Title: Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses (5/6)
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 5
Ivy whistled softly as she approached the hospital entrance. In her faded blue jeans and pink top, pocketbook over one shoulder and shopping bag in the other hand, she could have been anyone. Certainly not Poison Ivy, menace to society provocatively dressed in midnight green.
"Where have you been?"
She froze in midstep and nearly stumbled, catching herself in time. Then she glanced behind her.
Batman leaned against the brick wall, in the area normally reserved to doctors and nurses who, even in their positions, still couldn't kick the smoking habit. Needless to say, Batman's presence had chased them away as effectively as Ivy had cleared the waiting room the night before.
Of course, she thought, frowning. She could have dressed as a nun and he would have known it was her. "Why, has something happened?" Nothing could have gone wrong while she was gone, could it?
"The police were a little concerned that you might have gone off on your personal vendetta after all," he replied.
"It would be Harley's vendetta if she were able to wake up," Ivy shot back.
"Her leaving the Joker is one thing," he said coolly. "Her exacting payback for the things the Joker does to her is another. This is all about your need for revenge."
"And so what?" she hissed. "One, if Harley won't stand up for herself, someone has to do it for her. And two, our discussion is irrelevant, because I don't know where the Joker is, I haven't seen him all day, and I didn't come up with a plan to get him, only to go chasing after him." She folded her arms, so that the shopping bag rested against her thighs. "And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought bats stayed in during the day."
"Special circumstances," he responded, reaching out and pulling the bag from her fingers.
"Watch it!" Ivy snapped as she attempted to hold on but failed. "It's just something for her room when she gets one."
He eyed the plant which he'd extracted from the bag carefully. "It looks familiar."
"It's the shooting-star vine I created for Harley - " Had it really been so few days ago? "You probably saw her test it out on me after my chip was removed."
"It's traveled a lot for such a little plant," the Bat answered, handing it back.
"Is there something else?" she asked. "Because I wasn't planning on leaving the hospital again until the Joker makes his appearance."
The Batman quickly rifled through her purse. "Lipstick?" he asked, holding a tube up. "The special kind?"
She snatched it from his fingertips. "No. Kissing that shit wouldn't be worth it." Ivy shoved it back into the handbag before returning the plant back to the bag. "Do I clear customs now?"
"If you make another unscheduled trip, I'll know it," he warned her.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered.
As she entered the hospital, almost the very first thing she saw was Bullock's large frame. "Where the hell have you been, Isley? We were ready to put an APB on you."
"Be better if you put one out on your toes, Bullock," she responded snidely. "You could suck that gut in as far as it goes, and you still wouldn't see them." Already putting him out of her mind, she brushed past him as she headed for the elevators, fingering what were in her jeans pocket.
He glared at the back of her head. "I can see my toes," he growled. "Well, sorta."
_______________________________________
"Ninth floor," the janitor told him furtively, glancing around. "There have to be at least a dozen cops walking in circles. And there are never less than three within two steps of Room 926."
"Right," the tabloid reporter answered, pulling a small notebook out of his beat-up trenchcoat and taking notes. "Anything else suspicious?"
The janitor thought back. It was almost nine P.M., his shift was over, and this hack was offering five hundred bucks for the location of the Joker's twisted sidekick. Apparently everyone wanted to scoop the competition for her story.
"Yeah," he remembered. "Sixth floor, Room 638."
"What about it?"
"They got one officer sitting by the door when I looked around six. He wasn't there when I went by before four, so it's a new patient. I don't know who, though, and there aren't a whole lotta nurses or doctors around."
The reporter nodded thoughtfully. "That's where they're keeping her," he said out loud.
"Huh? I just told you, it's like an army on the ninth floor."
"Fully staffed nurses' station?"
The janitor looked blank for a second. "Yeah, I guess. Only thing out of place are all the cops, actually."
"The Joker's a sadistic killer, Ben," the reporter explained calmly. "He likes killing. Thinks innocent bystanders getting iced is the height of irony. And the Commissioner knows it. So you think he'd have a lot of hospital employees standing around where they could get gassed or shot?"
Ben thought about it. "No, I guess not."
"Classic reverse psychology, Benjamin. It's all just to make the Joker _think_ Quinn's on the ninth floor, when they've really got her stashed on the sixth. But they can't leave her alone, so they give her the one guard. That was their mistake. Trust me, if there's one thing I've learned about, it's psychology." He chuckled.
