Author's Note: As promised, I have returned, albeit a bit later than I expected. Apologies for the extra wait time, a major work project kept getting delayed until finally going live at the beginning of February and I was under water for most of the month. But we're finally out of the woods, my burn out has alleviated, and I'm taking precautions to not overwork myself going forward to avoid having to take another hiatus.
All in all, it feels so good to be back, and I thank you for being patient with me.
Quick note on content: it hasn't really presented itself so far, but before we get into this chapter I just want to point to the warning denoting "graphic depictions of violence". I have strong opinions on not sanitizing the real-life consequences when violent conflict occurs in stories, so I tend to be more realistic in my writing, but I also don't linger on it. Harleen also has a brief flashback in this chapter that includes details of physical abuse. Take whatever precautions you need.
Chapter Eight
On Hallowed Ground
Harleen Quinzel never found herself without words.
She always excelled at conversation and filling silences with some manner of comment; whether insightful or provocative or simply meant to rile. The skill served her well during her stint as an Arkham psychiatrist. Allowed her to ease a patient's volatile tension with witticisms and helped defuse situations which could turn ugly at a moment's notice. As Harley Quinn she utilized her big mouth to distract foes, commiserate with Rogues, and placate a man who was impossible to reason with. No matter where she found herself, whatever scrape she'd fallen into, Harleen always had something to say. A blessing and a curse in equal measure.
So, when the indominable Amanda Waller looked her dead in the eyes after the blonde's declaration of ignorance, after she'd been foolish enough to release into the ether she had no idea who this "Poison Ivy" was, the older woman said something which – for the first time in life's memory – left Harleen Quinzel speechless.
"I'll give you one chance to come up with a better response. Pray to God you make it a good one."
Harleen forced her lips into a thin line, resisting the urge to mouth around empty words as it would only give her weakness away. Not that she hadn't made a fatal error already. The thoughts inside her head congealed into a muddled quagmire. She couldn't puzzle her way through this; knew there was no easy answer to be found which would explain her ignorance. Because Dr. Harleen Quinzel was the penultimate expert in Gotham's Rogue Gallery. Surpassing Jeremiah Arkham himself due to the sheer fact his warped ego prevented him from truly understanding the patients trapped within his wards. She'd spent years studying the Asylum's records, its vast collection of knowledge pertaining to its current marks of interest and knew all their names by heart. Knew their motives and intricacies and personal histories well enough to be an effective, easily controlled replacement for a dangerous vigilante who bowed to no masters.
Yet she'd never heard of anyone going by the moniker Poison Ivy. She didn't recognize the witch's face from any photos carried in Arkham's records. Didn't know of any Rogues who specialized in botany related heists, and dear Jesus did Gotham's Rogues love to stick to their assigned themes. The green woman was an anomaly, a missing link, and the magnitude of what that meant was something too dangerous to say out loud. Because if there was even one Rogue missing from Harleen's internal records who's to say there weren't more?
She made sure to maintain eye contact with Waller, never daring to break it. The truth would not suffice to placate her ire, yet what else could Harleen offer? Honesty was the only safety net she could fall back on, but at least this stern master put immense value on the virtue. Even if it wouldn't be enough to save her.
Harleen took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I don't have a feasible explanation for this," the blonde doctor said at last.
A deep frown cleaved its way onto Waller's lips. The most profound expression Harleen had seen cross her face in the short time they'd known each other. The older woman's eyes narrowed in a glare, a burning deep within her dark irises.
"You mean to tell me," Waller said in a slow, deliberately imposing voice, "that you, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, former ally of the Joker and Arkham's trained specialist in this very subject, have never heard of the woman who is – quite possibly – the most dangerous Rogue Gotham has ever encountered?" She leaned forward slightly, her clasped fingers gripping her knee in a stranglehold. "Poison Ivy is a metahuman, and an incredibly volatile one at that. Her unchecked power poses more of a danger to civilians than your former boyfriend ever did in his sorry life. There's no feasible way you are ignorant of who she is and what she's done. Especially since I know for a fact Arkham has an extensive file on record. She's a former patient, after all."
"Patient…" Harleen whispered, processing the deluge of information.
"And if you are, indeed, ignorant of Poison Ivy's existence." Waller paused. "Then I was sorely lied to about your credentials."
There, on the echoes of those damning words, the seed of an idea germinated in Harleen's mind. Born from the only solid evidence she had. This failure, this error in her programming, must – like all other aspects of her imprisonment – stem from a singular, nameable source.
"Jeremiah," Harleen breathed the name through her lips. "He did this."
Waller quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"The fault lies with him, it has to," the blonde continued. "He oversaw all aspects of my… education. He fed me the files himself, always liked to take a hands-on approach during the crafting process. So, for some reason, he kept her file from me. He doesn't want me to know this Poison Ivy's mind. He doesn't want me to be able to find her."
"And why would he do such a thing?"
"That is the question, isn't it?"
A gruff sound rumbled in the pit of Waller's throat. "The more you try to worm your way out of this the less satisfactory your responses become. You'll have to try better to placate me."
"With all due respect, I'm not trying to appease your sensibilities right now. The implications of this missing data speak to more personal issues I'll have to sort through even if you pull me off this case immediately," Harleen said, allowing her annoyance at the situation to seep into her tone. She paused, breath hissing through clenched teeth as her mind whirred, the jumbled thoughts becoming more coherent, piecing themselves into a tapestry of plausible explanation. "But consider this, Miss Waller, what are the chances, out of all the Rogues in the gallery, I happen to stumble upon the one woman I don't know? A woman who was kept from me like a dirty secret. I'm not going so far as to suggest Jeremiah is caught up in the murder of your agent, but at this point in my sordid life I've seen enough to know for a fact there are no coincidences."
"Believing in fate is a fool's errand," Waller said in a clipped voice. "And I will not abide this investigation falling prey to fairy tale ideations."
"I'm not talking about fate. I'm referring to human orchestration." Harleen leveled her gaze at the older woman. "I repeat, ma'am, what are the odds?"
