Title: Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses (2/??)
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: Reader response was really great the last time. I hope to see as much the second time around.
Rating: R (graphic violence, angst)
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: The Joker was bound to interfere in Harley and Ivy's relationship. Will it survive? Will they? Sequel to "It's Just Allergies".
_______________________________________________________
Chapter 2
Ivy had managed to calm herself down somewhat by the time she reached the place which she knew Harley had gone to. After all, Harley could be notoriously bubbleheaded about some things, so wasn't it possible she'd just been distracted by something? Maybe one of her pets had made a mess on the floor, or something. And the Joker just _had_ to have at least a half-dozen bases scattered throughout the city. Anyone who broke into one of his hideouts would have to be a total idiot not to turn around, walk back out, and never speak of it to anyone.
So she'd probably just find Harley sprawled on the bed, reading a magazine. Right?
As she slowly made her way up the stairs, however, her optimism took a major hit when she discovered the babies pawing and whining at the door. They heard her coming and started to growl, but then they stopped after taking a few whiffs. Perhaps they smelled Harley all over her. Or perhaps they had bigger problems. They focused once more on the door.
"Good boys," she said absently as she squeezed past them, adjusting the loaded miniature crossbow she'd attached to her wrist. She'd found it in her bathroom. Apparently Harley had brought it along with her costume when she'd been caught by the Bat sneaking in. Part of her plan to cheer Ivy up, she supposed.
Ivy slowly reached for the doorknob with her other hand, her stomach churning. It seemed to take forever.
Finally, however, she took it. And turned it. And opened the door.
Since the hyenas shoved past her as the door opened, her view of the floor was obscured. What she instead saw first was a familiar pair of purple pants and dress shoes, propped up on a chest of drawers. The chair in which the Joker was reclining hid most of him from view, but she could see he had his hands tucked behind his head, and from the smoke guessed he was smoking a cigar. Immediately she brought her arm up so that the crossbow was pointed directly at the back of his chair.
Then she looked down and saw the hyenas anxiously circling something on the floor.
Ivy slumped against the doorframe as Harley came into view. She was facedown on the floor, and there was a puddle of blood around her face. Her left hand was outstretched toward the door, but a switchblade had been driven clean through the back of her hand, nailing it to the floor. Her face was purple and swollen, and her eyes were closed. She looked . . .
Dead.
She sank to her knees as all feeling slowly vanished from her legs. A soundless wail was torn from her lips and she wrapped her arms around her chest, while the direct cause of her abject misery went on smoking his celebratory cigar, totally unaware that someone had entered the room.
Whimpering, the hyenas poked at Harley with their noses and licked her face hesitantly. She twitched and stirred a little, a very low groan escaping through her lips.
Ivy could have been mistaken for a statue as she lay helplessly in the doorway, but now the air rushed back into her lungs with the force of a kick from a mule. She felt her blood unfreeze a little and start to flow through her veins again. Meanwhile, her grief and horror gradually gave way to a more familiar and satisfying emotion: a deep, homicidal rage.
Slowly rising to her feet, she aimed her crossbow directly at his head, but at the last second, she shifted it slightly to the right before firing.
The miniature bolt clipped his right ear, causing blood to splatter the floor, before it sailed past him, knocking the cigar from his lips and pinning it to the wall before him. Screaming from surprise and pain, he clapped his right hand to his ear and, stumbling out of his chair and to his feet, awkwardly tried to remove his gun from his jacket pocket with his other hand.
Before he could do so, however, he found himself staring down the loaded weapon of Poison Ivy.
Grinning a little, he let his left hand drop from his jacket. "Well. If it isn't the town tramp," he sneered.
Her eyes burning, she inched her way forward until she was standing just to the right of Harley's savagely beaten form. Quickly glancing down, she was further enraged to see that the Joker had torn away the back from Harley's costume and bitten her hard enough to draw blood. "You sick . . . I can't even conceive of words to describe you with," she snarled, letting the madness take over.
