Title: It's Just Allergies (7/??)
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 7
Robin perched on a stool near the computer where Leslie was currently working. "Any progress?"
"Very little," she sighed, looking away from the monitor. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look dazed."
His mouth twitched. "Well . . . I don't suppose Batman is still here?"
"No, he said he had a few things to do."
"Good," he replied, smoothing his hair back nervously. "I'm not really sure what to say to him."
She swiveled her chair around so that her back was to the computer. "What's wrong, Robin?"
"He told me to keep an eye on Ivy and Harley, so I was," he said a trifle defensively.
"Oh, dear," she responded. "You weren't _peeping_, were you?"
"No! I mean, that wasn't the idea, anyway."
Leslie chuckled wryly. "You're getting to be that age, aren't you? That age when you realize the costumes and disguises these women wear reveal as much as they conceal?"
He turned about as red as his outfit. "Uh, Doctor . . ."
"That's right, I'm a doctor," she agreed. "Which means you can tell me anything, and I won't tell Bruce if you don't want me to. We'll call it doctor-patient privilege."
Robin shifted uneasily. "They got real quiet in their room, so I was just peeking through the door to see if they had escaped or something. Honest."
"It's all right, Robin, you don't have to defend yourself to me. I'm not him, you know."
"Yeah, well, what I saw . . ."
"She wasn't naked, was she?"
"Uh-uh, no way," he answered immediately. "I'm a teenager, not a pervert. Both of them had those paper gowns you hand out."
She nodded thoughtfully, wondering where this was going. "And?"
"They were sitting on the floor, and they were kissing. Not like best friend kiss or sister kiss, either. Like, 'you may now kiss the bride' kissing." He hopped off his seat and took a step back, as if afraid she would give him a spanking.
Leslie leaned back in her chair, her chin sinking downward. "Interesting," she said.
Robin blinked. "That's your reaction?"
"I thought they seemed strange together earlier," she recalled. "But it never crossed my mind that the two were romantically involved."
"Yeah, but if everyone in Gotham knows Ivy's got a thing for plants, then they also know Harley's got a thing for the Joker."
"Yes, well, tonight's events have been flying in the face of common knowledge, haven't they? How long were you watching?"
He looked down a little. "Only maybe . . . thirty seconds? Forty-five? They pressed real close together, then they broke off the kiss, and then I quietly closed the door again."
"Did they see you?"
"I think they were a little too busy with each other."
She nodded. "So what about this is bothering you? The fact that you caught them in a private moment, the fact that they're both women, or that you're not sure what to tell Batman?"
"This doesn't bother you at all?"
"Well, as long as you didn't look in on them with the hope of seeing something like . . ."
"No, no, I mean the whole 'two women together' angle," he interrupted.
Leslie shook her head. "As this probably has no bearing on Ivy's health problems, it doesn't concern me. I suspect, in fact, that it might be good for Ms. Quinn's health. Being involved with the Joker strikes me as a surefire way to get oneself hurt or worse. And as for homosexuality – it's their private business. I don't often judge patients, and I don't see a need either."
"I just think it's kind of weird," he replied. "But it's Batman that bothers me. Do I tell him or not?"
"Knowing him, he'll probably figure it out on his own," she said. "Besides, this is information of a very personal and sensitive nature which you came by accidentally. I'm not sure you have a right to tell people what was until now a secret between Ivy and Harley."
"Hey, no problem," he assured her. "I didn't exactly relish the notion of telling him, so if you've got a reason not to, I'll take it."
"Take what?" Batman asked as he entered the room.
Robin whirled around to face him, but his foot got tangled in one of the legs of the stool, and both crashed onto the floor.
Batman merely looked on impassively as Leslie helped him back onto his feet. "Nothing," Robin told him, blushing furiously.
"Where are they?"
"Still together in the examining room."
His expression didn't change, as usual. "Leslie, do you have anything yet?"
"Her symptoms are definitely legitimate," she replied. "Her body suffered a massive allergic reaction, although I can't say whether it was the grass or something else. In fact I can't pinpoint any reason why her body is reacting that way, or what the cause is. I've still got plenty of tests to run, as well as the DNA tests, but my final report won't be for a couple of days, Bruce."
Instead of answering, he reached into his belt and pulled a small glass vial out. "I need to use the examining room next to Ivy's for a few minutes."