A look of concern flitted across Waller's face. So fleeting that if the blonde had blinked she'd have missed it. Then, with a practiced ease, whatever concerns Harleen had managed to elicit within the older woman's mind were buried beneath her practiced external veneer of professionalism and steely bearing. But the blonde knew the question had been raised to an effective degree. Set some level of doubt to burrow its way into Waller's psyche, and said doubt would work well in Harleen's favor when it came time to get what she wanted out of the older woman. Because if the blonde was going to get any answers regarding this missing piece of her programming she would need Waller's aid, much as Harleen was loathe to rely on a woman who served no interests besides her own personal goals.
"Perhaps, but that is a mystery we are sorely lacking the time to muse over," Waller said at length. She sat back a bit in her seat but continued to stare into Harleen's eyes with her searing gaze. "The fact remains you unleashed Poison Ivy from an effective confinement, and that's a problem we need to address at once. We know her general vicinity, at least, and need to capture her before she manages to escape Robinson Park." Her lips twisted in a slight grimace. "Unfortunately, the Park is massive, and I only have so many agents at my immediate disposal. Locating her will prove to be difficult, especially because more bodies will invite suspicion, and it will surely incite mass panic if this information leaks to the public."
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Harleen's mouth. "Well, lucky for both of us I know exactly where she is."
Waller quirked an inquisitive dark eyebrow. The blonde declined to verbally explain. Instead, she remained silent as she pulled out her phone, Waller watching with interest as Harleen opened her map app and activated the GPS tracker. Sure enough, there she was, the elusive Poison Ivy, the pulsing dot onscreen placing her in almost the exact center of the park. She appeared to be stationary, though Harleen was impressed she'd managed to travel so far on foot in such a short span of time. No doubt the plants had assisted her in achieving that feat. Without a word, the blonde turned her phone around so her master could look at the screen. Waller stared intently at the display for a few moments, her brows raising further as she realized what she was looking at.
"At least you managed to make one logical decision tonight," Waller muttered in a low voice. She glanced back up at Harleen. "What was her condition when she escaped? I need a full report."
"She was… weak." Harleen paused, churning over an explanation in her head before she continued. "I worked with a patient in med school who had undergone treatment in a stasis chamber, so I have some knowledge on how they work and their aftereffects. The devices are notorious for inducing temporary delirium in patients once they're removed from containment. Poison Ivy appears to be suffering from the typical symptoms of prolonged stasis. She was confused, could barely walk at first, and didn't seem to remember her own name."
"And how long until she's back to full health?"
"It varies between patients. For some people the symptoms last days, but for others they resolve within a few hours." Harleen chewed on the inside of her cheek as she pondered a thought. Her fingers twitched as she was tempted to appease her oral fixation with one of the Dum Dums in her pocket but knew it would only aggravate Waller's already fragile mood. "Considering she's a metahuman her physiology can't accurately be compared to an average human, I'd wager. I think it's safer to assume she'll be on the shorter end of the symptom resolution spectrum."
"How long do we have, Quinzel?"
"Like I said, the shortest recovery I ever heard of was full consciousness three hours after removal from stasis."
Waller made a noise of acknowledgement. "Then we have to move now."
The older woman glanced to the men standing behind Harleen and gave them a quick, solemn nod. At her command, the blonde heard the van's rear doors open. Then, without warning, the men grabbed Harleen's arms from behind and pulled her with them as they exited onto the cracked asphalt of Robinson Park's aged parking lot. Harleen was jostled in the process, the forceful movement almost knocking her glasses off, but she didn't protest the manhandling. They were somewhat gentler than your standard Arkham orderly. At least they wouldn't leave any bruises.
Once they were outside the men let her go. She took a few stumbling steps away, out of their immediate reach, and turned to face the van. The driver side and passenger doors were thrown open in turn and two more men climbed out of the vehicle to join their companions. Waller followed them with her usual composed grace. All four men turned to regard their superior with stoic expressions, following the government agent as she walked over to the rusted entrance gate and stood before it, assessing the makeup of its face; the potential threat it posed. Harleen stood back, watching them, not daring to get close to the awakened foliage again. She was intrigued by the lack of response from the plants to the agents' presence. Though, she conceded, they had yet to cross the clear demarcation of party lines. Even the plants in her memory only responded with aggression after her hand had physically gone through the fence.
Waller stared up at the flaking metal fixtures declaring the Park's entrance for about half a minute. Harleen couldn't discern what the woman was thinking; what plots were being schemed inside her clandestine driven mind. Then, Waller turned her head about forty degrees to the right and said something curt to her men in a low voice, quiet enough that Harleen couldn't hear her. One of the men nodded in acknowledgement and, in perfect synchronization, three of them pivoted on their heels and marched back to the van. Only the man who had climbed out of the driver's seat stayed behind, continuing to stare at the expanse of looming vegetation along with his master.
The three men ignored Harleen and climbed into the back of the van. The blonde watched with increasing interest as they opened compartments stowed along the rear wall, revealing matching sets of tactical gear. Each man retrieved and donned an armored vest and metal helmet. They were dressed in plainclothes, clearly trying to pass themselves off as ordinary citizens, and Harleen had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at the cliché as they all pulled hidden handguns from concealed belt holsters. The men affixed small, cylindrical flashlights to the guns' sights before going through the familiar, authoritative motion of checking their firearms before active use. The final items they took from storage were long-range tasers they affixed to their belts.
Harleen's gaze flitted between the men and the forest. Regardless of whatever elite black ops training they'd undergone, the rigorous standards they met to be accepted under Waller's wing, the men were ill prepared to defend themselves against a literal jungle of carnivorous flora. So why was Waller intent on sending her men to their certain deaths? Intrigued, Harleen wandered over to the woman, coming up alongside her as they stood below the rusted park gate. Waller switched her attention to Harleen, and the blonde pivoted to regard her in turn. The older woman's expression remained stoic, but a silent command for Harleen to voice her thoughts and be done with it echoed in her dark gaze.