"What, don't you like my work?" he asked, sounding injured. "She never seemed bothered for long when I beat her in the past. I thought she liked it."
And the most disturbing part was, Ivy thought he sincerely believed that. "Was that the only way you could touch her? Hitting her?" she shot back.
"Oh no, we had plenty of sex, too," he leered at her. "And let's be honest - she'll never be satisfied with you after having me. You don't have the right 'package'," he added, looking pointedly at the space between her thighs.
"At least," she retorted, biting the words off, "I know how to make her feel good about herself. I don't go out of my way to belittle her and put her down."
"Well," he sighed, "it is an art form, you know. It's not easy to put someone down when they don't have any real talent or ability to speak of. She's not even a very good getaway driver." He looked at his fingernails lazily as her whole body shook from her growing fury. "Of course, neither of us will have to put up with her legion of inadequacies for much longer. She doesn't have more than a couple hours. I know a ruptured kidney when I cause one," he told her smugly.
Her arm fell a little as she looked once again at Harley. She had fallen unconscious again, and Ivy's mind started racing. Harley needed instant medical attention, something more than Ivy could give her even with her botanical experiments. And she needed to get Harley out of here as soon as possible. So she should just kill him now, and then carefully -
She heard the click of the hammer before it registered. It was another two seconds before she realized that he had distracted her long enough to get his gun out and aimed at her. She kept her own weapon focused on him, but she'd lost the advantage.
Joker sniggered as he tightened his grip. "Women. So emotional," he said pityingly.
"Try shooting me with one of these buried in your nostril," she warned him, shaking her crossbow.
"Try shooting me with your brains giving my place a new coat of paint," he retorted. "Or we could just stand here like this while Harley heads further and further down that tunnel. Or maybe it's a _funnel_, since she could only be going down."
"So we're all dead," Ivy hissed. "The future doesn't look too bright for you, either."
"Maybe," he replied. "But then, you're looking mighty tasty to the babies."
Ivy swore inwardly as she recognized how desperately this had spiraled out of control. It was bad enough when _all_ she had to do was somehow get Harley out of the building and - where? They were in a shitty part of town; where the hell could they go? But now she was in a Mexican standoff with a sadistic psychopath who had cheated death a dozen times and undoubtedly thought he could continue to do so for years to come. And she had two ravenous, carnivorous wild animals at her back, probably waiting for one word from their lord and master to pounce. It seemed Ivy wasn't very good at being a girlfriend.
They hadn't even been together for a day. This struck Ivy as incredibly sad.
As it turned out, the Joker used not one word, but two. "Babies," he said. "Kill."
Ivy was prepared to fire her only shot at a spot right between his eyes, but she never even got the chance.
Looking unusually thoughtful for a pair of scavengers, the hyenas looked at the Joker, at Harley, at Ivy, and back at the Joker. Having evidently reached a decision, they bent their legs a little before springing into action. They breezed past Ivy, one on each side. One clamped its teeth down on Joker's wrist, while the other attached itself to his ankle like a living bear trap.
"No! . . . stupid . . . ouch! . . . it's obedience school for you!" the Joker screeched as he tried to shake them both off. He reflexively fired twice, but since he had a fifty-pound animal hanging from that arm, the gun was pulled downward. Both bullets flew harmlessly to Ivy's left.
This served to rouse Ivy from her shock at seeing the hyenas go from menace to savior. She fired a hurried shot before diving out of the way of the Joker's line of fire and hiding behind a chest of drawers. "If we get out of this, Harley," she thought to herself, "your babies can urinate anywhere they damn well please."
Her shot had a result similar, if unintended, to her earlier one. As he shook and yelled, he shifted his head so that the crossbow bolt tore through his collar and grazed his neck, causing the top of his shirt to become instantly red.
