Title: Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses (3/??)
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".
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Chapter 3
Eventually Ivy noticed that she was the only person in the waiting room. She'd been sure this area had been moderately full when she arrived, although she'd been so driven to distraction that she probably wouldn't have noticed if half the Gotham police department had been there. Speaking of which, Harley Quinn being brought into a hospital emergency room by Poison Ivy should have attracted a little attention from the police, right? But that was a question for another time.
Anyway, she did remember squeezing between two other people after being told she couldn't accompany Harley into the ER and, for some reason, accepting it. Without her noticing it, both those people had vanished. They all had.
She looked down at herself and chuckled humorlessly. No matter how bad your injury was or how worried you were about your loved ones, would you stay in the same room with Poison Ivy, as clearly denoted by the bright red hair and midnight green costume? Didn't think so.
Ivy didn't give a shit. She just wanted Harley to be better. Her head dropped into her hands again.
"Ivy."
She was so out of it, she actually thought a doctor was speaking to her. It wasn't until she raised her eyes that she realized she should have recognized the voice. And this certainly rendered her earlier question moot, didn't it?
"Montoya. Bullock. Aren't the best detectives the ones working the day shift? Oops, I just answered my own question, didn't I?"
"Commissioner thought these were special circumstances," Bullock muttered.
"Commissioner _and_ circumstances? Detective, have you been taking remedial English courses?" Ivy asked snidely.
His neck started turning red, and Renee Montoya smoothly interposed herself between the two. "What happened to Quinn?"
Suddenly needling police officers lost all amusement, and Ivy scowled. "What do you think happened? Joker beat the shit out of her, more than usual, this time." She shook her head, cursing.
"How'd you get involved?" Bullock asked.
"I was looking for her. I heard the Joker escaped. I was worried for her," Ivy explained patiently.
"The psycho clowns escaped together, so they could be together in their little love nest," Bullock sneered. Most cops had a low opinion of Harley and her Joker infatuation. "What did you have to worry about? And when the hell did you get out anyway?"
If she were a fat tub of lard like him, her neck would have started turning red as well. But since he obviously knew a whole lot of nothing about what was going on, she decided to focus on his slightly more intelligent partner, who'd managed to come out on top of Ivy once or twice. "Harley escaped hours before the Joker, and it had nothing to do with him. I really didn't ask why he escaped; I was busy trying not to die. And I got out a few days ago. Doesn't Arkham keep you informed about _anything_?"
"Arkham's a mess tonight," Montoya replied. "Two escapes in the same night, and plus something's going on with the head doctor, so we're not exactly getting a clear picture out of the asylum."
Ivy chuckled. "Got my clean bill of health, officers. You can't touch me."
"Even if I were to believe that cockamamie story of yours, _which_ I don't," Bullock retorted, "you being sane just means I can throw your ass in jail for harboring a fugitive and obstruction of justice."
She shot to her feet. "What?!"
"Well, if you know where the Joker is, why don't you tell us?"
Ivy watched his face warily. "If I've got something you want, then why should I just hand it over?"
"You little . . ."
"All right, Bullock, that's enough."
She blinked and turned her head. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Where's the Joker, Ivy?" Jim Gordon asked her. "We lock him up the same night he gets out, and that's a lot of lives we save this week. And I'd think you'd be interested in seeing the Joker in custody, considering what he did to your friend."
"I'm interested in seeing him in a box," she growled.
"You're the same homicidal maniac you always were, Ivy," Bullock sneered. "Commish, she's claiming that Arkham just let her go, no questions."
Gordon nodded. "It's still a madhouse at Arkham, no pun intended, but I've spoken with someone with more information, and right now, it's legit. Ms. Isley is a free woman, for at least a week, anyway."
"No shit," Montoya murmured.
The Bat, Ivy guessed mentally, was the someone in question.
At this point, the person she'd been waiting for finally arrived - a doctor. "Excuse me, but I'm Dr. Coulson. Is there someone here I can talk to about Miss Quinn's condition?"
"You can talk to me," Ivy replied instantly.
The doctor eyed her doubtfully.