"You're going to send them in there?" the blonde asked, her tone curious but not forceful. She had to maintain an air of deference or Waller was liable to retaliate with verbal force.
"You left me with no choice. For the moment the plants are inert, but we only have a three-hour window to act while their mistress continues to awaken from stasis. The longer we suffer Poison Ivy to remain free the more powerful she becomes." Waller crossed her arms over her chest, chin held high in defiance of the situation. "While far from ideal circumstances, we need to neutralize her while she's weak."
Behind Waller, Harleen saw the three men turn off the safety on their respective handguns.
"Are you going to kill her?" the blonde asked around a sudden lump in her throat.
"The plan is to bring her in alive. As you aptly noted, Poison Ivy presents us with a potential major lead in this case, depending on what she knows. I would prefer to mount a proper interrogation." Waller's voice dropped to a grim note. "But if she refuses to acquiesce to our demands…"
A vision burned in Harleen's mind at the words. Of the fierce look in glowing, emerald-green eyes. The conviction burning in their depths. It may have been a fleeting moment of clarity within an otherwise delirious mind, but the blonde had seen enough in that moment to recognize Poison Ivy was not a woman to bow before any threat. If the agents found her she would fight back tooth and nail. But before such a confrontation could occur the men would have to make their way through literal miles of sentient, protective flora.
This was a fool's errand. They wouldn't make it twenty feet.
"I don't mean to argue, ma'am, but I have to disagree with your assessment of the situation," Harleen said in as non-confrontational a tone as possible. "Based on my observations it's clear the forest has already awakened. The trees were moving of their own accord once Poison Ivy was out of stasis. The grass helped us cover more ground as we walked. The flora knows she's awake and is reacting accordingly to her presence."
"And yet you, an intrusive human, came out unscathed," Waller said in an even tone.
"Only because I was helping her."
"That matters little to this Rogue. She holds active disdain for human life and – had the plants been at her command – they would have killed you the moment you lost your usefulness. But while the forest may not be hungry now, that window is closing fast, and I can't spare precious minutes waiting for backup to arrive." Amanda Waller held out an expectant hand towards her servant. "Now, give me your phone. You'll get it back before the night is over."
Harleen didn't respond right away, instead staring at her master for a long, protracted moment. The blonde considered, not for the first time in her life, if she was cursed in the same way as the mythic Cassandra. Burdened, at times, with enough foresight to warn of an inevitable tragedy only to be demeaned, ignored, and forced to stand by and watch the vision come to fruition. Truly, Harleen didn't care if Waller's men lived or died. They were federal agents, one of the most universally hated groups in existence, and voluntarily agreed to put their lives on the line without question. They chose their fate, but others – the beast reared inside Harleen's mind – hadn't.
Unbidden, unwanted visions ghosted at the edge of the blonde's consciousness. A crack in the water dikes which ushered in the memory of a particular trauma she never indulged; the most prominent reminder of what she was, the kind of creatures she'd cavorted with and encouraged; broke their bread and drank their wine. But it was one thing to know she was a monster in the categorical sense, quite another to assess in detail the greatest evidence to her own complicity in an atrocity. Because the problem with being a monster was one of progressive degeneration. Not just of her own mental state, but of the man she'd sworn undying allegiance to.
Yes, as time passed his targets changed from the institutional to the overwhelmingly civilian. Yes, his schemes took a distinctive turn from the criminal to domestic terror. Yes, Harley Quinn was insane, but not that insane. And yes, in the aftermath, she had the gall to claim she'd attempted sabotage. That she wasn't at total fault.
But no one believed a clown.
"Actions have consequences, Harleen."
The words echoed within her skull. As clear and crisp as the day she'd heard them. The vision came, unbidden, a memory called forth as she lost herself while standing upon the cracked asphalt.
He'd taken purchase against the closed door of the cell. A smoking cigarette held between the fore and middle fingers of his left hand. His back rested upon the solid metal surface as he watched the scene unfold with cold eyes, though – deep within their depths – she caught the flicker of unbridled glee. Three burly orderlies loomed over her; their fists still clenched despite the momentary lull. Harleen was lying on the ground, curled into the fetal position, her torso and head throbbing from the repeated blows. A steady stream of blood gushed from her nostrils, and she knew without needing to inspect it that her nose was broken.
One of the orderlies made a pained sound. Something caught between a growl and a scream. Wrenched forth from a visceral place inside himself; a wound yet to scab over and heal.
"My brother's dead!" he cried. Then he drew his leg back and kicked her hard in the ribs.
Harleen gasped, the air knocked from her lungs, but before she could recover the other two men followed his lead.
"My cousins!"
Another kick.
"My best friend!"
An elbow to her side.
"It's all because of you fuckers!"
And then a hand in her hair, fisting, wrenching her up off the floor until she was forced into a sitting position. Harleen looked up, into the rage-filled eyes of a nameless orderly, and he spat on her. The glob of saliva hit her cheek and dribbled down over her chin. She sat there, fighting for breath, not daring to say a word. Then he raised his arm and backhanded her across the face. Her head whipped to the side as the hand in her hair released and she fell back to the ground. Harleen lay there, panting and bloody, her vision swimming from the force of the blow.
"I tried…" she groaned out in a hoarse voice that was not her own. "I… tried… to stop him."
A long, pregnant silence passed. Then the cell was filled with the sound of Jeremiah Arkham's long, weary sigh.
"Oh Harleen," he said from his place against the door. "We've worked on this. Lying makes monsters of us all."
Then, with a snap of his fingers, the orderlies resumed.
Harleen was forced back to the present moment by the sound of a throat clearing. She blinked, hard, her vision focusing on Waller's face as she took deep breaths and buried the old emotions stirring to life. She would not suffer them to live; not suffer to lose herself in them. The older woman was growing more impatient with every passing second, oblivious to the flashback that had just barreled through her servant's mind. Harleen shook her head free of the cloudy haze, locked the trauma into its internal cell, and, without further hesitation, surrendered her cell phone.
