around to exchange pleasantries on the way. And for once, she was grateful of that. It left her with little distraction by the time she reached the sanctuary of her office. The coat was cast aside, her hair came down out of the tight bun, and the rest she decided to hold off on until she was sure of what she planned to do.
All the while, she hummed lightly, casually starting up her computer and rearranging her desk lightly. It capped off with a red-black diamond sticker she haphazardly applied to the side of the desktop tower, glittering in the soft light back at her.
The humming subsided when she noticed a new file on her desktop screen. Another camera video, dated to the incident with Pamela Isley.
Her unusually upbeat attitude went away after that, replaced by the more professional. She sat up a little more, and even opted to tie her hair back up, though left it at a one-sided pigtail that time. There was little mystery as to who had left it there, once again asking the question of why.
"Alright, Batman. What exactly did I miss, hm?"
The video started with what she remembered. Her attempt to break through the delusion by removing the triggering stimuli. That plan backfiring from Livewire's tantrum elsewhere in the building. She skipped through her attack while reaching for the patch on her forehead, not wanting to recall that part.
Further into the video, after seeing Isley lying on the floor after being pinned down, she had her second look at Batman.
"Is this what you want, Ivy? To be a senseless killer?"
Harleen sat forward a little as the conversation continued. It occurred to her then of all times that Batman had always called her Ivy in those meetings. It was far from the cause of the outbursts, but it did hint at a different understanding between the two.
Her optimism faded as the situation degraded. Seeing Batman stride into the cell menacingly, and then physically handle Isley in that fashion was upsetting. Outright threatening to put her head through the glass after Isley herself had pounded against it made Harleen stop the video altogether.
"Jesus…" It took her mind to the Joker instead. All the photos, stories and other media she had been handed about the many fights between the two men. How much of Batman's integrity remained after his encounters the Joker? That he was willing to terrorize a maddened woman he was supposedly trying to help?
She ended up leaving the office to get the coffee she had missed on her way in, a necessary reprieve for her nerves to settle. A bit of time to think eased the tension she felt in her chest, but it hadn't changed the distress she felt over the conduct shown.
When she did resume the video, it soon switched to the infirmary. Seeing herself on the bed in unconscious pain was disturbing in its own way, something that was amplified when Batman hauled Isley over to her side.
"I'm in. Lock down the infirmary. Keep the cameras in here on."
Harleen winced for a bit when Batman looked directly at the camera she was viewing everything from. He had deliberately planned to show her everything. It by no means absolved him of what happened in the cell, but it did at least show an awareness that he was pushing too far.
"You are never going to find anyone who cares about helping you even remotely as much."
That one declaration was almost enough to make Harleen rethink what she had seen again. She had her doubts about Batman's intentions, and saving her own life seemed more like a matter of pragmatism.
Yet again, the aggressive handling of Isley pushed all the optimism aside. Forcing her to look at the face of what she believed to be her abuser, shouting at her. Using a literal brute force method to break her hallucination, without any guarantee she wouldn't break even more first.
"How could your blood be killing him then? Think, Ivy! Think!"
Harleen started wiping her eyes with her fingers. Even though it seemed to work on Isley, the damage was done to her opinion of Batman. A dangerous gamble with what little of her sanity had survived, and he had gotten supremely lucky.
Seeing Isley shift towards actual lucidity was still an impressive, and mildly comforting sight. Once the hallucination had dissipated, her slide back towards conscious doubt, and then even competence was remarkable. It had to be something more than a traditional psychological episode at work in her mind. Something that only Woodrue had the full answers to, a lingering remnant of his apparent control.
"I won't have my blood stolen to be weaponized by others. Not even you."
Harleen let the rest play out as she leaned back into her chair again, closing her eyes for a longer duration.
She recalled the excitement from the doctors that had aided her rapid recovery about the immune boost, and disappointment when she declined to stay for further testing. Already, she had heard of other superhumans in the world, many of which had hyper immune systems of their own derived from many different sources. And yet, the interest in the one derived from Isley seemed especially eager.
They hadn't ever been given a chance to work with her blood in particular. Taking it by force was obviously difficult when she couldn't be sedated, but there had to be more than risk of discovery that kept her at the asylum instead of a research lab.
Bruce Wayne was her first pick to begin with, but the flaws in that theory were obvious. Merideth had said that Isley needed a full team to work on her recovery, something she could easily get under the protection of a billionaire with his own private medical company. Further thought then brought up the obvious flaw, given that it was involvement with WayneTech that put her in Woodrue's circle to begin with. Something she undoubtedly never wanted to return to.
