Title: It's Just Allergies (5/??)
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.
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
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.
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Chapter 5
"And what's this?" Batman asked, wrenching the bundle out from under Harley's arm.
He untied the string, and a pair of midnight green high boots and elbow-length gloves fell to the floor.
"One of Ivy's outfits," Harley told him, sticking her tongue out. "She didn't have any, and she couldn't go to any of her hideouts to get one."
"And why would that be?"
Ivy glared at Harley, hoping she would realize that her condition was not a matter of public discussion.
"Because it woulda violated the terms of her release," Harley replied blithely. "She said she didn't feel herself earlier. I thought it'd help if she had her own clothes."
"Thought she'd 'feel like a human being again'?" Batman asked, repeating a remark she'd once made.
"Mmm-hmm. Hey!"
He straightened again, having put handcuffs on Harley's wrists.
"Don't I merit a pair?" Ivy asked, snatching the gloves and boots from the floor.
"Aiding and abetting doesn't make you crazy, it just makes you a criminal," he said. "And frankly, it's not worth bringing you all the way to the police after I bring Harley back to Arkham." He unceremoniously dropped her outfit on the floor. "Try not to commit any real crimes, Ivy."
"Whooo!" Harley shrieked as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She looked at Ivy, who was slipping her gloves on, and held her wrists up. "Bet you like seeing me like this," she added.
"Harley!" Ivy gasped, turning red.
Harley winked.
Ivy stared.
Then the prisoner stretched her arms out and began kicking her legs. "No! I wanna stay with Red! I-want-to-stay-with-Red!" she screamed in her most annoying, high-pitched squeal.
The bathroom window had been a popular point of entry and exit that night, but Ivy still knew how to use a door. And she hit it running, slipping her pants off and bringing the rest of her outfit.
It took Batman quite a while to make it back to the Batmobile, considering Harley had been as difficult as a sack full of cats. She sounded like one, too.
"Leaving so soon?"
He stopped, astonished. Ivy was sitting on the hood of his car, legs crossed, leaning back on her hands. She'd used her sultriest tone of voice when she spoke.
"I don't care how inconvenient it is for you," she went on, growing colder. "I broke the law, so if Harley goes, I go."
"Fine," he growled as he stalked past her.
Ivy had been posing for Harley, not for Batman. She was still trying to gauge the meaning of Harley's handcuff remark. Did it mean Harley had forgiven her abortive attempt at seduction, and could even joke about it? Or was it something more?
She leaned back further and fluttered her eyelashes at Harley.
The other woman just stared at her and said nothing.
"Well, that was unhelpful," Ivy thought.
_________________________________________________
"Now this is more like it," she thought a few minutes later. Batman had cuffed her wrists as well and had put them both in the front seat. The seats were wide, but the two ladies were pressed tightly together, shoulder to shoulder. The straps of the seat belt across their bodies held them even closer. Occasionally one or the other would move her body in an attempt to get more comfortable, and Ivy thought the feeling of friction between the two was quite pleasurable.
She had to know if there was any emotional friction, however. Ivy realized that there was something a human companion could give her that her plants couldn't, after all. They could love her back, and not just because Ivy desired it - because they, or in this case, _she_ desired it.
So she moved her hands over and placed them on Harley's knee.
"Stop," Harley whispered, but was there a hint of something else there?
She trailed her fingers up Harley's thigh a little, while her own thigh rubbed against Harley a little. Just a little.
"No, don't," Harley pleaded. Ivy saw the look in her eyes, however; she was trying _very_ hard to resist.
Ivy nestled her head between Harley's shoulder and chin and snuggled a little tighter. Again, just a little.
"Rrred." Harley's breathing was ragged. She looked down at Ivy.
She hoped it was fondness and love that Harley saw in her eyes, not just sexual desire. Now that she was aware of these feelings that had been (no pun intended) blooming inside of her, every minute she spent in close contact with her seemed to intensify them further.
Harley held her breath for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and let their foreheads touch. "I don't know what to say," she said very, very quietly. "I'm not supposed to have feelings for someone else."