"What for?" she asked.
"You'll see," he said cryptically. "And as for you, Robin - _if_ you can stay on your feet tonight – you can help move some things I have in the hallway."
"I'll be fine," Robin muttered.
"Good."
_________________________________________
"Now don't they look like a couple of angels," Leslie murmured.
"Yeah, Hell's Angels," Robin replied.
Harley and Ivy were slumped against the wall, fast asleep. Ivy's head had fallen down to rest on the other woman's shoulder.
"Don't wake them," Batman cautioned them as they stepped back, allowing him to enter the room.
Silently approaching them, he crouched down in front of her. Affixing the glass vial to a small mechanical device, he pressed the trigger. A light cloud of dust particles hissed out into Ivy's face. She coughed a few times in her sleep, wrinkled her nose, and turned her face a little more towards Harley's shoulder.
He frowned and got up again.
"What was that stuff?" Robin asked. "Medication?"
"Pollen," he replied as they closed the door again.
"What?"
"It was nothing more than air with a very high pollen count, like those summer days that are the worst for allergy sufferers," he explained. "It _should_ have provoked a much more violent reaction from her."
"That was irresponsible, Bruce," Leslie warned him. "That's just what she should be staying away from in her condition."
"That's what she _thinks_ she should be staying away from," he corrected her. "But obviously, it wasn't a problem."
Robin scratched his head. "I don't get it," he said. "I thought she got sick when she breathed in pollen."
Batman put the device away. "I think, because of the very strange things we've seen in Gotham, we've become accustomed to accepting explanations which normally would defy scientific reason. The Man-Bat, Clayface, Ivy's own creations – because of that, we assumed that the story Ivy gave us about a surgical operation that altered her genetic structure was not only possible, but plausible."
"But you had doubts," Leslie added.
"I did. Arkham employs doctors, not scientists, and it always has a very tight budget. The idea that they could develop something as complicated and dangerous as a surgical procedure that distorts a person's DNA for a very specific purpose, and that it's successful, is something too fantastical even for Gotham," Batman continued.
"Does this mean we think she's lying?" Robin asked.
"I doubt it," he said. "Granted, she's exceptionally devious, but to intentionally cut herself off from the plants she loves so much – she's crazy, but she's not stupid. Plants are the only things she cares about." He paused. "What?"
Robin had glanced briefly at Leslie after the last comment about Ivy and what she cared about. "Nothing," he said for the second time that night. "Just she seems even more attached to Harley than usual."
"I'm still trying to decipher that myself," Batman admitted. "Then again, I've never entirely understood their friendship, either." He grew quiet. "I suspect she was going to kill herself earlier tonight, also."
"No fu . . ." Robin began, but quickly stopped when the two adults glared at him piercingly. "No way," he added lamely.
"How can you be sure?" Leslie asked him.
"I found a noose in her garbage," he replied. "And there was other evidence that she'd been intending to do herself in, as well."
Leslie frowned. "You should have told me, Bruce. I realize she's been in therapy every day she's been a prisoner at Arkham, but if she's been suicidal as of late, then she absolutely needs help with that."
"Only if we can't figure out what's causing her allergies," Batman replied. "If she gets her old life back, I don't think she'll want to harm herself again."
"But if we can't," Leslie told him forcefully, "then we get her into treatment."
"Fine," he agreed.
"So if there's nothing wrong with her and she's telling the truth," Robin asked, "then what's going on here?"
"What the doctors at Arkham know a little something about," Batman guessed shrewdly. "Either a mental or psychological condition that makes her body _think_ she's allergic."
"Is that possible?"
"It's the placebo effect, Robin," Leslie told him. "Patients felt better after being given sugar pills which their doctors said were actually powerful medicine. Their minds told their bodies that they were supposed to get better, so they did."
"But it calls for further experimenting," Batman added. "Which is why I had you set up the next room over like I told you. We have to wake them up and get Poison Ivy into that room alone."
"I think separating those two might be a little difficult."
______________________________________________
"This is so stupid," Ivy grumbled.
"Can't I _please_ go with her?" Harley begged.
"Not a chance," Batman muttered.
"But it's just one room over!"
"He needs absolute concentration, Harley," Leslie reminded her. "He can't have you distracting him."
"Oh, pooh," she pouted, folding her arms.