With Dent in the asylum as well, he certainly wasn't covering for her either. And what she had garnered about Pamela's parents indicated that she had cut ties with them deliberately.
The answer came back to Batman, which only put more doubt and concern on the entire matter. Protecting her from the outside world, aggressively handling her in a confrontation. Shouting at her one moment, praising her expertise the next.
Put together, it sounded dangerously like textbook abuse. The missing component was the intention and attitude of Batman himself.
She looked to the office phone once again. Her call to the GCPD had helped her fill in most of the gaps she had about Isley's history, early and recent. A second call was stretching goodwill, but the need for answers was stronger still.
That time, instant messages would not provide what she required from a conversation with Batman.
The rain persisted by the time she reached the roof of GCPD headquarters, led by Detective Gordon no less.
"Can't guarantee he'll come. Strictly speaking, this meeting is outside of the agreed terms."
Harleen remained calm under the cover of her umbrella. "He showed me what happened that day. He probably knows I'd want a direct meeting soon after. I need this."
Gordon shrugged belatedly, making his way over to the Batsignal, and then turning it on. With a sharp hum it blared to life, beaming out onto the rain clouds above. Steam from the heat of the bulb began to rise almost immediately.
"I'll be downstairs when you're done. Let yourself back in and use the pager. Good luck, doctor."
Harleen kept her eye roll to herself, watching the night sky from under the umbrella. She had no idea what the arrival of Batman looked or sounded like. On another day, it might have even been exciting. But she wouldn't have been allowed up there to begin with if she didn't have a solid reason to.
Shortly after checking her watch, she heard a ruffling sound behind her. She kept herself composed, turning around to face him in a calm manner. On top of that, she stayed quiet, waiting to see if he would speak first.
"Dr Quinzel."
As much as she wanted to smile at winning the opening exchange, a new feeling for her strangely enough, the weight of her position demanded otherwise.
"I watched the footage. I haven't gone back to see Isley just yet. I needed to settle things with you first."
Unfazed by the rainfall, Batman remained firmly in place, lifting his head only a little. "You think I went too far. Even when it was to save your own life."
"Think is the incorrect word, Batman." Harleen pursed her lips with a light shake of her head. "The Joker talks about you a lot. My policy was to note down everything he said and dissect it later. I'm starting to worry that he's got a point about you. A penchant for inflicting suffering on the criminal type. Isley did fit that category for a while."
"She still might."
Harleen tilted her head, her lips twisting further. That struck the wrong chord with her.
"You asked me if I was genuine about trying to help her? When I asked the same, you ignored me. I wanted to believe it was because you're not sure. Maybe you do know the answer, and decided not to give it."
The tension between the two grew. And for once, it was Batman who decided to ease it, changing his stance just a little.
"I do care. I care about every one of those people committed to the asylum. Poison Ivy is a victim of horrific circumstances. I tried to free her from them, and nearly lost her in the process." He broke eye contact with Harleen briefly, gazing past to the Batsignal. "I won't be checking on her any time soon. I won't make her relieve that day, not until she's had time to heal."
It was genuine remorse, enough to convince Harleen to ease back her own resentment for him. "As much as I'd like to say it was a mistake, I'd be in a casket right now if you didn't push her. That doesn't make it right in the slightest."
"No, it doesn't." Batman looked down to his hand in contemplation, then returned to eye contact with Harleen. "What I do is dangerous. Sometimes I cross one line to avoid crossing another. There are a number out there I trust to keep me honest. To call me out when I start down a path I won't climb back from."
"And you want me to be one of them? In return for being your eyes and ears at the asylum, on top of the backdoor you have into the cameras and computers I expect?"
Batman hardened his stare, though not to intimidate her for arguing back. "Keep doing what you have the potential to excel at, Quinzel. Arkham Asylum is in crisis, it needs a psychiatrist that still knows how to care. Help Poison Ivy, and anyone else you can reach. That will do more good for the city than I ever could in a lifetime."
Harleen nodded, sensing that he was about to leave. It was more than she had hoped for when she came up to the roof. Her concerns and disapproval for his ways remained, but there was a definite comfort in knowing he had those exact same doubts himself.
With the opportunity there in front of her, she now had more resolve to take it for all its worth.
"One question about the Joker. Only one, I promise."
After eyeing up routes of departure, Batman nodded.
"Do you believe I can reach him?"
To her bitter disappointment, Harleen watched him begin to leave in silence. Stepping towards the roof edge, and then onto it.
He stopped before making the leap, turning his head partially in her direction. "I worry he'll reach you first."
With that, he was gone into the Gotham night and rainfall.
Harleen stood there a while longer, shaken by what he had said. A yes or no were what she expected to hear. The curveball had taken her off guard, and was now filling her with more doubt than ever.