Infuriated, he finally switched his gun from his right hand to his left and aimed at the body of the hyena that continued to gnaw at his wrist, tearing flesh and muscle. But the animal's bloodlust was not so great that it couldn't be aware of danger. It let go and dropped to the floor. Choosing a different target, it leapt for his crotch.
"Bad dog!" he screamed as he was barely able to fend it off by striking it in the head with the pistol barrel. It backed away a little and shook its head.
The other one also finally let go and backed up, snarling. One sleeve and one pant leg were torn to ribbons, and in some places, the purple in his clothing was a much darker shade than usual. Panting heavily, the Joker obviously favored one leg over the other.
"You are all _so_ dead . . ." he wheezed.
Having reloaded in the meantime, Ivy rose up from her behind her hiding place and fired another bolt.
"As soon as I get back," he added hastily as he saw her shot and turned to run. The projectile struck him squarely in the right shoulder blade, but he only cursed and ran faster for a rear exit, both hyenas snapping at the seat of his pants.
Ivy's immediate instinct was to pursue him. Her need to cause further damage, culminating in an extraordinarily painful death, was threatening to override all else.
But she paused and looked at Harley, who still had not moved since that initial response to the hyenas' attentions. A very small part of her awakened, one that she'd only just learned about in the last couple days, one she'd hardly been able to explore. This inner voice acknowledged that yes, hatred and revenge and rage were very satisfying emotions, but when she was finished with him, what would she have left if Harley was dead?
She was still burning with the desire to punish the Joker for his cruelty, but ever so slowly, Ivy was able to suppress that need and focus on caring for Harley. In doing so, she showed a capacity for self-control and sacrifice which had been utterly untapped previously.
"Harley," she whispered softly as, having come from out of her hiding place, she fell to her knees next to the unconscious woman. "Are you awake?"
There was no answer. But when Ivy put two fingers to Harley's neck, she was rewarded with a faint pulse.
She could try to rouse her again, but it was more important to get her out of there before the Joker disposed of his pursuers and returned. And maybe it was best that Harley was unconscious, since one obstacle in particular would prove most painful to remove.
Ivy considered leaving the knife in Harley's hand and just removing the whole thing from the floor, to prevent further blood loss, but that would be almost impossible to accomplish. So, after silently apologizing for what she was going to do, she grabbed Joker's switchblade by the handle and gently but firmly extracted it from Harley's hand.
Her lover trembled in her sleep, but Ivy quickly managed to stop some of the bleeding by retrieving the part of the costume which Joker had torn away and tying it around her palm. As she did so, she looked again at her back where the outfit had been. His teeth would leave scars if she survived, she saw.
Both of her inner voices agreed that the Joker could be dealt with much more satisfyingly after Harley was safe, and after she'd gotten a few things from her hideout.
"All right now," she said nervously. "I'm just going to pick you up and carry you out of here." Shaking with fear, she carefully rolled Harley onto her side before getting her arms underneath her and lifting.
Harley's face twisted as Ivy slowly took her in her arms. Ivy's heart bled to cause her such pain, but there was no alternative. Slowly but mindful of the lack of time, Ivy managed to take her out of the room, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk outside.
Ivy was sweating from the weight, but she didn't dare rest. She couldn't put Harley down, only to pick her up again. She looked both ways and swore. She was surrounded by urban blight. Now what?
She could have laughed hysterically. What she needed was 911.
"Phone. Phone," she hissed repeatedly, knowing she had to go either left or right but not sure which way was better. Finally she chose left, if only because the street corner was near and she could turn and get out of the line of sight of Joker's hideout.
Five minutes later, after a series of abandoned storefronts, dark tenements in which a few timid souls who would never answer the door for a stranger resided, and demolished phone booths, an exhausted Ivy came to a stop when Harley opened her eyes slightly. "R-Red?" she croaked.
"Harley," Ivy answered, trying to smile. "You're still alive."
"Are we home yet?" she asked. "I don't feel so good."