"Besides, then we'd have to blindfold both of you," Robin pointed out.
"Yeah, but then you could give us broomsticks and we could pretend Batman is a piñata," she replied brightly.
"I don't give candy," he retorted.
Ivy sighed and, reaching up with her hands, which had been cuffed together again, tried to adjust the thick black cloth around the upper half of her face.
"Leave it," Batman told her, batting her hands back down.
"It itches," she complained.
"Then it can take your mind off your back."
Ivy felt smaller, more familiar hands take her own. "I'll be right outside," she heard Harley say quietly. "I don't trust this. Why doesn't he want you to see what he's doing?"
"Maybe I'd get to see the man behind the mask," she replied cunningly.
"We'd finally have a face to go with that lockjaw," Harley added.
"Let's go, Harley."
"Hey, lay off, twerp!" Ivy heard Harley being dragged away.
"Is this absolutely necessary?" she asked.
"By the time I'm finished," he said, "I expect to have this whole thing figured out."
"Then what were the medical tests for?" she muttered.
"Take it easy, Ivy," Leslie reminded her. "You got some ointment for your rash, anyway."
Ivy's skin burned where Batman rested his hand on her shoulder. "Ouch!"
"Sorry." His hand moved down to her elbow before she felt herself being led somewhere else, then heard the sound of a door closing.
"Sit," he commanded as she felt the back of her legs bump against a chair.
She did so sullenly. "I'm not your dog, you know."
"Others would say you're a real bitch, Ivy."
Ivy blinked, or tried to under the thick blindfold. Was that a joke? An off-color joke, no less?
"I need you to sit perfectly still for five minutes," he went on. "Then I can take the blindfold off. All right?"
She wasn't entirely sure whether he was in front of or behind her. But she heard scraping sounds that suggested he was pulling another chair or a table across the floor. "Fine," she said, "but others would also say you're a real bastard, Bat."
"I can live with it," he replied, but then he said nothing more.
"What is that smell?" she asked two minutes later, her nose wrinkling as she felt something being passed underneath.
"Vicks Vaporub," he said. "Strong, isn't it?"
"Too strong," Ivy grumbled. "The scent is practically clogging my nostrils."
He had no reply, and she was forced to wait three more minutes before she heard him speak again. "Raise your hands," he told her. "Stretch them out."
Exhaling in irritation, she put her hands out. There was obviously something in front of her, because her fingertips grazed something very light and fragile.
"A little lower."
It was as her hands drifted downward that she realized he had asked her to press them against flowers. "What the fuck?" she snapped, her hands flinching backward.
He ripped the blindfold off of her face and her hands shrank back against her chest. A veritable bouquet of daisies was in front of her, growing inside a plant pot. Instantly she felt her fingers itching badly. "You sick . . ." she began to say, looking up at him, but the words died on her lips.
She was surrounded by plants – at least forty of them.
They were on the floor, just inches from her ankles. They were on the countertops and windowsill around her. He'd even rigged a fern to hang from the ceiling somehow. A chill ran down her spine, in part because this sight now inspired fear in her, not satisfaction.
Ivy almost shot to her feet, but she was afraid her ankles or legs might brush up against leaves of some kind. She felt her throat closing up. "How could you do this to me? When did you bring these in here?" she gasped.
"About ten minutes before I brought you in here, Ivy."
She stared at him. "That's impossible," she said. "Even if I haven't been touching these plants, just by being around them I've been breathing in their . . ."
"Exactly," he replied, "just like you breathed in a concentrated burst of pollen that I sprayed into your face while you were sleeping. Your body should be on overload right now. So why isn't it?"
Ivy shook her head slowly, unable to comprehend. She glanced down at her fingers. "And what about this?" she asked triumphantly, shoving her hands in his face. The fingertips were turning red and sore looking.
"Those flowers are dead, Ivy. I bought them from a florist and shoved the cut stems down into a pot full of dirt. You just thought they were alive."
Whipping her head around, she stared at the flowers more closely. Impulsively she grabbed them by the stems and tore them from the soil with a great pull, although even a mild tug would have sufficed.
She clutched them in her hand until her knuckles turned white. "He told me I had to stay away from living plants, but dead plants, oh, that was all right. He even . . . that motherfucker!" Snarling, she did something that was most unusual for her – she flung the daisies to the floor and stomped on them.
"Ivy," he began.
