Chapter 2: New Dawn
The Story Thus Far: Bruce, Harley and Ivy are sailing into a storm in the mid-Atlantic; Penguin contacts Two-Face in Arkham and they begin to plan something unpleasant for Batman shortly after the Riddler's interruption; Gordon's home is the victim of arson by a package seemingly sent by the Joker!
…
Fire is a curious thing, capable of providing the warmth necessary for survival on those frigid nights, is the method of preparing an edible sustenance, and is an incredible light show that leaves us in wonder. Unchecked, it provides nothing more than pain and misery. Ask those brave men who battle the blaze and they can tell you how fire can ruin lives and bring even the heartiest of us to our knees. Such was the case tonight when they arrived to a well known brownstone, home to the Gotham City Police Commissioner. Despite a heavy rain it was burning from the OUTSIDE! Their first instinct, to set their hoses upon it, was met with the same success as the rain. Only now have they resorted to the old standby of letting the blaze burn itself out while ensuring it does not spread. They cannot even use sand as a stopgap solution as the rain would turn it to mud.
From his vantage point inside a police cruiser the Commissioner can only stare through a rain mottled windshield as his memories, his very life, go up in a puff of smoke. It's at that moment, as the roof collapses, that Detective Harvey Bullock decides to enter the cruiser through the front. The Commissioner turns and stares at the unmade bed that is his most trusted detective and Bullock smiles through the barrier between the seats.
"Hey Commish, how ya' feeling?" Bullock asks in his typical manner. There is no reply.
"Look, if ya' need a place to stay…"
"I'm staying in my office," Gordon mutters back.
"Come on, Commish. I'm sure the Mayor wouldn't…"
"I'm staying in my office! And you, you and Allen are going to find out who did this!"
"Come on!" Bullock barks back, "I know you want me to train Joe after you promoted him, but I'm better off doing this case on my own. You know I work better on my own! If you want results…"
"You AND Allen are going to do this case together," Gordon answers back, his eyes showing a fire Bullock's rarely seen, "Understood? You AND Allen are going to investigate; you AND Allen are going to report directly to me; you AND Allen are going to bring me the man responsible for this on a silver platter! Is that clear?!"
Bullock nods before replying, "But the kid guarding your place heard the voice, and he heard you mutter 'Joker.' If it is the Joker…"
"It's not the Joker," Gordon replies with a deadpan stare.
"I know, I know. I'm just saying that if it's him…"
"It's not the Joker," Gordon interrupts with another deadpan remark, "The Joker's dead. I killed him. You know that, I know that, the whole damned city knows that! You're looking for someone else, got me? Now get out of my sight!"
With that Bullock exits the cruiser and slams the door behind him. He breathes a deep sigh before turning away and mumbling, "Well that went better than expected." He removes a small piece of candy from his pocket and pops it into his mouth before walking away.
'Why do I get the feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg,' he ponders solemnly, 'and that we're all on the Titanic?'
…
As daylight breaks through Venetian blinds to chase away the night that was he scarcely moves in its recognition. All about him are mementos to his past and present in the guise of photographs, badges of honour and respect, and nary one means as much to him as the two pictures in his hands. He's spent the better part of the night simply sitting here and staring at the faces, remembering times both good and bad. "How many more…?" he wonders out loud, a lump in his throat, "How many…?"
There's a gentle knock at his door and he peers with bloodshot eyes at the silhouette through the pane. Recognizing the rotund image he places the two photos on his desk and sighs, "Come in."
Detective Bullock opens the door in an uncharacteristically gentle manner and closes it just as silently behind him. He smiles only briefly before noticing the ruffled hair and clothes on the man before him, the slight tilt of his glasses above a haggard white moustache magnifying baggy, red eyes. For Bullock his untidiness is a trademark, something he's actually proud of, but to see the Commissioner in such a state, a man he admires and respects, sends a chill down his spine. Bullock motions and Commissioner Gordon nods, leaving Bullock enough room to sit adjacent to him on the tiny couch beside his office desk.
"Where's Allen?" Gordon asks quietly.
"I got him to try and chase down a few leads with the courier," Bullock replies softly, "He's an okay cop, but I still don't like being paired with him. You know I'm more effective on my own..."
"I know, Harvey, I know," Gordon whispers, a far cry from the hell he was raising last night as he watched his home burn to the ground, "No one should have another human being die in their arms, especially a partner, or…" He can't finish the sentence.