"I'm Police Commissioner Gordon, doctor," Gordon said. "What's the status?"
"Ah," he responded, evidently more willing to speak with him. "Why don't you step over here?"
Ivy watched the two moving away, and seethed. She was closer to Quinn than a bunch of cops, why did _they_ get to talk to the doctors?
Of course, only a few people knew just how close they were, didn't they?
"Why don't you sit down, Ivy?" Montoya suggested. "None of us are going anywhere soon."
"Unless I haul her butt in," Bullock grumbled.
"How about you kiss my butt?" Ivy snapped.
Gordon returned, fortunately. "Doctors aren't finished operating, but they think she might make it."
Ivy stared at him for a moment before tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, thank you," she whispered to no one in particular.
The three officers looked surprised by her reaction, and Gordon coughed into his fist. "Yes, well, Dr. Coulson says that the next twenty-four hours are the most crucial."
"Gee, never heard that before," Bullock muttered.
"And they're still waiting to receive Harley's medical files from Arkham," Gordon added. "Again, the chaos at the asylum isn't helping. The doctor said it could have been worse; she'd already had her spleen removed at some point in the past, so that was one thing less to worry about. But she's lost a lot of blood, and the chance she won't need an organ transplant is slim."
Somehow, Ivy didn't think Harley would be very high on the donor list, and she made a mental note to look into kidneys on the black market.
And speaking of Harley's criminal history . . . "How long will Harley be allowed to stay here?" she asked.
Gordon blinked. "She can't be moved from here until her doctor gives the go-ahead, and it's not like there's a rush just yet, so we probably won't have Miss Quinn sent over to the Arkham infirmary for at least three or four days."
Ivy knew the severity of Harley's injuries, and there was no way in hell she would be leaving her to the care of those hacks at Arkham. "You want the Joker?" she asked, reaching a decision. "Then I want a deal."
Bullock's face showed just how much he thought of her response, but Gordon was calling the shots at that moment. "And what is it you want in exchange?"
"Harley gets to stay at this hospital for as long as it takes until she can walk out those doors with a clean bill of health," she told him, pointing to the ER doors she had entered through earlier. "And when that day comes, she leaves with me, not with you."
"This ain't no free clinic, Ivy," Bullock growled. "No way the hospital, or the city, is going to foot the bill for an escaped psycho."
"Think of it as an expenditure for the public good," she shot back. "You do know what an expenditure is, don't you?"
"All right, Bullock, the Commissioner will take it from here," Montoya said placatingly, pulling him aside as his cheeks inflated. "Only he has the authority for something like this."
"Bitch," he said under his breath.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Renee replied, knowing who he was referring to.
Gordon looked down at Ivy and sighed. "If you really want the arrest warrant against Harley rescinded, you'll have to give me more than just the Joker's whereabouts. Correction - _last known_ whereabouts."
Ivy recognized that her information was by now somewhat outdated. Pursued by a pair of carnivorous animals, he might have fled anywhere. "The day Harley leaves here with me," she now said slowly, "she and I leave Gotham. Permanently." This idea had been no more than a germ on the ambulance ride, but now it seemed more plausible.
The Joker would come after them as long as they were alive. But he also had a pathological need to defeat Batman once and for all, and to do that, he needed to stay in Gotham. But if they were in another part of the country, then as long as the Bat kept him chained in Gotham (and that didn't appear to be stopping any time soon), he couldn't pursue them. And to be honest, it would be good getting Harley away from the town and its criminals, its jails and asylums, its police officers, and its reporters. Not to mention, time away from the Joker, and their connection would daily grow more distant.
For that matter, why had Ivy bothered to remain in this damned city? It was a paved-over shit stain where nothing was permitted to grow. Perhaps, she admitted ruefully, she also had a pathological need to top the Batman.
Gordon, meanwhile, had been less than impressed. "So you can prey upon a new target? I never was one to shuttle my problems onto someone else's shoulders."
"Gotham seems to draw 'costumed criminals' like a magnet, Gordon," she pointed out. "Surely a city the size of Gotham, like New York or Philadelphia, can handle a tenth of the number this city has."