Ivy felt droplets on her foot and looked down. The bandage around Harley's hand was so saturated with blood that it was now dripping onto the sidewalk. The blood had at least stopped running from Harley's injured nose; dried blood caked her upper lip. "Soon," she promised. "It's going to be all better soon." It _has_ to be, she thought to herself.
"Joker," she struggled to say. "He wouldn't let me go. I was so . . . alone. Please, Ivy."
"Please what?" she asked as she resumed staggering down the street.
"Please don't leave me, Ivy. You're all I have." Harley's eyes flickered before her head slumped against Ivy's shoulder.
Ivy would have panicked again if she hadn't felt Harley's heartbeat against her chest. "I promise," she whispered. "I'll try to be all you need."
Just when she was about to give up, Ivy was stopped in her tracks by what had to be a mirage - a public pay phone. Stumbling towards it, she leaned against it and was gratified to feel the cool metal. "Guess I have a little good karma left after all," she murmured before gently lowering Harley to the pavement so that she lay next to the wall.
Dialing 911, Ivy waited an interminable length of time before someone deigned to pick up. "Is this an emergency?" the woman asked.
Ivy almost lost it right there. "Yes, damn it, it's an emergency!" she practically shouted. "I need an ambulance right now. My friend, she's been beaten really badly and she might die!"
The dispatcher asked for the location and Ivy, after a moment of searching, gave her a general idea. She heard the woman become silent, undoubtedly noting what part of town this was and wondering if this was a scam. Ivy knew of cases where criminals had lured ambulances to remote locations and stripped them bare.
"Look," Ivy went on impatiently, "if you don't get an ambulance down here quick, I will personally come over to where you work, find your cubicle, and snap your neck like a twig!"
"Using this line when there isn't an emergency and making violent threats is against the law," the woman droned.
"Fine," Ivy growled, "then send four police cars down here too and they can arrest me. Just send the goddamn ambulance!" And she almost slammed the phone down, but instead she let it hang from the receiver, figuring they might want to trace the call too.
As the last of the adrenaline left her system, she was overcome with weariness. And as she anxiously inspected Harley, she felt the events of the last hour catch up with her.
Turning away, she burst into sobs. She sounded totally lost and afraid and distraught, and it was a few minutes before she was able to collect herself and dry her tears. Then there was nothing left but to wait and hope that the police were good for something.
Fifteen minutes later, just when her nerves were stretched to their limit, her ears perked up at the sound of a siren. Police car, maybe, or a fire somewhere, or . . .
But instead, she got an ambulance that pulled up right in front of the pay phone. Rising to her feet, her knees wobbled but she managed to stand, clutching the phone for support.
Two paramedics, one black, one white, got out. The first one came over and took one look at Harley's condition before turning his head. "Gurney, now!"
Ivy wasn't one for begging, especially with a city employee, but she resorted to it now. "Tell me you can save her," she pleaded.
"Damn right we can save her," he replied as he administered to Harley.
"Uh, Terence?" the other paramedic asked as he came over with the stretcher.
"Yeah?"
"You do realize that this is Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn we're dealing with? Notorious criminals and all?"
"Uh-huh," he replied casually. "Hand me those bandages, wouldja?"
The other man's nose twitched as he stared at Ivy.
"He said, hand him the bandages," Ivy told him icily.
Cringing, the second paramedic did as he was told.
The first, older EMS man chuckled dryly. "Forgive him, Miss Ivy. He's still new to the job, so he's kind of a wuss."
"Hey!"
"If you got a problem with that, then do your job and help me lift her onto the stretcher."
He did so, but he was hesitant.
As the first paramedic wheeled Harley toward the back of the emergency vehicle, Ivy leaned in close to the other one. "If you're wondering what I could do to you later, try worrying about what I could do to you now if anything happens to her," she whispered.
Blanching, he somehow regained his enthusiasm for his work.
Ivy sighed. Maybe, just _maybe_, their lives weren't over.
