Title: Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses (6/6)
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 6
"We've decided," Gordon told Ivy the next day in a conference room the hospital had provided, "not to press charges against you for the assault on the Joker."
Ivy made a little smile. "What brought that on?"
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely comfortable allowing you to roam freely when I could have you behind bars," he warned her.
"I'm sure," she replied. "I bet you threaten to arrest the Batman every time he beats up the Joker, too."
He glared gruffly at her. "The District Attorney's office has informed me that it's not a winnable case. No jury is going to convict somebody for pummeling that maniac."
"It's like I keep saying," she said easily, shaking her head. "The system doesn't work."
"I attempted to convince them," Gordon continued, "that a jury might take your criminal record into context and look at it as an act of vengeance by a crazed lunatic . . ."
She yawned and looked at her nails.
"But," he added, her behavior grating on him, "they pointed out that all a defense attorney had to do was show the jury photos of Quinn."
"Can I go now?"
Gordon pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, you can go," he sighed. "And Ivy?"
She turned to look at him as she reached for the doorknob.
"It might interest you to know that Detective Montoya made the same arguments to me last night as the D.A. did this morning."
"Well," she replied, thinking a second, "tell her thanks, but I already found the girl for me." Looking as pleased with herself as she ever did, she let herself out.
He watched her go. "Get well soon, Quinn," he muttered. "So I can get you both out of my hair."
______________________________
"Did the delivery get here on time?"
"Clockwork," the Penguin told her, settling into his chair while his employees got the lounge ready for business. "I'm surprised you found the time to swipe it all, considering the things I've heard about you and your little cockatiel."
Ivy sighed. Not the word she would have used, considering she preferred plants to animals, but what could you do? "It's old, Penguin. Just things I've stolen over the years that I never got around to selling, or that I liked and decided to keep."
"Having a garage sale?" Penguin asked, lowering his monocle and examining her closely.
"If you must know," she said, "I need all the money I can get to pay for Harley's hospital bills. The police department certainly wasn't going to give me financial assistance as part of the deal."
"I see," he replied, sounding faintly amused. He took a piece of paper from his jacket. "Well, I think you'll like the price I'm offering for the goods." Putting it on the table, he pushed it toward her.
"Uh-huh," she murmured, doubting it. Negotiating a fair price for stolen merchandise with the Penguin took a degree of sweat and determination. She turned the paper over.
Ivy stared at it. He was right; she _did_ like it. She was so surprised by his offer that she didn't even think to haggle upwards. "I'll take it," she said.
"Excellent," he answered. "Perhaps we could adjourn to my office?"
"What's with the generosity?" she asked him as they walked to the back of the establishment.
"Patience, patience," the Penguin told her.
He exhaled loudly as he sat behind his desk and started fiddling with the safe. "Perhaps when your paramour . . ."
"This doesn't sound like an answer to my question."
"Oh, that? I suppose I'm feeling uncommonly magnanimous after what you did."
"What I did? What did I do?"
Penguin glanced at her. "My dear Ivy, as one of the few major players in the Gotham underworld who still possesses his mental faculties, I think I have a pretty good sense of who's who and what's what."
She rolled her eyes, which he chose to ignore. "Most of us are acquaintances, nothing more. We're not friends. Oh, sure, a few friendships - your relationship with Harley was an aberration long before it became intimate - but not much else. Like the Joker." He finally unlocked the safe and opened it.
"What about him?"
"Nobody likes him. In fact, everybody hates him. He never shuts up. He's full of himself. He's so unpredictable, you can't even talk to him. He's always trying to demolish the entire city, which as you can imagine, would make life hard for the rest of us."
"So what, because I embarrassed him, suddenly I'm popular?" she asked as he counted bills.
"It's just what I hear," he said absently. "Anyway, think of this as a bonus for disposing of him in such a way that he won't even think of breaking out of Arkham for weeks." The Penguin looked up. "When Two-Face or the Scarecrow is loose, people worry, but they don't panic. When the Joker is loose, people panic. They don't go out at night; they lock their doors. It's bad for business - my business."
Ivy took the money he was handing her. "Part of this is a percentage of the profits you would have lost?" She made a desultory attempt to count it.
"Something like that," he replied, smiling a little. "You know, if you really wanted to boost my profits, you could bring your - "
"Her name is Harley, Penguin. I've reserved the right to call her pet names," she told him.