"He tricked me, that sonofabitch," she growled. "I know more about plants than anyone on this planet, and he made me look like a goddamned amateur."
"Doctor Park? What did he do?"
She chuckled bitterly. "He had me smell the scent from some cut tulips and some potted roses, just to show me how the one was safe while the other was dangerous."
"And?" Batman prompted her.
Ivy looked exasperated with him. "He did the same thing with the roses that you did with the daisies, Batman. Those long-stemmed roses don't just grow in pots like that; that specific type of flower only grows in very limited and carefully monitored locations, not in a simple pot. I'm a fool, Bat." She inspected her fingers and was not surprised to see how quickly the redness was receding.
"I don't think he's altered your genes, Ivy," Batman said. "I think it's your mind."
"I'll kill him," she hissed.
"No, you won't," he told her. "Be happy that this is almost over."
"What do you mean, almost? I realize now that this is all in my head. My own traitorous brain is telling my body to be allergic. Well, it's not going to do it any more," she promised. She gestured to the various plants. "Are these all alive?"
He nodded mutely.
She went up to some flowers and, gently caressing the petals, smelled deeply. "See? I'm back, Batman. I . . ."
But Ivy was unable to continue as she sneezed three times very loudly.
Batman had already come to her side. Lifting up her right hand by the wrist, he saw that the fading rash had darkened in color again. "I don't think it's as simple as that, Ivy."
She flicked a tear from her eye and inspected her hands. "Fuck," she whispered. She raised her head and looked at him unhappily. "Can I see Harley now?"
__________________________________
"Remember, Harl," Ivy reminded her. "If he even tries to make me into a good girl while I'm under, you have my permission to clobber him."
"Hush, Ivy," Leslie chided her. "He wouldn't do that. He'd be no better than your doctor at Arkham."
"Oh yes," Ivy retorted, "I trust him so."
"Quiet," Batman commanded. "I can't hypnotize you if you keep talking. And I definitely can't if she even _starts_ talking," he added, pointing a thumb at Harley.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
"All right," he sighed, looking into Ivy's eyes. "Keep your eye on . . ."
He droned on so effectively that he almost put both Ivy _and_ Harley into trances.
"Do you know who you are?" Batman asked Ivy when he had her deeply within a trance state.
"Poison Ivy," she replied simply. Evidently she no longer saw herself as Pamela Isley even in her own mind.
"And where you are?"
"In a hospital."
"And why you're here?"
Her face turned wistful and sad. "I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."
"Were you always like this?"
"No."
"When did it begin?"
"A few days ago."
"How did it happen?"
"I do not know exactly. I was asleep when it was done to me."
"Done to you by whom?"
"Dr. Park. He told me himself."
"But you are not allergic to plants, Ivy. You only think you are."
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."
"Do you want to be?"
"No. Plants are one of the only two things in this world that I love."
Robin blinked. "Uh-oh," he thought.
"Really?" Batman asked, sounding slightly amused. "You love something as much as plants? What?"
"Harley," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Not to Batman, apparently, who slowly turned his head to look at Harley. She was sitting off to the side, practically turning red down to her fingertips.
"I see," he said quietly.
"I miss my plants," she went on softly, "but I think I can still be happy with her."
Harley was staring determinedly at her lap, but she couldn't help smiling very broadly.
He had no response to Ivy, so he had no choice but to continue. "Listen to me. Repeat after me – I am not allergic to plants."
"I am not allergic to plants," she said awkwardly.
"Exactly. Now, when I . . ."
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure – "
"Stop," Batman interrupted her. "You are _no longer_ allergic to plants. Say it."
"I am no longer allergic to plants."
"Again."
"I am no longer allergic to plants."
He waited for a few seconds.
"I am violently allergic to plants . . ."
"Damn," he muttered as she once again explained how plants could kill her. "This shouldn't be happening."
"What's wrong with her?" Harley asked timidly.
"My hypnotic suggestion should be overriding whatever has been done to her," he replied. "It's almost like every time I tell her she's not allergic, she hears another voice telling her she _is_. It's more than just simple hypnosis."
"Mind control," Leslie murmured.
Harley looked up at last. "Jervis," she whispered.
Batman sighed and nodded as he began bringing Ivy out of her trance. "I think we have another reason to return to Arkham."