Bullock looks down at his hat for a moment before continuing, "The rest of the stuff the lab's looking at, maybe they'll find something. Unfortunately the tape in the box was roasted…you sure it was the Joker's voice?"
Gordon sneers as he looks at one of the photos on his desk, "Positive."
Harvey takes a glance at the image as well. "Your daughter, right?" he remarks as he notes the bright red hair, blue eyes and cheerful smile, "You know that's a wonderful picture of her. She lit up the place whenever she was in here. I remember once, she…" Bullock pauses. Not wanting to continue he changes focus to the other photo, "Your ex and little Jimmy. Family's very important to you, isn't it Commish?"
Maybe his weariness has finally worn off, or he's just sick of Bullock's presence, but Gordon's finally realizes Bullock hasn't come in here for a pep talk, "What the hell do you want, detective? What are you driving at?"
Bullock manages a half-hearted smile, happy to see new life in the Commissioner's eyes, "Just this, you went to bat for the caped freak, 'scuse the pun, and he ain't nowhere to be seen. Sure there's been freak sightings these past couple of weeks, but I've caught a glimpse, I've made foot casts, it ain't him. He busts out our prime suspect, Harley Quinn, and amscrays to God knows where, and a couple of weeks later you get a hot package with the Joker's voice. What does that tell you?"
The Commissioner can only give a blank stare.
"You know what really went down at Wayne Manor, Commish. I don't. No one else does. You said it was over, but you lied, and here you are still covering for the freak. I BELIEVED you Jim, I LET it slide," Bullock sighs heavily as he gets up. Sliding on his ruffled fedora he turns to the Commissioner one last time, "You're loyal, Commish, you treat this mook like family. Don't get me wrong, it's a great trait. If it weren't for your loyalty a cop like me, with a record a mile long, wouldn't have gotten a second chance. But here I am, your go to guy. I appreciate that, I really do, and I'm telling you now, as your friend, you've got to drop the Bat. He's not family, not anymore. You don't owe him anything anymore." His impassionate plea met with utter silence, Bullock can only shrug his shoulders, "For your own good Jimmy, I'm not going to let this slide anymore," and he exits the room as gently as he had entered.
It takes but a moment for Gordon to gently tap the side of his desk, signalling the all's clear to the slender, young creature that hid within its crevice. Dressed in sheer black, with a billowing cape draping over supple, yet deceptively powerful shoulders, and long pointed ears protruding from an ebony-like cowl, she stands like a wraith in the brightly lit room sucking all attention towards her. Noting the change in time she removes the cape and cowl to reveal a naturally beautiful face of Asian decent, rich black hair and deep blue eyes.
"I thought bats shunned daylight," Gordon smiles, "How are you going to get out of here?"
In response the girl twirls the cape round and wraps it around her body. Gordon could see buttons, pockets and a lapel, the start of a trench-coat. He smiles again, "Reversible. Nice. I'm glad you came by Cassandra. After all, Barbara helped raise you, we're like family."
She merely nods in response as she dresses for her escape.
"Bullock's a good man," Gordon utters, "but when it comes to Batman he's like a broken record that plays the same song over and over." Turning towards the window he takes a peek outside, "And may the Lord help me if I don't think he's right sometimes."
Though her ability to speak is severely limited she struggles through the effort and manages a single word, "True?"
Now its Gordon's turn to sigh, "I don't know…maybe? If you've got some time take a chair and let me tell you what I know…after all, if anyone deserves the truth, you do…"
She smiles. Of course she has time; she has an entire day before nightfall.
…
Harvey Bullock is fuming as he returns to his dingy office and runs into Detective Joe Allen just as he's about to sit down in his plush, economy priced chair. He asks Allen if the investigation of the courier company had turned anything up.
"Nothing really, it seems," Allen sheepishly remarks as he whips out a notebook from a coat pocket, "Have a read."
As Bullock takes the tiny book in hand he manages a glance at Allen's coat and notices the tiny, metallic coil of another notebook. As Bullock begins to peruse the book Allen had handed him he sneers, noticing that it's near new and virtually empty. 'Either I've got serious double vision, or my new partner's trying hog the glory,' the veteran detective ponders, 'or worse…'
"That's some nice work Joe," Bullock applauds as he returns the book, "I think you should follow up on it."