He chewed on that for a minute. "I won't promise anything," he began.
"You'd better promise," she hissed. "Because I was promised a week with her, and now she might die because she picked the wrong time to decide that she'd wasted years on the twisted bastard who put her in here. _Someone_ is going to make me a promise, and it will be _kept_." She had grabbed him by the wrist and was squeezing it tightly.
Gordon managed to break her grip. "I promise," he finally told her, "not to have you or Harley Quinn arrested in the future, so long as you don't break the law for the remainder of your life here in Gotham, _and_ as long as you give me the Joker. If you put him in a pine box instead of a cell, I'll see that Harley goes back to the asylum while you go to prison," he warned her.
Ivy stared at him. "How much did the Bat tell you?"
"Enough."
She looked down and gave him the address. "He's pissed tonight," she added.
"It's morning," he corrected her.
Glancing at the clock, she saw it was now almost four A.M. "But he's wounded, Commissioner. I took a piece of his ear, and last I saw, he was being chewed on by the hyenas," she continued.
He looked surprised. "His own pets turned on him?"
"Well, I guess Harley had sole custody of the babies all along," she replied. "Don't look at me, I don't do well with animals."
"Commissioner Gordon," Dr. Coulson spoke up from behind. His distressed look chilled Ivy.
"I have somewhere to go, doctor," Gordon said. "What is it?"
"I realize that we're dealing with special circumstances tonight," Coulson answered, "but he just stands there watching, and it's very distracting for the other doctors."
"Who?"
"Batman. No one even saw him enter intensive care. He only says he wants to see, well, her." He pointed at Ivy, obviously as intimidated by her presence as the paramedic had been earlier.
"Then take her to him," Gordon said impatiently. "I have someone bigger to worry about." He got up to go.
Ivy also stood up. "Guess you'd better tell everyone it's safe to wait in here again," she said dryly before she left with the doctor.
Jim Gordon watched them go and sighed. Poison Ivy was as hard to read as they came.
_________________________________
If having the Bat standing in the middle of the ICU was distracting, Ivy privately wondered, then adding her to the mix probably wasn't going to make things better. But it seemed civilians jumped with the same speed as the common hoodlums did when Batman spoke.
Then she saw Harley and her breath lodged in her throat.
The blonde woman was still heavily sedated. Her costume had been cut from her body and was long gone. Her left hand was in a cast, and her stomach bore the marks of having just been opened and stitched back up. Her face was swollen and purple in the places she could see; the rest was thickly bandaged and probably looked even worse. And of course, there were the requisite tubes and IV drips and wires keeping the doctors and nurses in touch with her vital signs. Ivy didn't see how she could be moved at all, not for days.
Batman said nothing as she came up behind him, although she knew he'd heard her arrive. "I'm sick of fucking hospitals and operating rooms," she said loudly enough for a few staffers to stop what they were doing and look at her. Then they busied themselves with their work.
"Did you tell him where he is?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "It's not like I have the time right now to hunt him down."
"You'd better not," he replied. "If the Joker died at your hands because you sought him out . . ."
"Yes, yes, I know," she retorted. "They'll swap my Plexiglas cell for one with bars."
"And is it getting through to you?"
She nodded silently. She wanted to take Harley's hand, but she was afraid to touch her for fear of disrupting something, anything.
Now he watched them both. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "This is not how I wanted tonight to turn out for any of us."
"It's morning," she responded absently. Then she blinked. "Sorry, my brain isn't functioning too well. I'm starting to repeat what I hear."
Batman noticed that Dr. Coulson had unhappily been watching the entire time, but that for all his fidgeting, no one else really seemed to mind the intruders. "Worked here long, Doctor?" he asked.
The physician looked up. "What? Uh, no, three months. Why?"
"You'll have to get used to Gotham's kind of interruptions a lot faster if you want to survive as an ER doctor," he answered. "How about you find an empty room for Ms. Isley to get some rest in? She's been up all night."
Dr. Coulson, who lacked the aplomb and adaptability that age and experience would hopefully give him, stared at him while his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Uh . . ."
