Title: It's Just Allergies (4/??)
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the
factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.
_____________________________________________
Chapter 4
In the recesses of her mind, Ivy recognized that this was a sort of ironic role reversal for her. Usually it was Harley crying in her arms, when the Joker had thrown her out or beaten her or mistreated her in some fashion. Ivy supposed Harley had done the same in his arms, too. The very proud Poison Ivy of one week ago would never have permitted herself to go to pieces like this, certainly not in front of others.
At this point in her life, however, her pride had taken enough damage lately that all she wanted now was for someone to comfort her. And since her plants certainly couldn't do that anymore, Harley would do quite nicely.
Somehow Harley had maneuvered the two so that, instead of standing in the hallway, they were sitting on the couch. Well, Ivy wasn't exactly sitting; she was practically leaning on Harley. If Harley were to get up, Ivy would probably fall off.
"Oh, Red," Harley said once more. "Why would you ever do something like that? It can't be that bad."
"But it is!" Ivy told her vehemently, looking up, her cheeks streaked. "It's absolutely horrible. There's nothing to my life now; all I have to look forward to is more humiliation."
Harley shook her head, running her fingers through Ivy's brilliantly colored hair. "What did those doctors do to you, Ivy?"
"Call me Red, Harley. Or Pamela." She sniffled. "My name isn't Ivy any more. To call me Ivy is just a sick joke now. At least my hair is really red."
"I'm not going to play the bubblehead bimbo tonight, _Red_," Harley said in a voice both stern and gentle. "You can't shake me off that easily."
"I'm not really supposed to tell," Ivy (she couldn't help it; even now she was still Ivy in her own mind) informed her. Then she laughed bitterly. "But they couldn't really do anything worse to me, could they?"
"You mean, make you more allergic?"
Ivy stared at her. "You know?! Oh God, does everyone at Arkham know?"
Harley shifted uncomfortably. In her current state, she didn't think Ivy needed to hear how they'd been making fun of her behind her back. "No, nobody knows. I just figured it out."
"Nowhere as stupid as you make yourself out to be sometimes, huh?" Ivy replied wryly.
"Hey!" Harley shot back, pretending to be insulted. "A little empty-headed, maybe. You don't think I overdo it, do you?"
"Occasionally."
Harley folded her arms and pouted. "Well, if you feel that way, maybe I'll just break back into Arkham then."
Ivy was actually beginning to feel better. "No, don't you dare," she warned Harley, grabbing her hands. The contact warmed her. "You didn't really escape just for me, did you? The Joker's waiting for you somewhere, I bet."
"Nope," Harley said solemnly. "Puddin's asleep in his cell. Well, probably not asleep, they're still sounding the alarm, I bet. I only made it off the asylum property about an hour ago. I was worried about you."
"You didn't need to . . ."
Harley put a finger on her lips. Then, blushing, she took it away again. But she looked very meaningfully at the noose that was still hanging from the ceiling. "Didn't I?"
Ivy looked down again, ashamed.
"How much longer before you were going to do it?"
"I . . . I was getting on the chair when you knocked on my window," Ivy admitted.
Harley's mouth fell open. She thought for a minute. "You notice how I'm not wearing my costume?"
Ivy had noticed. She was still wearing what she'd worn when she escaped. "Yes, so?"
"It's in the bag I brought. I stopped at one of our little hideaways before I came here to pick up some stuff. I almost put it on there, but I didn't want to wait. I'd already put my escape off one day."
"What's your point?" Ivy asked, not understanding.
"If I _had_ gotten changed first, and then got here five minutes later . . ." Harley's voice dropped to a whisper.
Ivy trembled. "Then I'd be dead now, wouldn't I?"
Harley suddenly imagined walking into Ivy's living room and seeing, not a rope and a chair, but Red's feet swaying left and right.
Harley Quinn may have been brighter than she acted, but she was always honest with her emotions. So she burst into tears. "Red!" she cried, wrapping her arms around the other woman's neck like a pro wrestler putting on a headlock. "How could you even _think_ of something like this?"
"Harley," she managed to say. "You're choking me."
"Oh, sorry!" Harley blubbered, instantly letting go. "Guess that'd be kinda ironic, huh?"
"I didn't really think anyone would care if I died," Ivy said quietly. "I thought, once you found out what happened to me, I couldn't be your partner anymore."
"I still don't really understand what's wrong with you, Red," Harley replied, "but I'd want you with me on a job even if the only thing you could do was hit someone with pruning shears."
Ivy smiled, just a little. "Well, I'll try to explain. Let me wash up first, okay?"
"Good. While you're doing that, you won't care if I get rid of that?" Harley pointed up at the ceiling without looking at it.
"Okay," Ivy agreed. For at least tonight, she was calling it off. She wasn't promising herself anything, though.