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: Reader response was really great the last time. I hope to see as much the second time around.
Rating: R (graphic violence, angst)
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: The Joker was bound to interfere in Harley and Ivy's relationship. Will it survive? Will they? Sequel to "It's Just Allergies".
_______________________________________________________
Chapter 2
Ivy had managed to calm herself down somewhat by the time she reached the place which she knew Harley had gone to. After all, Harley could be notoriously bubbleheaded about some things, so wasn't it possible she'd just been distracted by something? Maybe one of her pets had made a mess on the floor, or something. And the Joker just _had_ to have at least a half-dozen bases scattered throughout the city. Anyone who broke into one of his hideouts would have to be a total idiot not to turn around, walk back out, and never speak of it to anyone.
So she'd probably just find Harley sprawled on the bed, reading a magazine. Right?
As she slowly made her way up the stairs, however, her optimism took a major hit when she discovered the babies pawing and whining at the door. They heard her coming and started to growl, but then they stopped after taking a few whiffs. Perhaps they smelled Harley all over her. Or perhaps they had bigger problems. They focused once more on the door.
"Good boys," she said absently as she squeezed past them, adjusting the loaded miniature crossbow she'd attached to her wrist. She'd found it in her bathroom. Apparently Harley had brought it along with her costume when she'd been caught by the Bat sneaking in. Part of her plan to cheer Ivy up, she supposed.
Ivy slowly reached for the doorknob with her other hand, her stomach churning. It seemed to take forever.
Finally, however, she took it. And turned it. And opened the door.
Since the hyenas shoved past her as the door opened, her view of the floor was obscured. What she instead saw first was a familiar pair of purple pants and dress shoes, propped up on a chest of drawers. The chair in which the Joker was reclining hid most of him from view, but she could see he had his hands tucked behind his head, and from the smoke guessed he was smoking a cigar. Immediately she brought her arm up so that the crossbow was pointed directly at the back of his chair.
Then she looked down and saw the hyenas anxiously circling something on the floor.
Ivy slumped against the doorframe as Harley came into view. She was facedown on the floor, and there was a puddle of blood around her face. Her left hand was outstretched toward the door, but a switchblade had been driven clean through the back of her hand, nailing it to the floor. Her face was purple and swollen, and her eyes were closed. She looked . . .
Dead.
She sank to her knees as all feeling slowly vanished from her legs. A soundless wail was torn from her lips and she wrapped her arms around her chest, while the direct cause of her abject misery went on smoking his celebratory cigar, totally unaware that someone had entered the room.
Whimpering, the hyenas poked at Harley with their noses and licked her face hesitantly. She twitched and stirred a little, a very low groan escaping through her lips.
Ivy could have been mistaken for a statue as she lay helplessly in the doorway, but now the air rushed back into her lungs with the force of a kick from a mule. She felt her blood unfreeze a little and start to flow through her veins again. Meanwhile, her grief and horror gradually gave way to a more familiar and satisfying emotion: a deep, homicidal rage.
Slowly rising to her feet, she aimed her crossbow directly at his head, but at the last second, she shifted it slightly to the right before firing.
The miniature bolt clipped his right ear, causing blood to splatter the floor, before it sailed past him, knocking the cigar from his lips and pinning it to the wall before him. Screaming from surprise and pain, he clapped his right hand to his ear and, stumbling out of his chair and to his feet, awkwardly tried to remove his gun from his jacket pocket with his other hand.
Before he could do so, however, he found himself staring down the loaded weapon of Poison Ivy.
Grinning a little, he let his left hand drop from his jacket. "Well. If it isn't the town tramp," he sneered.
Her eyes burning, she inched her way forward until she was standing just to the right of Harley's savagely beaten form. Quickly glancing down, she was further enraged to see that the Joker had torn away the back from Harley's costume and bitten her hard enough to draw blood. "You sick . . . I can't even conceive of words to describe you with," she snarled, letting the madness take over.
