Author's Note: I have some major news so please be sure to read the end notes, but for now, please enjoy the longest chapter of this story thus far.
Chapter Seven
The Green Lady
For a long, endless moment Harleen stood there, gazing upon this woman's visage.
The room was silent all around her, save for the soft whir of machinery as it continued to keep the stranger held suspended in time. The liquid in the stasis vat was a chlorophyll green hue, the same shade as tree leaves at the height of summer. It rendered the woman's flesh a similar color, giving further credence to Harleen's now fervent theory this was the elusive witch of the woods. An embodiment of nature given human form, now rendered passive through the implementation of forced sleep.
She was, undeniably, a beautiful sight to behold. The woman's facial features possessed all the classic traits attributed to beauty; high cheekbones, full lips, large eyes now closed in slumber. Her bone structure defined yet with an air of what Harleen could only describe as feminine delicacy. Her face was framed by long, flowing, curly locks of brilliant auburn hair. The deep red shades shining through the pervasive green of the surrounding liquid. Her body was all toned muscle and curves, belaying the physical prowess lying within; naked save for a peculiar bikini which seemed to be made from leaves – of all things. Harleen found herself wondering – however inappropriate the thought – if she'd ever seen a more striking woman in her entire life. The stranger possessed a kind of beauty impossible to ignore; harkening to ancient myths and ballads spun in praise to the worship of such awe-inspiring features.
As she gazed upon this stunning woman, the blonde felt something flare to life inside her chest. Struck flint upon the kindling of an inclination she'd long since ignored, and while Harleen was quick to try and douse the flames with sand and grit, she knew the spark was unquenchable. All she could do was lock it away for now, distract the urge with other, more pressing matters.
A sense of wrongness lorded over the entire scene. Held in more than the hastily abandoned nature of the lab and the peculiar plant life growing over every available inch of space. A sinister intent was at play here; to what end she had yet to uncover, but the answers would reveal themselves in time. Harleen forced her eyes away from the green woman to an active monitor installed next to the stasis vat. The screen displayed a readout of what she quickly surmised were the woman's vital signs. Her heartbeat was low and steady, blood oxygen levels unlisted aside from a designation of "normal", blood pressure within expected tolerances. At the top right corner of the screen, underlined to draw attention to it, was a line that read "Day 288". The date perhaps the most prominent piece of evidence feeding the growing churning in the pit of Harleen's stomach as she worked to uncover the rest of the missing image. She stepped back and took a photo of the woman suspended in time with her government phone, cataloguing the scene for future reference.
Forcing herself away from the stasis chamber, Harleen pulled her black gloves over her hands as she began to walk a slow procession around the abandoned laboratory, taking more photos as she went. While most of the damning evidence had been cleared out, due to the hasty nature of the inhabitant's retreat she knew the likelihood was high they left unintended clues behind for her to uncover. She walked over to the nearest fold out table, upon which was a few discarded beakers, a large Bunsen burner, and a centrifuge too cumbersome to move at short notice. Harleen reached out and carefully lifted the lid of the centrifuge, leaning over as she stared at the contents inside.
The interior was bare, aside from a single test-tube filled halfway with a now familiar phosphorescent green liquid. The substance had splashed over the glass surface and spilled down the sides, presumably the result of being jostled during the hasty retreat. It was the same liquid material running through the fractal veins of the surrounding plant life. Harleen knew better than to handle the test tube without using the proper protective equipment, but the message was clear well enough without her needing to get a closer examination of the substance at play. The green woman had a direct connection to the plants, the progenitors of the green liquid, and the rogue scientists utilizing this lab were performing various studies on it to… what end? Harleen couldn't ascertain the answer yet, though she had more than a nagging suspicion it had something to do with the mystery poison. She took a photo for documentation purposes; a far cry from bagging a sample, but she had no alternative without risking severe personal injury or even death from exposure.
She continued her march around the room, searching for further clues. As she turned towards the rear wall her eyes caught sight of a large, black trunk tucked underneath one of the fold-out lab tables. Harleen knelt, noting the freshly cut away vines as she alighted on the floor. The plants had tried to grow around this trunk, ensnaring it in their grip. Odd, as the lab tables had been left mostly untouched based on the lack of machete or axe marks on the nearby growths. The plants didn't like whatever was in this container, for some reason, and it incited Harleen's curiosity. She grasped the handles, and with a sharp tug pulled the trunk from its nest beneath the table, hauling it towards the center of the room. Then, as it came into the open, Harleen saw words printed on the trunk's lid, "Use in case of breach".
Well, an ominous declaration if there ever was one, she reasoned. The latches of the trunk weren't locked, and she made quick work of them, releasing the bonds before lifting the lid and throwing it back to reveal the contents held within. She raised a quizzical brow as she eyed the stash of weapons stored inside. A few police grade stun-guns, two cans of bear mace, a pistol outfitted to fire tranquilizer darts. The most egregious addition, however, was the miniature flamethrower taking up the entire bottom half of the trunk. Its clear tank filled with a foul-smelling fuel, ready and waiting for immediate use.
'Now why would you need these?' Harleen mused to herself as she chewed on her lower lip.
She stood in a drawn-out, languorous motion; slowed by the whirring gears churning within her mind. Her gaze lingered on the trunk at her feet, trying to determine a logical explanation for its presence here. The most obvious reasoning was the plants themselves. They were, after all, committing a sort of assault upon this lab. Trying to eat it alive in their own way, and the people here were preparing themselves for an eventual attack. But then why not move the lab to another location? Surely there were other locales in Gotham which could provide similar cover without the threat of violent flora. Though such an endeavor might be a herculean feat, what with the woman locked inside a firmly rooted stasis chamber.
Harleen turned, slowly eyeing the suspended stranger. There was another possibility. Far more grim and one she was loath to consider. Perhaps the woman was a prisoner here, and the weapons were a failsafe in case she managed the get free. If she had plant-associated powers, then the choice in arsenal fit perfectly; as effective on a flora-mancer as the plants themselves. Not that Harleen had any first-hand experience with such a metahuman, but the logic was sound.
A sudden, harsh pang flared inside her chest as she considered the potential imprisonment. The strange, furtive emotion behind it was difficult to assess. The flare a nameless thing which became more obscure the longer Harleen tried to study its origin. Her mouth twisted into a frown as she considered the mysterious feeling. It couldn't be anything akin to dismay, right? Despite what this looked like, the supposed incarceration, Harleen didn't know the circumstances that had brought the witch here. The woman could have entered the stasis chamber of her own volition, an active player in the same schemes which led Harleen to this laboratory. There wasn't any way to know for sure without asking the woman herself, and the blonde quickly concluded her best course of action for acquiring solid answers was to bring the witch in for questioning. And if the woman was a prisoner then she needed to be remanded into protective custody for her own safety. In either scenario, the next steps remained the same.