"If you say so, you're the writer," Ben said. "So, you said five hundred, right?"
"Five Benjamins, Benjamin," the reporter confirmed, grinning broadly. "You take credit cards?"
"What?"
"No? How about playing cards?" Deftly the Joker removed a razor-sharp card from his coat pocket and cut his throat from ear to ear, giving him a smile broad enough to top his own. Not even having time to be surprised, Ben dropped to his knees and fell flat on his face.
The Joker shook his head pityingly. "A little make-up, a little hair color, and they assume you're not the Joker. See, Benny, when you assume, you make an ASS out of YOU and . . . well, just you, actually." Snickering, he pulled the man's janitor uniform off before depositing him in the dumpster nearby.
Five minutes later, he was pushing a cart down the corridors of the hospital, whistling a merry tune.
_____________________________________
"Gee, this window cleaner is good at removing face paint," the Joker said to himself as he used the paper towels and Windex he'd liberated from the janitor's cart to wipe the makeup from his face.
He was now on the sixth floor, and as Benny had promised, there was just the one guard, sitting in a chair and staring straight ahead. Uniformed police were all alike - they acted like sheep. Tell them to guard a door, and they didn't leave unless they had to take a leak.
"Imagine the utility belt I could make from this cart," he murmured, not worried about anyone surprising him on this floor. It was quiet and relatively deserted, and since his hair and the back of his neck were still flesh-colored, no one was going to notice him as they walked behind him. "Ammonia, Drano, bleach - who needs a Molotov cocktail? I'll mix Harley a Procter & Gamble cocktail."
He'd decided to kill Harley first. He'd shatter Ivy's morale by outsmarting the police and their oh-so-tricky plans. Devastated and alone, she'd be easy meat. He was thinking of torturing her along herbal lines - tear her hair out by the _roots_, beat her with a _sap_, set fire to her _bush_, etc.
As for Harley, well, there were always wannabes. And to be honest, since last night, he'd acquired a new "taste" for her. And parts of her body were juicier and more tender than her back.
Smiling pleasantly, he retrieved his new squirt bottle, filled with chemicals to be found in your very own kitchen, along with the hardware he'd brought with him, and made his way toward the policeman.
When the sound of his footsteps reached the officer's ears, he turned his head slowly. "Oh God, it's the Joker," he yelped, and then, surprisingly enough, he promptly turned around and ran away.
The Joker watched him go. Asking a sheep to guard against wolves . . . he sighed. Wasn't he worth more of an effort?
Shrugging, he pushed the door open and stepped in. Harley was curled into a fetal position on the hospital bed, hidden from view by her sheets. There was no one else in the room.
"I wonder what ever happened to Ivy, anyway," he asked out loud as he approached the bed. "Maybe I'll find her in Arkham, crazy bitch. Going up against me?" he added in mock surprise, putting a hand to his chest. "Doctor, I think my wife's insane!"
He didn't really notice how empty the room looked. There were not the usual machines they hooked severely injured patients to, the EKGs and IVs. But then, his eyes were for Harley only.
Trembling slightly, he reached out to whip the blanket aside.
__________________________________
"Commissioner Gordon! Commissioner Gordon!"
Gordon and Montoya turned toward the sound. "Officer Riley!" Gordon said, startled. "We've been trying to get you on your radio for over an hour. Where the hell have you been?"
Stopping in front of Gordon, Officer Riley stared straight ahead. "Commissioner, the Joker is on the sixth floor, Room 638!"
"What?!" he said out loud. "What is he doing down there? Officer, are you sure?"
"Commissioner, the Joker is on the sixth floor, Room 638!"
"Yes, I think we heard you the first time, Officer."
"Wait," Montoya said, interrupting her boss. She snapped her fingers in front of Riley's eyes, but there was no reaction. So she tried shaking him by both shoulders. "Riley! Snap out of it!"
After a few hard shakes, he flopped his head back and forth for a minute before blinking furiously. "Commissioner!" he said, surprised, jumping back.
"Officer, just what is going on here? What happened to you?" Gordon ordered.
He looked confused. "I don't know, sir. The last hour is kinda fuzzy."
"And what about the Joker?"
"What about him?"
"You just told us he's in Room 638!"
"I did?"
"Officer?" Montoya asked him. "Where are your revolver and nightstick?"