"A room. With a bed. And a door. Now."
"Yes, sir," he whimpered, wilting further under the patented stare. "It will just be a minute," he added before getting on the phone.
"I don't need . . ." she protested, but she was rapidly exhausting all her physical and mental reserves.
"You can't stay here like this," he interrupted. "Get a few hours' sleep. Then you can come back and sit by her side for as long as you like. You can even hold her hand," he mentioned. "It won't kill her."
Ivy looked at him. A very tiny part of her wanted to feel grateful for this - for everything over the last few hours, actually. But she'd hated him for a very long time now, and she couldn't bring herself to feel gratitude. "Thank you," she did mutter, but she assured herself that she didn't mean it one bit.
She did look one last time at Harley, however. How much she wished she could exchange places with her. Harley had suffered enough at _his_ hands; dying from one last beating could not, _would_ not be her epitaph.
And so, as she walked slowly from intensive care, her former doctor's diagnosis proved to be a bit more mistaken.
____________________________________
Ivy watched through the window as a team of highly professional doctors hunched over Harley's still form and performed delicate surgery. Only her head was visible, which was more than Ivy could say about the surgeons. All she could see were the back of their heads, as hidden as they were by green smocks and bonnets and facemasks.
"Please, please," she whispered under her breath over and over.
Finally the one who appeared to be in charge straightened. She heard his back pop. "All right, boys, it looks like we lost her." He tugged at his gloves and they snapped off.
Horrified, Ivy grabbed at the wall and managed to stay on her feet. She couldn't move. She couldn't even fall down.
"Another success, boys," the doctor continued. He glanced at the clock as Ivy tried to process what was happening. "Let the record show that at six twenty-seven A.M., Miss Quinn has no pulse." He paused. "Either that or my watch is broken."
The other doctors chortled loudly as Ivy was struck dumb. What . . .
The doctor removed his cap and mask. His ruby lips and white cheeks gleamed in the harsh light of the operating room. Smiling at her, the Joker waved. Then, reaching down where she couldn't see, he pulled out a red, bloody, beating mass of muscle.
"Oh - my - god."
His lips pulled back to reveal teeth that were silver and jagged, like a monstrous machine. Opening wide, he took a great bite from Harley's heart and chewed, obviously savoring it.
"NO!!!!!"
Ivy almost flew out of her bed before she caught herself, gripping onto the bedsheets for dear life. It took almost thirty seconds to get her pounding heart to calm down a little. Then she realized that she had had an awful nightmare.
"Harley," she whispered. "I have to keep her safe." Not knowing how long she'd slept, she leapt out of bed and stumbled toward the door of the hospital room she'd been given. She would not leave her side again.
Yanking the door open, she caught Renee Montoya in mid-knock. "What?" Ivy asked, startled.
The Hispanic woman looked grim. "I'm sorry, but the Joker wasn't where you said he'd be."
"Damn it!" she almost screeched, before getting her voice under control. "He was there, I'm telling you."
"We know," Montoya assured her. "We found a lot of blood, and some of his things, and the hyenas. One of them had been shot in the leg, but we've got the vets at Animal Control working on him."
"So he's out there."
"Yes."
"And when he finds out where Harley is, he'll come for her."
"Probably."
Montoya thought Ivy's expression was totally unreadable. Most people would have been distraught to know that a killer who wanted them dead was still loose. But Poison Ivy was not most people.
"Before you ask yourself if you could find him before we do," Montoya went on, challenging Ivy, "there's a couple things you should consider."
"Like what?" Ivy asked, not bothering to deny or confirm Montoya's suggestion.
"Like the Commissioner is back, and he wants to speak to you."
"And?"
"Are you more interested in getting him, or protecting her?"
Ivy paused. Last night, saving her had been the primary consideration. That had not changed, she admitted to herself. "Protecting her."
"Then maybe you can't do that if you're sniffing around Gotham for the Joker."
She grunted, frustrated. "Just take me to Gordon, all right?" She _would_ find a solution.
To be continued . . .
(Author's Note - Thanks to Jen, for reminding me of Ivy's comment about how "nothing grows in Gotham".)