She tried to call Amanda Waller's number to report in and ask for assistance, but when she glanced at the top bar on her government phone's screen Harleen realized she didn't have a signal this far into the woods. She checked the burner phone just in case and confirmed, to her chagrin, she was out here all alone. Quickly, the blonde assessed her options once again. The lab's denizens had taken all relevant data and equipment with them when they evacuated, leaving only the strange woman behind. Either they had no more use for her, or they planned on returning later for a proper retrieval. The former possibility didn't sit right with the blonde. If that was the case then the timing of her discovery was too coincidental, and the universe had taught her long ago it did not deal in coincidence. No, all evidence pointed to the latter, which meant she was already running on borrowed time. She had to find a way to get this woman out before the villains came back; on her own, without backup.
As though her life wasn't ruinous enough.
The unnamable, troublesome emotion beat harder inside her chest as Harleen approached the stasis chamber's control screen. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out to touch its surface. She paused, staring in confusion at the limb, before a wide-eyed understanding dawned upon her. So she was upset by this; by the sight of this woman trapped inside a glass chamber. Which didn't make logical sense. Harleen had seen far worse atrocities in her time; had committed plenty of heinous deeds with her own hands. Kidnapping and a potential hostage situation was old hat for Rogues, far from the most egregious offence common to Gotham's underground. So why was this affecting her so?
Harleen frowned as she steadied her hand and began to tap her fingers in a cadence upon the touch screen. The blonde scrolled through the various medical readouts, noting with a measure of relief they all belayed normal signatures, as she searched for her elusive prey. A full minute passed, tapping from one screen to the next, the tremor in her extremities returning the more time she spent on her hunt. Then, finally, buried deep within the program was her quarry: a button labeled "empty and release".
Her heart hammered inside her chest as she hovered over the option. Her gaze flicked furtively between the strange woman's face, the console, and her shaking hand. Lord, but she shouldn't be this upset. She was a former Arkham Asylum psychiatrist, host to Harley fucking Quinn, and slave to a genuine madman. This was nothing compared to the depravity she'd witnessed. This was–
'Slave'.
The word barreled through her; hot and poignant, forcing a long-overdue realization. Years flashed within Harleen's mind. A perfect encapsulation of her greatest, irreconcilable weakness. Because while Harley Quinn was known for flights of fancy – for letting her emotions drive her every whim – few understood where the trait had originated. Harleen Quinzel was just as guilty as her counterpart when it came to matters of the heart. Passion had driven Harleen's every personal achievement, from indulging in the freedom of gymnastics to losing herself in the psychology of the mind to her desperate need to unravel a man who looked exactly like the Thing in the Mirror. And no matter how much she forced herself to mature, to bury the wayward parts of herself that made her weak – made her susceptible in Jeremiah's eyes, Harleen still couldn't help but feel; fiercely, unequivocally. Beneath her calm exterior was a woman hiding a constant state of extreme emotional duress, and all it took was the mere sight of this woman to evoke the age-old struggle because, in this, all pieces of her were the same.
Harleen had spent her entire life in bondage. Bound by her parents, by Joker, by Jeremiah, by herself. An existence wasted continuously trading one form of captivity for another, and she was loath to see another woman so helpless.
Well, she might not have the power to change her own circumstances, but she could do something about this.
With a sense of unprecedented vigor, Harleen pushed the button with a vengeance. A low beeping sound emitted from somewhere nearby, the screen flashed a loading sequence, then her stomach sank as she was met with a facial recognition lock screen. She stared at her own reflection for a few seconds as the program assessed her features and – with a definitive error message – found them wanting.
Then the alarms began.
A hitherto unnoticed security system erupted in a blaring cacophony. Sirens hidden beneath layers of vines belted a warning tune, the sound somewhat muffled through the covering foliage, though still a menace to her ears. Red lights flashed around the stasis chamber; the console screen shifting in turn. Its colors changed to black, white, and red, flashing in time with the outside lights. A warning message blotted out the monitor, spelling out a foreboding sentence.
"BASE COMPROMISED. ALERTING NETWORK ADMIN."
Harleen stabbed furiously at the screen, trying to dispel the damning pop-up, but to no effect. Her ears rang as the sirens continued to wail, the strobe effect of the red lights already stirring the first hints of a massive headache. She brought her closed fist down upon the screen with a frustrated grunt. The blonde sagged for a moment against the console, heaving with a few shuddering breaths, as she assessed her options. Well, she had no choice now. The alert had been sent and it was only a matter of time before the lab was raided again by the people who'd abandoned it in the first place. Harleen needed to be gone by then, lest she find herself tangled in another battle she might not be able to win. And the strange woman? Well, Harleen couldn't leave her behind. Not when she could slip through the blonde's fingers in an instant.
No, fate had brought Harleen here, and fate demanded action.
So, left with no other viable option, she grasped the mallet handle and unsheathed it from its place nestled against her hip. She pressed the "POW!" button on the underside, willing it into proper form. The blonde stepped in front of the stasis chamber vat as the weapon assembled. Her blue eyes scanned the glass, searching for possible weak points, before deciding fuck it – recklessness would have to do. She planted her feet, pulled the mallet back, and swung, placing all the powerful momentum of her hips behind it. The mallet head collided with the glass with a loud clang; violent vibrations thrummed down the handle through her arms, but Harleen held fast. The weapon bounced back upon impact, almost throwing her off balance, and revealing the fruits of her labor: a seemingly untouched pane of glass.
Harleen scowled at the offending material. The glass was far more durable than she'd given it credit for. However, after a momentary pause a high-pitched series of additional frantic beeps sounded from stasis chamber; its attached computer screen flashed with a new warning message concerning an attempted breach. Harleen didn't bother to read what it said, invigorated her efforts had achieved some end. She narrowed her eyes, pulled her arms back, and swung again, the mallet colliding with the same spot.
Nothing.
A gruesome sound left Harleen's throat. A noise caught somewhere between a growl and a cry of furor; fervent with desperation and a slew of other emotions she was hard pressed to process in the heat of the moment. The sirens blared, the red light pulsed in a steady, near erratic beat, and somewhere – across the expanse of Gotham – a message was being relayed to parties who would see all of Harleen's progress in this case come to a screeching halt.
The blonde's bull-headed nature reared in full force at the thought. No, she'd come too far to give up now; to lose this witness and her greatest chance at obtaining freedom in the same fell blow. She'd suffered enough loss in her life, chances slipping through her grasp, and she would not abide another casualty of circumstance. So, with another rage-filled sound, Harleen pulled the mallet back once again and swung with all her might.
And the glass cracked.
New noises erupted from the stasis chamber. High-pitched warning screeches as the screen continued to flash red and white, but in a more rapid tattoo. Harleen stepped back as the green fluid within the chamber shuddered. She glanced at the console screen and noticed the error message script had changed, now stating the vat's structural integrity had been compromised. The cacophony grew in volume to a crescendo, the discordant notes clamoring together into a maddening melody, as the red strobe light flashed harsh in Harleen's eyes. Time slowed to a crawl as the clamor continued, unabated, and the blonde drew the mallet back again, ready to smash it into the monitor just to make it stop – to make an end.
Then – without warning – there was silence.
The sirens abated. The red strobe lights ceased, and the previous, calm illumination returned to the laboratory. Harleen took large, heaving breaths as her gaze fixed on the console screen. She waited, arms and mallet still raised, until the image shifted, and a new pop-up appeared, still highlighted in red and black and white. This one simply read, "VAT INTEGRITY UNSTABLE. RELEASING CONTENTS."