They all look down at his belt, which was definitely missing some rather important items.
He looked stricken. "I, uh . . ."
She leaned forward and sniffed him. "Officer, if I said you smelled like lipstick, would you happen to know why?"
"Uh, no, Detective. Although now I kinda wish I did."
"Ivy," Gordon growled, and after he'd decided to keep her out of Quinn's room for fear of her interfering with the arrest. "Shit! Detective, take six men and get down to the sixth floor immediately!"
_____________________________________
The Joker reared back. "What?"
Ivy smiled sweetly at him, even as she struggled to keep her surprise held tightly against her midsection. "Does this answer your question?" she asked before taking the tangled bundle of angrily twisting vines in both hands and hurling it at him.
Startled, he dropped what he was carrying and caught it. It wouldn't have mattered. Freed from its confinement against Ivy's arms and body, the vines found room to expand and whipped around his own arms.
He screeched as they uncoiled briefly before grabbing hold of him and pinning his arms to his body. They grew, and they grew, and they _grew_, until he was completely trapped within its embrace. Within a minute, they had covered his whole body, so that she couldn't see his face anymore.
She rested her tired arms for a moment before picking up the handgun and nightstick she'd absconded with earlier. "My, how they do grow," she murmured. After a moment's thought, while he suffocated under the constricting vines, she put down the club and got a pair of pruning shears she'd brought along.
Ivy cut away the vines from his mouth and eyes, though not so carefully that she didn't leave cuts behind.
"Ow! You b - "
He stopped talking when she put the gun in his face.
"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly. "It'll hurt worse in a minute. Trust me. You see, it's my own personal stash of poison ivy. Oh sure, it doesn't look like it . . ."
His shriek could be heard throughout the sixth floor as the vines, no longer able to elongate, now grew outwardly by growing thorns long enough to puncture clothing and skin.
"But the spikes will secrete a resin into your bloodstream that will give you a full body rash to last you two weeks or more," she informed him. "And I mean, _full body_. Try not to scratch too much; you'll leave scars. You don't want scars on that tiny little penis of yours, do you?"
He didn't even bother trying to talk. He just panted heavily and gave her a stare that left her in no doubt that he would hate her forever.
Her hand trembled as she cocked the revolver. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," she whispered, "bringing me a wealth of personal satisfaction."
The Joker eyed her nervously. "Uh, heh heh, if I'm dead, I won't go through two weeks of horrible itching and scarring?"
Ivy stopped. "Fair enough," she decided. Truth be told, there was also the whole "life in prison" downside. She could always bust out, but then she'd be a fugitive for the rest of her life. Right now (as far as she knew), she was still free. If the Commissioner kept his deal, Harley would be, too. They could be free together.
Sighing regretfully, she put the gun aside. "Enjoy the calamine baths," she added, getting up.
"I'll find you," he hissed, shaking in his prison. "I'll find yoouuuu," he crooned. "And when I do, I'll have no compunctions about killing you both."
She turned to face him, tapping the nightstick against her palm. This gave him pause.
"You know, Harley told me about the time you had her replaced with an actress? And she beat you senseless with a policeman's club? I thought it might have been a turning point in your relationship. I thought, 'Now he'll know not to lay a finger on her again.' And instead, you went on smiling and crooking your finger, and she always came running."
"I learned to hate your smile, Joker. I hated seeing it every time you humiliated her, or hurt her, or denigrated her talents. She was your closest friend, and naturally your most frequent target. That kind of gratitude deserves to be repaid."
"Go ahead and beat me," he muttered. "It's been done before."
"I wouldn't bother," she replied. "I'd just be hurting the plant. I'd have to hit you somewhere without any vines in the way."
He stared at her, saying nothing. In fact, it was all he could do, his lips were pressed so tightly together.
Kneeling on top of him, she took the billy club in both hands and brought it up.
"You'll never smile at her expense again, _puddin'_," she whispered.
____________________________
As Montoya led the officers down the corridor, having taken three flights of emergency stairs down, she could hear screaming and screeching coming from the direction she was headed. "Hurry!" she shouted.
But it ended before she got halfway there.
Montoya and at least four other officers all pulled their guns as the door opened and someone came out. "Freeze! Drop your weapon!"
Ivy looked innocent as she casually flung the nightstick to one side. "Freeze? You have me confused with someone else. I'm Ivy."