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 3
Eventually Ivy noticed that she was the only person in the waiting room. She'd been sure this area had been moderately full when she arrived, although she'd been so driven to distraction that she probably wouldn't have noticed if half the Gotham police department had been there. Speaking of which, Harley Quinn being brought into a hospital emergency room by Poison Ivy should have attracted a little attention from the police, right? But that was a question for another time.
Anyway, she did remember squeezing between two other people after being told she couldn't accompany Harley into the ER and, for some reason, accepting it. Without her noticing it, both those people had vanished. They all had.
She looked down at herself and chuckled humorlessly. No matter how bad your injury was or how worried you were about your loved ones, would you stay in the same room with Poison Ivy, as clearly denoted by the bright red hair and midnight green costume? Didn't think so.
Ivy didn't give a shit. She just wanted Harley to be better. Her head dropped into her hands again.
"Ivy."
She was so out of it, she actually thought a doctor was speaking to her. It wasn't until she raised her eyes that she realized she should have recognized the voice. And this certainly rendered her earlier question moot, didn't it?
"Montoya. Bullock. Aren't the best detectives the ones working the day shift? Oops, I just answered my own question, didn't I?"
"Commissioner thought these were special circumstances," Bullock muttered.
"Commissioner _and_ circumstances? Detective, have you been taking remedial English courses?" Ivy asked snidely.
His neck started turning red, and Renee Montoya smoothly interposed herself between the two. "What happened to Quinn?"
Suddenly needling police officers lost all amusement, and Ivy scowled. "What do you think happened? Joker beat the shit out of her, more than usual, this time." She shook her head, cursing.
"How'd you get involved?" Bullock asked.
"I was looking for her. I heard the Joker escaped. I was worried for her," Ivy explained patiently.
"The psycho clowns escaped together, so they could be together in their little love nest," Bullock sneered. Most cops had a low opinion of Harley and her Joker infatuation. "What did you have to worry about? And when the hell did you get out anyway?"
If she were a fat tub of lard like him, her neck would have started turning red as well. But since he obviously knew a whole lot of nothing about what was going on, she decided to focus on his slightly more intelligent partner, who'd managed to come out on top of Ivy once or twice. "Harley escaped hours before the Joker, and it had nothing to do with him. I really didn't ask why he escaped; I was busy trying not to die. And I got out a few days ago. Doesn't Arkham keep you informed about _anything_?"
"Arkham's a mess tonight," Montoya replied. "Two escapes in the same night, and plus something's going on with the head doctor, so we're not exactly getting a clear picture out of the asylum."
Ivy chuckled. "Got my clean bill of health, officers. You can't touch me."
"Even if I were to believe that cockamamie story of yours, _which_ I don't," Bullock retorted, "you being sane just means I can throw your ass in jail for harboring a fugitive and obstruction of justice."
She shot to her feet. "What?!"
"Well, if you know where the Joker is, why don't you tell us?"
Ivy watched his face warily. "If I've got something you want, then why should I just hand it over?"
"You little . . ."
"All right, Bullock, that's enough."
She blinked and turned her head. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Where's the Joker, Ivy?" Jim Gordon asked her. "We lock him up the same night he gets out, and that's a lot of lives we save this week. And I'd think you'd be interested in seeing the Joker in custody, considering what he did to your friend."
"I'm interested in seeing him in a box," she growled.
"You're the same homicidal maniac you always were, Ivy," Bullock sneered. "Commish, she's claiming that Arkham just let her go, no questions."
Gordon nodded. "It's still a madhouse at Arkham, no pun intended, but I've spoken with someone with more information, and right now, it's legit. Ms. Isley is a free woman, for at least a week, anyway."
"No shit," Montoya murmured.
The Bat, Ivy guessed mentally, was the someone in question.
At this point, the person she'd been waiting for finally arrived - a doctor. "Excuse me, but I'm Dr. Coulson. Is there someone here I can talk to about Miss Quinn's condition?"
"You can talk to me," Ivy replied instantly.
The doctor eyed her doubtfully.
"I'm Police Commissioner Gordon, doctor," Gordon said. "What's the status?"