While Ivy was in the bathroom, Harley got a knife from the kitchenette. While she stood on the chair and sawed at the rope, she continued to think about all the different ways it could have ended a lot worse. What if, for some reason, she'd been forced to wait another day? Or if she'd decided Ivy was all right after all? She saw herself watching TV at Arkham, Mr. J's arm around her shoulders, and seeing the announcement on the news that Poison Ivy, "convicted murderess with the deadly green thumb", had committed suicide. Even as she thought about it now, her hands shook and her chest hurt.
Of course, Harley would have become hysterical, and eventually they'd have sedated her and put her in a padded cell. Puddin', meanwhile, would have just made some joke about hanging gardens or something.
For a split second, as she imagined the Joker making light of the death of her best friend, her face darkened and her love for him was instantly transformed into hatred. It only lasted a second, but that didn't detract from the importance of it. She'd been angry, even enraged with the Joker in the past, but she'd never, ever stopped loving him. She'd never even dreamed she could stop loving him. Deep down inside, Harley recognized this meant something very momentous, but she didn't know what, and anyway, on a conscious level she didn't give it a second thought.
Harley carried the noose back into the kitchen and threw it into the garbage can with a vengeance. Then she put the chair back against the wall before she unzipped her bag and started undressing.
Ivy appeared just as Harley had stripped down to her bra and panties. She leaned against the wall and watched Harley as she bent over, revealing her full breasts, before casually pulling on her tight red-and-black outfit. She'd always appreciated that Harley was a very pretty young woman who had maintained her gymnast's body, but now she openly admired her friend's curves, her rear end, her . . .
Whoa, where had _that_ come from? She shook her head and made some noise as she entered.
"Hey!" Harley said brightly. "Better?" She had decided to leave her mask off.
"A little. How did you escape, anyway?"
Harley smiled cunningly. "They all said even I wasn't stupid enough to do it twice."
"No!" Ivy gasped. "Not the laundry!"
The other woman chortled. "Toldja I don't overdo the airhead routine. And this time, I knew how to open the machine from the inside."
Sometimes even Ivy could fall for the innocent look in her eyes. Privately, she'd thought Harley a bit of a ninny for using the old laundry trick, but now she wondered just how sharp Harley really was. If she had everyone, even the Bat, convinced that she was a nitwit, then who was the smart one?
Of course, being in a relationship with the Joker wasn't exactly smart, but you could chalk that up to the fact that Harley wasn't exactly of sound mind. "You've got them all fooled, don't you?"
"So how about you?" Harley asked, sitting down again. "What's the deal with you being sick all the time?"
So Ivy finally told her.
By the time she finished, Harley had turned almost as red as her outfit. "I'll kill him," she growled. "I'm gonna get that rope back out of the garbage, I'll find out where he lives, and I'll beat him to death with it."
"Harley . . ."
"What's wrong? Vindictive is good. Vindictive is very, very good. Doctors aren't supposed to make perfectly happy crazy people into _suicidal_ crazy people." She smacked her fist into her palm. "How come you haven't gotten back at him? You never take these things lying down."
"Because I don't want anyone to know about what's happened to me," Ivy answered. "If I went after him, then maybe it would get out that I have this terminal plant allergy. And then everyone in Gotham would know that Poison Ivy was nothing more than a helpless woman. I'd be the laughingstock of the criminal element. _That_ is the only way this could get any worse. I was even thinking about dyeing my hair black so no one would recognize me on my delivery runs."
"Oh no, you can't do that," Harley instantly warned her. "You have the most beautiful hair, Red." She ran her fingers through it. "I hate my hair. I wish I had yours. Besides, then I couldn't call you Red anymore. I'd have to call you Black, and that sounds like a horrible nickname."
Ivy closed her eyes and let her head drop forward, allowing Harley's fingers to caress her scalp. "Oh, that feels good. I haven't felt good since I left Arkham," she murmured. "I haven't felt like myself at all."
"You look pretty good to me. Even if you're not in your usual outfit."
"There's something to be said for midnight green," Ivy said absently. All she had on now were cotton drawstring pants and a T-shirt that fell below her waist. Falling forward, she rested her head on Harley's breast.
Harley traced her finger along Ivy's jawline. "Yeah. I always thought you were the best-dressed out of all of us. I mean, Catwoman looked good and all, but she used to wear that horrible gray outfit, and now that black thing? It's like you're the only woman who isn't afraid to show a little skin. Of course, it's not like any guy would complain or anything."
"Well, I wanted men to see what they were never going to get," Ivy said saucily. She raised herself on her left arm and turned sideways to face Harley, so that their faces were just a couple inches apart.
"Um, yeah," Harley replied, a little hesitantly.
Ivy's eyes never left hers, and they took on a look of determination. There was something else in her eyes which Harley either could not or would not decipher. "I saw you before when you were getting dressed. That's the closest I've ever seen you to being naked."