"Very funny," Montoya said, hesitantly holstering her gun. "Where's the Joker?"
"In there. You might want to get him to a hospital."
"Is he . . .?"
"Dead? Of course not." Ivy frowned. "I'm not going back to Arkham."
"Detective Montoya?" Two officers had gone into the room to check the interior, and one was now calling to her.
"Watch her," she ordered the remaining police before going in.
Ivy waited silently until Montoya came back out, carrying the gun Ivy had stolen but never used. "He doesn't look so good, Ivy. You knocked out at least a half-dozen teeth, and broke at least four others. And he's got blotches all over his face."
"He'll live," she replied. "He'll probably be back in Arkham in a day or two, in fact."
Montoya looked at her appraisingly.
"Can I go upstairs now? I'd like to see Harley. Now that the danger has passed, you know."
"Detective," an officer began to say.
"I know," she cut him off. "All right, let's go up. And stay with the Joker while I send a doctor down."
As the time for urgency seemed to have passed, this time Montoya took the elevator. "What did you do to him, exactly?"
"Tied him up. Gave him poison ivy. A really, _really_ bad case of poison ivy. Knocked his teeth out." Ivy acted nonchalant about it.
"Assault and battery - could void your deal with the Commissioner. Then we could ship your girlfriend back to Arkham after all," Montoya replied calmly.
Ivy said nothing. The Joker was the one with the rash, but her fingers were itching. Itching to smack her around, anyway. She shoved her hands in her pockets instead.
Montoya raised an eyebrow but became silent as well.
"Well?" Gordon asked them when they came back. His tone of voice didn't hold out much hope for good news.
"He's alive," Montoya told him. "Nothing terminal. Ivy smuggled in some kind of strangling vine that tied the Joker in knots."
Gordon looked at Ivy. "How did you get something like that in here? I heard even the Batman searched your things."
"It was just a seed when I got back. A good soaking in a glass of water for five minutes was all I needed."
"Any more of those seeds?"
She pulled one of her hands out. There were four more seeds, almost the size of walnuts, in her palm.
Gordon confiscated them. "Take these to forensics," he said to another officer, handing them over. "Whatever you do, don't get them wet."
"Or feed them after midnight," Ivy murmured.
"Look, Ivy . . ."
"Look, _Commissioner_," she interjected. "You've got him in your custody. I didn't kill him. He's not even close to being dead. No casualties, no foul."
"One casualty," he informed her. "I received word they found a hospital janitor in the alley with his throat cut."
"Which would explain his outfit," Ivy replied. "A multi-story building full of people who aren't really able to defend themselves, and the Joker only got one? If you really feel the need to complain, leave me out of it. I'm checking on Harley." She moved to go around him.
He blocked her progress. "We had a deal."
"Then arrest me tomorrow," she snapped. "He wouldn't look any better if it was Batman leaving him trussed up at your feet."
Gordon glanced at Montoya. "What do you think?"
She shrugged. "Tomorrow sounds good. We should keep her and the Joker separate anyway."
The commissioner sighed. "All right," he grumbled, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Maybe you can get those pets of hers to calm down, seeing as how it was your idea to have them guarding her bed."
"I do have some experience in pest control," she said dryly before being allowed to go past him.
"What do you think?" Montoya asked him when she was gone.
"What else? Arrest her tomorrow, like the lady said."
____________________________________
"And it'll be just the two of us," Ivy said, wrapping up. "Well, all right, four of us," she added, glancing to her right. The two hyenas slept peacefully off to the side; one's foreleg was wrapped in bandages.
"That's the plan," she whispered. "Isn't it a good one? All you have to do is wake up. It's been twenty-four hours now, and I have this guarantee that if you're still alive after 24 hours, you'll be all right. So don't be so damn stubborn."
A tear rolled down her cheek as she risked squeezing Harley's hand just a little. "I love you," she said.
" . . . you . . ."
Ivy gasped. "Harley? Harley!"
Her little fingers barely squeezed her own, but it was more than enough. "R-Red?" she asked, slightly opening one eye.
"Oh, Harl, it's going to be all right now."
"I . . . hurt."
"You're in the hospital. You're going to be fine now, you just have to be," Ivy said, crying harder. "Just rest, okay?"
"'Kay. Red?"
"Yes?"
"Love you . . . too." Her eye closed again.
Ivy smiled brilliantly. Killing him could never have matched that.
To be concluded . . .