"What, don't you like my work?" he asked, sounding injured. "She never seemed bothered for long when I beat her in the past. I thought she liked it."
And the most disturbing part was, Ivy thought he sincerely believed that. "Was that the only way you could touch her? Hitting her?" she shot back.
"Oh no, we had plenty of sex, too," he leered at her. "And let's be honest - she'll never be satisfied with you after having me. You don't have the right 'package'," he added, looking pointedly at the space between her thighs.
"At least," she retorted, biting the words off, "I know how to make her feel good about herself. I don't go out of my way to belittle her and put her down."
"Well," he sighed, "it is an art form, you know. It's not easy to put someone down when they don't have any real talent or ability to speak of. She's not even a very good getaway driver." He looked at his fingernails lazily as her whole body shook from her growing fury. "Of course, neither of us will have to put up with her legion of inadequacies for much longer. She doesn't have more than a couple hours. I know a ruptured kidney when I cause one," he told her smugly.
Her arm fell a little as she looked once again at Harley. She had fallen unconscious again, and Ivy's mind started racing. Harley needed instant medical attention, something more than Ivy could give her even with her botanical experiments. And she needed to get Harley out of here as soon as possible. So she should just kill him now, and then carefully -
She heard the click of the hammer before it registered. It was another two seconds before she realized that he had distracted her long enough to get his gun out and aimed at her. She kept her own weapon focused on him, but she'd lost the advantage.
Joker sniggered as he tightened his grip. "Women. So emotional," he said pityingly.
"Try shooting me with one of these buried in your nostril," she warned him, shaking her crossbow.
"Try shooting me with your brains giving my place a new coat of paint," he retorted. "Or we could just stand here like this while Harley heads further and further down that tunnel. Or maybe it's a _funnel_, since she could only be going down."
"So we're all dead," Ivy hissed. "The future doesn't look too bright for you, either."
"Maybe," he replied. "But then, you're looking mighty tasty to the babies."
Ivy swore inwardly as she recognized how desperately this had spiraled out of control. It was bad enough when _all_ she had to do was somehow get Harley out of the building and - where? They were in a shitty part of town; where the hell could they go? But now she was in a Mexican standoff with a sadistic psychopath who had cheated death a dozen times and undoubtedly thought he could continue to do so for years to come. And she had two ravenous, carnivorous wild animals at her back, probably waiting for one word from their lord and master to pounce. It seemed Ivy wasn't very good at being a girlfriend.
They hadn't even been together for a day. This struck Ivy as incredibly sad.
As it turned out, the Joker used not one word, but two. "Babies," he said. "Kill."
Ivy was prepared to fire her only shot at a spot right between his eyes, but she never even got the chance.
Looking unusually thoughtful for a pair of scavengers, the hyenas looked at the Joker, at Harley, at Ivy, and back at the Joker. Having evidently reached a decision, they bent their legs a little before springing into action. They breezed past Ivy, one on each side. One clamped its teeth down on Joker's wrist, while the other attached itself to his ankle like a living bear trap.
"No! . . . stupid . . . ouch! . . . it's obedience school for you!" the Joker screeched as he tried to shake them both off. He reflexively fired twice, but since he had a fifty-pound animal hanging from that arm, the gun was pulled downward. Both bullets flew harmlessly to Ivy's left.
This served to rouse Ivy from her shock at seeing the hyenas go from menace to savior. She fired a hurried shot before diving out of the way of the Joker's line of fire and hiding behind a chest of drawers. "If we get out of this, Harley," she thought to herself, "your babies can urinate anywhere they damn well please."
Her shot had a result similar, if unintended, to her earlier one. As he shook and yelled, he shifted his head so that the crossbow bolt tore through his collar and grazed his neck, causing the top of his shirt to become instantly red.