"Thanks," Allen whispers, "but it seems to me we should head over to Arkham instead. I just heard the APB coming in; it seems that the Penguin and Two-Face escaped last night…"
…
"Sheathes of green envelope this entire area," a gruff voice whispers to his comrade. Two-Face outstretches his arms and inhales deeply, "A beautiful place, don't you think? Spending time in here could cleanse the soul. It's no wonder Ivy took such good care of it…"
"Spare me the accolades, my bifurcated ally," the Penguin chortles as he waddles across a sparser part of the Asylum's garden. Pausing briefly he notices a southern Jay land upon the bird bath and grins, "Granted it is not without its charm, but I still find it unsettling to be trudging through a summer garden in mid-December!"
"And I find it odd that the inmates are still allowed to roam free," Two-Face counters, his breaths visible in the cool night air, "But Ivy has her bizarre green thumb, and Dr. Arkham has his bizarre concepts of therapy. Who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"I still fail to see how this will provide us with a means of egress, unless you suggest we strip the bark bare and construct a set of steps to climb out?" the Penguin smiles bemusedly as Two-Face saunters over to a more secluded portion of the garden. Spying a particular vine which contains but a single leaf he leans over and gives it a slight caress with his index finger. Like magic the leaf begins to expand in girth until its tip touched the ground and folds crossed over the stone barricade of the Asylum walls. The Penguin stands stunned, "That is…by far…the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed! But why would she?"
"We used to date," Two-Face remarks haphazardly as he grabs hold and begins to climb, "And given her…toxic demeanour at the time, she felt she owed me."
"Ah," and the cagey bird soon follows suit, his newfound pet Jay in tow.
…
Upon the ocean a peaceful calm has arrived, replacing the once howling winds and cold sheet of rain that poured down. Waters that once churned and heaved vigorously have now settled into their comfortable routine of ups and downs. To a seasoned sailor this would be considered weather worthy of rest and reprieve, a lull of tedium. Within the control room of a certain battered yacht the change in weather is met with minute beeps and blinking lights as the computer navigation system, the only crew member aboard, readjusts its course and speed after lying idle during the hectic storm.
There are three passengers onboard, but only one can be found on the deck this late in the evening. Even with only the moonlight to guide you it is possible to tell that she is a woman unlike any other. Her shape and tone would send any man's heart into a heated seizure, and her deep red, flowing hair would only add fuel to that fire. Her fair skin is garbed against the cool night air in a robust green coat, her favourite colour. As she stands there she arcs her head, allowing the moonlight to shimmer across her face, revealing to any secreted observer ruby read lips and green eyes both mischievous and determined, the kind that seem to beckon regardless of the situation. As she closes them it becomes obvious she is straining her senses, as if desperately trying to hear something. She smiles, until another passenger makes their presence felt with an almost forced sudden footfall, suggesting they wished to be heard.
The red haired woman doesn't even move at the sound and merely produces a sly grin, "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough, Ms. Isley," he answers. Even in the dark his scarred face is evident, it's once handsome features forever changed into a garish grin.
"I thought you were working in the lab, Mr. Wayne," Ivy remarks, her eyes still closed, "I've managed to follow them a bit. They've escaped from Arkham."
"Good. Just make sure you're not found out. I still don't trust this power of…" There's a sudden call from above deck as the third member of the party leaps down from a single mast, landing with nary a sound and a triumphant, "Ta-da!" breaking Ivy's concentration.
"There ain't another boat in sight boss," she coos, placing both hands behind her back and standing on tip-toe before Bruce Wayne, a big grin on her face. She begins to nod her head, still grinning, blonde pig-tails bobbing in the air as she asks, "So can we turn in now?"
"I called the bed tonight," Ivy joins in, recovering from the sudden jolt.
"Nuh-uh!" Harley retorts, "It's mine! You got to use it during the storm!"
"That wasn't part of the deal, Harley," Ivy counters, "It's mine!"
"It's mine," Harley calls, then blowing Ivy a raspberry, "So there!"
"Why you…!" Ivy growls.
"Why don't you just share the bed tonight?" a beleaguered Bruce asks. He's just not used to these kinds of situations. Neither woman appreciates his suggestion however, prompting both to provide a cold glance that would freeze the most violent pit of hell. He sheepishly puts his arms up in surrender and backs away, "I'm…I'm going to sleep in the control room."