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 7
Robin perched on a stool near the computer where Leslie was currently working. "Any progress?"
"Very little," she sighed, looking away from the monitor. "Are you all right?" she asked. "You look dazed."
His mouth twitched. "Well . . . I don't suppose Batman is still here?"
"No, he said he had a few things to do."
"Good," he replied, smoothing his hair back nervously. "I'm not really sure what to say to him."
She swiveled her chair around so that her back was to the computer. "What's wrong, Robin?"
"He told me to keep an eye on Ivy and Harley, so I was," he said a trifle defensively.
"Oh, dear," she responded. "You weren't _peeping_, were you?"
"No! I mean, that wasn't the idea, anyway."
Leslie chuckled wryly. "You're getting to be that age, aren't you? That age when you realize the costumes and disguises these women wear reveal as much as they conceal?"
He turned about as red as his outfit. "Uh, Doctor . . ."
"That's right, I'm a doctor," she agreed. "Which means you can tell me anything, and I won't tell Bruce if you don't want me to. We'll call it doctor-patient privilege."
Robin shifted uneasily. "They got real quiet in their room, so I was just peeking through the door to see if they had escaped or something. Honest."
"It's all right, Robin, you don't have to defend yourself to me. I'm not him, you know."
"Yeah, well, what I saw . . ."
"She wasn't naked, was she?"
"Uh-uh, no way," he answered immediately. "I'm a teenager, not a pervert. Both of them had those paper gowns you hand out."
She nodded thoughtfully, wondering where this was going. "And?"
"They were sitting on the floor, and they were kissing. Not like best friend kiss or sister kiss, either. Like, 'you may now kiss the bride' kissing." He hopped off his seat and took a step back, as if afraid she would give him a spanking.
Leslie leaned back in her chair, her chin sinking downward. "Interesting," she said.
Robin blinked. "That's your reaction?"
"I thought they seemed strange together earlier," she recalled. "But it never crossed my mind that the two were romantically involved."
"Yeah, but if everyone in Gotham knows Ivy's got a thing for plants, then they also know Harley's got a thing for the Joker."
"Yes, well, tonight's events have been flying in the face of common knowledge, haven't they? How long were you watching?"
He looked down a little. "Only maybe . . . thirty seconds? Forty-five? They pressed real close together, then they broke off the kiss, and then I quietly closed the door again."
"Did they see you?"
"I think they were a little too busy with each other."
She nodded. "So what about this is bothering you? The fact that you caught them in a private moment, the fact that they're both women, or that you're not sure what to tell Batman?"
"This doesn't bother you at all?"
"Well, as long as you didn't look in on them with the hope of seeing something like . . ."
"No, no, I mean the whole 'two women together' angle," he interrupted.
Leslie shook her head. "As this probably has no bearing on Ivy's health problems, it doesn't concern me. I suspect, in fact, that it might be good for Ms. Quinn's health. Being involved with the Joker strikes me as a surefire way to get oneself hurt or worse. And as for homosexuality – it's their private business. I don't often judge patients, and I don't see a need either."
"I just think it's kind of weird," he replied. "But it's Batman that bothers me. Do I tell him or not?"
"Knowing him, he'll probably figure it out on his own," she said. "Besides, this is information of a very personal and sensitive nature which you came by accidentally. I'm not sure you have a right to tell people what was until now a secret between Ivy and Harley."
"Hey, no problem," he assured her. "I didn't exactly relish the notion of telling him, so if you've got a reason not to, I'll take it."
"Take what?" Batman asked as he entered the room.
Robin whirled around to face him, but his foot got tangled in one of the legs of the stool, and both crashed onto the floor.
Batman merely looked on impassively as Leslie helped him back onto his feet. "Nothing," Robin told him, blushing furiously.
"Where are they?"
"Still together in the examining room."
His expression didn't change, as usual. "Leslie, do you have anything yet?"
"Her symptoms are definitely legitimate," she replied. "Her body suffered a massive allergic reaction, although I can't say whether it was the grass or something else. In fact I can't pinpoint any reason why her body is reacting that way, or what the cause is. I've still got plenty of tests to run, as well as the DNA tests, but my final report won't be for a couple of days, Bruce."
Instead of answering, he reached into his belt and pulled a small glass vial out. "I need to use the examining room next to Ivy's for a few minutes."
"What for?" she asked.