"Ah," he responded, evidently more willing to speak with him. "Why don't you step over here?"
Ivy watched the two moving away, and seethed. She was closer to Quinn than a bunch of cops, why did _they_ get to talk to the doctors?
Of course, only a few people knew just how close they were, didn't they?
"Why don't you sit down, Ivy?" Montoya suggested. "None of us are going anywhere soon."
"Unless I haul her butt in," Bullock grumbled.
"How about you kiss my butt?" Ivy snapped.
Gordon returned, fortunately. "Doctors aren't finished operating, but they think she might make it."
Ivy stared at him for a moment before tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, thank you," she whispered to no one in particular.
The three officers looked surprised by her reaction, and Gordon coughed into his fist. "Yes, well, Dr. Coulson says that the next twenty-four hours are the most crucial."
"Gee, never heard that before," Bullock muttered.
"And they're still waiting to receive Harley's medical files from Arkham," Gordon added. "Again, the chaos at the asylum isn't helping. The doctor said it could have been worse; she'd already had her spleen removed at some point in the past, so that was one thing less to worry about. But she's lost a lot of blood, and the chance she won't need an organ transplant is slim."
Somehow, Ivy didn't think Harley would be very high on the donor list, and she made a mental note to look into kidneys on the black market.
And speaking of Harley's criminal history . . . "How long will Harley be allowed to stay here?" she asked.
Gordon blinked. "She can't be moved from here until her doctor gives the go-ahead, and it's not like there's a rush just yet, so we probably won't have Miss Quinn sent over to the Arkham infirmary for at least three or four days."
Ivy knew the severity of Harley's injuries, and there was no way in hell she would be leaving her to the care of those hacks at Arkham. "You want the Joker?" she asked, reaching a decision. "Then I want a deal."
Bullock's face showed just how much he thought of her response, but Gordon was calling the shots at that moment. "And what is it you want in exchange?"
"Harley gets to stay at this hospital for as long as it takes until she can walk out those doors with a clean bill of health," she told him, pointing to the ER doors she had entered through earlier. "And when that day comes, she leaves with me, not with you."
"This ain't no free clinic, Ivy," Bullock growled. "No way the hospital, or the city, is going to foot the bill for an escaped psycho."
"Think of it as an expenditure for the public good," she shot back. "You do know what an expenditure is, don't you?"
"All right, Bullock, the Commissioner will take it from here," Montoya said placatingly, pulling him aside as his cheeks inflated. "Only he has the authority for something like this."
"Bitch," he said under his breath.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Renee replied, knowing who he was referring to.
Gordon looked down at Ivy and sighed. "If you really want the arrest warrant against Harley rescinded, you'll have to give me more than just the Joker's whereabouts. Correction - _last known_ whereabouts."
Ivy recognized that her information was by now somewhat outdated. Pursued by a pair of carnivorous animals, he might have fled anywhere. "The day Harley leaves here with me," she now said slowly, "she and I leave Gotham. Permanently." This idea had been no more than a germ on the ambulance ride, but now it seemed more plausible.
The Joker would come after them as long as they were alive. But he also had a pathological need to defeat Batman once and for all, and to do that, he needed to stay in Gotham. But if they were in another part of the country, then as long as the Bat kept him chained in Gotham (and that didn't appear to be stopping any time soon), he couldn't pursue them. And to be honest, it would be good getting Harley away from the town and its criminals, its jails and asylums, its police officers, and its reporters. Not to mention, time away from the Joker, and their connection would daily grow more distant.
For that matter, why had Ivy bothered to remain in this damned city? It was a paved-over shit stain where nothing was permitted to grow. Perhaps, she admitted ruefully, she also had a pathological need to top the Batman.
Gordon, meanwhile, had been less than impressed. "So you can prey upon a new target? I never was one to shuttle my problems onto someone else's shoulders."
"Gotham seems to draw 'costumed criminals' like a magnet, Gordon," she pointed out. "Surely a city the size of Gotham, like New York or Philadelphia, can handle a tenth of the number this city has."