Harley swallowed.
"You have a much better body than I do. I'd swap my hair for your breasts any day."
"Ivy?"
"It's amazing how sexy you look putting your tights on, when you're not even trying to look sexy."
"Red?"
Harley couldn't go on, because Ivy's lips had slowly been approaching her own, and now they met.
Ivy put her other hand on Harley's shoulder as she leaned into the kiss. She wasn't even thinking; she was doing. Harley's lips were very soft. She wondered if it was from wearing a mask all that time, or maybe it was because she didn't get to use them often. Joker didn't strike Ivy as a kissable person.
As for Harley, the first few seconds her reaction was something along the lines of "Mmmph!" But then she relaxed a little, and she closed her eyes, and then she opened her mouth a little more to allow Ivy's gently probing tongue more access. Usually she had to practically maul Puddin' to get him to be a little more responsive, and now she enjoyed playing a more passive role. Maybe it sounded cliched, but Ivy tasted like a sweet nectar.
Ivy . . . Ivy . . . shit, she was kissing Ivy! As in, Ivy, her best friend! As in, Ivy, not her boyfriend!
"Whoa, whoa," she said breathlessly, putting her hands on Ivy's shoulders and pushing her away. Was she feeling _flushed_? "This is a mistake."
The look on Ivy's face was a combination of naked desire and a desperate loneliness. "No, it isn't," she said.
"Yes, it is!" Harley replied anxiously, squeezing out from under Ivy, whose breasts had been pushed tightly against hers. She got to her feet and looked down at her. "You're my best friend, and you're not feeling well, and you're sick, and it's made you act different. I can't do this. You're, you know, a girl! And I've never kissed a girl before."
"So?" Ivy asked. "I've never kissed a boy or a girl before and meant it. Usually I did it because I wanted something from them, or I wanted them to do something for me. I kissed you because I thought I'd like it. And I did." She leaned back against the couch so that her breasts were quite visible through her shirt. "Didn't you?"
"Yes - I mean no! Well, yes and no . . . oh, crap," Harley sighed, wringing her hands. "I already have a boyfriend, Red."
"I don't give a shit about your boyfriend!" Ivy said ferociously. "He beats you, and he makes fun of you, and he doesn't know the first thing about you. I wouldn't care if he fell into a bottomless pit. No, I would care. It would make me very happy."
"Now, you don't mean that - okay, maybe you do," Harley acknowledged. "But I can't . . . you said it yourself, you don't feel like you. This has something to do with that. Here, I know!" she babbled. "I'll be right back, I just have to go out and get you something."
"Can't you stay?" Ivy asked pitifully.
"I will, I promise, I just want to get something. I'll be right back, I swear. Don't do anything - well, you know," she said. Pulling her mask on, she blew Ivy a kiss. Then her eyes bulged, realizing what she'd done. Still red as a beet under her black-and-white face mask, she hurried back to the bathroom.
Ivy listened to the window close behind her. Then she put her face in her hands. What had she been thinking? She'd never given Harley even the slightest inkling that she had sexual feelings for her. Hell, she'd never known herself! Maybe it was the operation; maybe she was different.
What had come over her? She'd been depressed and lonely ever since she got out of Arkham, this was true. Had she kissed Harley because of that? Some people got drunk to forget, and some resorted to sex. Ivy had never been interested in sex; truth be told, she was still a virgin. The last time she'd been in a serious relationship was with Harvey Dent, and she'd told him she wanted to save herself for marriage. (Of course, there was also the little matter of her being involved with him just so she could get close to him and exact revenge.)
So she'd never slept with a man, nor had she _thought_ about a woman that way. Harley was right, it had to be a side effect of her operation.
But then . . . the kiss had been awfully nice, and she did think Harley was very beautiful. She'd never been in such close and intimate contact with Harley before, because she'd never allowed herself to. It wasn't just Ivy's lack of interest in sex; all her life Ivy had avoided personal relationships with people, because she preferred to be with her plants. She'd never had friends. And yet she'd allowed Harley to grow very close to her. It wasn't because she needed a partner. She used to always do jobs herself, and if she needed someone, she'd create one. In fact, there wasn't anything a human companion could give her that she couldn't get from her plants. So why had she taken so much pleasure from Harley's company, long before she was given allergies? Someone who, many people thought, was the last person they'd expect Ivy to hang out with?
Because she understood Harley better than anyone else. Because she saw through the façade she put on for the Joker's pleasure, saw Harley had too much talent to be just a sidekick to a psychotic egomaniac. Because she liked her. No, because . . .
Ivy put her hands over her mouth. "Oh God," she whispered. "I think I'm in love with her. _Now_ what am I supposed to do?"