Harleen almost laughed in sudden, profound relief. In the heat of the moment, she hadn't fully thought through how to deal with the hazard shards of thick, broken glass would create, especially when trying to pull a nearly naked woman from within the pod. Providence smiled upon them here, a rare blessing in the wastelands of Gotham City. She watched, her elation growing with every second, as the liquid began to drain from the chamber, flowing through tubing into some unseen holding area. The vines encasing the machine shuddered and shifted as the fluid receded. At first, the blonde thought she'd imagined their stirrings, then – to her awe-struck surprise – the plants moved of their own volition, releasing their grip on the chamber and curling back into thick, corded spirals.
She noticed, then, the stasis chamber was tilted slightly backwards, so as the liquid encasing the woman receded, she was still held upright even though her body laxed. After a veritable eon the chamber was emptied, and Harleen held her breath as the machine whirred again, a soft hissing sound of escaping air emanated from the latches on the side as they unlocked. Then, with a dramatic slowness, the glass covering released, sliding upwards and out of the way. The entire chamber shifted, tilting forwards now, encouraging its occupant to emerged. The limp woman fell forward, eyes still closed, and Harleen's arms shot out as she caught the stranger, falling to her knees under the sudden, unexpected weight.
Harleen held her for a moment; cradling the woman in her glove covered hands. Then the blonde turned her over, carefully, her eyes making a slow scan of the person in her arms. Her brow furrowed as she took in the color of the woman's skin. It was dyed an earthy green; darker than the bright phosphorescent liquid that'd encased her. The hue of fresh forest moss or budding leaves in early spring. Her long hair, weighed down by wetness, complimented her skin's color with its rich auburn shade. For a fleeting moment Harleen feared the green flesh was unnatural; an ill result of whatever cruel experiments were being conducted on this unwilling participant. Yet, the more she looked, the more she realized the palette suited her. Only fitting the witch of the woods, she who allied herself with plant life and was sheltered by them in turn, would be a visual manifestation of Mother Nature herself.
The blonde stared down at her new charge, studying the striking lines of her face; a classic, statuesque relief given flesh. Harleen reached out and ran her fingers over the witch's forehead, brushing a cloying strand of wet auburn hair out of her face and curling it around her ear. A weighty moment passed as Harleen continued to stare with bated breath. An odd feeling of fidelity curled in the pit of her stomach, its origins lying somewhere she couldn't quite reach. Birthed from someplace long since forgotten, perhaps a memory lost in the haze of Harley Quinn's madness, which permeated some of the most formative years of her life. But it was there, her sudden, inexorable connection to the woman in her arms. Loyalty which at first glance seemed to stem from perhaps a superficial similarity between their circumstances, but no, Harleen realized as she stared at the green woman. There was something more here, lying underneath, tethering them together in a way Harleen could neither name nor quantify yet was bound to it.
Moments passed, eternal in their meaning, as Harleen continued to behold this woman, this powerful witch. Then, green eyelids flickered, and the blonde's breath caught in her throat as they slowly pulled back, revealing rich emerald irises – pupils blown wide – glazed over with confusion as they opened to the world. The woman's eyelids fluttered rapidly for a few seconds, her pupils reverting to a more normalized state, before her gaze shifted, searching the room around her, and ultimately landing on Harleen's face.
The witch tensed, lips falling open in a surprised gasp, and she tried to thrust out a weary hand in Harleen's direction. Her arm flopped in a pitiful, weak display; her muscles too frail from prolonged stasis. But the foliage covering the floor beneath them reacted to her call. Harleen watched, wide-eyed and intrigued, as a thin vine grew at the woman's command, erupting from a thick cord running underfoot and extending towards the blonde with a barbed tip. It managed to extend about a foot before its growth halted, the vine swayed in a non-existent breeze, then it disintegrated into a small pile of autumnal leaves. Harleen recognized the failed maneuver as a defensive tactic. Had the green woman been at full strength the blonde had no doubt she'd have been pinned to the opposite wall, held hostage by hungry, blood-thirsty vines. The witch's chest rose and fell in labored breaths, making it clear how confused and frightened she was.
"Who…?" the witch managed the singular word around trembling lips. Her voice wavered with the effort it took to speak, but the low, rich tones still held a hint of a warning.
"Don't be afraid," Harleen said in as calm, relaxing voice. She needed to establish control over the situation; be strong for this woman she'd just released from confinement. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The women stared at each other for long, poignant moments. The witch's emerald eyes made a detailed study of Harleen's face, charting the makeup of the person before her. There was something in the woman's gaze that spoke of recognition, as though the sight of Harleen sparked something in this stranger's memory she had yet to voice aloud. The glimmer was faint, gossamer, yet undeniable in its existence. The woman reached up with a trembling hand and grasped a strand of light blonde hair between her fingers. She toyed with the strand for a moment, her lips moving around silent words as Harleen watched – speechless and spellbound – while the woman attempted to piece together a puzzle without name or form.
Then, as abruptly as it'd begun, the moment was shattered as the green woman lurched backwards, out of Harleen's arms. The witch turned away as she was taken by a coughing fit, her diaphragm heaving as she knelt on the ground, one hand clutched around her stomach as she spit up dregs of phosphorescent liquid. Harleen watched, affording the witch a moment to herself as she waited for the fit to subsite. The blonde psychiatrist was – of course – used to dealing with patients undergoing both mental and physical duress. Yes, she was technically here to take the witch into custody for questioning, but in the meantime the shivering, weakened woman before her still required the same creature comforts as a person suffering an emotional breakdown. Besides, if the calendar readout on the stasis chamber's monitor was correct, the green woman had been kept in suspension for quite some time, and Harleen knew well what it was like to have entire periods of your life ripped away from you unceremoniously. How it felt to wake up on the other side, groggy and confused, facing a personal reality not of your own making.
"That's right, let it all out," Harleen said in a soft voice. "Don't hold back. It'll be worse if you keep it in."
A few, less violent final coughs left the green woman's lips before she sagged forward, grimacing as she continued to clutch at her torso. Harleen reached out and ran a soothing hand over her bare shoulders, keeping her touch conservative and light. Nothing the woman could construe as having an ulterior or untoward motive.
"Don't worry, I've got you," the blonde continued. "You're safe now. You're going to be alright."
"Alright…" the woman said, her tone tremulous and distant. She blinked hard, curling further in on herself as she seemed to try to gather her wits through the mental haze. "Alright," she whispered at length.
The witch forced herself upright and onto unsteady feet. Harleen reached out with the intent to help, but the moment her gloved hand touched a green arm the woman wrenched away, stumbling forwards as she took a few, laborious steps away from the stasis chamber. She wasn't going to get far in this state, not without assistance.
"Let me help you," Harleen said, keeping any exasperation out of her voice and projecting the calm, encouraging candor of a trained psychiatrist.
The woman took another, shaking step. "Alright… alright…" she said in a distant voice.
"Is that a yes?"