"Good," Waller said with a hint of smug satisfaction coloring her usually stoic tone. "I expect I won't hear any more objections from you tonight, Quinzel. Need I remind you that, last I checked, I know more about this Rogue than you do."
Harleen clenched her jaw at the admonishment but didn't allow a scowl to form on her face. "Yes, ma'am," she said in an even voice.
She watched as Waller adjusted the map showing Poison Ivy's location to her liking. Then the woman reached into her suit jacket's pocket and pulled out a small, wireless earpiece dyed the same tone as her flesh. Inconspicuous enough to hide from the casual onlooker, even if they may have an inkling suspicion there were undercover feds in their midst. The three geared up men also affixed matching devices into their ears, each gadget dyed to match the agent's corresponding skin tone. Harleen didn't listen as Waller and her men went through a quick routine check of their device's signals. One of the men – taller than his two companions and the obvious leader – had a GPS device in his hands, with a screen displaying a satellite image of Robinson Park, but the gadget was too square to be a cell phone and too small to be a tablet. Something specially made for black ops stings, Harleen surmised. He and Waller verified notes, speaking in low tones, before the man gave her a curt nod, snapped to attention, and ordered his subordinates to line up.
The doom-driven trio gathered below the entrance gate to Robinson Park. They stared unflinching into the swath of dark, shadowed vegetation looming before them. Harleen didn't know whether to assign their lack of reaction to bravery or egotistical foolishness, though she was leaning towards the latter. Government agents did all tend to be cut from the same proverbial cloth. Blind to their own flawed mortality.
"Move out," the GPS man said in a strong, commanding tone.
In tandem, the agents raised their guns, the flashlights affixed to the barrels of their weapons casting beams of light into the forest. The illumination penetrated the darkness, revealing no sign of wildlife or – thankfully – free moving plants. They began to walk forward and, together, crossed the border delineating the edge of Poison Ivy's historic domain.
Harleen waited with an expectant anticipation for the plants to react violently to the unwanted intrusion. But, as the long moments passed, nothing inhuman moved within the forest. No trembling of leaves or snaking of vines or irregular bends in the tall grass. The flora remained inert as they allowed the men to pass through the first twenty feet of Robinson Park unchallenged. The scars on the back of Harleen's right hand throbbed with a dull ache as she watched them proceed. With each step they defied the will of this place; all its blood history; the legendary hunger imbued into the ground they walked upon. Such hubris, yet no comeuppance came.
It set doubt to fester inside her mind. Despite the forest's obvious awakening after she'd released Poison Ivy from containment, perhaps Waller was right about its delayed capacity for violence. Perhaps the flora had a base peaceful nature, only unleashing carnage at the behest of the green woman, and in her current, delirious state she wasn't able to mount a proper vigil over her domain. Except all of Harleen's instincts were certain this was not the case. She'd seen a level of coherence within Poison Ivy's eyes when she retreated. Maybe not enough to count as a recovery, but the woman recognized where she was and the danger she was in. If she had some manner of physical or mental connection with the plants (and all evidence was pointing towards this being the case) then the forest would react to men with guns accordingly.
Unexpected movement at the edge of her vision caught Harleen's attention. She turned her gaze towards it, searching for a culprit. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she gazed into the dark forest, senses alight and gaze sharp, but there was nothing. No sign belaying the presence of an intruder or creeping vegetation.
Yet she had no doubt in her mind she'd seen something, even if she couldn't find it now.
The blonde considered her options as her fingers absent-mindedly retrieved a Dum Dum from her pocket and began to pull off the wrapper. The forcibly responsible part of her decreed she should alert Waller and her men, but her logical brain recognized the stoic woman wouldn't heed her warning. Would tell Harleen off for speaking out of turn and denigrate the blonde's already precarious position in her master's good graces. She'd failed Waller more than enough for one night. Any further disobedience ran the risk of her being taken off the case entirely, and Harleen was not inclined to throw away her chance at freedom for a few absolute strangers.
So, tamping down her trustworthy instincts, Harleen popped the fresh Dum Dum in her mouth as she relegated herself to standing by and watching the inevitable happen.
A few seconds later, a loud sound rang out in the empty night air. The unmistakable notes of something cracking deep within the woods. The agents were about a hundred yards down the overgrown path, well into the confines of the surrounding trees. They paused in their tracks, training their flashlight beams in wide arcs, illuminating the forest in an attempt to locate the source of the noise. No monsters were revealed as the bands of light passed over trunks, leaves, and branches. No preternatural movement resulting from hungry flora. Harleen heard them speaking to each other in low voices, but at this distance the words were too muffled to make out clearly.
Waller looked down at the cell phone in her hands, verifying Poison Ivy's location on the screen. "She hasn't moved from her position," the woman said, the words meant for the men on the other end of the line. "It's either animals or a falling branch. Continue on your present course but stay alert."
The flashlight beams ceased their aimless searching as the three men turned, focused the light ahead, and resumed their doomed march down the path. They walked about twenty feet, by Harleen's estimate, when another mysterious cracking sound filled the forest. Louder this time, bigger in mass, too much to be caused by an animal or even a dead tree splitting on its brittle trunk. The sound was all around them, everywhere, echoing up into the blackened sky. The men paused again, their flashlight beams resuming their search, the movements more frantic this time, yet still controlled.
"Do you see anything?" Waller asked the head agent over her coms.
Harleen's eyes were trained on the forest as she rolled the lollipop in her mouth, searching in tandem with the agents inside. She studied the illuminated foliage, hunting for any sign of movement. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it again. A strange, slithering motion, but this time instead of disappearing immediately it persisted. She turned her head, slow and deliberate, to the side to look directly at it. She had to squint into the dark canopy, trying to make out the source of the movement, until the realization struck her with a blunt, burning clarity.
There, hiding within the trees, was a mass of sentient vines.
And they had the men cornered.
"Here we go," Harleen murmured under her breath.