Ivy almost grinned broadly, but again, she didn't want Harley to see her as anything like the Joker. She wanted Harley to feel like she could do better. So her lips remained sealed, but she smiled warmly nonetheless. "But you think you do?"
Harley sighed. Her chained hands found Ivy's and gripped them. "Yeah."
Maybe she could be happy without plants after all. Christ, wasn't _that_ a revolutionary concept?
The Bat cleared his throat as he drove. "What are you two whispering about?" he questioned them.
Harley and Ivy looked up at him. Ivy was just contemplating a particularly naughty reply when Harley spoke first. "I think he oughta know, Red."
She blinked. "Really?"
"Maybe he can help fix what they did to you," she replied.
Ivy drew back. This was not what she thought Harley meant. "Absolutely not," she hissed. She would have folded her arms if she could, but she did pull away from Harley.
Harley looked regretful, but she was also serious. "You can't go on like this forever, Ivy."
"Like what?" Batman asked, curious.
"Nothing," Ivy grumbled.
"You certainly can't fix it yourself, Red," Harley pointed out, "and no hospital's going to help Poison Ivy. Batsy here is supposed to know about stuff like this. Where else would he get all those things he puts in his belt?"
Batman looked perplexed, but Ivy was becoming totally mulish about him knowing.
Harley faced out the window so they couldn't see the crafty look on her face. "Or," she said, once more the annoying dumb blonde, "I could ask Puddin' for you. My Mr. J always did have a knack for chemistry, so . . ."
"I will _not_ be beholden to the man who treats you like dirt," Ivy informed her strenuously. "I would rather get help from the arrogant _rodent_ sitting next to me than have your sick, abusive boyfriend stick needles in me!"
Ivy was suddenly thrown forward against her seat belt as Batman stomped on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt. "Listen," he warned them, jabbing his finger at them. "I don't know what game you two are playing . . ."
But they weren't paying attention right now. "If you'd rather ask the Bat for help, then why don't you?" Harley asked innocently.
Ivy deflated. It seemed like more and more she had a button labeled "Joker" on her back, and Harley knew just how to push it. Feeling cornered, she sighed. "All right, you win."
"I had to sooner or later tonight."
They both smiled knowingly.
"Ivy," Batman repeated. The two women together were experts at trying his patience, even when he had them in custody.
"I'll tell you everything," she answered, resigned. "Just keep driving."
Shaking his head a little, he faced forward again and put his foot on the gas. "All right, spill."
"The doctors at Arkham made me allergic to plants."
SCREEECH!!!
"That's it," he said. "I've had just about enough of you two!"
"But it's true!" Harley whined. "Ivy says they did some kind of experiments on her in the middle of the night, and now whenever she touches or smells a plant, she gets sick."
"How sick?"
Ivy looked down. "Dr. Park said prolonged exposure could be lethal."
He stared at her. "That is one of the most bizarre things I have ever heard."
"Even more bizarre than my being released from Arkham as 'fully rehabilitated'?"
Batman paused. "Prove it."
She glanced at Harley. "A flower shop?" Harley suggested.
"There might not be any open at this hour," Ivy replied. "And anyway, we need living plants. Take me to the nearest public park," she decided.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.
Five minutes later they had arrived. "I'm coming with you," he reminded her. "But you are staying here," he said to Harley.
"No problem," she said cheerfully. "I'll just be out of these cuffs in a jiff."
"Okay, so what now?" he asked Ivy as they stood in the middle of an open space. The grass, which hadn't been cut in a few days, crackled under their feet. "Are you going to hug a tree?"
"Well, a bush would be simpler," she responded. "Or . . ." She looked at her feet. "I wonder if grass would have an effect on me."
As she clumsily sat down on the grass, unable to use her hands to brace herself, she felt chilled. Whether that was because of the night air, or because she was nervous about what might happen to her, or because her body was already reacting to the nature surrounding them, she didn't know. She looked up at Harley, who smiled reassuringly. Apparently the Bat had had Harley escape her chains one time too many.
Sighing, she lay back on the grass. Thousands of blades felt good against her bare neck, shoulders, and upper back. Rolling over, she inclined her head slightly and breathed deeply. The grass smelled crisp.