"Of course," he said, blinking. "You could bring _Harley_ in after she's released, have dinner here one night. Everybody wants a look at the two of you these days."
"Sorry, we're not one of your polar bears," Ivy responded. "Besides, as soon as they let her out, we're leaving."
"Leaving?"
"Gotham. That _was_ part of the deal."
He looked really surprised for the first time that day. "Why, that's extortion! They can't just have you thrown out of Gotham like a couple of undesirables."
"We're all undesirables, Penguin."
"Most men would disagree with you, Ivy - now more than ever."
____________________________________
"What's black and white and red all over?"
Ivy straightened. "A newspaper," she answered, folding the one she was scanning through.
"Actually," Edward Nigma replied, sitting across from her, "the answer is the Joker with a skin rash and a shiner."
She looked at him. "Aren't you afraid someone's going to recognize you?"
"I didn't realize my face had that instant recognition factor. Besides, who would think the Riddler would be sitting in a hospital cafeteria?"
"When did you get out?"
"Last night. I've got all the dirt on the Joker, Ivy, if you want to hear it." He grinned slyly.
Ivy tapped the pen in her hand against the table several times. "What's he been saying lately?"
"Why, nothing, Ivy. Absolutely nothing. I thought you'd heard at least that much."
"I don't leave this place too often," she explained. "The trip I made to the Iceberg the other day was probably the farthest I've been from the hospital in a while."
"Yes, we've all gotten the dish from Penguin," he said.
"How'd you manage that?"
"Arkham still leaks like a sieve while they try to clean up the mess left by the old head doctor," he told her. "Penguin's own little black market is plying its trade heavily with us loonies."
She wasn't surprised. Perhaps that was why he'd given her the extra cash for her merchandise; by contributing to the professional demise of Dr. Park, she'd made it easy for him to make a killing selling goods to the inmates. "So what made the Joker shut up for once?"
"You did. Well, you and the dentist who worked on his teeth."
"Oh," she realized.
His grin got wider. "Yes, _oh_. His jaw has been wired shut since he arrived at Arkham. And that's not even the best part."
"What is?"
"That massive skin rash you gave him? He was scratching so much that they put him in a straitjacket. Then he used his toes to scratch his legs, so they had to strap those down." He tried not to laugh as he described the scene. "Watching the almighty Joker being pushed around Arkham, dressed like Hannibal Lecter . . . you didn't take him down a peg. You took him down a dozen of them." He chuckled and rubbed one of his eyes. "He's figured out a way to fill the room with laughter, and he can't even enjoy it."
Ivy wasn't laughing; she just sat there, smiling, taking a grim but extremely high level of satisfaction in what she was hearing. "Isn't anyone afraid of what he'll do when he gets out?"
"Oh, I suppose, but the opportunity is so appealing. He's constantly quivering from the rash, so someone thought to call him 'Twitchy'. Trust me, Harley - he'll never live this one down."
"He's lucky I let him live at all," she said.
"Probably," he agreed. "All right, now it's your turn."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, I gave you the info, so now you've got to tell me."
"You're not telling riddles, and yet you're as nebulous as ever. Tell you _what_?" she asked, exasperated.
"Why, your sex life, of course."
She glared murderously at him.
"Kidding, kidding," he said hastily, putting his hands up. "It probably can't compete with everyone's fantasies anyway."
"I could put this pen through your eye, Eddie."
"Of course, right," Riddler added nervously. "No, we heard from the Penguin that you were leaving Gotham for good. Everyone wants to know if it's true."
"Yes, it is. Could you go now?"
"Why so short with me, Ivy?" he asked charmingly. "Oh, all right. I could ask you where you're headed, but you probably wouldn't tell me. Besides, I think I can puzzle that one out myself."
"Oh?"
He snatched her newspaper and unfolded it. "New York Post?" His eyed widened. "Help wanted ads?"
"Nigma!" she hissed, yanking it from his hands. "Do you fucking mind?!"
Riddler leaned back a little. "There's a riddle for you. Last week, I heard you were a lesbian. Today I found out you were going straight. Is that what they mean by a gay-straight alliance?"
"Not permanently," Ivy said, pissed. "Harley's going to need caring for, even after she leaves here. I can't go pulling jobs and worrying about her at the same time. Besides, I want us to be a team again."
"Cute," he told her.
"You're not."
"Hey, if you think you can control yourself that long . . ."
"I'm leaving now, Edward."
"Hear Scarface is back in?"