He chewed on that for a minute. "I won't promise anything," he began.
"You'd better promise," she hissed. "Because I was promised a week with her, and now she might die because she picked the wrong time to decide that she'd wasted years on the twisted bastard who put her in here. _Someone_ is going to make me a promise, and it will be _kept_." She had grabbed him by the wrist and was squeezing it tightly.
Gordon managed to break her grip. "I promise," he finally told her, "not to have you or Harley Quinn arrested in the future, so long as you don't break the law for the remainder of your life here in Gotham, _and_ as long as you give me the Joker. If you put him in a pine box instead of a cell, I'll see that Harley goes back to the asylum while you go to prison," he warned her.
Ivy stared at him. "How much did the Bat tell you?"
"Enough."
She looked down and gave him the address. "He's pissed tonight," she added.
"It's morning," he corrected her.
Glancing at the clock, she saw it was now almost four A.M. "But he's wounded, Commissioner. I took a piece of his ear, and last I saw, he was being chewed on by the hyenas," she continued.
He looked surprised. "His own pets turned on him?"
"Well, I guess Harley had sole custody of the babies all along," she replied. "Don't look at me, I don't do well with animals."
"Commissioner Gordon," Dr. Coulson spoke up from behind. His distressed look chilled Ivy.
"I have somewhere to go, doctor," Gordon said. "What is it?"
"I realize that we're dealing with special circumstances tonight," Coulson answered, "but he just stands there watching, and it's very distracting for the other doctors."
"Who?"
"Batman. No one even saw him enter intensive care. He only says he wants to see, well, her." He pointed at Ivy, obviously as intimidated by her presence as the paramedic had been earlier.
"Then take her to him," Gordon said impatiently. "I have someone bigger to worry about." He got up to go.
Ivy also stood up. "Guess you'd better tell everyone it's safe to wait in here again," she said dryly before she left with the doctor.
Jim Gordon watched them go and sighed. Poison Ivy was as hard to read as they came.
_________________________________
If having the Bat standing in the middle of the ICU was distracting, Ivy privately wondered, then adding her to the mix probably wasn't going to make things better. But it seemed civilians jumped with the same speed as the common hoodlums did when Batman spoke.
Then she saw Harley and her breath lodged in her throat.
The blonde woman was still heavily sedated. Her costume had been cut from her body and was long gone. Her left hand was in a cast, and her stomach bore the marks of having just been opened and stitched back up. Her face was swollen and purple in the places she could see; the rest was thickly bandaged and probably looked even worse. And of course, there were the requisite tubes and IV drips and wires keeping the doctors and nurses in touch with her vital signs. Ivy didn't see how she could be moved at all, not for days.
Batman said nothing as she came up behind him, although she knew he'd heard her arrive. "I'm sick of fucking hospitals and operating rooms," she said loudly enough for a few staffers to stop what they were doing and look at her. Then they busied themselves with their work.
"Did you tell him where he is?" he asked.
"Of course," she said. "It's not like I have the time right now to hunt him down."
"You'd better not," he replied. "If the Joker died at your hands because you sought him out . . ."
"Yes, yes, I know," she retorted. "They'll swap my Plexiglas cell for one with bars."
"And is it getting through to you?"
She nodded silently. She wanted to take Harley's hand, but she was afraid to touch her for fear of disrupting something, anything.
Now he watched them both. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "This is not how I wanted tonight to turn out for any of us."
"It's morning," she responded absently. Then she blinked. "Sorry, my brain isn't functioning too well. I'm starting to repeat what I hear."
Batman noticed that Dr. Coulson had unhappily been watching the entire time, but that for all his fidgeting, no one else really seemed to mind the intruders. "Worked here long, Doctor?" he asked.
The physician looked up. "What? Uh, no, three months. Why?"
"You'll have to get used to Gotham's kind of interruptions a lot faster if you want to survive as an ER doctor," he answered. "How about you find an empty room for Ms. Isley to get some rest in? She's been up all night."
Dr. Coulson, who lacked the aplomb and adaptability that age and experience would hopefully give him, stared at him while his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Uh . . ."
"A room. With a bed. And a door. Now."