The stranger didn't respond. Instead, she tried to plod on, towards a destination Harleen figured could be described as simply "away from here". The green woman managed to take another step before her legs gave way and she stumbled, falling towards the floor. Harleen's reflexes were as sharp as ever, though, and she darted forwards, catching the woman in time. She held the trembling witch in her arms again, muscles tensed as she bore the brunt of her near dead weight. A few moments passed in silence as they steadied themselves; the pervasive quiet broken only by the labored sounds of the witch's heavy breathing.
"… Yes," the green woman said at length.
Harleen smiled to herself, elated as always when someone in need was freely willing to ask for the assistance they deserved. Besides, she had to take her wins where she could find them. Lord knew her life was sorely lacking in that department. "I know you're scared and confused, but you can trust me. I wouldn't have broken you out unless I wanted to help." She paused to let the delirious woman process her words. "My name's Harleen, what's yours?"
It took the woman longer than necessary to respond. "My name…"
The blonde waited, expectant and eager, but no moniker was forthcoming. Harleen sighed when she realized the woman probably didn't remember it. Temporary amnesia and delirium were potential side effects of prolonged stasis, though she had minimal firsthand experience with the chambers themselves. The technology was in short supply, limiting her med school training to a single, short-lived patient.
And this woman had spent over nine months trapped in one.
"Do you know where you are?" Harleen asked instead, trying to get a bearing on what the stranger did remember.
"It's… cold…" the green woman said with a full body shiver.
She would be cold, Harleen reasoned, wearing next to nothing. The blonde managed to get her upright again, and once she was sure the woman could manage standing on her own two legs for a few seconds she released her. Harleen pulled her left glove off and reached into her belt before she unzipped her leather jacket, shrugged it off, and draped it around her new charge's shoulders. Her bare hand brushed against the woman's back for a moment with the movement, her green skin indeed cool to the touch. The woman burrowed into the warmth it offered, though she didn't try to slip her arms through the sleeves. Surmising it would do for now, Harleen wrapped her arms around the witch again, and the woman immediately fell into her, leaning against the blonde for support. It was a bit awkward holding her up. Harleen wasn't short, but neither was she particularly tall. This witch, on the other hand, had at least a few inches on her; difficult to fully assess while she was drooped over. Her height combined with her defined musculature made her a rather heavy burden to carry, though Harleen had plenty of experience helping drunks maneuver down sidewalks to draw upon for strength.
The woman offered no further answer regarding her current whereabouts. Harleen attributed it to delirium and the shock of exiting a prolonged stasis. The confusion would persist for a few hours, at least, if not several days, and they couldn't linger here. The alarm had been tripped, the message sent, and the people responsible for putting this woman in stasis could be making their way back at that very moment. Harleen needed to make off with her witness before they returned.
"Let's get you out of here," Harleen said in her signature psychiatrist voice. The same encouraging tone she'd used before on patients and Rogues alike.
"Out… out…" The woman's voice still quavered, but she nodded her head with vigor at the suggestion.
The first steps were the hardest. The witch had to pause after each one, steadying herself upon the vine-covered ground as her legs trembled, but did not give way. Harleen supported her throughout, and after about a minute of barely any progress the woman finally steadied on her limbs and was able to walk a slow procession across the room. The blonde's eyes were drawn to the surrounding plant life as they walked. The vines writhed and shifted as the women approached; watching them pass and following in long tendrils which slithered across the walls and ceiling. The sight was eerie, yet fascinating, and as they exited into the adjoining hall Harleen noted the green cords were growing thicker. They seemed to be invigorated by the witch's awakening, imbibing in their goddess' presence. As the women traveled down the nature covered hallway the vines beneath them began to move, helping the humans along in a manner akin to a moving walkway.
Harleen marveled at the plants' reaction to the witch. The green woman was – for the most part – silent, aside from stray mutterings which never formulated into proper words. Harleen wondered if she was talking to the plants in some odd, omniscient way. Even in her weakened state, there was an undeniable aura of familiarity radiating between the witch and the surrounding flora. A tangible connection tying them together; a tether not even the likes of delirium could sunder. A sharp pang of jealousy pierced Harleen's chest, sudden and irrefutable. She'd never experienced anything of that same kind before. Never found anyone – man or beast – who understood her on an intrinsic level where words were unnecessary. She wanted it, a fervent desire, yet once again the blonde quenched her own emotional fancies. Now was not the time to waste on frivolous matters. She had a job to do.
A new marvel greeted her as the women began to climb the stairs. Suddenly, a host of flowers bloomed on the nearby vines. White lilies and another bright pink flower Harleen didn't recognize; its fringed petals shot through with darker shades. They covered the walls in their majesty; a beautiful garden of hardy life leading the way to fresh air and freedom. One of the vines reached out, extending towards Harleen, two pristine flower specimens – one of each kind – held upon its outstretched limb. The blonde paused, hesitating at the implication. The vine trembled after a moment, encouraging her to action, and Harleen – with reverent care – plucked the twin blossoms from the plant's grasp. She watched, entranced, as the flowers' stems grew at her touch, forming two thin green vines of their own. The stems trailed down her hand, wrapping around her wrist as the blossoms shifted in her grip, bidding her to let go. Harleen released her grasp and stared as they repositioned themselves until a bracelet was formed, the lily and unnamed flower resting over her Radius and Ulna. The fit was snug but not tight, the flowers embracing her flesh in their stems.
The blonde's heart stuttered at the sight. This gesture meant something; a recognition from nature itself of what deeds Harleen had committed here, all in the name of… what? Supposed kindness and generosity? No, the blonde operated on forced logical reasoning and self-serving whims. She'd released the witch to further her own ends, nothing more. Harleen Quinzel was a monster fueled by self-preservation, the truth apparent to all souls unfortunate enough to cross her path. But, for whatever reason, these plants didn't seem to see her as a monster. The flowers appeared to have been given as a sign of honor, though what were these plants – these myths unto themselves – if not yet another brand of monster? She'd watched them eat people. Felt their barbed thorns rake scars across her own skin. The same hand now cradled in flowers birthed from the guilty vines.
She turned her wrist over, studying the gift, and another thought occurred to her. A shifting of perspective, as it were, analyzing a biological mind from a different angle as she was oft wont to do with human patients in kind. Perhaps she'd seen it all wrong. Perhaps the plants had merely been acting out of self-preservation too, protecting something they loved from the clutches of wicked men. Men like Joker, who preened with glee at the thought of seeing Robinson Park's witch locked within Arkham for all her days. Men like the GCPD and their coveted Batman, who looked at the world in stark achromatic shades of black and white, refusing to appreciate the verisimilitude of what one could consider "evil". Maybe this brand of nature wasn't inherently cruel, only driven to violence when necessity forced their proverbial hand. And maybe (the last remaining innocent, naïve speck in Harleen's heart cried out as she stared down at the flowers) they were a better judge of her character than even the blonde herself.
Harleen shook her head, forcing the thought away. No, she wouldn't fall down that path again. Such thoughts would only lead her to ruin. So, she pressed on, helping this stranger up the stairs and onto the first floor, studiously ignoring the plethora of flowers blossoming all around them.