"You'll see," he said cryptically. "And as for you, Robin - _if_ you can stay on your feet tonight – you can help move some things I have in the hallway."
"I'll be fine," Robin muttered.
"Good."
_________________________________________
"Now don't they look like a couple of angels," Leslie murmured.
"Yeah, Hell's Angels," Robin replied.
Harley and Ivy were slumped against the wall, fast asleep. Ivy's head had fallen down to rest on the other woman's shoulder.
"Don't wake them," Batman cautioned them as they stepped back, allowing him to enter the room.
Silently approaching them, he crouched down in front of her. Affixing the glass vial to a small mechanical device, he pressed the trigger. A light cloud of dust particles hissed out into Ivy's face. She coughed a few times in her sleep, wrinkled her nose, and turned her face a little more towards Harley's shoulder.
He frowned and got up again.
"What was that stuff?" Robin asked. "Medication?"
"Pollen," he replied as they closed the door again.
"What?"
"It was nothing more than air with a very high pollen count, like those summer days that are the worst for allergy sufferers," he explained. "It _should_ have provoked a much more violent reaction from her."
"That was irresponsible, Bruce," Leslie warned him. "That's just what she should be staying away from in her condition."
"That's what she _thinks_ she should be staying away from," he corrected her. "But obviously, it wasn't a problem."
Robin scratched his head. "I don't get it," he said. "I thought she got sick when she breathed in pollen."
Batman put the device away. "I think, because of the very strange things we've seen in Gotham, we've become accustomed to accepting explanations which normally would defy scientific reason. The Man-Bat, Clayface, Ivy's own creations – because of that, we assumed that the story Ivy gave us about a surgical operation that altered her genetic structure was not only possible, but plausible."
"But you had doubts," Leslie added.
"I did. Arkham employs doctors, not scientists, and it always has a very tight budget. The idea that they could develop something as complicated and dangerous as a surgical procedure that distorts a person's DNA for a very specific purpose, and that it's successful, is something too fantastical even for Gotham," Batman continued.
"Does this mean we think she's lying?" Robin asked.
"I doubt it," he said. "Granted, she's exceptionally devious, but to intentionally cut herself off from the plants she loves so much – she's crazy, but she's not stupid. Plants are the only things she cares about." He paused. "What?"
Robin had glanced briefly at Leslie after the last comment about Ivy and what she cared about. "Nothing," he said for the second time that night. "Just she seems even more attached to Harley than usual."
"I'm still trying to decipher that myself," Batman admitted. "Then again, I've never entirely understood their friendship, either." He grew quiet. "I suspect she was going to kill herself earlier tonight, also."
"No fu . . ." Robin began, but quickly stopped when the two adults glared at him piercingly. "No way," he added lamely.
"How can you be sure?" Leslie asked him.
"I found a noose in her garbage," he replied. "And there was other evidence that she'd been intending to do herself in, as well."
Leslie frowned. "You should have told me, Bruce. I realize she's been in therapy every day she's been a prisoner at Arkham, but if she's been suicidal as of late, then she absolutely needs help with that."
"Only if we can't figure out what's causing her allergies," Batman replied. "If she gets her old life back, I don't think she'll want to harm herself again."
"But if we can't," Leslie told him forcefully, "then we get her into treatment."
"Fine," he agreed.
"So if there's nothing wrong with her and she's telling the truth," Robin asked, "then what's going on here?"
"What the doctors at Arkham know a little something about," Batman guessed shrewdly. "Either a mental or psychological condition that makes her body _think_ she's allergic."
"Is that possible?"
"It's the placebo effect, Robin," Leslie told him. "Patients felt better after being given sugar pills which their doctors said were actually powerful medicine. Their minds told their bodies that they were supposed to get better, so they did."
"But it calls for further experimenting," Batman added. "Which is why I had you set up the next room over like I told you. We have to wake them up and get Poison Ivy into that room alone."
"I think separating those two might be a little difficult."
______________________________________________
"This is so stupid," Ivy grumbled.
"Can't I _please_ go with her?" Harley begged.
"Not a chance," Batman muttered.
"But it's just one room over!"
"He needs absolute concentration, Harley," Leslie reminded her. "He can't have you distracting him."
"Oh, pooh," she pouted, folding her arms.
"Besides, then we'd have to blindfold both of you," Robin pointed out.