Then she sat up again.
"Well?" Batman asked while Harley waited anxiously.
"Maybe hugging a tree would be - " Ivy began, but then she was flung back against the ground as a brutal seizure ripped through her body.
Harley and the Batman froze for a moment as she started flopping on the ground. Then Harley shrieked. "RED!!!" She reached down to pick her up.
"Don't touch her!" Batman stopped her.
"It's the grass that's causing it, bat-brain!" she screamed. "We've got to get her off!"
He thought it over for a second before he gingerly put his arms underneath Ivy and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. He felt his tremors through his whole body. Carefully he tried to keep her head in place so she wouldn't injure her neck.
When Ivy was able to control herself and speak again, she found herself stretched out on a blanket Batman had retrieved from his trunk. "What just happened?" she asked weakly.
"Ivy," Harley said, relieved, her eyes brimming.
"You were suffering from a massive seizure," the Batman explained as he crouched near her. "It seems to have subsided now that you're away from . . . the grass."
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought your outfit," Harley added, looking guilty.
"Why?"
The Batman shook his head in consternation. "You've broken out in a severe rash. Your upper back, the nape of your neck, your shoulders, the back of your thighs - everywhere your bare skin touched the grass, there's a great deal of redness, and . . ."
"It looks like you were attacked by every mosquito in Gotham," Harley finished for him.
"Not exactly scientific, but yes."
"But I don't - oooh," Ivy winced as she turned her head. Her neck felt very sore.
"I wouldn't try to sit up," he cautioned her. "It's too soon."
"_Now_ do you believe us?" Harley and Ivy said in unison. They blinked.
"Almost," he admitted. "I've made a change in our destination. We're not going to Arkham yet."
"But the doctor who did this to me is there," Ivy reminded him.
He nodded. "But I want to know what exactly _this_ is. I've never seen a condition like this. I want to have tests run."
She groaned. "Fine, if Harley stays with me. Where are we going, a hospital?"
"Sort of," he replied. "I have a friend."
___________________________________________________
"What happened to her?" Dr. Leslie Thompson asked. "It looked like she was attacked by an angry swarm of . . ."
"Already heard that one," Harley interrupted her.
Leslie looked at her. "And this one?"
"Friend of the patient," Batman told her. "Ivy wouldn't come unless I brought her too."
Harley smiled emptily at Leslie, and she sighed.
"So what does Miss Isley say the problem is?"
"Allegedly," Batman explained, "the head doctor at Arkham sedated Ivy one night, had her transported somewhere, and conducted experiments on her which altered her genetic makeup and rendered her severely, even fatally, allergic to all living plant life. She can't touch it or smell it."
"That doesn't sound like the doctors at Arkham," Leslie replied. "To be honest, it doesn't sound like any doctor I know. Actually, it sounds like science fiction, or a Nazi prison camp."
"There's a lot about Poison Ivy that resembles science fiction," he said, "and yet it's not."
"Even so," she responded, "that kind of genetic tampering is highly unusual. Granted, it has happened here in Gotham before. Clayface, for example, or the Man-Bat." She tucked her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Well, I can certainly run some tests. It doesn't matter how fantastical it sounds. If the diagnosis is Poison Ivy is allergic to plants, then something has obviously been done to her, and since I can't fathom her doing it to herself - "
"Well, duh," Harley said.
Leslie turned away from her. "We would then need to determine how it was done, and if there's a way of reversing it. Do we want to reverse it?" she asked Batman.
"Of course we do!" Harley said, shocked. "Don't we?"
"Leslie . . ."
"Just let me play devil's advocate for fifteen seconds, Batman. Without access to plants, Poison Ivy is no longer a menace to society. Do you want to risk the safety of other Gothamites by doing this, Batman? It would be like giving a pyromaniac his matches back."
"You - " Harley began, but Batman put his gloved hand over her mouth.