Waller glanced at her, a frown creasing her lips. "What did you–"
Her words were cut off by the sound of a loud, grumbling, inhuman roar; so intense Harleen winced at the sheer volume. Waller turned her eyes back to the forest in time to see a thick arm of coiled, interconnected vines lash out from between the trees. They caught one of the agents in their grip, wrapping around his ankles and hoisting him into the air. The man let out a startled scream and raised his gun, firing round after round into the plants, but they didn't so much as flinch. He emptied the clip and tried to reload, but before he could reach into his belt another arm of vines emerged from the canopy. The second arm wrapped around his shoulders, pinning him in place as his head twisted and writhed, sounds of struggle echoing throughout the forest. Then – with a sudden, violent yank – the vines ripped him in twain.
Harleen ground her teeth at the sound of tearing flesh and cracking bone. Dreadful noises like hearing nails on a chalkboard. In truth she was only accustomed to such sounds while she was caught up in the heat of battle, or so far gone in the haze of being Harley Quinn nothing could faze her. Blood spurted from the two halves of the agent's torso, coating the ground and his fellow agents in the crimson liquid, viscera and entrails glistening in the half-light. The two surviving men stumbled backwards, their flashlight beams stayed fixed on the rendered corpse, casting the gruesome scene in bold reliefs of artificial illumination and shadowy darkness. The vines hovered above, menacing, but their hands full for the moment. The calm wouldn't last long, the men had to act now.
The blonde waited for these trained agents to do something besides stand there in frozen horror, but they seemed paralyzed by the sight before them. She had to suppress a scoff. Even Joker's goons had better reflexes than the feds. Harleen chanced a glance over at her master. The older woman was staring at the vines in turn, her eyes a smidge wider than usual, a displeased frown on her lips. Slight variances in expression upon anyone else, but for Amanda Waller they spoke volumes.
The older woman raised a steady hand to her earpiece. "Men, retreat back to the gate at once," she said in a deceptively casual voice.
Her order finally spurred the agents to action. They spun towards the parking lot and began to run at breakneck speed, their flashlight beams bouncing all over the surrounding trees as they pumped their arms with the effort. The men were tall and fast, their long legs able to cover great swaths of ground in seconds, but there was an ocean between them and safety. Harleen kept her eyes fixed on the shadowy masses of vines behind them, wondering for a fleeting moment if the plants' bloodlust was sated enough to allow the men to escape.
Then one of the vine arms lashed out, sweeping the legs of the man to her left. He fell on his face with a grunt and the mass of vines disentangled into a web of individual, writhing cords as they hovered above him. One of the vines latched onto his leg, but the prone agent was able to flip over onto his back. He aimed his gun up at the shifting vines, the plants moving in a way that sent Harleen to ponder film depictions of Medusa's head of snakes; separate sentient beings fixed to an anchor point. The agent fired blindly up at them, but the flora was undeterred by bullets. The hovering vines descended, wrapping around the agent, engulfing him in their green limbs until his entire body was consumed within the mass. The vines contracted, pulsing with his futile struggles, until there was a series of loud, sickening crunches as his skeleton crushed under the pressure.
The lead agent was the last one left alive. His comrade's death hadn't given him pause and he continued running as fast as physically possible; spurred by the sound of snapping bones echoing through the forest. To Harleen's surprise, the flora let him get deceptively close to safety. He was within forty feet of the gate when the plants finally began stalking towards him. The blonde heard the hitherto silent agent standing behind Waller hitch his breath as the man drew nearer, but she knew the faint hope was futile. From the moment those men stepped foot inside Robinson Park they were already dead.
At thirty feet away the lead agent bowed his head with a grunt and pushed himself forward in a final, desperate burst of speed. The vines snapped in response, and – within moments – underwent a stark transformation. Their bodies hardened, the fibers darkened, and long thorns emerged from within the cords. Then, the thorn-covered vines shot out in a blur and skewered the man through from behind. He faltered to a complete stop, gasping as the air was forced from his lungs. He looked down, coughing up blood as he stared at the sharp, pointed tips of prominent thorns protruding from his stomach. He weakly grasped at the cords, crimson liquid spilling from his lips, eyes wide at the sight of his own assured fate. The vines lifted him slowly into the air. He gasped, trembling, yet still alive even as he slid further back upon the living pikes. They turned him around midair, so his back was facing the gate and his front to the shadowy forest.
A sound emanated from deep within the woods. The same great, rumbling roar of indeterminate origin that'd announced the imminent attack. Harleen tried to identify a possible origin point for the noise. It couldn't have been produced by vocal cords; the sound was too… organic in nature. It was a combination of violent winds through leaves, grating branches, snapping trunks, and a general, purposeful rustling of foliage all carried in the roar's notes. It harkened to something primal. A force beyond mankind's ability to properly understand or comprehend.
And it was drawing closer.
Harleen sucked harder on the candy in her mouth, heart racing in her chest in a cogent mixture of excitement and an appropriate degree of respectful terror. Waller remained standing stock still in her peripheral; the older woman as enrapt with the scene as Harleen was. Then, as the roar reached its ear-splitting apex, the woods awakened.
A vortex of unknown origin began at a fixed point in front of the skewered agent; the man's infrequent gasps indication he still managed to cling to life despite the spears in his torso. The centralized whirlwind churned, coaxing the plants it touched to life. Great swaths of vines, branches, leaves, and grass were pulled into the vortex – grew into it at unnatural speeds, erupting from earth and tree and canopy with such ravenous vigor for expansion. Until what was once a vortex of empty air had become a massive, spiraled column of overgrown plant life stretching from the grass-covered ground into the thick canopy high above. The column throbbed and shifted, moving under its own immense weight.
Silence settled over the forest in the wake of the column's formation; a heady, fraught quiet, subsisting only at the whim of whatever this vegetative beast was. Then – after a few moments dragging into an eon – there came the low, rumbling notes of snapping branches and rustling leaves. Harleen's eyes widened in awe as, out of the column, a face appeared. Giant and empyreal, the visage was human yet genderless. Eyes of moss, hair of vines, lips of interlocked leaves that, when spread open, revealed a mouth of jagged bark for teeth. The face smiled as the vines holding up the agent presented him; an offering upon the altar of nature itself. Then the mouth gaped, becoming a vacuous maw, and the vines thrust their sacrifice inside.