She was surprised again. "No, I hadn't. I figured that little man finally put the dummy away for good."
"To hear him tell it," the Riddler informed her, "he wasn't happy with his life. Apparently it's more fun being ordered around by a piece of wood."
"Which is no weirder than a compulsion to tell the police the location of your next heist."
"Or," he said, arching an eyebrow, "attacking people because they wear a carnation in their lapel. And launching into shrill diatribes about things that even the Earth Liberation Front wouldn't give a shit about. Maybe this goes to show that sooner or later, we always go back to Arkham."
If he was trying to make a point, he'd apparently only served to get himself down. Ivy already had a response. "Or maybe the Ventriloquist didn't have a reason to stay sane. And maybe I do."
"Maybe," he said calmly. "Good luck, Ivy. There isn't a single person in Arkham who wants to see Harley going back to that asshole."
She nodded as she got up. Maybe Penguin wasn't too far off about this whole popularity thing.
______________________________________
"Oh, Ms. - um, is Ivy your first or last name?"
"Just Ivy will do."
The petty bureaucrat smiled insincerely. Ivy just wanted it over with. She didn't know what Harley's bill came to at this point, but she had more than enough to pay it.
"You had some questions regarding Ms. Quinn's medical bills?" he asked, somewhat nervous. The sign on his desk said his name was Mr. Oliver.
About the only people who worked in this hospital and who didn't stammer and tremble in her presence were the nurses on Harley's floor, her physician, and her physical therapist. Fortunately, the slim chance that she wouldn't need a transplant paid off, but she was still very weak from her injuries, especially when added to a long list of prior injuries.
"Nobody's told me how much she owes the hospital," she replied. "Since I'll be paying her bills, I want to take care of it. Right now, if possible. Do you take cash?"
"Well, you see, Ivy," Mr. Oliver explained, "all of Ms. Quinn's expenses are being covered by a third party. You don't owe us anything."
Astonished, Ivy stared at his quivering mouth. "Who?" she finally asked. "I know it sure as hell isn't the city."
"The, uh, Wayne Foundation. Mr. Wayne called me himself, in fact."
That did not serve to lessen her amazement, especially considering that Christmas prank she and Harley had played on him a while back. "You're not serious."
"Yes, I am. In fact, I made a note of it in the file. See, he said otherwise, someone might try to pay with a platinum VISA and a glazed look in their eye."
That remark should have annoyed her, but she was focused more on the fact that she now had a lot of money that she didn't need to spend on medical bills. They could find an apartment in New York, and get some nice furniture, like a _really_ big bed . . .
She looked up, realizing he was still talking. "What?"
"Will there be anything else?" He seemed most eager for her to leave his office.
Which was fine with her. She wanted to share the news with a special someone.
____________________________________
"Red. Ree-eeddd."
Ivy slowly opened her eyes and was conscious of something weighing her down. Or someone. "Harley?"
"If I'm the one who keeps getting PT, why are you the one who's so tired?" Harley whispered as she nestled into Ivy's shoulder, carefully resting in her lap.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," Ivy whispered. "It's after . . ." She looked over Harley's shoulder. ". . . eleven P.M."
"Don't you like me like this?"
Ivy smiled in spite of herself. "I love you like this. I love you any way you want." The outward signs of Harley's assault had largely faded from her body. Even now, however, she was still healing on the inside, and she was still weak. Certain parts of her body were sensitive to any touch.
Harley squealed softly. "And I love when you say things like that." She put her hands on Ivy's cheeks and kissed her on the lips. "So, you wanna do it?"
Ivy started coughing. "Um, Harley?" she finally asked when she was able to talk.
"Yeah?"
"So it wouldn't hurt if I put my hand here?" She rested her hand on Harley's breast.
The other woman shivered, from pleasure rather than pain. "No," she cooed.
"And what about here?" She moved her hand to Harley's lower back.
Ivy felt the tremors running up Harley's spine, and those she knew were due to her internal injuries.
"No," Harley said bravely.
Ivy pressed gently against Harley's abdomen.
Harley cried out softly, despite her attempts not to.
"Come on," Ivy told her, moving her off her lap. Then she carefully picked Harley up in her arms and carried her the short distance to her bed. "Another week and we'll be together."
In the last few weeks they had probably opened up to each other more than they had in the year before. Both women felt they really understood each other. Sometimes Harley brought up the Joker, but Ivy actually encouraged her to. With time, Harley did so less and less, and she rarely referred to him as her "puddin" or "Mr. J". Sometimes she would start to, and then check herself and say "Joker" instead. Which, Ivy felt, was as sure a sign of progress as she could ask for.