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 5
Ivy whistled softly as she approached the hospital entrance. In her faded blue jeans and pink top, pocketbook over one shoulder and shopping bag in the other hand, she could have been anyone. Certainly not Poison Ivy, menace to society provocatively dressed in midnight green.
"Where have you been?"
She froze in midstep and nearly stumbled, catching herself in time. Then she glanced behind her.
Batman leaned against the brick wall, in the area normally reserved to doctors and nurses who, even in their positions, still couldn't kick the smoking habit. Needless to say, Batman's presence had chased them away as effectively as Ivy had cleared the waiting room the night before.
Of course, she thought, frowning. She could have dressed as a nun and he would have known it was her. "Why, has something happened?" Nothing could have gone wrong while she was gone, could it?
"The police were a little concerned that you might have gone off on your personal vendetta after all," he replied.
"It would be Harley's vendetta if she were able to wake up," Ivy shot back.
"Her leaving the Joker is one thing," he said coolly. "Her exacting payback for the things the Joker does to her is another. This is all about your need for revenge."
"And so what?" she hissed. "One, if Harley won't stand up for herself, someone has to do it for her. And two, our discussion is irrelevant, because I don't know where the Joker is, I haven't seen him all day, and I didn't come up with a plan to get him, only to go chasing after him." She folded her arms, so that the shopping bag rested against her thighs. "And what are you doing here, anyway? I thought bats stayed in during the day."
"Special circumstances," he responded, reaching out and pulling the bag from her fingers.
"Watch it!" Ivy snapped as she attempted to hold on but failed. "It's just something for her room when she gets one."
He eyed the plant which he'd extracted from the bag carefully. "It looks familiar."
"It's the shooting-star vine I created for Harley - " Had it really been so few days ago? "You probably saw her test it out on me after my chip was removed."
"It's traveled a lot for such a little plant," the Bat answered, handing it back.
"Is there something else?" she asked. "Because I wasn't planning on leaving the hospital again until the Joker makes his appearance."
The Batman quickly rifled through her purse. "Lipstick?" he asked, holding a tube up. "The special kind?"
She snatched it from his fingertips. "No. Kissing that shit wouldn't be worth it." Ivy shoved it back into the handbag before returning the plant back to the bag. "Do I clear customs now?"
"If you make another unscheduled trip, I'll know it," he warned her.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered.
As she entered the hospital, almost the very first thing she saw was Bullock's large frame. "Where the hell have you been, Isley? We were ready to put an APB on you."
"Be better if you put one out on your toes, Bullock," she responded snidely. "You could suck that gut in as far as it goes, and you still wouldn't see them." Already putting him out of her mind, she brushed past him as she headed for the elevators, fingering what were in her jeans pocket.
He glared at the back of her head. "I can see my toes," he growled. "Well, sorta."
_______________________________________
"Ninth floor," the janitor told him furtively, glancing around. "There have to be at least a dozen cops walking in circles. And there are never less than three within two steps of Room 926."
"Right," the tabloid reporter answered, pulling a small notebook out of his beat-up trenchcoat and taking notes. "Anything else suspicious?"
The janitor thought back. It was almost nine P.M., his shift was over, and this hack was offering five hundred bucks for the location of the Joker's twisted sidekick. Apparently everyone wanted to scoop the competition for her story.
"Yeah," he remembered. "Sixth floor, Room 638."
"What about it?"
"They got one officer sitting by the door when I looked around six. He wasn't there when I went by before four, so it's a new patient. I don't know who, though, and there aren't a whole lotta nurses or doctors around."
The reporter nodded thoughtfully. "That's where they're keeping her," he said out loud.
"Huh? I just told you, it's like an army on the ninth floor."
"Fully staffed nurses' station?"
The janitor looked blank for a second. "Yeah, I guess. Only thing out of place are all the cops, actually."
"The Joker's a sadistic killer, Ben," the reporter explained calmly. "He likes killing. Thinks innocent bystanders getting iced is the height of irony. And the Commissioner knows it. So you think he'd have a lot of hospital employees standing around where they could get gassed or shot?"
Ben thought about it. "No, I guess not."
"Classic reverse psychology, Benjamin. It's all just to make the Joker _think_ Quinn's on the ninth floor, when they've really got her stashed on the sixth. But they can't leave her alone, so they give her the one guard. That was their mistake. Trust me, if there's one thing I've learned about, it's psychology." He chuckled.