"Yeah, but then you could give us broomsticks and we could pretend Batman is a piñata," she replied brightly.
"I don't give candy," he retorted.
Ivy sighed and, reaching up with her hands, which had been cuffed together again, tried to adjust the thick black cloth around the upper half of her face.
"Leave it," Batman told her, batting her hands back down.
"It itches," she complained.
"Then it can take your mind off your back."
Ivy felt smaller, more familiar hands take her own. "I'll be right outside," she heard Harley say quietly. "I don't trust this. Why doesn't he want you to see what he's doing?"
"Maybe I'd get to see the man behind the mask," she replied cunningly.
"We'd finally have a face to go with that lockjaw," Harley added.
"Let's go, Harley."
"Hey, lay off, twerp!" Ivy heard Harley being dragged away.
"Is this absolutely necessary?" she asked.
"By the time I'm finished," he said, "I expect to have this whole thing figured out."
"Then what were the medical tests for?" she muttered.
"Take it easy, Ivy," Leslie reminded her. "You got some ointment for your rash, anyway."
Ivy's skin burned where Batman rested his hand on her shoulder. "Ouch!"
"Sorry." His hand moved down to her elbow before she felt herself being led somewhere else, then heard the sound of a door closing.
"Sit," he commanded as she felt the back of her legs bump against a chair.
She did so sullenly. "I'm not your dog, you know."
"Others would say you're a real bitch, Ivy."
Ivy blinked, or tried to under the thick blindfold. Was that a joke? An off-color joke, no less?
"I need you to sit perfectly still for five minutes," he went on. "Then I can take the blindfold off. All right?"
She wasn't entirely sure whether he was in front of or behind her. But she heard scraping sounds that suggested he was pulling another chair or a table across the floor. "Fine," she said, "but others would also say you're a real bastard, Bat."
"I can live with it," he replied, but then he said nothing more.
"What is that smell?" she asked two minutes later, her nose wrinkling as she felt something being passed underneath.
"Vicks Vaporub," he said. "Strong, isn't it?"
"Too strong," Ivy grumbled. "The scent is practically clogging my nostrils."
He had no reply, and she was forced to wait three more minutes before she heard him speak again. "Raise your hands," he told her. "Stretch them out."
Exhaling in irritation, she put her hands out. There was obviously something in front of her, because her fingertips grazed something very light and fragile.
"A little lower."
It was as her hands drifted downward that she realized he had asked her to press them against flowers. "What the fuck?" she snapped, her hands flinching backward.
He ripped the blindfold off of her face and her hands shrank back against her chest. A veritable bouquet of daisies was in front of her, growing inside a plant pot. Instantly she felt her fingers itching badly. "You sick . . ." she began to say, looking up at him, but the words died on her lips.
She was surrounded by plants – at least forty of them.
They were on the floor, just inches from her ankles. They were on the countertops and windowsill around her. He'd even rigged a fern to hang from the ceiling somehow. A chill ran down her spine, in part because this sight now inspired fear in her, not satisfaction.
Ivy almost shot to her feet, but she was afraid her ankles or legs might brush up against leaves of some kind. She felt her throat closing up. "How could you do this to me? When did you bring these in here?" she gasped.
"About ten minutes before I brought you in here, Ivy."
She stared at him. "That's impossible," she said. "Even if I haven't been touching these plants, just by being around them I've been breathing in their . . ."
"Exactly," he replied, "just like you breathed in a concentrated burst of pollen that I sprayed into your face while you were sleeping. Your body should be on overload right now. So why isn't it?"
Ivy shook her head slowly, unable to comprehend. She glanced down at her fingers. "And what about this?" she asked triumphantly, shoving her hands in his face. The fingertips were turning red and sore looking.
"Those flowers are dead, Ivy. I bought them from a florist and shoved the cut stems down into a pot full of dirt. You just thought they were alive."
Whipping her head around, she stared at the flowers more closely. Impulsively she grabbed them by the stems and tore them from the soil with a great pull, although even a mild tug would have sufficed.
She clutched them in her hand until her knuckles turned white. "He told me I had to stay away from living plants, but dead plants, oh, that was all right. He even . . . that motherfucker!" Snarling, she did something that was most unusual for her – she flung the daisies to the floor and stomped on them.
"Ivy," he began.