It was so _hot_ all of a sudden. She got up and went into the bedroom, where she took off her shirt. Now only wearing a gray sports bra above the waist, she then returned to the living room to think.
"Ivy."
"Batman," she tried to reply nonchalantly. Did she really need this?
He was standing almost where she had put the chair earlier. He had entered without a sound, naturally. "So are you my parole officer?" she asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. What did she have to worry about from him? It wasn't like she had anything to hide.
Except the bag containing Harley's things in the corner of the room. Her escape from Arkham was probably why he was here; Ivy's place would be one of the first places they'd look for Harley. She very studiously kept her eyes on the Batman and away from the corner.
He didn't ask about Harley though, surprising her. He seemed more interested in her room. "This used to be the Ventriloquist's room, you know."
She blinked. He wasn't making small talk, was he? "Really," she said neutrally. "How is the little man?"
"Pretty good. He works for Wayne Enterprises in the mailroom. And he just got his own place."
"Naturally you've kept an eye on him."
"So long as you're out, I'll be keeping an eye on you too," he warned her.
Ivy yawned. This was boring. "Is that all?"
"Harley Quinn."
"Finally," she thought. But she couldn't let on she knew; it probably hadn't made the news yet. "What about her?"
He surprised her for the third time that night. "I had an interesting talk with her last night. She seemed to be worried about you."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Harl, you didn't," she thought.
"So why did they let you out, Ivy? I checked your file. The doctors are very vague about your current diagnosis, but until recently, you weren't going anywhere for a long time."
"Well, maybe you should encourage them to be a little less vague," she replied testily. "If you want to look around, you'll see I don't have any therapists locked away in a closet."
"If you don't mind, I think I will take a look around."
"If I did mind, would it matter?"
"No."
Ivy shrugged. "Go ahead. If I found out later you were going through my underwear, I'll make sure you never hear the end of it."
Batman had no response. What a stick. Instead he headed for the bedroom.
She waited all of eight seconds before she got up, quietly walked over, picked up Harley's bag, walked back, and shoved it under the couch. Then she coolly sat back down, all prim and proper (except for the fact that she wasn't wearing a whole lot.)
Batman reappeared a few moments later. He stood in the doorway and took a long look. Ivy couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Eventually he walked over to the middle of the room and raised his sights. There was the hook in the ceiling from which people could hang plants or similar things. There was the rope which Harley had merely cut, instead of bothering to untie it. There were still a few inches left.
Ivy shrank back into her seat.
He looked at the floor and noted the four circular depressions left behind in the carpet by the chair legs. It didn't take him long to spot the chair nearby.
He was headed for the kitchen when Ivy jumped her to her feet. "Get out!" she shouted. "I don't want you here anymore!"
When did the Bat ever listen? She was about to make a foolish attempt to physically restrain him when he opened the cabinet under the sink where the garbage can was. Then she froze.
He looked down for a moment before slowly closing it once again. "Harley escaped from Arkham tonight, Ivy."
"Did she?" she asked, her mouth dry. He didn't need to take the noose out and toss it onto the counter for her to know he'd seen it.
"Twenty-four hours after she asked me to check on you, because she was afraid something was wrong," he went on.
"Then obviously her escape has nothing to do with me. Otherwise she wouldn't have asked you," she suggested.
"Maybe," he replied. "Do you know where she is now?"
"I honestly have no idea where she is," Ivy said. And she didn't.
He came closer. "So what employment did Arkham set you up with?"
"Flower deliveries. I'm a part of the system now."
The Batman nodded. "Apropos. I'll go now, but remember - the first time I find plant life at a crime scene, I'll assume it's you. Otherwise, it's your life."
"Not anymore," she muttered. Having completely lost interest, she went back to the couch and flung herself onto her stomach.
She didn't hear him leave, of course.
"Hey! Watch it, tall, dark and depressing!"
Ivy buried her face in the sofa cushions. In the space of an hour, Harley's timing had been both impeccable and awful.
She rolled over onto her side as Batman stormed back in, dragging Harley by the wrist. She clutched something under her arm. "I thought you didn't know where she was."
"I didn't. She didn't say," Ivy yawned.
Harley's eyes glazed over while Ivy watched. In an instant, she had once more assumed the mantle of the dim bulb. She was a master clown, Ivy thought. No one took clowns seriously either, but who knew what kind of people lurked behind the makeup?
"Whoopsie," Harley giggled.
To be continued . . .
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Distribution: Probably at fanfiction.net and the
factsofslash group. Anyone interested should just ask, and can expect a positive answer.
Spoilers: Takes place after the New Batman/Superman Adventures, with one alteration - in my story, Ivy's skin never turned white like the Joker's. So she still looks like you and me.