"If you say so, you're the writer," Ben said. "So, you said five hundred, right?"
"Five Benjamins, Benjamin," the reporter confirmed, grinning broadly. "You take credit cards?"
"What?"
"No? How about playing cards?" Deftly the Joker removed a razor-sharp card from his coat pocket and cut his throat from ear to ear, giving him a smile broad enough to top his own. Not even having time to be surprised, Ben dropped to his knees and fell flat on his face.
The Joker shook his head pityingly. "A little make-up, a little hair color, and they assume you're not the Joker. See, Benny, when you assume, you make an ASS out of YOU and . . . well, just you, actually." Snickering, he pulled the man's janitor uniform off before depositing him in the dumpster nearby.
Five minutes later, he was pushing a cart down the corridors of the hospital, whistling a merry tune.
_____________________________________
"Gee, this window cleaner is good at removing face paint," the Joker said to himself as he used the paper towels and Windex he'd liberated from the janitor's cart to wipe the makeup from his face.
He was now on the sixth floor, and as Benny had promised, there was just the one guard, sitting in a chair and staring straight ahead. Uniformed police were all alike - they acted like sheep. Tell them to guard a door, and they didn't leave unless they had to take a leak.
"Imagine the utility belt I could make from this cart," he murmured, not worried about anyone surprising him on this floor. It was quiet and relatively deserted, and since his hair and the back of his neck were still flesh-colored, no one was going to notice him as they walked behind him. "Ammonia, Drano, bleach - who needs a Molotov cocktail? I'll mix Harley a Procter & Gamble cocktail."
He'd decided to kill Harley first. He'd shatter Ivy's morale by outsmarting the police and their oh-so-tricky plans. Devastated and alone, she'd be easy meat. He was thinking of torturing her along herbal lines - tear her hair out by the _roots_, beat her with a _sap_, set fire to her _bush_, etc.
As for Harley, well, there were always wannabes. And to be honest, since last night, he'd acquired a new "taste" for her. And parts of her body were juicier and more tender than her back.
Smiling pleasantly, he retrieved his new squirt bottle, filled with chemicals to be found in your very own kitchen, along with the hardware he'd brought with him, and made his way toward the policeman.
When the sound of his footsteps reached the officer's ears, he turned his head slowly. "Oh God, it's the Joker," he yelped, and then, surprisingly enough, he promptly turned around and ran away.
The Joker watched him go. Asking a sheep to guard against wolves . . . he sighed. Wasn't he worth more of an effort?
Shrugging, he pushed the door open and stepped in. Harley was curled into a fetal position on the hospital bed, hidden from view by her sheets. There was no one else in the room.
"I wonder what ever happened to Ivy, anyway," he asked out loud as he approached the bed. "Maybe I'll find her in Arkham, crazy bitch. Going up against me?" he added in mock surprise, putting a hand to his chest. "Doctor, I think my wife's insane!"
He didn't really notice how empty the room looked. There were not the usual machines they hooked severely injured patients to, the EKGs and IVs. But then, his eyes were for Harley only.
Trembling slightly, he reached out to whip the blanket aside.
__________________________________
"Commissioner Gordon! Commissioner Gordon!"
Gordon and Montoya turned toward the sound. "Officer Riley!" Gordon said, startled. "We've been trying to get you on your radio for over an hour. Where the hell have you been?"
Stopping in front of Gordon, Officer Riley stared straight ahead. "Commissioner, the Joker is on the sixth floor, Room 638!"
"What?!" he said out loud. "What is he doing down there? Officer, are you sure?"
"Commissioner, the Joker is on the sixth floor, Room 638!"
"Yes, I think we heard you the first time, Officer."
"Wait," Montoya said, interrupting her boss. She snapped her fingers in front of Riley's eyes, but there was no reaction. So she tried shaking him by both shoulders. "Riley! Snap out of it!"
After a few hard shakes, he flopped his head back and forth for a minute before blinking furiously. "Commissioner!" he said, surprised, jumping back.
"Officer, just what is going on here? What happened to you?" Gordon ordered.
He looked confused. "I don't know, sir. The last hour is kinda fuzzy."
"And what about the Joker?"
"What about him?"
"You just told us he's in Room 638!"
"I did?"
"Officer?" Montoya asked him. "Where are your revolver and nightstick?"