She reached her free hand up to her head, brushing over the wound again, then sighed in an attempt to calm herself back down.
"I'm in control. I'm on top of things. I can handle the Joker, and back out if things take a wrong turn."
With that repeating in her mind, she started back over to the stairwell door. Barely a week and a half into the job, she had a great start with the Joker, nearly died of blood poisoning, and now had two focal patients with a plethora of issues to overcome at the forefront of her priorities. All stemming from the belief that Harvey Dent would take longer than desired for securing extra grants.
If it was karma dishing out for her semi-selfish approach, it had definitely left its mark on her outlook.
While confined to a fresh straightjacket, Ivy was no longer in a constant struggle against it.
The interview room was rather bleak in tone, but after a whole month in the padded cell, any change of scenery greatly eased her nerves.
When the door opened, she looked over with simple acknowledgement, instead of preparation to begin screaming her lungs out and wreak havoc on the chair and table.
"Pamela Isley, since we're starting fresh, I'm Dr Harleen Quinzel."
Harleen moved to the chair opposite Ivy, taking a seat in her more professional manner, setting down the few resources she had brought in front.
Ivy looked over it all for a bit, then at Harleen herself, curling in her lips. "I tried to kill you a few days ago."
"You also saved my life. And apparently did a bit more than that."
She opened up the file folder. Many of the files contained were blank, save for the most basic details about Ivy herself. A fresh start in every sense.
"Don't count on it being a recurring thing, doctor. I got guilt-tripped and manhandled into saving you."
"Progress is progress. You're seeing Dr Quinzel instead of him, after all. That's an important step, Pamela."
Ivy chewed on her lip, then sat back with another exhale. "Stop calling me Pamela. It's Poison Ivy. Respect my choice."
"From what I'm told, we prefer not to indulge in using villain identities here at Arkham Asylum."
While considering that policy further, Harleen briefly glanced around Ivy's face. Many of the wounds had been patched up, putting her in a far better state than the last time they had met. Her behaviour was a drastic improvement already.
"And the Joker gets a free pass for not having an actual identity, huh? Maybe I've rejected Pamela Isley, maybe I have reasons to not wanting to be called that!"
Harleen backed off after that, bringing her notepad up for some new pointers. "Why don't you tell me about them then, Ivy? I'm not here to tell you how to recover after all. It's up to you to tell me what's upsetting you on a particular day, so I can help you find ways to work through it as you go along."
"Oh fuck off already. 'What's upsetting me on a particular day?' How about knowing there are so many people out there that can put five seconds of effort into being more careful with how they treat the environment and don't even bother? Look at you, you're writing on paper right now. Don't even pretend you're being better than them."
"This notepad is recycled paper, and the file papers are sourced from sustainable plantations. I checked both myself." Harleen peered over the top of her glasses with a renewed smile. "I care, Poison Ivy. If being a bit more conscious of consumption means that much to you, then that's what I'll start with."
She brought the notepad back up in preparation, sitting forward again. "Now, it's your turn. Why do you despise your own given name?"
"This is stupid."
"I can call you Matchstick for being a pasty redhead if this keeps up. Come on, the name is upsetting you, we're going to get to the bottom of why."
Ivy groaned out of frustration. When that didn't deter Harleen, she grew tired of being resistant, finally caving to the question.
"I kissed a girl in middle school. Four years of 'Faggy Pammy' didn't go away, no matter how many shitty anti-bullying posters they stuffed in my face. That's why."
Harleen wrote that down with only a mild shrug. "I was in college by my first kiss with a girl. No denying that society's kinda shit like that. Normally I'd recommend getting involved with the minority circle here at the asylum, but we still need to wait a while before you're approved for general interaction."
"Psh, I'm not joining a gay club."
"Internalized homophobia. We'll start slower on that then." She looked up from her notepad again when Ivy's attention began to wander. "I'm serious. I'm not here to force you to socialize, or accept parts of yourself that you've been suppressing. I'm just the guide giving the occasional nudge. You have to want to get better, Ivy."
In spite of all her flippant retorts and behaviour, the last point made Ivy think properly at last. Whether she genuinely did want to work through the absolute mess her life had fallen into. Whether it would make enough of a difference if she did so in the end.
For the second time in a long while, she was left with the simple notion of feeling lost.
"I don't know how to get better, Quinzel. I don't know if it's worth trying. I don't know what 'better' means for me."
"Neither do I. That's why I'm starting this blank file with you. No more misdiagnosis and incorrect assumptions. We're going to work out what your end goal is together. One step at a time. You with me so far?"