"I thought about it. Briefly. But it's wrong, Leslie. I saw what can happen just from a few moments' contact with something as simple as green grass. It's way beyond her control; I can envision a dozen different ways where this kind of condition could kill her, if she finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, it presumes that her mental problems are incurable, and that the only way she can change is if her choice is taken away from her. Why bother putting them in Arkham then? Why not just keep them in solitary at Stonegate? If we find a solution, we use it." He took his hand away from Harley's mouth finally. She glared at him.
"Good," Leslie answered. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to be difficult later on." She smiled at him.
"You mean he isn't being difficult _now_?" Harley asked incredulously.
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Why don't you go visit your friend?"
"Oooh, okay." She happily skipped into the room in which Ivy was waiting, none too comfortably, and closed the door again.
"How often do you let a prisoner dictate to you?" Leslie asked.
"Ivy's not really my prisoner," Batman replied. "She was just being difficult. Actually, she was released from Arkham a few days ago. They claim she's been rehabilitated, but they're not giving details."
This appeared to surprise her most of all. "My my," she murmured. "It does all sound very strange and suspicious, doesn't it?"
"How do you feel?" Harley was asking meanwhile.
"Very sore," Ivy replied. "I itch all over, and my neck is stiff from the seizures." She pouted. "I hate feeling like shit all the time."
Harley sat next to her on the examining chair. "So do you want to talk about . . . you know, the other thing?" She started scratching Ivy's back, which was very red and angry-looking, not creamy like it was supposed to be.
"He might be listening," Ivy said quietly. "I want us to have total privacy when we talk. Ooh, a little lower, please."
She got behind Ivy and moved her right hand lower. She also braced herself by resting her left hand on Ivy's side.
"Ahhh," Ivy hummed, squeezing Harley's left hand with her own.
"That's probably not a good idea," Leslie suggested as she entered. "It'll make them worse in the long run." Batman came in behind her.
Reluctantly Harley stopped scratching, but she kept her left hand where it was. Her right hand fell still lower and began massaging the small of Ivy's back.
"I'm going to be conducting some tests in order to isolate the cause of your illness, Miss Isley," Leslie told her.
"Don't call me that, please. Call me . . ."
"Call you what?"
She looked over her shoulder at Harley. "Call me Ivy."
"Well, Ivy, I'll need to do a thorough physical examination, so you'll have to put this on." She held up one of those flimsy hospital gowns.
The women eyed it distastefully. Ivy supposed she should be giving this woman a hard time, but frankly, she didn't have the energy. "Fine," she grumbled, taking it.
"Hey, how come she's the only one who gets to play dress-up?" Harley complained.
"Trust me, Harl," Ivy told her as she pulled off her boots and began removing her one-piece, all right in front of everyone. "It's not much fun."
"Uh," Batman said, turning red.
Harley caught his expression out of the corner of one eye. "Well, I'm doing it too," she said childishly. And she started to strip.
Batman swiveled around so he had his back to them. "I'll just be outside for a minute then," he said, coughing a little.
"You do that, Batman," Ivy told him slyly.
He paused as he opened the door, however. "Speaking of clothes, Quinn, whatever happened to that pink dress of yours? The one that started all the trouble the last time you were released?"
"Oh," she said as she pulled her costume off her feet, "Mr. J said it made me look fat, and he tore it in half." She sounded regretful.
"I saw you in that dress the day after they brought you in!" Ivy recalled, shocked. "It didn't make you look fat. You managed to turn on half the inmates that day!"
"I guess her 'Puddin' was jealous," Batman muttered as he went out.
Harley blinked. "No, he wouldn't have done that. He knew how much I liked it, he was just trying to warn me that I didn't look . . ." She looked down and sighed as she put her gown on.
Ivy reached over and squeezed her knee.
"Whew," Batman said, wiping his brow as he leaned against the door. "That was - "
"That was what?"
He stiffened. "Robin."
"You look like you just saw your worst nightmare," the second Robin said. "Is it bad?"
"Worse. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are getting undressed in there."
Robin stared at him, unable to comprehend. "Boy, are you repressed. I gotta see this."
Batman slammed his palm against the door. "When you're older."
"Dang!"
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.
Pairing: Harley/Ivy
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.