The maw closed; the face chewed slowly. Its mossy eyes closed in obvious pleasure. Then it gulped, the column expanding and contracting with the movement. Slowly, its eyes opened again, the green orbs landing on the humans standing at the edge of its domain. The face regarded them for a moment, meeting each gaze in turn, then another roar rumbled through the air. Not produced by the face, but the entire forest surrounding it. As the notes receded, the column unwound, the face disseminating, the flora shrinking to their original size and shape until the once looming mass was no more. All that remained was Robinson Park in its original, passive form.
And all was silent.
The trio stood there for a few moments, staring into the darkened woods. Harleen was the first to move. She reached up and pulled the bare Dum Dum stick from between her lips with a loud, wet pop.
"Well," the blonde said with a small trill in her voice. Her heart still pounding with excitement inside her chest. She inclined her head towards Waller. "About the plants being inert…"
"I swear to God, Quinzel," Waller said in a clipped tone; words edged with razor-sharpness, "quip at me one more time and I'm shipping your ass back to Arkham."
Harleen smirked, amused by the crude response. Well, crude by Waller's standards, at least. But she would not irk her master further. The blonde worried at the paper stick with her teeth, tearing off a thin strip and chewing it between her molars. She waited for her two companions to offer some manner of reaction or response, but the federal agents simply stood there, staring with wildly different degrees of dumbstruck at the carnivorous forest.
"So what's our next move?" Harleen asked after a time.
Waller ran a weary hand over her face. "Our options are, unfortunately, limited. Poison Ivy is now effectively protected behind a fortress both impassible on foot and sentient enough to intercept an aerial maneuver. She's knocked low flying helicopters out of the sky before."
The blonde swallowed the bit of paper before she spoke. "If she's so powerful then how did they manage to capture her in the first place?"
"Careful planning and a strategic assault. The GCPD actually managed to get it right, for once." Waller made a gruff, scoffing noise deep in her throat. "Ivy was tempted to leave her stronghold when a visiting oil magnate was staying in the Diamond District for a conference. Police noticed her movements and tracked her to a high-rise hotel. Once she was inside, they surrounded the perimeter, cornering her in urban territory. The magnate died before they could intervene, but Gordon's men were able to capture Poison Ivy after they burned an entire square block of trees to ashes, leaving her defenseless."
"Well then." Harleen flicked the torn paper stick towards a nearby trash can and missed by a long shot. "Sounds like it's time to start brainstorming ways we can lure her out of there."
"Even if we offered high quality bait to her on a platter, she has no incentive to leave the safety of the Park," Waller said, a scowl growing more prominent on her face. "She's a highly wanted fugitive and potential abettor in what appears to be a well-organized criminal syndicate. She no doubt still has reserves of supplies hidden within these woods. Everything she needs to hole up for months – if need be – amassing power all the while, assured in our inability to go in and apprehend her."
"There's got to be something enticing enough to tempt her to emerge." Harleen pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose as she mused. An old habit she retained from college when she'd first taken to wearing frames. "There's one universal trait all Gotham Rogues share: unbridled ambition. Poison Ivy can't be content to sit idly by while the world churns around her."
Waller turned, leveling her gaze at the blonde. "But you don't know that for sure, Dr. Quinzel. You haven't read her file."
A tense silence settled between them. Harleen didn't flinch away as Waller maintained the prolonged eye contact. She didn't mount an argument, though, despite the barb. The effort would do her more harm than good, even though she knew – unequivocally – that only certain types of people were drawn into the Rogue business, and they all followed similar patterns. You could chart a Rogue's evolution based on specific life experiences and medical histories. So, while she may not be familiar with the details of Poison Ivy's backstory, Harleen already knew the woman was undoubtedly a life-long social outcast who had difficulty assimilating to mainstream culture and suffered some manner of trauma that she never recovered from. Tale as old as Gotham itself.
"We only have one option now," Waller said, turning to face the Park once again. "We can't reach her, can't lure her out, and can't abide her remaining free. The next step is laid out for us, then. We have to neutralize the target."
"What?" Harleen started; eyes widening at the callous declaration. "How?"
"The 'how' is simple, Dr. Quinzel. Crude, yet effective. We home in on her location, easy enough thanks to your tracking device." Waller glanced down at the phone still held in her hand. "Then I order a drone strike. I don't anticipate her plants are reactive enough to intercept a missile mid-flight. Of course, if that fails, I'll firebomb the area–"
"That can't be legal," Harleen interjected, both impressed and appalled by Waller's hubris.
"It's quite a bit of red tape, to be sure. My direct, decisive strategies for neutralizing Rogue threats have been rebuked in the past, but I hold more sway now. There may still be some resistance from my colleagues, but rest assured, I have the means."
"Firebombing seems a little extreme, don't you think?" Harleen said, her voice a higher pitch than normal. "It might have rained the other night, but we're still smack dab in the middle of a drought. What if the fire spreads and the whole Park is set ablaze? That's a wildfire, Waller, that's actual danger. You don't think that's gonna be a bigger issue for Gotham than a lone fugitive?"
"Once again, I have no choice, Quinzel, because of you." Waller's head snapped towards her, eyes narrowing in a glare, her tone harsh and final. "You unleashed her, and now I have to clean it up. Next time you want to argue with me about consequences I suggest you start from a place where you're not at fault."
Harleen clenched her jaw, lips drawing into a thin line as she bit back a retort. Waller continued to stare into her for a few moments until, satisfied with her lack of response, she turned to her one remaining agent and began to dictate something to him. The blonde didn't pay attention to what her master said, her mind becoming lost in calculations and assessments.
