Session 4: An Exercise in Romance

Doctor Quinzell had worked with people who had been exposed to Joker venom, as part of her work in the clinical side of Arkham. They described it as something like being high: exhilarating, heady, and terrifying, like charging straight towards a cliff, not wanting to stop, unable to slow down.

Ivy's pheromone powers, however, were more like being drunk. Harleen blinked, dazed, as a warm, comfortable sensation filled her up, slowing her thoughts and pushing away her worries. Her vision blurred and turned green around the edges, and in the center of her view stood Ivy, looking more beautiful than ever.

What surprised her the most about the sensation, however, was that she could push back against it. She summoned her willpower and focused, and the warmth retreated a few degrees; Isley's beauty returned to something less otherworldly. Then something moving behind her distracted her, and the effect returned. She was going to have to be careful.

"Sorry, Doctor Quinzell," Ivy said. "But we're doing this my way now. I'm leaving Gotham, and...and you're coming with me. You're going to find a way to smuggle me out of the city."

Part of her mind automatically focused on the problem, trying to figure out the best way to accomplish what Ivy had asked of her. But there was another part, and it brushed this all aside.

"No," Harleen said firmly, grabbing Ivy by the wrist. "I won't."

Ivy looked up sharply. "What did you say?"

"I'm not going to smuggle you out of Gotham. You're making a mistake."

Shock, anger, and confusion fought for dominance in Ivy's expression. "How are you doing this? My powers make anyone fall in love with me; you should be willing to do anything for me."

For Harleen, who had been wondering the same thing, Ivy's explanation provided the answer. She softened her grip on Ivy's wrist, moving her fingers down to stroke the woman's hand. "You don't need powers for that, Pamela," she said, and she was surprised how easily the words came. "I would do anything to help you, but what you are planning won't help you, I promise."

For a long moment, Ivy stared at her, speechless.

Finally, Doctor Isley spoke, her voice laden with emotion. "How," she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "How can you still believe in a path where things end well for me? How can you still find hope? How, in a world that silences Isley and celebrates Woodrue, in a world that hates its heroes and fears its villains, how can you possibly think I could ever be free?"

Gently, Doctor Quinzell pulled Pamela over to the bench and into the space next to her. "My dear Pamela. Hope isn't something you find. It is something you fight for." She bent down towards a small, white flower, which was growing from between two stones in the path. She cupped the bloom between two fingers. "It pops up like weeds, everywhere; myriad tiny ways in which things could be made to turn out better. Sometimes you wish it would just die. Hope can be the most annoying thing. You can tell how much work it will take to nourish it and you are already so tired. It would be so much easier, you think, to just—" with a sudden motion, she tore the flower up, the stem snapping near the base. "—just let it fade away," she finished.

She turned to Isley, and was gratified to see the look of shock and slight horror on the woman's gorgeous face. The influence of Ivy's power pushed against her consciousness again, and she had to fight momentarily to keep from losing her train of thought in those deep, fierce eyes.

"But you can't do that," Harleen continued, "However much you may want to, hope has its roots inside of us." She brought the little flower towards Isley, praying that this would work the way she wanted it to. Sure enough, the broken stem pointed towards Isley as though pulled by a magnet, and tiny roots began to push out from it. Harleen let go, and the little flower entwined itself into Isley's living-vine clothing. "Sooner or later, we all meet a hope that we can't walk away from without also killing part of ourselves.

"So, you grudgingly roll up your sleeves and get your hands deep into the fertilizer, and it really sucks for a while, some days more than others, but eventually, your hope gets strong enough to start sustaining you, instead."

Harleen hesitated, but the power coursing through her veins urged her onwards. "Right now, the hope I'm holding onto is a woman who has experienced some of the worst, most traumatic things the world can throw at her, but refused to break. A woman whose spirit is strong, whose mind is sharp, and who has already made incredible progress in taking back her identity. Also, a woman who is stunningly beautiful and passionate and intelligent, whom I would really like to get to know better someday."

She really had not intended to include that last sentence. With a herculean effort, she forced her mind back on track and barely managed to avoid giggling at the flush of vibrant blue-green that was spreading across Isley's face, matching the heat in her own cheeks.

"Um. I—If that woman can stand up to everything she's been through and come out fighting, then I can put up with being belittled and ignored and threatened every day for suggesting better conditions for those who are struggling."

"You know they will never accept me," Isley said quietly.

"Darling," Harleen replied, "They will never accept me either. 'They,' whoever they are, will never accept anyone, and everyone secretly lives in fear that 'they' will find out about some secret piece of their identity that 'they' won't approve of. In my opinion, the greatest freedom possible comes in not giving a shit about what 'they' will think, living as yourself, and loving yourself for it. I believe you are capable of that. Do you?"

They sat in silence for a moment. "Man, these powers of yours are one hell of a drug," Harleen commented. "So far today, I've talked more than I usually do in a week of sessions, flagrantly ignored the rules of doctor-patient relationships, ripped plants out of the ground in front of a botanist, and accidentally asked out the woman I have a crush on." she sighed. "Mind you, still not as awkward as some dates I've been on."

Now it was Pamela's turn to suppress a giggle. "Maybe you should get high more often." She sobered and added, "Hope aside, though, now I've run away, There's no way Sharpe will ever let me walk. He'll throw me in the deepest cell and let me starve from lack of sunlight, and no one would object."

Maybe it was the pheromones focusing her mind, or just a stroke of brilliance on her own part, but suddenly a plan materialized in Harleen's mind. "There might be a way to force him not to do that," she said slowly. "It'll be dangerous, though, for both of us—a real gamble, but..."

Pamela looked at her with an odd expression. "But also a flower of hope?" she supplied.

"Exactly," Harleen nodded. "It could work."

"Tell me," Isley said.

And Harleen told her.