"I'll take the couch," whispers Ivy once she's satisfied Bruce Wayne is out of earshot.
Harley merely nods in appreciation and begins to make her way inside. She's halfway to the portal before realizing that Ivy hasn't budged, and in fact is continuing to stare towards the control center.
"Aren't you coming, Red? It's not often the boss gives us a full night's rest," she calls cheerfully with only the slightest hint of concern in her voice.
Ivy shivers only slightly, as if reviving from a daze, "What? Yes…I'll be there shortly…"
"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Harley prods.
"Nothing we've tried seems to work," she whispers, "Nothing's shocked him out of it. He's just some kind of robot going through the motions of being alive. It's like he's given up…"
"Offhand I'd say he's suffered through several serious and traumatic emotional episodes and is currently repressing his need for emotion and human contact less he's hurt once again, and for what may be the final time. Still, he has invited you and me onboard his quest which would suggest that at the subconscious level he's identified the problem and is trying to rectify it by forcing close contact with his fellow homo sapiens," Harley huffs and puffs for a moment, mimicking a gasp for air after spewing a mouthful of psychobabble as Ivy stands in stunned silence. Harley then points a finger to her forehead and grins wildly, "In other words, his brain's busted and he's slapped a band-aid on and's waitin' for it ta be fixed! HA!" She slaps Ivy's shoulder, "And they think I'm just another pretty face! The only thing I can't figure out is why you're willing to be dragged around by him. It just isn't typical superhero/supervillian etiquette!"
Ivy seems lost for an answer for a moment but manages to find one soon enough, "He saved my life, I owe him."
"That's it?" Harley asks, her grin seeming to grow with each syllable.
"That's it."
"Then you won't mind if I take him?" Harley giggles like a playful schoolgirl, her eyes bright and opened wide.
"What?"
Harley's voice is light and airy as she answers, her body dancing around on tiptoes to accentuate the effect, "Oh sure he offed Mr. J, but if Mr. J had to go he wouldn't have it happen any other way. Bats and puddin' in a big, bad final dukeroo…that's the stuff of legend. Besides, I don't know what it is, that swagger in his step or jolly grin on his lips, but he's irresistible!" She comes to a dead stop and turns towards the control center as she continues in a voice as cold as the night air, "And someday…someday soon, I'm going to show him just HOW MUCH he means to me…"
A slight chill came across Ivy's back at that moment. She didn't like the way that sounded…
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Story Thus Far: Bruce, Harley and Ivy are sailing into a storm in the mid-Atlantic; Penguin contacts Two-Face in Arkham and they begin to plan something unpleasant for Batman shortly after the Riddler's interruption; Gordon's home is the victim of arson by a package seemingly sent by the Joker!
…
Fire is a curious thing, capable of providing the warmth necessary for survival on those frigid nights, is the method of preparing an edible sustenance, and is an incredible light show that leaves us in wonder. Unchecked, it provides nothing more than pain and misery. Ask those brave men who battle the blaze and they can tell you how fire can ruin lives and bring even the heartiest of us to our knees. Such was the case tonight when they arrived to a well known brownstone, home to the Gotham City Police Commissioner. Despite a heavy rain it was burning from the OUTSIDE! Their first instinct, to set their hoses upon it, was met with the same success as the rain. Only now have they resorted to the old standby of letting the blaze burn itself out while ensuring it does not spread. They cannot even use sand as a stopgap solution as the rain would turn it to mud.
From his vantage point inside a police cruiser the Commissioner can only stare through a rain mottled windshield as his memories, his very life, go up in a puff of smoke. It's at that moment, as the roof collapses, that Detective Harvey Bullock decides to enter the cruiser through the front. The Commissioner turns and stares at the unmade bed that is his most trusted detective and Bullock smiles through the barrier between the seats.
"Hey Commish, how ya' feeling?" Bullock asks in his typical manner. There is no reply.
"Look, if ya' need a place to stay…"
"I'm staying in my office," Gordon mutters back.
"Come on, Commish. I'm sure the Mayor wouldn't…"
"I'm staying in my office! And you, you and Allen are going to find out who did this!"