She looked around the darkened room in which she'd fallen asleep, as she did most nights now. By the window were the potted flowers that had come for Harley via Professor Crane. Ivy knew that he had gotten along with Harley in Arkham reasonably well, but she'd still had the blossoms tested (no fear toxin). Near that was the unsigned note which Ivy was relatively sure had come from Catwoman, which was surprising considering the time Harley had tried to grind her into cat food. It read, "The only thing harder than walking out that door, is not walking back in. Don't give the creep another thought."
"Ivy?" Harley whispered, still favoring one side over the other.
"Yes, Harley?"
"Did you feed the babies today?"
Ivy looked skyward for a second. "Yes, Harley."
"Red?"
"I did, honest."
"Kiss me good night?"
"Oh."
So she did. And if Harley's hand happened to find its way under Ivy's blouse, well, that probably wasn't an accident.
__________________________________________
"Geez," Bullock muttered under his breath to Montoya. "It feels like watching my grandparents leave when I was a kid. Only these two ain't the warm and nurturing type."
"Somehow I never thought of your family as warm and nurturing, Harvey," Montoya replied.
"Well, I guess that's the last of it," Ivy was saying meanwhile as she closed the trunk. She'd used part of her savings to buy a used car, or "pre-owned vehicle" as they were calling it these days. Which, Ivy thought, sounded a lot like a stolen car. Those were cheaper, but she didn't feel like parking a stolen car in view of the police commissioner.
"You do realize," Gordon warned her, "that I'll be contacting the NYPD and alerting them that you two will be arriving shortly."
"Why, so they can escort us to the city limits?" Harley said from the passenger side. "Welcome to New York, have fun in Philadelphia?"
"It's just a warning," he said. "You keep your noses clean, the police won't bother you."
"Augh!"
Everyone turned around and saw the man running away. "What was that?" Gordon asked.
"News photographer," Bullock said. "Got a little too close to the back seat window."
The hyenas looked out through the window in question, drooling all over it.
"That's my cue," Ivy sighed. "I want to leave before Summer Gleason makes an appearance."
"Good luck, Ms. Isley," Gordon told her.
"It's Ivy, Gordon," she corrected him. "It'll always be Harley and Ivy." Smiling knowingly, she turned her back and strolled over to the driver's side before getting in and starting the car.
They watched her drive away, while Harley made faces through the window. "Look out, New York," Gordon murmured.
"NYPD'll be all right. Plus I hear they got some bat-men of their own," Bullock volunteered.
"Gargoyles are just an urban myth, Bullock," Montoya told him. "Like alligators in the sewers."
"Commissioner?"
"Yes, Officer?"
"That was Arkham. Killer Croc just escaped into the tunnels."
"You were saying?" Bullock asked Montoya.
The End. (To be continued in _Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth_)
Author's Note (MUST READ) -
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the rest of my work, _Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth_ is the name of my next "Gargoyles" fanfic. Due to growing demands on my time, I have no doubt that I do not have the luxury of writing two different series at once. My Gargoyles stories are very important to me, while "It's Just Allergies" started almost on a whim (which is not to suggest I made less of an effort on my Batman stories). Therefore, Harley and Ivy are going from stars of their own story, to important members of the ensemble cast of my Gargoyles series.
I realize that many of you will stop reading at this point. To continue following Harley and Ivy's adventures, one would have to read the first four stories in my Gargoyles series: Wolf at the Door, Out of Their Element, A Bitter Pill to Swallow, and Vessel. For those uninitiated to the show, they would also have to find a website, like the Gargoyles Fans Website at www.gargoyles-fans.org and read all the background and context. This is asking a whole lot of you, and for those of you who really don't want to bother, I understand, and thanks for reading. (After all, when I switched from Buffy to Gargoyles several months ago, only about twenty readers expressed interest.)
To those of you who are willing to keep reading, my Gargoyles stories are all at www.fanfiction.net . And thanks for your support. Harley and Ivy will not get lost in the shuffle at New York City (and if you think they're the only Gothamites who will appear in NYC in the future, you are quite mistaken). So sit back and enjoy. Ivy's got herself an interview with a subsidiary of Nightstone Unlimited, after all, and they're not too squeamish about who they hire ;)
Sincerely, Allaine
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 6
"We've decided," Gordon told Ivy the next day in a conference room the hospital had provided, "not to press charges against you for the assault on the Joker."