The fact that Waller was considering such drastic measures was concerning, at best. More memories pounded at the corners of Harleen's mind, whistling their siren's song, begging her to let them in; let them seep. Visions of a heavy green haze and gore painted streets and thousands of voices screeching out in crazed, painful laughter. Fire would consume the same way. Cause massive loss of life and chaos and there, at the center of this atrocity, would once again stand a woman who hadn't realized she held Gotham City's fate in her hands.
But she couldn't think of it in such cataclysmic terms. It was too overwhelming, invited the void of insanity to lick at her heels as she lost herself in the implications of personal fault. So, Harleen shifted focus, honed her attention on the more immediate, self-serving pieces upon the board. Her mind turned once again to Poison Ivy, the witch of the woods, a woman that Amanda Waller had every intention of murdering, and if she succeeded it spelled doom for Harleen's investigation. Poison Ivy was her primary lead, an obvious key player in whatever scheme was behind the initial murder, and Harleen needed to know what she knew. Why she was in stasis, who the people running the lab were, what that green substance was, and how a small time Rogue had gotten mixed up in something with an obviously grander scale than simple aggravated burglary. She'd already exhausted her lead from Penguin, and she knew the Exterminator's goons would no doubt abandon the warehouse after her infiltration tonight. Finding them again would take time, and that was something they had decidedly less of now that she'd thrown a wrench in their operation. The longer it took to pick up the trail again, the more they could cover their tracks.
No, she had to get Poison Ivy back if she was going to solve this case. Because more than keeping Gotham safe, more than preventing another catastrophe, Harleen yearned for her freedom. Her hands clenched into tight fists; her knuckles turning white at the pressure. She wanted freedom more than anything else, and she would dive into the depths of Hell to get it back.
She would face…
A vision of Ivy's brilliant emerald eyes burned inside her mind. The faint sense of recognition Harleen had seen in them when the woman was lying in her arms immediately upon release from the stasis chamber. A similar thread tugged at her now. An odd connection tethering her to a woman Harleen swore she'd never seen before tonight and yet – for some incomprehensible reason – a part of her felt as though she'd been reunited with something long since lost. And for the life of her Harleen couldn't make logical sense of it. But the fidelity towards Poison Ivy burned in her stomach; a low, simmering flame, and this feeling combined with staring in the face of desperation drove Harleen to consider doing something rash.
She raised her right hand and looked down at her forearm, pondering. Harleen glanced to the side, noting Waller had her back turned towards her. Assured her master wouldn't catch sight of them, the blonde pulled back the sleeve of her jacket just enough to reveal the two flowers still wrapped around her wrist. The gift offered to her by Ivy's plants, whether by the witch's command or their own volition, Harleen couldn't say. But Waller was right about one thing: the awakened flora hadn't touched Harleen, even after Ivy retreated. They'd blocked her path but allowed her to leave the Park unharmed. It set a theory to spark in Harleen's mind. A ludicrous assumption, but it was the only viable option she had left. Besides, if she miscalculated and died then at least she wouldn't be doomed to waste away in an Arkham cell for the rest of her days.
Harleen tugged her sleeve over the flowers again, then cleared her throat. "What if you had a choice, Waller?"
The older woman paused her speech to the agent. She pivoted, slowly, and cast Harleen a quizzical look. "Excuse me?"
"What if I could bring Poison Ivy in myself?"
Waller let out a short, derisive scoff. "And how, pray tell, do you plan to achieve that feat?"
"I'm going in there."
"If I recall correctly you argued against my men doing just that, and now that they're dead you want to follow in their footsteps?" Waller's expression bled into barely contained irritation. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Quinzel? I know you're insane, but I was assured you were logical despite your condition. The plants will kill you as soon as you step foot inside the Park."
Harleen tilted her head back, holding her chin high despite the tremor of nervousness thrumming in her stomach.
"Will they?" she asked, voice sure – despite herself – and carrying a hint of defiance. Harleen didn't wait for a response. She stepped forward and marched towards the ominous entrance gate.
"Dr. Quinzel," Waller said behind her.
Harleen ignored the invocation and kept walking.
"I'm ordering you to come back."
"And I'm politely declining to listen," she said without looking back.
"Grab her."
Harleen didn't glance behind her to confirm the remaining agent was in pursuit. As the words left Waller's mouth the blonde lurched forward and ran the final yards towards the demarcation line. She hurled herself over the border just as she felt hands brush against the back of her leather jacket. Harleen came to a stumbling halt upon overgrown green grass. The blonde stood still for a moment, then turned around, catching sight of the agent sprawled on the sidewalk a couple paces away. Close but not yet inside the Park proper. Waller hadn't moved from her position and stood looking at Harleen with a despondent gleam in her dark eyes.
"You got a death wish, Quinzel?" Waller asked in an admonishing voice.
Harleen gave a small, hopeless grin. "Always."
Then she pivoted, body turned to face the heart of the forest, and walked towards her destiny with her head held high.
The plants responded at once to Harleen's presence. There was a quivering around her; the plants on all sides churning at the intrusion of yet another human. Branches shivered, leaves shook, blades of grass at her feet bent and swayed in non-existent winds. Her skin prickled, hair stood on end, and every instinct inside of Harleen screamed for her to turn and run while she still had the ghost of a chance. But she ignored the temptation, because she was a woman spurred by desperation and the knowledge there was no going back. She was in Poison Ivy's domain now, and the green woman's will held full sway over whether she lived or died.
A rumbling, muted roar echoed deep within the woods. The same flora-produced noise she'd heard earlier in response to the federal agents. As Harleen stepped further down the path the sound grew louder, drawing closer as an omnipresent force consumed the entire forest. The blonde's arms trembled as she came to a stop, about fifty feet inside, deeming she was far enough to test her theory. Harleen positioned her right arm in front of her body, blocking it from Waller's line of sight. Then, she rolled back her jacket's sleeve, revealing the gifted flowers to the open night air. The petals of the red lily and pink, unidentified blossom gleamed under a stray beam of moonlight that filtered through a crack in the dense canopy. Harleen took deep, steady breaths as she extended her wrist towards the dark, rumbling forest.