They entered the upstairs hallway in silence, following the path of splendid flowers to their destination. The atrium lay beyond, filled with half-dead and dying potted plants. The vines crept further along the rear walls, growing to new lengths at the presence of their beloved mistress. The green woman lurched forward, almost falling out of the blonde's grasp as she caught sight of what Harleen suddenly realized had once been a personal collection. The now desecrated plant life in this room placed here by the witch's own hands; given tender love and care by her touch. How long had they been left to fester in her absence, only to be treated with such disdain by her captors? A sicker thought occurred to the blonde; this building had once acted as a sort of makeshift home for the same woman held prisoner in its depths. She frowned at the idea. At how sanctuaries could be repurposed for harmful designs, and the negative effect it had on the mind of one so afflicted.
The women made their way through the abandoned garden, progress slowed by the green woman's leaden steps. Her heart was clearly seized by the sight of what her home had become. Still, when Harleen looked into her emerald eyes she saw the clouds of delirium effusing her senses, dulling even the strongest of emotions in a haze of induced confusion. How visceral a reaction did these plants elicit that it could force its way through the mental fog? The research-inclined psychiatrist in Harleen was curious to observe a raw, unfiltered reaction. Assess and analyze the full extent of what plants meant to this woman, but even without such a display the same data could be extrapolated. She saw the truth in how the flora thrived at the green woman's presence; the wet sheen in green eyes; the tenderness in the woman's touch as she reached out, running her fingers over the leaves and stems of every plant they passed. And Harleen, marveling in her own way, felt emotions stir at how the withering greenery responded. Perking up on their roots, regaining a spark of color in the patches where her fingers had touched, turning their bodies towards the women, watching with eyeless admiration as they passed.
Genuine love thrived between the witch and her subjects. Strange to consider, as plants were not entities humans generally considered as having minds or souls. Harleen didn't know enough about botany to make an argument one way or another. Fauna held far more fascination and interest to her than flora, but she felt her inclinations shifting as this night continued. The green woman made a soft, disappointed huffing sound as they exited the atrium and walked into the adjoining reception area. Harleen tugged at her waist with encouragement, needing the woman to stay focused on the task at hand. The intruders would be back – the blonde knew it, without a doubt – and the longer they lingered the greater chance of interception. Further encouragement was, to Harleen's relief, not necessary, and she fell against the Welcome Center's front doors with little grace, pushing on the handle and pulling her ward into the world beyond.
Cool nighttime air greeted the women as they took their first steps outside. The witch shivered at its touch, still nearly completely bare from the waist down. Harleen helped tuck her red leather jacket further into the green woman's embrace, trying to offer what little assistance she could until they were able to find her some more suitable clothes for the chilly atmosphere. For a moment the blonde considered increasing skin to skin contact to encourage transfer of body heat but quelled the urge as quickly as it came. Such an… intimate act would be inappropriate, at the very least, and she chastised herself for being tempted in the first place.
God, but did she never learn her lesson? Was the witch attractive? Yes. Was she in emotional straits and in need of help? Absolutely. Was the green woman simmering with untapped power and potential? Oh indeed, Harleen could observe both the physical and metaphysical prowess held within this woman's tall form. Charted by the muscled planes of her soft flesh and the charged aura of energy permeating the air around her. And, admittedly, these were traits Harleen was historically powerless to resist, especially if someone was an amalgamation of all three. This was how she'd found Joker in Arkham Asylum, alone and needing her, and Dr. Harleen Quinzel was a goner within seconds. This woman, though? Even in the brief time they'd spent together Harleen knew she was more than that man could ever have been, ever was in his sordid life. And it made her incredibly dangerous.
So, before any further temptation could set in and sour her professional mindset, Harleen killed it.
Despite her shiver at the cool air, the witch grew noticeably stronger the moment they were outside. Harleen guided her across the clearing, back the same way the blonde had first arrived, and before they reached the line of trees the green woman was able to walk on her own without assistance. Seemingly invigorated by the wealth of plant life around them; the tall grass and trees turned slightly in their direction as they approached, heralding their way forward. She was still caught up in the stasis induced delirium though, her green eyes glassy, but Harleen took one of the woman's hands in her own gloved palm, guiding her through a realm where she had once reigned as queen.
The blonde held her flashlight high in her free hand, the light illuminating the hidden path. Her memory was sharp and lucid; she didn't need the crudely drawn map to show her the way back to the front gate. She remembered every marker, which direction to turn, the notes scribbled on the folded page. The same way Harleen could recall entire dossiers compiled on the Rogue Gallery's various members. Her hypermnesia was a boon in her psychiatry days and when she was doing compulsory work on Jeremiah's behalf. Other times the trait was a curse, submitting her to vivid recollections of the darker memories lying in her past; the demons of mayhem biting forever at her heels. Tonight, she was grateful for the gift, as it allowed her to maintain a comforting physical contact for as long as possible, and the blonde noted with some level of dismay how touch starved she was due to her Arkham confinement.
She kept a wary eye on the plants as they traveled, finding the first landmark on the trail with ease and heading off towards the second. She could sense the flora watching her in turn; a pervasive awareness which caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. The foliage grew thicker as they passed, forming a tunnel around the women, leaves and branches moving around the edges of her flashlight's beam of light. The plants made no move to attack Harleen, however. They seemed cautious but recognized her intent as helpful in origin. After a time, the blonde noticed their pace has mysterious quickened, and she looked down to see the grass beneath their feet ushering them forward, moving under their soles to facilitate faster movement. It struck her again how much the plants loved the witch, cared for her well-being. Her heart softened at the recognition, and as they reached the second landmark without incident Harleen found her initial terror beginning to wane, replaced with an odd feeling of safety within these living woods. Her grip around the woman's hand tightened imperceptibly, and she whispered a quiet promise to everyone present she wouldn't let go.
Even though her companion was weak, with the aid of the witch's beloved flora they were able to travel quickly. They reached the familiar Atlas fountain – the last landmark on the trail – in what felt like mere minutes, though Harleen hadn't bothered to keep track. The green woman stumbled once, as they rounded the ancient copper statue; her attention caught by the mythical figure. The blonde turned, curious to see what'd caused her to falter, and saw a faint hint of recognition burning in her ward's emerald eyes. Something nascent and fleeting, as though the memory of why the sight was familiar lay too far out of reach for the woman to grasp on a conscious level. Harleen gave a gentle tug on her hand, urging her to refocus, and the woman turned to her, pupils blown wide in the dim light. They stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment, an unanswerable question lying within those green depths. Harleen could only provide a soft, encouraging smile, but it seemed to be enough. The woman staggered forward, almost falling into the blonde, and Harleen ignored the spark of excitement that burst within her chest at the renewed close proximity.
They resumed their trek, slower now that they were traveling on cracked asphalt rather than over grass. The already dense foliage continued to grow thicker around them, blocking out the artificial light produced by Gotham City despite its nearness. No hint of additional illumination reached them until suddenly the trees gave way and they emerged out of the underbrush, stepping beneath the gate delineating the edge of Robinson Park. The streetlights, neon signs, and distant flood lights hit them all at once. A near blinding visual barrage compared to the near-total darkness they'd been steeped in for so long.