Ivy made a little smile. "What brought that on?"
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely comfortable allowing you to roam freely when I could have you behind bars," he warned her.
"I'm sure," she replied. "I bet you threaten to arrest the Batman every time he beats up the Joker, too."
He glared gruffly at her. "The District Attorney's office has informed me that it's not a winnable case. No jury is going to convict somebody for pummeling that maniac."
"It's like I keep saying," she said easily, shaking her head. "The system doesn't work."
"I attempted to convince them," Gordon continued, "that a jury might take your criminal record into context and look at it as an act of vengeance by a crazed lunatic . . ."
She yawned and looked at her nails.
"But," he added, her behavior grating on him, "they pointed out that all a defense attorney had to do was show the jury photos of Quinn."
"Can I go now?"
Gordon pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, you can go," he sighed. "And Ivy?"
She turned to look at him as she reached for the doorknob.
"It might interest you to know that Detective Montoya made the same arguments to me last night as the D.A. did this morning."
"Well," she replied, thinking a second, "tell her thanks, but I already found the girl for me." Looking as pleased with herself as she ever did, she let herself out.
He watched her go. "Get well soon, Quinn," he muttered. "So I can get you both out of my hair."
______________________________
"Did the delivery get here on time?"
"Clockwork," the Penguin told her, settling into his chair while his employees got the lounge ready for business. "I'm surprised you found the time to swipe it all, considering the things I've heard about you and your little cockatiel."
Ivy sighed. Not the word she would have used, considering she preferred plants to animals, but what could you do? "It's old, Penguin. Just things I've stolen over the years that I never got around to selling, or that I liked and decided to keep."
"Having a garage sale?" Penguin asked, lowering his monocle and examining her closely.
"If you must know," she said, "I need all the money I can get to pay for Harley's hospital bills. The police department certainly wasn't going to give me financial assistance as part of the deal."
"I see," he replied, sounding faintly amused. He took a piece of paper from his jacket. "Well, I think you'll like the price I'm offering for the goods." Putting it on the table, he pushed it toward her.
"Uh-huh," she murmured, doubting it. Negotiating a fair price for stolen merchandise with the Penguin took a degree of sweat and determination. She turned the paper over.
Ivy stared at it. He was right; she _did_ like it. She was so surprised by his offer that she didn't even think to haggle upwards. "I'll take it," she said.
"Excellent," he answered. "Perhaps we could adjourn to my office?"
"What's with the generosity?" she asked him as they walked to the back of the establishment.
"Patience, patience," the Penguin told her.
He exhaled loudly as he sat behind his desk and started fiddling with the safe. "Perhaps when your paramour . . ."
"This doesn't sound like an answer to my question."
"Oh, that? I suppose I'm feeling uncommonly magnanimous after what you did."
"What I did? What did I do?"
Penguin glanced at her. "My dear Ivy, as one of the few major players in the Gotham underworld who still possesses his mental faculties, I think I have a pretty good sense of who's who and what's what."
She rolled her eyes, which he chose to ignore. "Most of us are acquaintances, nothing more. We're not friends. Oh, sure, a few friendships - your relationship with Harley was an aberration long before it became intimate - but not much else. Like the Joker." He finally unlocked the safe and opened it.
"What about him?"
"Nobody likes him. In fact, everybody hates him. He never shuts up. He's full of himself. He's so unpredictable, you can't even talk to him. He's always trying to demolish the entire city, which as you can imagine, would make life hard for the rest of us."
"So what, because I embarrassed him, suddenly I'm popular?" she asked as he counted bills.
"It's just what I hear," he said absently. "Anyway, think of this as a bonus for disposing of him in such a way that he won't even think of breaking out of Arkham for weeks." The Penguin looked up. "When Two-Face or the Scarecrow is loose, people worry, but they don't panic. When the Joker is loose, people panic. They don't go out at night; they lock their doors. It's bad for business - my business."
Ivy took the money he was handing her. "Part of this is a percentage of the profits you would have lost?" She made a desultory attempt to count it.
"Something like that," he replied, smiling a little. "You know, if you really wanted to boost my profits, you could bring your - "
"Her name is Harley, Penguin. I've reserved the right to call her pet names," she told him.