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Chapter 5
"And what's this?" Batman asked, wrenching the bundle out from under Harley's arm.
He untied the string, and a pair of midnight green high boots and elbow-length gloves fell to the floor.
"One of Ivy's outfits," Harley told him, sticking her tongue out. "She didn't have any, and she couldn't go to any of her hideouts to get one."
"And why would that be?"
Ivy glared at Harley, hoping she would realize that her condition was not a matter of public discussion.
"Because it woulda violated the terms of her release," Harley replied blithely. "She said she didn't feel herself earlier. I thought it'd help if she had her own clothes."
"Thought she'd 'feel like a human being again'?" Batman asked, repeating a remark she'd once made.
"Mmm-hmm. Hey!"
He straightened again, having put handcuffs on Harley's wrists.
"Don't I merit a pair?" Ivy asked, snatching the gloves and boots from the floor.
"Aiding and abetting doesn't make you crazy, it just makes you a criminal," he said. "And frankly, it's not worth bringing you all the way to the police after I bring Harley back to Arkham." He unceremoniously dropped her outfit on the floor. "Try not to commit any real crimes, Ivy."
"Whooo!" Harley shrieked as he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She looked at Ivy, who was slipping her gloves on, and held her wrists up. "Bet you like seeing me like this," she added.
"Harley!" Ivy gasped, turning red.
Harley winked.
Ivy stared.
Then the prisoner stretched her arms out and began kicking her legs. "No! I wanna stay with Red! I-want-to-stay-with-Red!" she screamed in her most annoying, high-pitched squeal.
The bathroom window had been a popular point of entry and exit that night, but Ivy still knew how to use a door. And she hit it running, slipping her pants off and bringing the rest of her outfit.
It took Batman quite a while to make it back to the Batmobile, considering Harley had been as difficult as a sack full of cats. She sounded like one, too.
"Leaving so soon?"
He stopped, astonished. Ivy was sitting on the hood of his car, legs crossed, leaning back on her hands. She'd used her sultriest tone of voice when she spoke.
"I don't care how inconvenient it is for you," she went on, growing colder. "I broke the law, so if Harley goes, I go."
"Fine," he growled as he stalked past her.
Ivy had been posing for Harley, not for Batman. She was still trying to gauge the meaning of Harley's handcuff remark. Did it mean Harley had forgiven her abortive attempt at seduction, and could even joke about it? Or was it something more?
She leaned back further and fluttered her eyelashes at Harley.
The other woman just stared at her and said nothing.
"Well, that was unhelpful," Ivy thought.
_________________________________________________
"Now this is more like it," she thought a few minutes later. Batman had cuffed her wrists as well and had put them both in the front seat. The seats were wide, but the two ladies were pressed tightly together, shoulder to shoulder. The straps of the seat belt across their bodies held them even closer. Occasionally one or the other would move her body in an attempt to get more comfortable, and Ivy thought the feeling of friction between the two was quite pleasurable.
She had to know if there was any emotional friction, however. Ivy realized that there was something a human companion could give her that her plants couldn't, after all. They could love her back, and not just because Ivy desired it - because they, or in this case, _she_ desired it.
So she moved her hands over and placed them on Harley's knee.
"Stop," Harley whispered, but was there a hint of something else there?
She trailed her fingers up Harley's thigh a little, while her own thigh rubbed against Harley a little. Just a little.
"No, don't," Harley pleaded. Ivy saw the look in her eyes, however; she was trying _very_ hard to resist.
Ivy nestled her head between Harley's shoulder and chin and snuggled a little tighter. Again, just a little.
"Rrred." Harley's breathing was ragged. She looked down at Ivy.
She hoped it was fondness and love that Harley saw in her eyes, not just sexual desire. Now that she was aware of these feelings that had been (no pun intended) blooming inside of her, every minute she spent in close contact with her seemed to intensify them further.
Harley held her breath for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and let their foreheads touch. "I don't know what to say," she said very, very quietly. "I'm not supposed to have feelings for someone else."