"Yes, sir," he whimpered, wilting further under the patented stare. "It will just be a minute," he added before getting on the phone.
"I don't need . . ." she protested, but she was rapidly exhausting all her physical and mental reserves.
"You can't stay here like this," he interrupted. "Get a few hours' sleep. Then you can come back and sit by her side for as long as you like. You can even hold her hand," he mentioned. "It won't kill her."
Ivy looked at him. A very tiny part of her wanted to feel grateful for this - for everything over the last few hours, actually. But she'd hated him for a very long time now, and she couldn't bring herself to feel gratitude. "Thank you," she did mutter, but she assured herself that she didn't mean it one bit.
She did look one last time at Harley, however. How much she wished she could exchange places with her. Harley had suffered enough at _his_ hands; dying from one last beating could not, _would_ not be her epitaph.
And so, as she walked slowly from intensive care, her former doctor's diagnosis proved to be a bit more mistaken.
____________________________________
Ivy watched through the window as a team of highly professional doctors hunched over Harley's still form and performed delicate surgery. Only her head was visible, which was more than Ivy could say about the surgeons. All she could see were the back of their heads, as hidden as they were by green smocks and bonnets and facemasks.
"Please, please," she whispered under her breath over and over.
Finally the one who appeared to be in charge straightened. She heard his back pop. "All right, boys, it looks like we lost her." He tugged at his gloves and they snapped off.
Horrified, Ivy grabbed at the wall and managed to stay on her feet. She couldn't move. She couldn't even fall down.
"Another success, boys," the doctor continued. He glanced at the clock as Ivy tried to process what was happening. "Let the record show that at six twenty-seven A.M., Miss Quinn has no pulse." He paused. "Either that or my watch is broken."
The other doctors chortled loudly as Ivy was struck dumb. What . . .
The doctor removed his cap and mask. His ruby lips and white cheeks gleamed in the harsh light of the operating room. Smiling at her, the Joker waved. Then, reaching down where she couldn't see, he pulled out a red, bloody, beating mass of muscle.
"Oh - my - god."
His lips pulled back to reveal teeth that were silver and jagged, like a monstrous machine. Opening wide, he took a great bite from Harley's heart and chewed, obviously savoring it.
"NO!!!!!"
Ivy almost flew out of her bed before she caught herself, gripping onto the bedsheets for dear life. It took almost thirty seconds to get her pounding heart to calm down a little. Then she realized that she had had an awful nightmare.
"Harley," she whispered. "I have to keep her safe." Not knowing how long she'd slept, she leapt out of bed and stumbled toward the door of the hospital room she'd been given. She would not leave her side again.
Yanking the door open, she caught Renee Montoya in mid-knock. "What?" Ivy asked, startled.
The Hispanic woman looked grim. "I'm sorry, but the Joker wasn't where you said he'd be."
"Damn it!" she almost screeched, before getting her voice under control. "He was there, I'm telling you."
"We know," Montoya assured her. "We found a lot of blood, and some of his things, and the hyenas. One of them had been shot in the leg, but we've got the vets at Animal Control working on him."
"So he's out there."
"Yes."
"And when he finds out where Harley is, he'll come for her."
"Probably."
Montoya thought Ivy's expression was totally unreadable. Most people would have been distraught to know that a killer who wanted them dead was still loose. But Poison Ivy was not most people.
"Before you ask yourself if you could find him before we do," Montoya went on, challenging Ivy, "there's a couple things you should consider."
"Like what?" Ivy asked, not bothering to deny or confirm Montoya's suggestion.
"Like the Commissioner is back, and he wants to speak to you."
"And?"
"Are you more interested in getting him, or protecting her?"
Ivy paused. Last night, saving her had been the primary consideration. That had not changed, she admitted to herself. "Protecting her."
"Then maybe you can't do that if you're sniffing around Gotham for the Joker."
She grunted, frustrated. "Just take me to Gordon, all right?" She _would_ find a solution.
To be continued . . .
(Author's Note - Thanks to Jen, for reminding me of Ivy's comment about how "nothing grows in Gotham".)