"Of course," he said, blinking. "You could bring _Harley_ in after she's released, have dinner here one night. Everybody wants a look at the two of you these days."
"Sorry, we're not one of your polar bears," Ivy responded. "Besides, as soon as they let her out, we're leaving."
"Leaving?"
"Gotham. That _was_ part of the deal."
He looked really surprised for the first time that day. "Why, that's extortion! They can't just have you thrown out of Gotham like a couple of undesirables."
"We're all undesirables, Penguin."
"Most men would disagree with you, Ivy - now more than ever."
____________________________________
"What's black and white and red all over?"
Ivy straightened. "A newspaper," she answered, folding the one she was scanning through.
"Actually," Edward Nigma replied, sitting across from her, "the answer is the Joker with a skin rash and a shiner."
She looked at him. "Aren't you afraid someone's going to recognize you?"
"I didn't realize my face had that instant recognition factor. Besides, who would think the Riddler would be sitting in a hospital cafeteria?"
"When did you get out?"
"Last night. I've got all the dirt on the Joker, Ivy, if you want to hear it." He grinned slyly.
Ivy tapped the pen in her hand against the table several times. "What's he been saying lately?"
"Why, nothing, Ivy. Absolutely nothing. I thought you'd heard at least that much."
"I don't leave this place too often," she explained. "The trip I made to the Iceberg the other day was probably the farthest I've been from the hospital in a while."
"Yes, we've all gotten the dish from Penguin," he said.
"How'd you manage that?"
"Arkham still leaks like a sieve while they try to clean up the mess left by the old head doctor," he told her. "Penguin's own little black market is plying its trade heavily with us loonies."
She wasn't surprised. Perhaps that was why he'd given her the extra cash for her merchandise; by contributing to the professional demise of Dr. Park, she'd made it easy for him to make a killing selling goods to the inmates. "So what made the Joker shut up for once?"
"You did. Well, you and the dentist who worked on his teeth."
"Oh," she realized.
His grin got wider. "Yes, _oh_. His jaw has been wired shut since he arrived at Arkham. And that's not even the best part."
"What is?"
"That massive skin rash you gave him? He was scratching so much that they put him in a straitjacket. Then he used his toes to scratch his legs, so they had to strap those down." He tried not to laugh as he described the scene. "Watching the almighty Joker being pushed around Arkham, dressed like Hannibal Lecter . . . you didn't take him down a peg. You took him down a dozen of them." He chuckled and rubbed one of his eyes. "He's figured out a way to fill the room with laughter, and he can't even enjoy it."
Ivy wasn't laughing; she just sat there, smiling, taking a grim but extremely high level of satisfaction in what she was hearing. "Isn't anyone afraid of what he'll do when he gets out?"
"Oh, I suppose, but the opportunity is so appealing. He's constantly quivering from the rash, so someone thought to call him 'Twitchy'. Trust me, Harley - he'll never live this one down."
"He's lucky I let him live at all," she said.
"Probably," he agreed. "All right, now it's your turn."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, I gave you the info, so now you've got to tell me."
"You're not telling riddles, and yet you're as nebulous as ever. Tell you _what_?" she asked, exasperated.
"Why, your sex life, of course."
She glared murderously at him.
"Kidding, kidding," he said hastily, putting his hands up. "It probably can't compete with everyone's fantasies anyway."
"I could put this pen through your eye, Eddie."
"Of course, right," Riddler added nervously. "No, we heard from the Penguin that you were leaving Gotham for good. Everyone wants to know if it's true."
"Yes, it is. Could you go now?"
"Why so short with me, Ivy?" he asked charmingly. "Oh, all right. I could ask you where you're headed, but you probably wouldn't tell me. Besides, I think I can puzzle that one out myself."
"Oh?"
He snatched her newspaper and unfolded it. "New York Post?" His eyed widened. "Help wanted ads?"
"Nigma!" she hissed, yanking it from his hands. "Do you fucking mind?!"
Riddler leaned back a little. "There's a riddle for you. Last week, I heard you were a lesbian. Today I found out you were going straight. Is that what they mean by a gay-straight alliance?"
"Not permanently," Ivy said, pissed. "Harley's going to need caring for, even after she leaves here. I can't go pulling jobs and worrying about her at the same time. Besides, I want us to be a team again."
"Cute," he told her.
"You're not."
"Hey, if you think you can control yourself that long . . ."
"I'm leaving now, Edward."
"Hear Scarface is back in?"