Feedback: Well, this fanfic is uncharted territory for me, so reader opinions may very well determine whether I finish it or not. So I would encourage it even more than usual.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: All characters belong to . . . let's see, DC Comics, Kids WB and the Cartoon Network, the producers of the two Batman serials, the talented artists and voice actors, etc. I have borrowed them entirely without permission, for which I humbly beg forgiveness, but I seek no form of profit from this undertaking.
Summary: When Poison Ivy finds her well-being threatened by the unlikeliest of sources, Harley Quinn proves that Ivy doesn't have to be alone anymore, ever again. My first Batman fanfiction.
_____________________________________________
Chapter 4
In the recesses of her mind, Ivy recognized that this was a sort of ironic role reversal for her. Usually it was Harley crying in her arms, when the Joker had thrown her out or beaten her or mistreated her in some fashion. Ivy supposed Harley had done the same in his arms, too. The very proud Poison Ivy of one week ago would never have permitted herself to go to pieces like this, certainly not in front of others.
At this point in her life, however, her pride had taken enough damage lately that all she wanted now was for someone to comfort her. And since her plants certainly couldn't do that anymore, Harley would do quite nicely.
Somehow Harley had maneuvered the two so that, instead of standing in the hallway, they were sitting on the couch. Well, Ivy wasn't exactly sitting; she was practically leaning on Harley. If Harley were to get up, Ivy would probably fall off.
"Oh, Red," Harley said once more. "Why would you ever do something like that? It can't be that bad."
"But it is!" Ivy told her vehemently, looking up, her cheeks streaked. "It's absolutely horrible. There's nothing to my life now; all I have to look forward to is more humiliation."
Harley shook her head, running her fingers through Ivy's brilliantly colored hair. "What did those doctors do to you, Ivy?"
"Call me Red, Harley. Or Pamela." She sniffled. "My name isn't Ivy any more. To call me Ivy is just a sick joke now. At least my hair is really red."
"I'm not going to play the bubblehead bimbo tonight, _Red_," Harley said in a voice both stern and gentle. "You can't shake me off that easily."
"I'm not really supposed to tell," Ivy (she couldn't help it; even now she was still Ivy in her own mind) informed her. Then she laughed bitterly. "But they couldn't really do anything worse to me, could they?"
"You mean, make you more allergic?"
Ivy stared at her. "You know?! Oh God, does everyone at Arkham know?"
Harley shifted uncomfortably. In her current state, she didn't think Ivy needed to hear how they'd been making fun of her behind her back. "No, nobody knows. I just figured it out."
"Nowhere as stupid as you make yourself out to be sometimes, huh?" Ivy replied wryly.
"Hey!" Harley shot back, pretending to be insulted. "A little empty-headed, maybe. You don't think I overdo it, do you?"
"Occasionally."
Harley folded her arms and pouted. "Well, if you feel that way, maybe I'll just break back into Arkham then."
Ivy was actually beginning to feel better. "No, don't you dare," she warned Harley, grabbing her hands. The contact warmed her. "You didn't really escape just for me, did you? The Joker's waiting for you somewhere, I bet."
"Nope," Harley said solemnly. "Puddin's asleep in his cell. Well, probably not asleep, they're still sounding the alarm, I bet. I only made it off the asylum property about an hour ago. I was worried about you."
"You didn't need to . . ."
Harley put a finger on her lips. Then, blushing, she took it away again. But she looked very meaningfully at the noose that was still hanging from the ceiling. "Didn't I?"
Ivy looked down again, ashamed.
"How much longer before you were going to do it?"
"I . . . I was getting on the chair when you knocked on my window," Ivy admitted.
Harley's mouth fell open. She thought for a minute. "You notice how I'm not wearing my costume?"
Ivy had noticed. She was still wearing what she'd worn when she escaped. "Yes, so?"
"It's in the bag I brought. I stopped at one of our little hideaways before I came here to pick up some stuff. I almost put it on there, but I didn't want to wait. I'd already put my escape off one day."
"What's your point?" Ivy asked, not understanding.
"If I _had_ gotten changed first, and then got here five minutes later . . ." Harley's voice dropped to a whisper.
Ivy trembled. "Then I'd be dead now, wouldn't I?"
Harley suddenly imagined walking into Ivy's living room and seeing, not a rope and a chair, but Red's feet swaying left and right.
Harley Quinn may have been brighter than she acted, but she was always honest with her emotions. So she burst into tears. "Red!" she cried, wrapping her arms around the other woman's neck like a pro wrestler putting on a headlock. "How could you even _think_ of something like this?"
"Harley," she managed to say. "You're choking me."
"Oh, sorry!" Harley blubbered, instantly letting go. "Guess that'd be kinda ironic, huh?"
"I didn't really think anyone would care if I died," Ivy said quietly. "I thought, once you found out what happened to me, I couldn't be your partner anymore."