"He tricked me, that sonofabitch," she growled. "I know more about plants than anyone on this planet, and he made me look like a goddamned amateur."
"Doctor Park? What did he do?"
She chuckled bitterly. "He had me smell the scent from some cut tulips and some potted roses, just to show me how the one was safe while the other was dangerous."
"And?" Batman prompted her.
Ivy looked exasperated with him. "He did the same thing with the roses that you did with the daisies, Batman. Those long-stemmed roses don't just grow in pots like that; that specific type of flower only grows in very limited and carefully monitored locations, not in a simple pot. I'm a fool, Bat." She inspected her fingers and was not surprised to see how quickly the redness was receding.
"I don't think he's altered your genes, Ivy," Batman said. "I think it's your mind."
"I'll kill him," she hissed.
"No, you won't," he told her. "Be happy that this is almost over."
"What do you mean, almost? I realize now that this is all in my head. My own traitorous brain is telling my body to be allergic. Well, it's not going to do it any more," she promised. She gestured to the various plants. "Are these all alive?"
He nodded mutely.
She went up to some flowers and, gently caressing the petals, smelled deeply. "See? I'm back, Batman. I . . ."
But Ivy was unable to continue as she sneezed three times very loudly.
Batman had already come to her side. Lifting up her right hand by the wrist, he saw that the fading rash had darkened in color again. "I don't think it's as simple as that, Ivy."
She flicked a tear from her eye and inspected her hands. "Fuck," she whispered. She raised her head and looked at him unhappily. "Can I see Harley now?"
__________________________________
"Remember, Harl," Ivy reminded her. "If he even tries to make me into a good girl while I'm under, you have my permission to clobber him."
"Hush, Ivy," Leslie chided her. "He wouldn't do that. He'd be no better than your doctor at Arkham."
"Oh yes," Ivy retorted, "I trust him so."
"Quiet," Batman commanded. "I can't hypnotize you if you keep talking. And I definitely can't if she even _starts_ talking," he added, pointing a thumb at Harley.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
"All right," he sighed, looking into Ivy's eyes. "Keep your eye on . . ."
He droned on so effectively that he almost put both Ivy _and_ Harley into trances.
"Do you know who you are?" Batman asked Ivy when he had her deeply within a trance state.
"Poison Ivy," she replied simply. Evidently she no longer saw herself as Pamela Isley even in her own mind.
"And where you are?"
"In a hospital."
"And why you're here?"
Her face turned wistful and sad. "I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."
"Were you always like this?"
"No."
"When did it begin?"
"A few days ago."
"How did it happen?"
"I do not know exactly. I was asleep when it was done to me."
"Done to you by whom?"
"Dr. Park. He told me himself."
"But you are not allergic to plants, Ivy. You only think you are."
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure can be lethal."
"Do you want to be?"
"No. Plants are one of the only two things in this world that I love."
Robin blinked. "Uh-oh," he thought.
"Really?" Batman asked, sounding slightly amused. "You love something as much as plants? What?"
"Harley," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Not to Batman, apparently, who slowly turned his head to look at Harley. She was sitting off to the side, practically turning red down to her fingertips.
"I see," he said quietly.
"I miss my plants," she went on softly, "but I think I can still be happy with her."
Harley was staring determinedly at her lap, but she couldn't help smiling very broadly.
He had no response to Ivy, so he had no choice but to continue. "Listen to me. Repeat after me – I am not allergic to plants."
"I am not allergic to plants," she said awkwardly.
"Exactly. Now, when I . . ."
"I am violently allergic to plants. Prolonged exposure – "
"Stop," Batman interrupted her. "You are _no longer_ allergic to plants. Say it."
"I am no longer allergic to plants."
"Again."
"I am no longer allergic to plants."
He waited for a few seconds.
"I am violently allergic to plants . . ."
"Damn," he muttered as she once again explained how plants could kill her. "This shouldn't be happening."
"What's wrong with her?" Harley asked timidly.
"My hypnotic suggestion should be overriding whatever has been done to her," he replied. "It's almost like every time I tell her she's not allergic, she hears another voice telling her she _is_. It's more than just simple hypnosis."
"Mind control," Leslie murmured.
Harley looked up at last. "Jervis," she whispered.
Batman sighed and nodded as he began bringing Ivy out of her trance. "I think we have another reason to return to Arkham."
To be continued . . .