She was surprised again. "No, I hadn't. I figured that little man finally put the dummy away for good."
"To hear him tell it," the Riddler informed her, "he wasn't happy with his life. Apparently it's more fun being ordered around by a piece of wood."
"Which is no weirder than a compulsion to tell the police the location of your next heist."
"Or," he said, arching an eyebrow, "attacking people because they wear a carnation in their lapel. And launching into shrill diatribes about things that even the Earth Liberation Front wouldn't give a shit about. Maybe this goes to show that sooner or later, we always go back to Arkham."
If he was trying to make a point, he'd apparently only served to get himself down. Ivy already had a response. "Or maybe the Ventriloquist didn't have a reason to stay sane. And maybe I do."
"Maybe," he said calmly. "Good luck, Ivy. There isn't a single person in Arkham who wants to see Harley going back to that asshole."
She nodded as she got up. Maybe Penguin wasn't too far off about this whole popularity thing.
______________________________________
"Oh, Ms. - um, is Ivy your first or last name?"
"Just Ivy will do."
The petty bureaucrat smiled insincerely. Ivy just wanted it over with. She didn't know what Harley's bill came to at this point, but she had more than enough to pay it.
"You had some questions regarding Ms. Quinn's medical bills?" he asked, somewhat nervous. The sign on his desk said his name was Mr. Oliver.
About the only people who worked in this hospital and who didn't stammer and tremble in her presence were the nurses on Harley's floor, her physician, and her physical therapist. Fortunately, the slim chance that she wouldn't need a transplant paid off, but she was still very weak from her injuries, especially when added to a long list of prior injuries.
"Nobody's told me how much she owes the hospital," she replied. "Since I'll be paying her bills, I want to take care of it. Right now, if possible. Do you take cash?"
"Well, you see, Ivy," Mr. Oliver explained, "all of Ms. Quinn's expenses are being covered by a third party. You don't owe us anything."
Astonished, Ivy stared at his quivering mouth. "Who?" she finally asked. "I know it sure as hell isn't the city."
"The, uh, Wayne Foundation. Mr. Wayne called me himself, in fact."
That did not serve to lessen her amazement, especially considering that Christmas prank she and Harley had played on him a while back. "You're not serious."
"Yes, I am. In fact, I made a note of it in the file. See, he said otherwise, someone might try to pay with a platinum VISA and a glazed look in their eye."
That remark should have annoyed her, but she was focused more on the fact that she now had a lot of money that she didn't need to spend on medical bills. They could find an apartment in New York, and get some nice furniture, like a _really_ big bed . . .
She looked up, realizing he was still talking. "What?"
"Will there be anything else?" He seemed most eager for her to leave his office.
Which was fine with her. She wanted to share the news with a special someone.
____________________________________
"Red. Ree-eeddd."
Ivy slowly opened her eyes and was conscious of something weighing her down. Or someone. "Harley?"
"If I'm the one who keeps getting PT, why are you the one who's so tired?" Harley whispered as she nestled into Ivy's shoulder, carefully resting in her lap.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," Ivy whispered. "It's after . . ." She looked over Harley's shoulder. ". . . eleven P.M."
"Don't you like me like this?"
Ivy smiled in spite of herself. "I love you like this. I love you any way you want." The outward signs of Harley's assault had largely faded from her body. Even now, however, she was still healing on the inside, and she was still weak. Certain parts of her body were sensitive to any touch.
Harley squealed softly. "And I love when you say things like that." She put her hands on Ivy's cheeks and kissed her on the lips. "So, you wanna do it?"
Ivy started coughing. "Um, Harley?" she finally asked when she was able to talk.
"Yeah?"
"So it wouldn't hurt if I put my hand here?" She rested her hand on Harley's breast.
The other woman shivered, from pleasure rather than pain. "No," she cooed.
"And what about here?" She moved her hand to Harley's lower back.
Ivy felt the tremors running up Harley's spine, and those she knew were due to her internal injuries.
"No," Harley said bravely.
Ivy pressed gently against Harley's abdomen.
Harley cried out softly, despite her attempts not to.
"Come on," Ivy told her, moving her off her lap. Then she carefully picked Harley up in her arms and carried her the short distance to her bed. "Another week and we'll be together."
In the last few weeks they had probably opened up to each other more than they had in the year before. Both women felt they really understood each other. Sometimes Harley brought up the Joker, but Ivy actually encouraged her to. With time, Harley did so less and less, and she rarely referred to him as her "puddin" or "Mr. J". Sometimes she would start to, and then check herself and say "Joker" instead. Which, Ivy felt, was as sure a sign of progress as she could ask for.