Infuriated, he finally switched his gun from his right hand to his left and aimed at the body of the hyena that continued to gnaw at his wrist, tearing flesh and muscle. But the animal's bloodlust was not so great that it couldn't be aware of danger. It let go and dropped to the floor. Choosing a different target, it leapt for his crotch.
"Bad dog!" he screamed as he was barely able to fend it off by striking it in the head with the pistol barrel. It backed away a little and shook its head.
The other one also finally let go and backed up, snarling. One sleeve and one pant leg were torn to ribbons, and in some places, the purple in his clothing was a much darker shade than usual. Panting heavily, the Joker obviously favored one leg over the other.
"You are all _so_ dead . . ." he wheezed.
Having reloaded in the meantime, Ivy rose up from her behind her hiding place and fired another bolt.
"As soon as I get back," he added hastily as he saw her shot and turned to run. The projectile struck him squarely in the right shoulder blade, but he only cursed and ran faster for a rear exit, both hyenas snapping at the seat of his pants.
Ivy's immediate instinct was to pursue him. Her need to cause further damage, culminating in an extraordinarily painful death, was threatening to override all else.
But she paused and looked at Harley, who still had not moved since that initial response to the hyenas' attentions. A very small part of her awakened, one that she'd only just learned about in the last couple days, one she'd hardly been able to explore. This inner voice acknowledged that yes, hatred and revenge and rage were very satisfying emotions, but when she was finished with him, what would she have left if Harley was dead?
She was still burning with the desire to punish the Joker for his cruelty, but ever so slowly, Ivy was able to suppress that need and focus on caring for Harley. In doing so, she showed a capacity for self-control and sacrifice which had been utterly untapped previously.
"Harley," she whispered softly as, having come from out of her hiding place, she fell to her knees next to the unconscious woman. "Are you awake?"
There was no answer. But when Ivy put two fingers to Harley's neck, she was rewarded with a faint pulse.
She could try to rouse her again, but it was more important to get her out of there before the Joker disposed of his pursuers and returned. And maybe it was best that Harley was unconscious, since one obstacle in particular would prove most painful to remove.
Ivy considered leaving the knife in Harley's hand and just removing the whole thing from the floor, to prevent further blood loss, but that would be almost impossible to accomplish. So, after silently apologizing for what she was going to do, she grabbed Joker's switchblade by the handle and gently but firmly extracted it from Harley's hand.
Her lover trembled in her sleep, but Ivy quickly managed to stop some of the bleeding by retrieving the part of the costume which Joker had torn away and tying it around her palm. As she did so, she looked again at her back where the outfit had been. His teeth would leave scars if she survived, she saw.
Both of her inner voices agreed that the Joker could be dealt with much more satisfyingly after Harley was safe, and after she'd gotten a few things from her hideout.
"All right now," she said nervously. "I'm just going to pick you up and carry you out of here." Shaking with fear, she carefully rolled Harley onto her side before getting her arms underneath her and lifting.
Harley's face twisted as Ivy slowly took her in her arms. Ivy's heart bled to cause her such pain, but there was no alternative. Slowly but mindful of the lack of time, Ivy managed to take her out of the room, down the stairs, and onto the sidewalk outside.
Ivy was sweating from the weight, but she didn't dare rest. She couldn't put Harley down, only to pick her up again. She looked both ways and swore. She was surrounded by urban blight. Now what?
She could have laughed hysterically. What she needed was 911.
"Phone. Phone," she hissed repeatedly, knowing she had to go either left or right but not sure which way was better. Finally she chose left, if only because the street corner was near and she could turn and get out of the line of sight of Joker's hideout.
Five minutes later, after a series of abandoned storefronts, dark tenements in which a few timid souls who would never answer the door for a stranger resided, and demolished phone booths, an exhausted Ivy came to a stop when Harley opened her eyes slightly. "R-Red?" she croaked.
"Harley," Ivy answered, trying to smile. "You're still alive."
"Are we home yet?" she asked. "I don't feel so good."