"I still don't really understand what's wrong with you, Red," Harley replied, "but I'd want you with me on a job even if the only thing you could do was hit someone with pruning shears."
Ivy smiled, just a little. "Well, I'll try to explain. Let me wash up first, okay?"
"Good. While you're doing that, you won't care if I get rid of that?" Harley pointed up at the ceiling without looking at it.
"Okay," Ivy agreed. For at least tonight, she was calling it off. She wasn't promising herself anything, though.
While Ivy was in the bathroom, Harley got a knife from the kitchenette. While she stood on the chair and sawed at the rope, she continued to think about all the different ways it could have ended a lot worse. What if, for some reason, she'd been forced to wait another day? Or if she'd decided Ivy was all right after all? She saw herself watching TV at Arkham, Mr. J's arm around her shoulders, and seeing the announcement on the news that Poison Ivy, "convicted murderess with the deadly green thumb", had committed suicide. Even as she thought about it now, her hands shook and her chest hurt.
Of course, Harley would have become hysterical, and eventually they'd have sedated her and put her in a padded cell. Puddin', meanwhile, would have just made some joke about hanging gardens or something.
For a split second, as she imagined the Joker making light of the death of her best friend, her face darkened and her love for him was instantly transformed into hatred. It only lasted a second, but that didn't detract from the importance of it. She'd been angry, even enraged with the Joker in the past, but she'd never, ever stopped loving him. She'd never even dreamed she could stop loving him. Deep down inside, Harley recognized this meant something very momentous, but she didn't know what, and anyway, on a conscious level she didn't give it a second thought.
Harley carried the noose back into the kitchen and threw it into the garbage can with a vengeance. Then she put the chair back against the wall before she unzipped her bag and started undressing.
Ivy appeared just as Harley had stripped down to her bra and panties. She leaned against the wall and watched Harley as she bent over, revealing her full breasts, before casually pulling on her tight red-and-black outfit. She'd always appreciated that Harley was a very pretty young woman who had maintained her gymnast's body, but now she openly admired her friend's curves, her rear end, her . . .
Whoa, where had _that_ come from? She shook her head and made some noise as she entered.
"Hey!" Harley said brightly. "Better?" She had decided to leave her mask off.
"A little. How did you escape, anyway?"
Harley smiled cunningly. "They all said even I wasn't stupid enough to do it twice."
"No!" Ivy gasped. "Not the laundry!"
The other woman chortled. "Toldja I don't overdo the airhead routine. And this time, I knew how to open the machine from the inside."
Sometimes even Ivy could fall for the innocent look in her eyes. Privately, she'd thought Harley a bit of a ninny for using the old laundry trick, but now she wondered just how sharp Harley really was. If she had everyone, even the Bat, convinced that she was a nitwit, then who was the smart one?
Of course, being in a relationship with the Joker wasn't exactly smart, but you could chalk that up to the fact that Harley wasn't exactly of sound mind. "You've got them all fooled, don't you?"
"So how about you?" Harley asked, sitting down again. "What's the deal with you being sick all the time?"
So Ivy finally told her.
By the time she finished, Harley had turned almost as red as her outfit. "I'll kill him," she growled. "I'm gonna get that rope back out of the garbage, I'll find out where he lives, and I'll beat him to death with it."
"Harley . . ."
"What's wrong? Vindictive is good. Vindictive is very, very good. Doctors aren't supposed to make perfectly happy crazy people into _suicidal_ crazy people." She smacked her fist into her palm. "How come you haven't gotten back at him? You never take these things lying down."
"Because I don't want anyone to know about what's happened to me," Ivy answered. "If I went after him, then maybe it would get out that I have this terminal plant allergy. And then everyone in Gotham would know that Poison Ivy was nothing more than a helpless woman. I'd be the laughingstock of the criminal element. _That_ is the only way this could get any worse. I was even thinking about dyeing my hair black so no one would recognize me on my delivery runs."
"Oh no, you can't do that," Harley instantly warned her. "You have the most beautiful hair, Red." She ran her fingers through it. "I hate my hair. I wish I had yours. Besides, then I couldn't call you Red anymore. I'd have to call you Black, and that sounds like a horrible nickname."
Ivy closed her eyes and let her head drop forward, allowing Harley's fingers to caress her scalp. "Oh, that feels good. I haven't felt good since I left Arkham," she murmured. "I haven't felt like myself at all."
"You look pretty good to me. Even if you're not in your usual outfit."
"There's something to be said for midnight green," Ivy said absently. All she had on now were cotton drawstring pants and a T-shirt that fell below her waist. Falling forward, she rested her head on Harley's breast.
Harley traced her finger along Ivy's jawline. "Yeah. I always thought you were the best-dressed out of all of us. I mean, Catwoman looked good and all, but she used to wear that horrible gray outfit, and now that black thing? It's like you're the only woman who isn't afraid to show a little skin. Of course, it's not like any guy would complain or anything."