"Come on!" Bullock barks back, "I know you want me to train Joe after you promoted him, but I'm better off doing this case on my own. You know I work better on my own! If you want results…"
"You AND Allen are going to do this case together," Gordon answers back, his eyes showing a fire Bullock's rarely seen, "Understood? You AND Allen are going to investigate; you AND Allen are going to report directly to me; you AND Allen are going to bring me the man responsible for this on a silver platter! Is that clear?!"
Bullock nods before replying, "But the kid guarding your place heard the voice, and he heard you mutter 'Joker.' If it is the Joker…"
"It's not the Joker," Gordon replies with a deadpan stare.
"I know, I know. I'm just saying that if it's him…"
"It's not the Joker," Gordon interrupts with another deadpan remark, "The Joker's dead. I killed him. You know that, I know that, the whole damned city knows that! You're looking for someone else, got me? Now get out of my sight!"
With that Bullock exits the cruiser and slams the door behind him. He breathes a deep sigh before turning away and mumbling, "Well that went better than expected." He removes a small piece of candy from his pocket and pops it into his mouth before walking away.
'Why do I get the feeling that this is just the tip of the iceberg,' he ponders solemnly, 'and that we're all on the Titanic?'
…
As daylight breaks through Venetian blinds to chase away the night that was he scarcely moves in its recognition. All about him are mementos to his past and present in the guise of photographs, badges of honour and respect, and nary one means as much to him as the two pictures in his hands. He's spent the better part of the night simply sitting here and staring at the faces, remembering times both good and bad. "How many more…?" he wonders out loud, a lump in his throat, "How many…?"
There's a gentle knock at his door and he peers with bloodshot eyes at the silhouette through the pane. Recognizing the rotund image he places the two photos on his desk and sighs, "Come in."
Detective Bullock opens the door in an uncharacteristically gentle manner and closes it just as silently behind him. He smiles only briefly before noticing the ruffled hair and clothes on the man before him, the slight tilt of his glasses above a haggard white moustache magnifying baggy, red eyes. For Bullock his untidiness is a trademark, something he's actually proud of, but to see the Commissioner in such a state, a man he admires and respects, sends a chill down his spine. Bullock motions and Commissioner Gordon nods, leaving Bullock enough room to sit adjacent to him on the tiny couch beside his office desk.
"Where's Allen?" Gordon asks quietly.
"I got him to try and chase down a few leads with the courier," Bullock replies softly, "He's an okay cop, but I still don't like being paired with him. You know I'm more effective on my own..."
"I know, Harvey, I know," Gordon whispers, a far cry from the hell he was raising last night as he watched his home burn to the ground, "No one should have another human being die in their arms, especially a partner, or…" He can't finish the sentence.
Bullock looks down at his hat for a moment before continuing, "The rest of the stuff the lab's looking at, maybe they'll find something. Unfortunately the tape in the box was roasted…you sure it was the Joker's voice?"
Gordon sneers as he looks at one of the photos on his desk, "Positive."
Harvey takes a glance at the image as well. "Your daughter, right?" he remarks as he notes the bright red hair, blue eyes and cheerful smile, "You know that's a wonderful picture of her. She lit up the place whenever she was in here. I remember once, she…" Bullock pauses. Not wanting to continue he changes focus to the other photo, "Your ex and little Jimmy. Family's very important to you, isn't it Commish?"
Maybe his weariness has finally worn off, or he's just sick of Bullock's presence, but Gordon's finally realizes Bullock hasn't come in here for a pep talk, "What the hell do you want, detective? What are you driving at?"
Bullock manages a half-hearted smile, happy to see new life in the Commissioner's eyes, "Just this, you went to bat for the caped freak, 'scuse the pun, and he ain't nowhere to be seen. Sure there's been freak sightings these past couple of weeks, but I've caught a glimpse, I've made foot casts, it ain't him. He busts out our prime suspect, Harley Quinn, and amscrays to God knows where, and a couple of weeks later you get a hot package with the Joker's voice. What does that tell you?"
The Commissioner can only give a blank stare.
"You know what really went down at Wayne Manor, Commish. I don't. No one else does. You said it was over, but you lied, and here you are still covering for the freak. I BELIEVED you Jim, I LET it slide," Bullock sighs heavily as he gets up. Sliding on his ruffled fedora he turns to the Commissioner one last time, "You're loyal, Commish, you treat this mook like family. Don't get me wrong, it's a great trait. If it weren't for your loyalty a cop like me, with a record a mile long, wouldn't have gotten a second chance. But here I am, your go to guy. I appreciate that, I really do, and I'm telling you now, as your friend, you've got to drop the Bat. He's not family, not anymore. You don't owe him anything anymore." His impassionate plea met with utter silence, Bullock can only shrug his shoulders, "For your own good Jimmy, I'm not going to let this slide anymore," and he exits the room as gently as he had entered.