"You don't need to be upset," Harleen spoke in a low voice to the surrounding plants. "It's just me."
The plants were still moving around her, inching closer with every moment until she was completely encased by them. Then, there was a shift in the air before her as the vortex reappeared. Harleen watched, wide eyed, as the plants grew into its swirling mass until the massive column of plant life formed once again in the open clearing provided by Robinson Park's man-made path. The blonde stared up at the column, marked by spirals of vines, bark, branches, leaves, and grass all morphed together into a single, solid mass of frightening proportions.
She saw a shifting within the column, accompanied by the sound of snapping and breakage from the plants comprising it. The humanoid face forced its way out of the foliage, its visage even more awe-inspiring up close. The mossy eyes opened, staring down at this human of limited power, looming and intense. The face studied her countenance but did not immediately attack. Then, after a few long, eternal moments, its gaze lowered to the flowers around her wrist.
"I'm not an enemy," Harleen said to the face in a soft, reassuring voice. "You saw me try and help Ivy to safety. You know I don't want to hurt her."
A small, coiled arm of vines emerged from the column, below the face. Harleen forced herself to stand still, unflinching, as the vine arm extended until its pointed tip was hovering above her outstretched hand. Slowly, with an air of delicacy, the vines touched the gifted flowers. The blossoms perked at the contact, preening with recognition, and Harleen swore their colors became more vibrant in acknowledgement. Something tugged at her heart, and Harleen followed its bidding, looking up until she met the stalwart gaze of the humanoid face. They stood frozen, staring into each other for another long span of time that Harleen knew lasted only a scant few moments. Something in the mossy eyes settled the fear inside her heart, a balm upon her nerves and banished the idea that the vines would tear her apart.
Then, with a soft, satisfied rumble, the face retreated, merging back into the column from whence it emerged. The column unwound slowly, the plants comprising it retracting, returning to their original size until the entire construct had disappeared; the forest no longer moving of its own accord. Everything stilled, inert, and a blessed silence settled over the entire scene.
Harleen let out a long, relieved sigh as she pulled her sleeve down over the flowers and dropped her arm. She took a few moments to collect herself before she turned, slow and triumphant, towards the entrance gate. She caught sight of Waller, standing now at the edge of the demarcation line, with her inept agent at her side. The older woman's eyes were wider than Harleen had ever seen before. Her entire face painted with genuine shock as her male subordinate's mouth was held agape in wonder and awe.
"Seems we might have a second option after all," Harleen said from her place safely ensconced inside Robinson Park, not bothering to keep the pride out of her tone.
Waller shook the shocked expression from her face. The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and pulled herself up to her full height. She met Harleen's bright gaze, silent for a time as she mulled over this new development.
"You're one powerless human, and she's a metahuman," Waller said at length. Her words slow and measured. "The odds aren't stacked in your favor, and I'm not giving you a real gun."
"I'm not asking you to," Harleen replied. "Violence is the last thing on my mind when it comes to her. When I do this, I'm doing it my way, and I'd like to keep my hands clean."
"You're not in a position to make demands of me."
"Am I?" Harleen took a few steps towards Waller. Chin up, shoulders squared, as she marched unharmed through a woodland that would murder anyone else without hesitation. A thrill of power coursed down Harleen's spine, and the blonde allowed herself to revel in the feeling for a moment before she buried it as a precaution. Couldn't risk getting high during negotiations. "Poison Ivy is a major lead in this case, you acknowledged as much yourself, and I'm now the only one who can approach her without being killed. I can meet with her and, depending on the state of her recovery from stasis, either convince her to follow me to safety or find out what she knows." Harleen leveled her gaze at her master. "If Poison Ivy dies, you'll never discover who murdered your agent. You'll have failed in your mission."
Waller took a harsh, deep breath; her chest expanding and contracting. Her lips screwed into a deep frown. "What are you proposing?" she said through gritted teeth.
"Get me Poison Ivy's Arkham files, all of them, then allow me forty-eight hours to research." Harleen held up her hand, cutting off Waller when the older woman parted her lips to interject. "It'll be enough time. I've worked on a tighter schedule before; two days is plenty. Then, once I know enough about her to make an accurate mental assessment, I'll make my way to the heart of Robinson Park, or wherever the tracker guides me."
"I'm not concerned about the window being too short, Quinzel," Waller snipped. "Forty-eight hours is asking too much. By your assessment that's the maximum amount of time for a normal biological human to remain delirious. Realistically she'll have recovered before you approach her."
"So long as Ivy remains within the Park what does it matter? She'll be contained, ensconced from the people of Gotham." Harleen paused a moment. "But, if she makes a move, then do what you must. But so long as she remains passive, we have time to try and find a better way to solve this case than devolve into government funded murder."
Waller bristled at the accusation. Her ever-present aura of authority grew thicker as she held Harleen's gaze. The need to maintain absolute control in the face of all odds. But Harleen saw the doubt whittling away at Waller's unflinching defenses. The blonde walked towards her master, up to the borderline separating Poison Ivy's realm from the rest of Gotham, but Harleen stayed firmly within the boundary of the Park. She stood within the greenery, allowed and untouched, displaying the sheer might of her newfound power to this woman who deigned to decide who lived and who died. Waller grew more rigid as her eyes assessed Harleen, a tense silence between them. Then, something cracked behind the older woman's steely dark eyes as she reached a conflicted decision.
Harleen offered her master a polite grin. "Do we have a deal, ma'am?"
Waller let out a gruff, unsightly noise. Then she pivoted on her heels and marched in the direction of the undercover van. Her agent stood frozen for a minute, his eyes flitting between his superior and the blonde woman cursed with too much gall. Then, the man turned and rushed to meet Waller at the vehicle.
"Don't make me regret this," Waller called back over her shoulder, head turned enough to meet Harleen's eyes for another fleeting moment before she presented the blonde with her back.
Harleen beamed, despite herself, filled with an elated sense of triumph and impending academic fever.
"It's a promise," she whispered to herself, and – around her wrist – the flowers curled in acknowledgement.