Ivy almost grinned broadly, but again, she didn't want Harley to see her as anything like the Joker. She wanted Harley to feel like she could do better. So her lips remained sealed, but she smiled warmly nonetheless. "But you think you do?"
Harley sighed. Her chained hands found Ivy's and gripped them. "Yeah."
Maybe she could be happy without plants after all. Christ, wasn't _that_ a revolutionary concept?
The Bat cleared his throat as he drove. "What are you two whispering about?" he questioned them.
Harley and Ivy looked up at him. Ivy was just contemplating a particularly naughty reply when Harley spoke first. "I think he oughta know, Red."
She blinked. "Really?"
"Maybe he can help fix what they did to you," she replied.
Ivy drew back. This was not what she thought Harley meant. "Absolutely not," she hissed. She would have folded her arms if she could, but she did pull away from Harley.
Harley looked regretful, but she was also serious. "You can't go on like this forever, Ivy."
"Like what?" Batman asked, curious.
"Nothing," Ivy grumbled.
"You certainly can't fix it yourself, Red," Harley pointed out, "and no hospital's going to help Poison Ivy. Batsy here is supposed to know about stuff like this. Where else would he get all those things he puts in his belt?"
Batman looked perplexed, but Ivy was becoming totally mulish about him knowing.
Harley faced out the window so they couldn't see the crafty look on her face. "Or," she said, once more the annoying dumb blonde, "I could ask Puddin' for you. My Mr. J always did have a knack for chemistry, so . . ."
"I will _not_ be beholden to the man who treats you like dirt," Ivy informed her strenuously. "I would rather get help from the arrogant _rodent_ sitting next to me than have your sick, abusive boyfriend stick needles in me!"
Ivy was suddenly thrown forward against her seat belt as Batman stomped on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt. "Listen," he warned them, jabbing his finger at them. "I don't know what game you two are playing . . ."
But they weren't paying attention right now. "If you'd rather ask the Bat for help, then why don't you?" Harley asked innocently.
Ivy deflated. It seemed like more and more she had a button labeled "Joker" on her back, and Harley knew just how to push it. Feeling cornered, she sighed. "All right, you win."
"I had to sooner or later tonight."
They both smiled knowingly.
"Ivy," Batman repeated. The two women together were experts at trying his patience, even when he had them in custody.
"I'll tell you everything," she answered, resigned. "Just keep driving."
Shaking his head a little, he faced forward again and put his foot on the gas. "All right, spill."
"The doctors at Arkham made me allergic to plants."
SCREEECH!!!
"That's it," he said. "I've had just about enough of you two!"
"But it's true!" Harley whined. "Ivy says they did some kind of experiments on her in the middle of the night, and now whenever she touches or smells a plant, she gets sick."
"How sick?"
Ivy looked down. "Dr. Park said prolonged exposure could be lethal."
He stared at her. "That is one of the most bizarre things I have ever heard."
"Even more bizarre than my being released from Arkham as 'fully rehabilitated'?"
Batman paused. "Prove it."
She glanced at Harley. "A flower shop?" Harley suggested.
"There might not be any open at this hour," Ivy replied. "And anyway, we need living plants. Take me to the nearest public park," she decided.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered.
Five minutes later they had arrived. "I'm coming with you," he reminded her. "But you are staying here," he said to Harley.
"No problem," she said cheerfully. "I'll just be out of these cuffs in a jiff."
"Okay, so what now?" he asked Ivy as they stood in the middle of an open space. The grass, which hadn't been cut in a few days, crackled under their feet. "Are you going to hug a tree?"
"Well, a bush would be simpler," she responded. "Or . . ." She looked at her feet. "I wonder if grass would have an effect on me."
As she clumsily sat down on the grass, unable to use her hands to brace herself, she felt chilled. Whether that was because of the night air, or because she was nervous about what might happen to her, or because her body was already reacting to the nature surrounding them, she didn't know. She looked up at Harley, who smiled reassuringly. Apparently the Bat had had Harley escape her chains one time too many.
Sighing, she lay back on the grass. Thousands of blades felt good against her bare neck, shoulders, and upper back. Rolling over, she inclined her head slightly and breathed deeply. The grass smelled crisp.