Harleen blinked as her vision adjusted. She felt rather than saw the green woman tense; growing rigid as she took in the sight of the urban sprawl herself. Once her sight recovered, the blonde turned, arching a quizzical eyebrow at her charge, only to be met with gorgeous features twisted in a mask of terror. Fear and panic gleamed bright in her emerald eyes. The delirium obscured as a deep-seated horror took hold of the witch of the woods.
"Where… are we?" the woman managed to ask in a trembling voice.
"Gotham City," Harleen said, hoping an answer would help alleviate her anxieties.
The green woman's eyes widened; her breath quickened. "Gotham?"
A crack appeared in her composure, and Harleen recognized immediately the clear signs of an impending panic attack. The green woman's chest heaved; her grip on Harleen's hand became a vice lock.
"No," the witch said with a shake of her head, "not Gotham…"
Harleen knew she had to act before the situation spiraled out of control. She put her flashlight away and turned around, facing the witch fully. She reached up with her free hand and cupped a green cheek, bidding her gaze to divert from the buildings beyond the parking lot to Harleen's own crystal blue eyes.
"Look at me," the blonde said in a soft, encouraging voice.
The witch started a bit, but she obeyed, her emerald eyes meeting Harleen's own. The blonde's breath caught in her throat as they stared at each other. A tense moment of unspoken need tethering the two women together. Bonds formed in a time of strife as the green woman reached out for mooring in a turbulent storm. Harleen would be her rock, her anchor. This was why she'd pursued a career in psychiatry; born from a genuine wish to help people in their weakest moments. But something else cried out in Harleen's own soul; a needy beast she was hesitant to name. She dove into those green depths of her own volition, losing herself in them, and she knew she was treading dangerous waters – caught in the riptide – but, God, she couldn't resist.
"I want you to take slow, deep breaths. Inhale, hold for five seconds, and then exhale all the way, making sure to empty your lungs completely." Harleen paused, waiting as the green woman followed her instructions to the letter, all while maintaining this searing, potentially unnecessary eye contact. "That's right, in… and out…" The grip on her hand loosened a bit, but Harleen's awareness of every point of contact burned hot against her flesh. Still, she continued, the words falling from her lips with practiced ease.
"Have you ever heard of grounding techniques? I use them all the time when I'm scared or losing myself to bad memories. They'll help you overcome this, just follow my lead," Harleen said; her voice maintaining her confident doctor's timber despite the butterflies alighting in her stomach. "Shift your focus to physical sensations. The connections you can feel rather than getting lost in the emotions storming inside you. You can feel my hands, they're here and real, and I won't let go while you're adrift; I promise. There's the ground beneath your feet, solid and firm. It won't bend or break. Will never fall away from or abandon you. The Earth will always be there, holding us up, no matter how much we sway."
The green woman was still taking deep, stilted breaths, but they were growing more even. The fear in her eyes softening at the sound of Harleen's voice. The blonde pressed on, encouraged by the positive reaction. She glanced down, noting – to her relief – they were standing in a patch of grass that had overgrown the ancient asphalt, reclaiming it to the wilderness beyond.
"But you feel a greater connection to the Earth than most, right?" Harleen said, marveling again at how the plants had responded to the green woman. "Root yourself to its solid form beneath you. Push your bare feet in, feel the cool soil, the grass. Count the blades touching your skin." She paused for a few moments, letting the woman follow her directions before continuing. "They're your friends, right? I know, I saw them helping you – helping us. Your friends are here for you, right now, and so long as nature exists they'll never leave."
The witch, at last, closed her eyes and nodded with fervor. "Y-yes…"
Harleen watched the tension release from her strong shoulders. Saw her expression relax and unwind. The witch calmed, her breaths still deep and measured, but the worst appeared to have passed.
"See?" the blonde said with a smile. "You're going to be fine."
The green woman opened her eyes again – a slow, unhurried lifting of her lids – and stared into Harleen, reading the measure of her soul. And this was the crux of the issue. What made psychiatry such a fascinating, dangerous field for the blonde to have ventured into. Because for all of her training, her years in med school and the degree she had to show for it, Harleen was terrible at establishing healthy boundaries with her most vulnerable patients. Especially the ones who reminded her, in some way, of herself. No matter how much she resisted, the efforts she made to maintain an air of total professionalism, said patients always managed to take a piece of her with them.
And the same, storied routine was happening now. For all the walls she'd erected, all the barriers meant to keep the cruel world at bay in the wake of an eternally broken heart, the blonde was unable to deny the witch's intrusion. She let her walls recede, falling in a rapid crescendo, and allowed herself to be witnessed by this woman she didn't know. Who she'd only encountered less than an hour prior, but, Lord, there was something about her. Something warm and welcome and familiar. Like Harleen had come home from a seven-year war and found everything exactly as she'd left it. The woman leaned into her open palm, never breaking eye contact, a flicker of similar emotions glimmering behind her cloudy emerald irises.
A loud car horn sounded a couple blocks over, breaking the tense silence. The green woman's eyes flicked away, towards Gotham, then she lurched backwards, out of Harleen's grasp and into Robinson Park territory. The red leather jacket fell from her shoulders, landing in a heap on the grassy ground. The blonde paid no attention to it, keeping her focus trained on the retreating woman. She didn't follow, not yet. If the witch needed a mote of space then Harleen was happy to provide. Yes, that's right, she was a psychiatrist and she needed to be professional about this. No matter how strangely appealing the impromptu patient.
Quiet moments passed between them; a turning of the epochs as Harleen waited for whatever came next. Then, a heady darkness coalesced in those vivid emerald eyes. The mark of steely determination, augmented by a visceral brand of righteous anger. The kind of vexation at her predicament which drove people to achieve veritable feats. Harleen's breath caught in her chest at the first glimpse of the personality lying beneath the delirium. Here was a woman with an indominable will, and the blonde knew the witch would move mountains to see her visions realized.
"Not Gotham," the witch said in a strong, steady voice unlike anything Harleen had heard her vocalize before. The rich, velvety tones an enchantment in their own way. "I won't abide it."
Then, without warning or preamble, the plants closed in. Tree branches grew to extended lengths, vines sprouted from the earth, the grass became dense underfoot. They reached out for their goddess, wrapping her in a thick canopy of greenery and enveloping every inch of flesh in a tight cocoon. Harleen stood, transfixed, as she watched the process unfold. The green woman stared at her throughout, unflinching at the flurry of foliage around her, until the only thing Harleen could see was piercing emerald eyes shining with an eerie light amidst a shell of leaves and vines. Then, with a sudden backwards lurch, the witch was gone. Leaving no trace of her presence behind, save the shuddering of a vibrant forest.
With a start, Harleen broke free of the lingering enchantment. She bent, picked up her discarded jacket, and hastily threw it on as she rushed forward, passing the spot where the green woman had disappeared. She dared to go fifty feet further before the still ominous atmosphere of the flora forced her to stop. Harleen turned in a circle, looking for any sign of the witch.