Ivy felt droplets on her foot and looked down. The bandage around Harley's hand was so saturated with blood that it was now dripping onto the sidewalk. The blood had at least stopped running from Harley's injured nose; dried blood caked her upper lip. "Soon," she promised. "It's going to be all better soon." It _has_ to be, she thought to herself.
"Joker," she struggled to say. "He wouldn't let me go. I was so . . . alone. Please, Ivy."
"Please what?" she asked as she resumed staggering down the street.
"Please don't leave me, Ivy. You're all I have." Harley's eyes flickered before her head slumped against Ivy's shoulder.
Ivy would have panicked again if she hadn't felt Harley's heartbeat against her chest. "I promise," she whispered. "I'll try to be all you need."
Just when she was about to give up, Ivy was stopped in her tracks by what had to be a mirage - a public pay phone. Stumbling towards it, she leaned against it and was gratified to feel the cool metal. "Guess I have a little good karma left after all," she murmured before gently lowering Harley to the pavement so that she lay next to the wall.
Dialing 911, Ivy waited an interminable length of time before someone deigned to pick up. "Is this an emergency?" the woman asked.
Ivy almost lost it right there. "Yes, damn it, it's an emergency!" she practically shouted. "I need an ambulance right now. My friend, she's been beaten really badly and she might die!"
The dispatcher asked for the location and Ivy, after a moment of searching, gave her a general idea. She heard the woman become silent, undoubtedly noting what part of town this was and wondering if this was a scam. Ivy knew of cases where criminals had lured ambulances to remote locations and stripped them bare.
"Look," Ivy went on impatiently, "if you don't get an ambulance down here quick, I will personally come over to where you work, find your cubicle, and snap your neck like a twig!"
"Using this line when there isn't an emergency and making violent threats is against the law," the woman droned.
"Fine," Ivy growled, "then send four police cars down here too and they can arrest me. Just send the goddamn ambulance!" And she almost slammed the phone down, but instead she let it hang from the receiver, figuring they might want to trace the call too.
As the last of the adrenaline left her system, she was overcome with weariness. And as she anxiously inspected Harley, she felt the events of the last hour catch up with her.
Turning away, she burst into sobs. She sounded totally lost and afraid and distraught, and it was a few minutes before she was able to collect herself and dry her tears. Then there was nothing left but to wait and hope that the police were good for something.
Fifteen minutes later, just when her nerves were stretched to their limit, her ears perked up at the sound of a siren. Police car, maybe, or a fire somewhere, or . . .
But instead, she got an ambulance that pulled up right in front of the pay phone. Rising to her feet, her knees wobbled but she managed to stand, clutching the phone for support.
Two paramedics, one black, one white, got out. The first one came over and took one look at Harley's condition before turning his head. "Gurney, now!"
Ivy wasn't one for begging, especially with a city employee, but she resorted to it now. "Tell me you can save her," she pleaded.
"Damn right we can save her," he replied as he administered to Harley.
"Uh, Terence?" the other paramedic asked as he came over with the stretcher.
"Yeah?"
"You do realize that this is Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn we're dealing with? Notorious criminals and all?"
"Uh-huh," he replied casually. "Hand me those bandages, wouldja?"
The other man's nose twitched as he stared at Ivy.
"He said, hand him the bandages," Ivy told him icily.
Cringing, the second paramedic did as he was told.
The first, older EMS man chuckled dryly. "Forgive him, Miss Ivy. He's still new to the job, so he's kind of a wuss."
"Hey!"
"If you got a problem with that, then do your job and help me lift her onto the stretcher."
He did so, but he was hesitant.
As the first paramedic wheeled Harley toward the back of the emergency vehicle, Ivy leaned in close to the other one. "If you're wondering what I could do to you later, try worrying about what I could do to you now if anything happens to her," she whispered.
Blanching, he somehow regained his enthusiasm for his work.
Ivy sighed. Maybe, just _maybe_, their lives weren't over.
To be continued . . .