They all look down at his belt, which was definitely missing some rather important items.
He looked stricken. "I, uh . . ."
She leaned forward and sniffed him. "Officer, if I said you smelled like lipstick, would you happen to know why?"
"Uh, no, Detective. Although now I kinda wish I did."
"Ivy," Gordon growled, and after he'd decided to keep her out of Quinn's room for fear of her interfering with the arrest. "Shit! Detective, take six men and get down to the sixth floor immediately!"
_____________________________________
The Joker reared back. "What?"
Ivy smiled sweetly at him, even as she struggled to keep her surprise held tightly against her midsection. "Does this answer your question?" she asked before taking the tangled bundle of angrily twisting vines in both hands and hurling it at him.
Startled, he dropped what he was carrying and caught it. It wouldn't have mattered. Freed from its confinement against Ivy's arms and body, the vines found room to expand and whipped around his own arms.
He screeched as they uncoiled briefly before grabbing hold of him and pinning his arms to his body. They grew, and they grew, and they _grew_, until he was completely trapped within its embrace. Within a minute, they had covered his whole body, so that she couldn't see his face anymore.
She rested her tired arms for a moment before picking up the handgun and nightstick she'd absconded with earlier. "My, how they do grow," she murmured. After a moment's thought, while he suffocated under the constricting vines, she put down the club and got a pair of pruning shears she'd brought along.
Ivy cut away the vines from his mouth and eyes, though not so carefully that she didn't leave cuts behind.
"Ow! You b - "
He stopped talking when she put the gun in his face.
"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly. "It'll hurt worse in a minute. Trust me. You see, it's my own personal stash of poison ivy. Oh sure, it doesn't look like it . . ."
His shriek could be heard throughout the sixth floor as the vines, no longer able to elongate, now grew outwardly by growing thorns long enough to puncture clothing and skin.
"But the spikes will secrete a resin into your bloodstream that will give you a full body rash to last you two weeks or more," she informed him. "And I mean, _full body_. Try not to scratch too much; you'll leave scars. You don't want scars on that tiny little penis of yours, do you?"
He didn't even bother trying to talk. He just panted heavily and gave her a stare that left her in no doubt that he would hate her forever.
Her hand trembled as she cocked the revolver. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," she whispered, "bringing me a wealth of personal satisfaction."
The Joker eyed her nervously. "Uh, heh heh, if I'm dead, I won't go through two weeks of horrible itching and scarring?"
Ivy stopped. "Fair enough," she decided. Truth be told, there was also the whole "life in prison" downside. She could always bust out, but then she'd be a fugitive for the rest of her life. Right now (as far as she knew), she was still free. If the Commissioner kept his deal, Harley would be, too. They could be free together.
Sighing regretfully, she put the gun aside. "Enjoy the calamine baths," she added, getting up.
"I'll find you," he hissed, shaking in his prison. "I'll find yoouuuu," he crooned. "And when I do, I'll have no compunctions about killing you both."
She turned to face him, tapping the nightstick against her palm. This gave him pause.
"You know, Harley told me about the time you had her replaced with an actress? And she beat you senseless with a policeman's club? I thought it might have been a turning point in your relationship. I thought, 'Now he'll know not to lay a finger on her again.' And instead, you went on smiling and crooking your finger, and she always came running."
"I learned to hate your smile, Joker. I hated seeing it every time you humiliated her, or hurt her, or denigrated her talents. She was your closest friend, and naturally your most frequent target. That kind of gratitude deserves to be repaid."
"Go ahead and beat me," he muttered. "It's been done before."
"I wouldn't bother," she replied. "I'd just be hurting the plant. I'd have to hit you somewhere without any vines in the way."
He stared at her, saying nothing. In fact, it was all he could do, his lips were pressed so tightly together.
Kneeling on top of him, she took the billy club in both hands and brought it up.
"You'll never smile at her expense again, _puddin'_," she whispered.
____________________________
As Montoya led the officers down the corridor, having taken three flights of emergency stairs down, she could hear screaming and screeching coming from the direction she was headed. "Hurry!" she shouted.
But it ended before she got halfway there.
Montoya and at least four other officers all pulled their guns as the door opened and someone came out. "Freeze! Drop your weapon!"
Ivy looked innocent as she casually flung the nightstick to one side. "Freeze? You have me confused with someone else. I'm Ivy."