"Well, I wanted men to see what they were never going to get," Ivy said saucily. She raised herself on her left arm and turned sideways to face Harley, so that their faces were just a couple inches apart.
"Um, yeah," Harley replied, a little hesitantly.
Ivy's eyes never left hers, and they took on a look of determination. There was something else in her eyes which Harley either could not or would not decipher. "I saw you before when you were getting dressed. That's the closest I've ever seen you to being naked."
Harley swallowed.
"You have a much better body than I do. I'd swap my hair for your breasts any day."
"Ivy?"
"It's amazing how sexy you look putting your tights on, when you're not even trying to look sexy."
"Red?"
Harley couldn't go on, because Ivy's lips had slowly been approaching her own, and now they met.
Ivy put her other hand on Harley's shoulder as she leaned into the kiss. She wasn't even thinking; she was doing. Harley's lips were very soft. She wondered if it was from wearing a mask all that time, or maybe it was because she didn't get to use them often. Joker didn't strike Ivy as a kissable person.
As for Harley, the first few seconds her reaction was something along the lines of "Mmmph!" But then she relaxed a little, and she closed her eyes, and then she opened her mouth a little more to allow Ivy's gently probing tongue more access. Usually she had to practically maul Puddin' to get him to be a little more responsive, and now she enjoyed playing a more passive role. Maybe it sounded cliched, but Ivy tasted like a sweet nectar.
Ivy . . . Ivy . . . shit, she was kissing Ivy! As in, Ivy, her best friend! As in, Ivy, not her boyfriend!
"Whoa, whoa," she said breathlessly, putting her hands on Ivy's shoulders and pushing her away. Was she feeling _flushed_? "This is a mistake."
The look on Ivy's face was a combination of naked desire and a desperate loneliness. "No, it isn't," she said.
"Yes, it is!" Harley replied anxiously, squeezing out from under Ivy, whose breasts had been pushed tightly against hers. She got to her feet and looked down at her. "You're my best friend, and you're not feeling well, and you're sick, and it's made you act different. I can't do this. You're, you know, a girl! And I've never kissed a girl before."
"So?" Ivy asked. "I've never kissed a boy or a girl before and meant it. Usually I did it because I wanted something from them, or I wanted them to do something for me. I kissed you because I thought I'd like it. And I did." She leaned back against the couch so that her breasts were quite visible through her shirt. "Didn't you?"
"Yes - I mean no! Well, yes and no . . . oh, crap," Harley sighed, wringing her hands. "I already have a boyfriend, Red."
"I don't give a shit about your boyfriend!" Ivy said ferociously. "He beats you, and he makes fun of you, and he doesn't know the first thing about you. I wouldn't care if he fell into a bottomless pit. No, I would care. It would make me very happy."
"Now, you don't mean that - okay, maybe you do," Harley acknowledged. "But I can't . . . you said it yourself, you don't feel like you. This has something to do with that. Here, I know!" she babbled. "I'll be right back, I just have to go out and get you something."
"Can't you stay?" Ivy asked pitifully.
"I will, I promise, I just want to get something. I'll be right back, I swear. Don't do anything - well, you know," she said. Pulling her mask on, she blew Ivy a kiss. Then her eyes bulged, realizing what she'd done. Still red as a beet under her black-and-white face mask, she hurried back to the bathroom.
Ivy listened to the window close behind her. Then she put her face in her hands. What had she been thinking? She'd never given Harley even the slightest inkling that she had sexual feelings for her. Hell, she'd never known herself! Maybe it was the operation; maybe she was different.
What had come over her? She'd been depressed and lonely ever since she got out of Arkham, this was true. Had she kissed Harley because of that? Some people got drunk to forget, and some resorted to sex. Ivy had never been interested in sex; truth be told, she was still a virgin. The last time she'd been in a serious relationship was with Harvey Dent, and she'd told him she wanted to save herself for marriage. (Of course, there was also the little matter of her being involved with him just so she could get close to him and exact revenge.)
So she'd never slept with a man, nor had she _thought_ about a woman that way. Harley was right, it had to be a side effect of her operation.
But then . . . the kiss had been awfully nice, and she did think Harley was very beautiful. She'd never been in such close and intimate contact with Harley before, because she'd never allowed herself to. It wasn't just Ivy's lack of interest in sex; all her life Ivy had avoided personal relationships with people, because she preferred to be with her plants. She'd never had friends. And yet she'd allowed Harley to grow very close to her. It wasn't because she needed a partner. She used to always do jobs herself, and if she needed someone, she'd create one. In fact, there wasn't anything a human companion could give her that she couldn't get from her plants. So why had she taken so much pleasure from Harley's company, long before she was given allergies? Someone who, many people thought, was the last person they'd expect Ivy to hang out with?