She looked around the darkened room in which she'd fallen asleep, as she did most nights now. By the window were the potted flowers that had come for Harley via Professor Crane. Ivy knew that he had gotten along with Harley in Arkham reasonably well, but she'd still had the blossoms tested (no fear toxin). Near that was the unsigned note which Ivy was relatively sure had come from Catwoman, which was surprising considering the time Harley had tried to grind her into cat food. It read, "The only thing harder than walking out that door, is not walking back in. Don't give the creep another thought."
"Ivy?" Harley whispered, still favoring one side over the other.
"Yes, Harley?"
"Did you feed the babies today?"
Ivy looked skyward for a second. "Yes, Harley."
"Red?"
"I did, honest."
"Kiss me good night?"
"Oh."
So she did. And if Harley's hand happened to find its way under Ivy's blouse, well, that probably wasn't an accident.
__________________________________________
"Geez," Bullock muttered under his breath to Montoya. "It feels like watching my grandparents leave when I was a kid. Only these two ain't the warm and nurturing type."
"Somehow I never thought of your family as warm and nurturing, Harvey," Montoya replied.
"Well, I guess that's the last of it," Ivy was saying meanwhile as she closed the trunk. She'd used part of her savings to buy a used car, or "pre-owned vehicle" as they were calling it these days. Which, Ivy thought, sounded a lot like a stolen car. Those were cheaper, but she didn't feel like parking a stolen car in view of the police commissioner.
"You do realize," Gordon warned her, "that I'll be contacting the NYPD and alerting them that you two will be arriving shortly."
"Why, so they can escort us to the city limits?" Harley said from the passenger side. "Welcome to New York, have fun in Philadelphia?"
"It's just a warning," he said. "You keep your noses clean, the police won't bother you."
"Augh!"
Everyone turned around and saw the man running away. "What was that?" Gordon asked.
"News photographer," Bullock said. "Got a little too close to the back seat window."
The hyenas looked out through the window in question, drooling all over it.
"That's my cue," Ivy sighed. "I want to leave before Summer Gleason makes an appearance."
"Good luck, Ms. Isley," Gordon told her.
"It's Ivy, Gordon," she corrected him. "It'll always be Harley and Ivy." Smiling knowingly, she turned her back and strolled over to the driver's side before getting in and starting the car.
They watched her drive away, while Harley made faces through the window. "Look out, New York," Gordon murmured.
"NYPD'll be all right. Plus I hear they got some bat-men of their own," Bullock volunteered.
"Gargoyles are just an urban myth, Bullock," Montoya told him. "Like alligators in the sewers."
"Commissioner?"
"Yes, Officer?"
"That was Arkham. Killer Croc just escaped into the tunnels."
"You were saying?" Bullock asked Montoya.
The End. (To be continued in _Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth_)
Author's Note (MUST READ) -
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the rest of my work, _Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth_ is the name of my next "Gargoyles" fanfic. Due to growing demands on my time, I have no doubt that I do not have the luxury of writing two different series at once. My Gargoyles stories are very important to me, while "It's Just Allergies" started almost on a whim (which is not to suggest I made less of an effort on my Batman stories). Therefore, Harley and Ivy are going from stars of their own story, to important members of the ensemble cast of my Gargoyles series.
I realize that many of you will stop reading at this point. To continue following Harley and Ivy's adventures, one would have to read the first four stories in my Gargoyles series: Wolf at the Door, Out of Their Element, A Bitter Pill to Swallow, and Vessel. For those uninitiated to the show, they would also have to find a website, like the Gargoyles Fans Website at www.gargoyles-fans.org and read all the background and context. This is asking a whole lot of you, and for those of you who really don't want to bother, I understand, and thanks for reading. (After all, when I switched from Buffy to Gargoyles several months ago, only about twenty readers expressed interest.)
To those of you who are willing to keep reading, my Gargoyles stories are all at www.fanfiction.net . And thanks for your support. Harley and Ivy will not get lost in the shuffle at New York City (and if you think they're the only Gothamites who will appear in NYC in the future, you are quite mistaken). So sit back and enjoy. Ivy's got herself an interview with a subsidiary of Nightstone Unlimited, after all, and they're not too squeamish about who they hire ;)
Sincerely, Allaine