"Very funny," Montoya said, hesitantly holstering her gun. "Where's the Joker?"
"In there. You might want to get him to a hospital."
"Is he . . .?"
"Dead? Of course not." Ivy frowned. "I'm not going back to Arkham."
"Detective Montoya?" Two officers had gone into the room to check the interior, and one was now calling to her.
"Watch her," she ordered the remaining police before going in.
Ivy waited silently until Montoya came back out, carrying the gun Ivy had stolen but never used. "He doesn't look so good, Ivy. You knocked out at least a half-dozen teeth, and broke at least four others. And he's got blotches all over his face."
"He'll live," she replied. "He'll probably be back in Arkham in a day or two, in fact."
Montoya looked at her appraisingly.
"Can I go upstairs now? I'd like to see Harley. Now that the danger has passed, you know."
"Detective," an officer began to say.
"I know," she cut him off. "All right, let's go up. And stay with the Joker while I send a doctor down."
As the time for urgency seemed to have passed, this time Montoya took the elevator. "What did you do to him, exactly?"
"Tied him up. Gave him poison ivy. A really, _really_ bad case of poison ivy. Knocked his teeth out." Ivy acted nonchalant about it.
"Assault and battery - could void your deal with the Commissioner. Then we could ship your girlfriend back to Arkham after all," Montoya replied calmly.
Ivy said nothing. The Joker was the one with the rash, but her fingers were itching. Itching to smack her around, anyway. She shoved her hands in her pockets instead.
Montoya raised an eyebrow but became silent as well.
"Well?" Gordon asked them when they came back. His tone of voice didn't hold out much hope for good news.
"He's alive," Montoya told him. "Nothing terminal. Ivy smuggled in some kind of strangling vine that tied the Joker in knots."
Gordon looked at Ivy. "How did you get something like that in here? I heard even the Batman searched your things."
"It was just a seed when I got back. A good soaking in a glass of water for five minutes was all I needed."
"Any more of those seeds?"
She pulled one of her hands out. There were four more seeds, almost the size of walnuts, in her palm.
Gordon confiscated them. "Take these to forensics," he said to another officer, handing them over. "Whatever you do, don't get them wet."
"Or feed them after midnight," Ivy murmured.
"Look, Ivy . . ."
"Look, _Commissioner_," she interjected. "You've got him in your custody. I didn't kill him. He's not even close to being dead. No casualties, no foul."
"One casualty," he informed her. "I received word they found a hospital janitor in the alley with his throat cut."
"Which would explain his outfit," Ivy replied. "A multi-story building full of people who aren't really able to defend themselves, and the Joker only got one? If you really feel the need to complain, leave me out of it. I'm checking on Harley." She moved to go around him.
He blocked her progress. "We had a deal."
"Then arrest me tomorrow," she snapped. "He wouldn't look any better if it was Batman leaving him trussed up at your feet."
Gordon glanced at Montoya. "What do you think?"
She shrugged. "Tomorrow sounds good. We should keep her and the Joker separate anyway."
The commissioner sighed. "All right," he grumbled, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "Maybe you can get those pets of hers to calm down, seeing as how it was your idea to have them guarding her bed."
"I do have some experience in pest control," she said dryly before being allowed to go past him.
"What do you think?" Montoya asked him when she was gone.
"What else? Arrest her tomorrow, like the lady said."
____________________________________
"And it'll be just the two of us," Ivy said, wrapping up. "Well, all right, four of us," she added, glancing to her right. The two hyenas slept peacefully off to the side; one's foreleg was wrapped in bandages.
"That's the plan," she whispered. "Isn't it a good one? All you have to do is wake up. It's been twenty-four hours now, and I have this guarantee that if you're still alive after 24 hours, you'll be all right. So don't be so damn stubborn."
A tear rolled down her cheek as she risked squeezing Harley's hand just a little. "I love you," she said.
" . . . you . . ."
Ivy gasped. "Harley? Harley!"
Her little fingers barely squeezed her own, but it was more than enough. "R-Red?" she asked, slightly opening one eye.
"Oh, Harl, it's going to be all right now."
"I . . . hurt."
"You're in the hospital. You're going to be fine now, you just have to be," Ivy said, crying harder. "Just rest, okay?"
"'Kay. Red?"
"Yes?"
"Love you . . . too." Her eye closed again.
Ivy smiled brilliantly. Killing him could never have matched that.
To be concluded . . .