Then she sat up again.
"Well?" Batman asked while Harley waited anxiously.
"Maybe hugging a tree would be - " Ivy began, but then she was flung back against the ground as a brutal seizure ripped through her body.
Harley and the Batman froze for a moment as she started flopping on the ground. Then Harley shrieked. "RED!!!" She reached down to pick her up.
"Don't touch her!" Batman stopped her.
"It's the grass that's causing it, bat-brain!" she screamed. "We've got to get her off!"
He thought it over for a second before he gingerly put his arms underneath Ivy and lifted her, cradling her against his chest. He felt his tremors through his whole body. Carefully he tried to keep her head in place so she wouldn't injure her neck.
When Ivy was able to control herself and speak again, she found herself stretched out on a blanket Batman had retrieved from his trunk. "What just happened?" she asked weakly.
"Ivy," Harley said, relieved, her eyes brimming.
"You were suffering from a massive seizure," the Batman explained as he crouched near her. "It seems to have subsided now that you're away from . . . the grass."
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought your outfit," Harley added, looking guilty.
"Why?"
The Batman shook his head in consternation. "You've broken out in a severe rash. Your upper back, the nape of your neck, your shoulders, the back of your thighs - everywhere your bare skin touched the grass, there's a great deal of redness, and . . ."
"It looks like you were attacked by every mosquito in Gotham," Harley finished for him.
"Not exactly scientific, but yes."
"But I don't - oooh," Ivy winced as she turned her head. Her neck felt very sore.
"I wouldn't try to sit up," he cautioned her. "It's too soon."
"_Now_ do you believe us?" Harley and Ivy said in unison. They blinked.
"Almost," he admitted. "I've made a change in our destination. We're not going to Arkham yet."
"But the doctor who did this to me is there," Ivy reminded him.
He nodded. "But I want to know what exactly _this_ is. I've never seen a condition like this. I want to have tests run."
She groaned. "Fine, if Harley stays with me. Where are we going, a hospital?"
"Sort of," he replied. "I have a friend."
___________________________________________________
"What happened to her?" Dr. Leslie Thompson asked. "It looked like she was attacked by an angry swarm of . . ."
"Already heard that one," Harley interrupted her.
Leslie looked at her. "And this one?"
"Friend of the patient," Batman told her. "Ivy wouldn't come unless I brought her too."
Harley smiled emptily at Leslie, and she sighed.
"So what does Miss Isley say the problem is?"
"Allegedly," Batman explained, "the head doctor at Arkham sedated Ivy one night, had her transported somewhere, and conducted experiments on her which altered her genetic makeup and rendered her severely, even fatally, allergic to all living plant life. She can't touch it or smell it."
"That doesn't sound like the doctors at Arkham," Leslie replied. "To be honest, it doesn't sound like any doctor I know. Actually, it sounds like science fiction, or a Nazi prison camp."
"There's a lot about Poison Ivy that resembles science fiction," he said, "and yet it's not."
"Even so," she responded, "that kind of genetic tampering is highly unusual. Granted, it has happened here in Gotham before. Clayface, for example, or the Man-Bat." She tucked her hands in her pockets and shrugged. "Well, I can certainly run some tests. It doesn't matter how fantastical it sounds. If the diagnosis is Poison Ivy is allergic to plants, then something has obviously been done to her, and since I can't fathom her doing it to herself - "
"Well, duh," Harley said.
Leslie turned away from her. "We would then need to determine how it was done, and if there's a way of reversing it. Do we want to reverse it?" she asked Batman.
"Of course we do!" Harley said, shocked. "Don't we?"
"Leslie . . ."
"Just let me play devil's advocate for fifteen seconds, Batman. Without access to plants, Poison Ivy is no longer a menace to society. Do you want to risk the safety of other Gothamites by doing this, Batman? It would be like giving a pyromaniac his matches back."
"You - " Harley began, but Batman put his gloved hand over her mouth.