"Wait! Come back!" the blonde called into the canopy. No sound returned, save for the familiar echo of her own voice. She had to convince the woman to reappear, her prime witness, just – Jesus Christ, how could she let her get away so easily? "You can't stay here, it's not safe! The people who did this to you will be back! I can protect you, if you just…"
She looked around in desperation, noting the active swaying of the foliage. How the branches and leaves moved of their own accord, waking from their dormant slumber. Alive and conscious and hungry. Harleen forced down the reemerging fear tainting her stomach. The plants had let her pass before, they might recognize her as a potential ally now and allow her to travel through unharmed. She walked a few more paces forward, intent on searching for the witch, but the plants grew over the asphalt path, blocking her from making further progress. Harleen paused, not wanting to test their patience, and after a couple moments of silent conflict she felt the scars on her right hand begin to throb.
Harleen frowned; the green woman was gone. Vanished into the ether as quickly as she come into the blonde' life. She pivoted, feeling the watchful eyes of the plants bearing down upon her, and dashed out of Robinson Park with haste. She passed under the gate onto the adjoining sidewalk lining the old parking lot. Harleen took deep, near panting breaths as she gathered her wits.
Her hands shook with a slight, excited tremor as she pulled out her government issued phone, operating with a firm mission in mind as she attempted to quell her racing heart. She scrolled to her map app, the image showing a satellite view of Robinson Park and the surrounding area, cursing herself for not checking earlier to see if Jeremiah had made sure to have them install this feature on her phone. Once there, she opened the settings on the sidebar, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found a new option available. So, he'd either told Waller about all the technical tricks Harleen was outfitted with or covertly added the devices without her knowledge. Ultimately, she didn't care either way so long as everything worked. She clicked the button marked "Additional GPS", and, after waiting a moment for it to load, a dark blue dot appeared on her screen. It pulsed with a steady, rhythmic beat; a thin circular line erupting from the dot and spreading outwards for a second before disappearing.
She allowed herself to revel in this victory. When Harleen had touched the green woman's back while draping the jacket around her shoulders she'd taken advantage of the opening to covertly adhere a tiny tracking device to the witch's flesh. The device was designed by Jeremiah's lackeys to be as inconspicuous and easy to miss as possible, even when affixed directly to skin. She'd done it out of ingrained habit, more as a precaution than anything else, but Harleen was grateful for the foresight now that she'd fucked up and managed to lose her witness to the forest. The blue dot was still well within the bonds of Robinson Park, but much further in than the blonde expected. Certainly farther than the witch could have traveled on foot without assistance in the brief two minutes since she'd left. The green woman was still moving, but much slower now, and after watching her trajectory for a little bit Harleen determined she was heading deeper into the woods, as far away from the edges as possible.
The blonde removed her glasses for a moment, running a weary hand over her face while she forced her mind to settle. She turned, glasses still in hand, to gaze upon the wilderness before her. The forest's awakening was a consequence she couldn't ignore. A palpable shift upon the face of Gotham; things set into motion which could put ordinary citizens at risk if daring souls wandered too close to the Park's borders. She knew – even as a bone-deep exhaustion began to settle on the edges of her mind – she had to report in immediately with this development, much as she was loath to hear what Waller would have to say about her losing hold of their primary lead. Harleen fixed her glasses back on her face, closed the map app, and dialed a familiar number.
It rang a couple of times before a tired female answered. "Op–"
"I'm looking for a cleaner," Harleen cut in, drowning out the woman on the other end of the line.
The stranger, to her credit, was unperturbed. "Hold please."
Harleen heard the operator fumble with her phone before the classical music began to play. Hardly five notes into the piece the violins were cut off by a gruff, familiar voice.
"What did you find?" Waller asked.
"Straight to the point, I've always liked that about you," the blonde said with the ghost of a genuine smile alighting on her face. Then the sinking, guilty feeling pressed in her stomach and she paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "The map I found in the warehouse led to the old Robinson Park Welcome Center. The building rightly looks abandoned, overgrown and suffering disrepair. Thankfully, I was able to get inside with ease, and." She paused, debating how much detail was pertinent to this conversation. Waller would likely have her write up a full report later, so Harleen decided to stick to the crucial bits. "There were plants everywhere. Growing on the walls, the floor, covering an entire hallway at one point. I followed them, and it didn't take long to find a makeshift laboratory hidden in the basement. The place appeared to have been cleared out in a hurry, likely tipped off by the warehouse goons after I made my escape. Seems whoever set the place up was running experiments down there, but not enough evidence remained for me to figure out what they were trying to accomplish."
A long, uncomfortable silence passed between them. Not even the sound of Waller's breathing came through from the other end of the line. Harleen chewed on her bottom lip, tense and waiting. She opened her mouth to say something, no doubt an impulsive witty remark, when Waller cut in.
"So you're saying they didn't leave anything behind?" the older woman said in an even, controlled voice. "No clues for you to follow up on? No hint as to their activities?"
Harleen shifted on her feet. "Actually, they did leave something."
"What?"
"A… woman. She was being held inside a stasis chamber, and I decided the best course of action was to bring her in for questioning."
"Why didn't you call me to help remand her into custody?" Waller asked in a harsh voice.
"Middle of nowhere, no signal, and I was running on borrowed time. Long story short, all signs pointed to the laboratory rats coming back to clean up the mess they left behind. So, after a series of rather unfortunate events I was able to get her out of the chamber, intent on bringing her in myself."
"And where is she now?"
"Well." Harleen made a needless gesture back in the direction of the Park, more for her benefit than Waller's, considering the other woman couldn't see her. "She's still in there."
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. "I don't follow."
"I'm not sure how to explain. She's a weird plant lady. A metahuman of the botanical variety, and I." Harleen mouthed silent words for a moment, ashamed to admit her greatest failure in the case thus far. "I lost her to the flora."
Another long, drawn-out pause followed the declaration. Then, when Waller spoke it was in clear, crisp syllables; meant to ensure Harleen understood exactly what was being asked of her. "What did this woman look like?"
The blonde searched for the proper, appropriate descriptive words to use before a better idea occurred to her. "Actually, it'll be easier if I show you."
Harleen pulled the phone away from her ear as she pressed a couple buttons on screen, pulling up her text messages. She opened the conversation with Waller and selected the option to send an attachment. Thankfully the photo of the witch in the stasis chamber wasn't too far down in the queue. She tapped the photo, waited for it to upload, and sent it off. The blonde pressed the phone back to her ear, waiting in silence while the image transferred to Waller's phone. After a few seconds she heard the distinctive sound of air hissing through clenched teeth. A powerful tell for someone as composed as Amanda Waller, and Harleen's stomach fell to the floor.
"Well then," Waller said; her voice strained.
Another heady silence passed between them. Then, without warning, Harleen heard a click and the familiar sound of the dial tone. Waller had hung up on her.
The blonde pulled the phone away from her ear with an exasperated sigh. God, what sort of mess had Harleen gotten herself into? The circumstances surrounding the dead black ops agent were complex enough as it was, but the introduction of a hidden laboratory and a metahuman being used for experimentation – of all things – indicated she'd just barely begun to scratch the surface of what was truly at play here. With every step forward, solid answers escaped her. Instead of bringing clarity these revelations begged further questions. Who was this Exterminator and why did a low-tier, fresh on the scene Rogue and his idiot goons have a direct connection to a secretive operation requiring a much higher level of funding than a common thief could afford? Her mind flitted to the phosphorescent green liquid and cursed her inability to procure a sample without risking personal safety. Some of the answers lay there; in whatever said substance was.