Because she understood Harley better than anyone else. Because she saw through the façade she put on for the Joker's pleasure, saw Harley had too much talent to be just a sidekick to a psychotic egomaniac. Because she liked her. No, because . . .
Ivy put her hands over her mouth. "Oh God," she whispered. "I think I'm in love with her. _Now_ what am I supposed to do?"
It was so _hot_ all of a sudden. She got up and went into the bedroom, where she took off her shirt. Now only wearing a gray sports bra above the waist, she then returned to the living room to think.
"Ivy."
"Batman," she tried to reply nonchalantly. Did she really need this?
He was standing almost where she had put the chair earlier. He had entered without a sound, naturally. "So are you my parole officer?" she asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. What did she have to worry about from him? It wasn't like she had anything to hide.
Except the bag containing Harley's things in the corner of the room. Her escape from Arkham was probably why he was here; Ivy's place would be one of the first places they'd look for Harley. She very studiously kept her eyes on the Batman and away from the corner.
He didn't ask about Harley though, surprising her. He seemed more interested in her room. "This used to be the Ventriloquist's room, you know."
She blinked. He wasn't making small talk, was he? "Really," she said neutrally. "How is the little man?"
"Pretty good. He works for Wayne Enterprises in the mailroom. And he just got his own place."
"Naturally you've kept an eye on him."
"So long as you're out, I'll be keeping an eye on you too," he warned her.
Ivy yawned. This was boring. "Is that all?"
"Harley Quinn."
"Finally," she thought. But she couldn't let on she knew; it probably hadn't made the news yet. "What about her?"
He surprised her for the third time that night. "I had an interesting talk with her last night. She seemed to be worried about you."
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Harl, you didn't," she thought.
"So why did they let you out, Ivy? I checked your file. The doctors are very vague about your current diagnosis, but until recently, you weren't going anywhere for a long time."
"Well, maybe you should encourage them to be a little less vague," she replied testily. "If you want to look around, you'll see I don't have any therapists locked away in a closet."
"If you don't mind, I think I will take a look around."
"If I did mind, would it matter?"
"No."
Ivy shrugged. "Go ahead. If I found out later you were going through my underwear, I'll make sure you never hear the end of it."
Batman had no response. What a stick. Instead he headed for the bedroom.
She waited all of eight seconds before she got up, quietly walked over, picked up Harley's bag, walked back, and shoved it under the couch. Then she coolly sat back down, all prim and proper (except for the fact that she wasn't wearing a whole lot.)
Batman reappeared a few moments later. He stood in the doorway and took a long look. Ivy couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Eventually he walked over to the middle of the room and raised his sights. There was the hook in the ceiling from which people could hang plants or similar things. There was the rope which Harley had merely cut, instead of bothering to untie it. There were still a few inches left.
Ivy shrank back into her seat.
He looked at the floor and noted the four circular depressions left behind in the carpet by the chair legs. It didn't take him long to spot the chair nearby.
He was headed for the kitchen when Ivy jumped her to her feet. "Get out!" she shouted. "I don't want you here anymore!"
When did the Bat ever listen? She was about to make a foolish attempt to physically restrain him when he opened the cabinet under the sink where the garbage can was. Then she froze.
He looked down for a moment before slowly closing it once again. "Harley escaped from Arkham tonight, Ivy."
"Did she?" she asked, her mouth dry. He didn't need to take the noose out and toss it onto the counter for her to know he'd seen it.
"Twenty-four hours after she asked me to check on you, because she was afraid something was wrong," he went on.
"Then obviously her escape has nothing to do with me. Otherwise she wouldn't have asked you," she suggested.
"Maybe," he replied. "Do you know where she is now?"
"I honestly have no idea where she is," Ivy said. And she didn't.
He came closer. "So what employment did Arkham set you up with?"
"Flower deliveries. I'm a part of the system now."
The Batman nodded. "Apropos. I'll go now, but remember - the first time I find plant life at a crime scene, I'll assume it's you. Otherwise, it's your life."
"Not anymore," she muttered. Having completely lost interest, she went back to the couch and flung herself onto her stomach.
She didn't hear him leave, of course.
"Hey! Watch it, tall, dark and depressing!"
Ivy buried her face in the sofa cushions. In the space of an hour, Harley's timing had been both impeccable and awful.
She rolled over onto her side as Batman stormed back in, dragging Harley by the wrist. She clutched something under her arm. "I thought you didn't know where she was."
"I didn't. She didn't say," Ivy yawned.
Harley's eyes glazed over while Ivy watched. In an instant, she had once more assumed the mantle of the dim bulb. She was a master clown, Ivy thought. No one took clowns seriously either, but who knew what kind of people lurked behind the makeup?
"Whoopsie," Harley giggled.
To be continued . . .