"I thought about it. Briefly. But it's wrong, Leslie. I saw what can happen just from a few moments' contact with something as simple as green grass. It's way beyond her control; I can envision a dozen different ways where this kind of condition could kill her, if she finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, it presumes that her mental problems are incurable, and that the only way she can change is if her choice is taken away from her. Why bother putting them in Arkham then? Why not just keep them in solitary at Stonegate? If we find a solution, we use it." He took his hand away from Harley's mouth finally. She glared at him.
"Good," Leslie answered. "Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to be difficult later on." She smiled at him.
"You mean he isn't being difficult _now_?" Harley asked incredulously.
Leslie rolled her eyes. "Why don't you go visit your friend?"
"Oooh, okay." She happily skipped into the room in which Ivy was waiting, none too comfortably, and closed the door again.
"How often do you let a prisoner dictate to you?" Leslie asked.
"Ivy's not really my prisoner," Batman replied. "She was just being difficult. Actually, she was released from Arkham a few days ago. They claim she's been rehabilitated, but they're not giving details."
This appeared to surprise her most of all. "My my," she murmured. "It does all sound very strange and suspicious, doesn't it?"
"How do you feel?" Harley was asking meanwhile.
"Very sore," Ivy replied. "I itch all over, and my neck is stiff from the seizures." She pouted. "I hate feeling like shit all the time."
Harley sat next to her on the examining chair. "So do you want to talk about . . . you know, the other thing?" She started scratching Ivy's back, which was very red and angry-looking, not creamy like it was supposed to be.
"He might be listening," Ivy said quietly. "I want us to have total privacy when we talk. Ooh, a little lower, please."
She got behind Ivy and moved her right hand lower. She also braced herself by resting her left hand on Ivy's side.
"Ahhh," Ivy hummed, squeezing Harley's left hand with her own.
"That's probably not a good idea," Leslie suggested as she entered. "It'll make them worse in the long run." Batman came in behind her.
Reluctantly Harley stopped scratching, but she kept her left hand where it was. Her right hand fell still lower and began massaging the small of Ivy's back.
"I'm going to be conducting some tests in order to isolate the cause of your illness, Miss Isley," Leslie told her.
"Don't call me that, please. Call me . . ."
"Call you what?"
She looked over her shoulder at Harley. "Call me Ivy."
"Well, Ivy, I'll need to do a thorough physical examination, so you'll have to put this on." She held up one of those flimsy hospital gowns.
The women eyed it distastefully. Ivy supposed she should be giving this woman a hard time, but frankly, she didn't have the energy. "Fine," she grumbled, taking it.
"Hey, how come she's the only one who gets to play dress-up?" Harley complained.
"Trust me, Harl," Ivy told her as she pulled off her boots and began removing her one-piece, all right in front of everyone. "It's not much fun."
"Uh," Batman said, turning red.
Harley caught his expression out of the corner of one eye. "Well, I'm doing it too," she said childishly. And she started to strip.
Batman swiveled around so he had his back to them. "I'll just be outside for a minute then," he said, coughing a little.
"You do that, Batman," Ivy told him slyly.
He paused as he opened the door, however. "Speaking of clothes, Quinn, whatever happened to that pink dress of yours? The one that started all the trouble the last time you were released?"
"Oh," she said as she pulled her costume off her feet, "Mr. J said it made me look fat, and he tore it in half." She sounded regretful.
"I saw you in that dress the day after they brought you in!" Ivy recalled, shocked. "It didn't make you look fat. You managed to turn on half the inmates that day!"
"I guess her 'Puddin' was jealous," Batman muttered as he went out.
Harley blinked. "No, he wouldn't have done that. He knew how much I liked it, he was just trying to warn me that I didn't look . . ." She looked down and sighed as she put her gown on.
Ivy reached over and squeezed her knee.
"Whew," Batman said, wiping his brow as he leaned against the door. "That was - "
"That was what?"
He stiffened. "Robin."
"You look like you just saw your worst nightmare," the second Robin said. "Is it bad?"
"Worse. Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy are getting undressed in there."
Robin stared at him, unable to comprehend. "Boy, are you repressed. I gotta see this."
Batman slammed his palm against the door. "When you're older."
"Dang!"
To be continued . . .