Harleen was drawn out of her reverie by the sound of a powerful engine revving nearby. She perked up, turning her back to the looming park to face the empty parking lot. A large, unmarked black van caught her eye as it careened around a nearby street corner at full speed, heading in her direction. Her eyes widened as it took the turn into the parking lot without braking, its tires screeching and leaving black rubber marks upon the aged asphalt. Harleen tensed – jostled and surprised as she was – as the van peeled towards her before coming to a sudden, screaming halt about ten feet away. The rear doors opened while the car was still stopping, and the moment the van stilled two burly men in street clothes hopped out of the back and made a beeline straight for Harleen. The blonde took a staggered step backwards, reaching for her mallet handle as they drew closer.
"Stand down, Quinzel," one of the men said in a commanding voice. The distinctive tone carried by every federal agent she'd encountered in her life, haughty and full of self-indulgent pride.
That recognition – combined with the fact he'd addressed her by name – gave the blonde pause, affording the men enough of an opening to seize her by the arms. She instinctively struggled against their vice-like grip, thrashing about as they hauled her bodily towards the van's open rear doors. Harleen threw out a string of vocal protests in vain, they ignored the verbal jabs and pulled her with them inside the vehicle, closing the doors with a fateful slam behind them. Bright fluorescent light flooded her vision, blinding Harleen for a few seconds. Her heart raced inside her chest as she tried to determine who these men were and what they wanted. Still, she struggled, twisting her arms as she tried to break free.
"At ease, Harleen."
She froze at the familiar voice. Well… shit. Harleen shook her head to dispel the temporary blindness, and in short order her vision returned, allowing her to take stock of her new surroundings. The blonde found herself inside a law enforcement surveillance vehicle. The windowless interior outfitted with consoles and computer systems and walls covered in screens showing numerous live video feeds of not only the area immediately outside the van, but various security feeds around Robinson Park's perimeter. Amanda Waller was sitting in a low seat across from her, on the opposite side of the compartment. Her usually expressionless face was cut by a deep scowl; brow furrowed with lines born from disgruntled emotions; her imposing visage promising comeuppance for Harleen's folly.
The blonde hurried to break the silence lest she be damned before getting the chance to explain herself. "You could have said you were coming; you know. At least given me a heads up before you came barreling towards me like a bat out of Hell." Harleen gave another effete pull against her bonds, but this time the men complied. She took a small step forward, adjusting her leather jacket which had been pulled askew in the struggle, and put on what she hoped was a compelling mask of indifference. "How long have you been in the area? Did you follow me here after I left the bar?"
Waller's scowl become more pronounced as she placed her folded hands primly upon her bent knees. "My actions this evening are of no consequence to you. What matters, Dr. Quinzel, is what you've done." She narrowed her eyes, and if Harleen were a lesser woman she would have withered under Waller's harsh gaze. "Tell me, why should I have bothered releasing you from Arkham if you're stupid enough to pull a stunt like this?"
Harleen bristled at the insult. Memories of a violent, smiling face and twisted laughter and unceasing attacks upon the essence of her character – her mind – flooded back to her on the sounds of Waller's words. But the blonde refused to become a victim in the face of this woman who held her future in her hands. So, she did what she'd trained herself to do, and buried the trauma.
But even so, Harleen Quinzel was not a woman to let accusations go unchallenged.
"What was I supposed to do? Leave her there?" The blonde stood up straight (as far as the low ceiling of the van would allow) and met Waller's incriminating gaze head on. "She's both a witness and a potential suspect who needed to be brought in for questioning. You hired me to do a job–"
"No, I hired you to use your goddamn head," Waller said in a clipped voice. "No matter how expedient you interpreted the situation to be you should have secured the scene, retreated, and called for backup before pursuing any course so needlessly reckless. But you acted without following protocol, and now all of Gotham will pay the price."
"Why?" the blonde asked before she snapped her mouth shut as realization dawned upon her. She studied the grooves carved in Waller's face, the harsh clench of her jaw, the rigidness of her posture, and – by God – it was so obvious. "You're afraid of her, the plant woman," Harleen said in a soft tone, amazement lining the edges of her words. "How? Who is she?"
Amanda Waller's expression – somehow – became more tense. Tightening on reflex as though she'd been struck by an unexpected blow. "I do not fear anything," she said in a voice that didn't quite manage to convince Harleen, "but I understand cause and effect. I can recognize a catalyst when I see one, and the consequences for your foolishness will be dire, indeed." She stared into the blonde; dark eyes commanding and without mercy. "Because the creature you've unleashed upon this god-forsaken city happens to be Poison Ivy."
A tense silence settled over the van. The blonde stared at her handler as she processed the name, turned it over in her mind. Dr. Harleen Quinzel had an encyclopedic knowledge of all Rogues operating in Gotham's underground. Anyone housed within Arkham Asylum or still roaming the streets as a potential threat was known to her. She'd read their dossiers, catalogued their names and faces and personality traits, had an entire reference system erected in her brain to recall minute details about potential marks which could come in handy when hunting out in the field. Jeremiah had overseen her education himself, from her pre-Rogue psychiatry days to the years after her incarceration, sparing no details of the men and women he'd use her to bend to his wiles.
But now, all Harleen could do was give Waller a blank stare as a wave of confusion washed over her. The result of a scenario she'd never encountered before, summarized into a single, damning word.
"Who?"
End Notes: Harleen's glasses follow Bayonetta rules. Intrinsic to her character design, able to stay firmly in place despite various acrobatics during physical brawls, and super easy to forget they're even there.
Now, onto the important stuff.
So there was a two month delay in getting this chapter out and that was due to a combination of factors, the two main ones being my job has – for the time being – gotten incredibly complicated and I'm basically spending all day every day trying to put out a wildfire/stabilize a shitty system that I've had to take under my wing. Another massive project is in the works too so basically I've been under all month and this state of affairs will continue into 2022.
Second, I'm experiencing writing burnout, which honestly is to be expected considering my rate of output. I added up the numbers and since the start of lockdown in March 2020 I've written over 364k words. For context, that's more than 'Anna Karenina' and produced in less time (though I am in no way comparing my writing quality to Tolstoy's), and over 287k worth of material was written in 2021 alone, averaging out to 958 words a day. So, to put it simply, I am tired and running on fumes at this point, and it's starting to affect my writing quality. One of the reasons why this chapter was delayed was it needed major edits which set me back over a week and a half of real time to work on, whereas the creative process generally runs a lot smoother.
I need some time to recharge, let my brain rest while I deal with the current insanity of real life, and regain lost stamina. This means I have to go on a temporary hiatus for a few months, probably extending into early February. Not ideal, and I know I just left you with a bit of a cliffhanger, but a necessary sabbatical for my wellbeing. I ask you to please be patient with me during this time as only good things can come from this break, and I appreciate your understanding.
I'll see you again soon…