It takes but a moment for Gordon to gently tap the side of his desk, signalling the all's clear to the slender, young creature that hid within its crevice. Dressed in sheer black, with a billowing cape draping over supple, yet deceptively powerful shoulders, and long pointed ears protruding from an ebony-like cowl, she stands like a wraith in the brightly lit room sucking all attention towards her. Noting the change in time she removes the cape and cowl to reveal a naturally beautiful face of Asian decent, rich black hair and deep blue eyes.
"I thought bats shunned daylight," Gordon smiles, "How are you going to get out of here?"
In response the girl twirls the cape round and wraps it around her body. Gordon could see buttons, pockets and a lapel, the start of a trench-coat. He smiles again, "Reversible. Nice. I'm glad you came by Cassandra. After all, Barbara helped raise you, we're like family."
She merely nods in response as she dresses for her escape.
"Bullock's a good man," Gordon utters, "but when it comes to Batman he's like a broken record that plays the same song over and over." Turning towards the window he takes a peek outside, "And may the Lord help me if I don't think he's right sometimes."
Though her ability to speak is severely limited she struggles through the effort and manages a single word, "True?"
Now its Gordon's turn to sigh, "I don't know…maybe? If you've got some time take a chair and let me tell you what I know…after all, if anyone deserves the truth, you do…"
She smiles. Of course she has time; she has an entire day before nightfall.
…
Harvey Bullock is fuming as he returns to his dingy office and runs into Detective Joe Allen just as he's about to sit down in his plush, economy priced chair. He asks Allen if the investigation of the courier company had turned anything up.
"Nothing really, it seems," Allen sheepishly remarks as he whips out a notebook from a coat pocket, "Have a read."
As Bullock takes the tiny book in hand he manages a glance at Allen's coat and notices the tiny, metallic coil of another notebook. As Bullock begins to peruse the book Allen had handed him he sneers, noticing that it's near new and virtually empty. 'Either I've got serious double vision, or my new partner's trying hog the glory,' the veteran detective ponders, 'or worse…'
"That's some nice work Joe," Bullock applauds as he returns the book, "I think you should follow up on it."
"Thanks," Allen whispers, "but it seems to me we should head over to Arkham instead. I just heard the APB coming in; it seems that the Penguin and Two-Face escaped last night…"
…
"Sheathes of green envelope this entire area," a gruff voice whispers to his comrade. Two-Face outstretches his arms and inhales deeply, "A beautiful place, don't you think? Spending time in here could cleanse the soul. It's no wonder Ivy took such good care of it…"
"Spare me the accolades, my bifurcated ally," the Penguin chortles as he waddles across a sparser part of the Asylum's garden. Pausing briefly he notices a southern Jay land upon the bird bath and grins, "Granted it is not without its charm, but I still find it unsettling to be trudging through a summer garden in mid-December!"
"And I find it odd that the inmates are still allowed to roam free," Two-Face counters, his breaths visible in the cool night air, "But Ivy has her bizarre green thumb, and Dr. Arkham has his bizarre concepts of therapy. Who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"I still fail to see how this will provide us with a means of egress, unless you suggest we strip the bark bare and construct a set of steps to climb out?" the Penguin smiles bemusedly as Two-Face saunters over to a more secluded portion of the garden. Spying a particular vine which contains but a single leaf he leans over and gives it a slight caress with his index finger. Like magic the leaf begins to expand in girth until its tip touched the ground and folds crossed over the stone barricade of the Asylum walls. The Penguin stands stunned, "That is…by far…the most incredible thing I have ever witnessed! But why would she?"
"We used to date," Two-Face remarks haphazardly as he grabs hold and begins to climb, "And given her…toxic demeanour at the time, she felt she owed me."
"Ah," and the cagey bird soon follows suit, his newfound pet Jay in tow.
…
Upon the ocean a peaceful calm has arrived, replacing the once howling winds and cold sheet of rain that poured down. Waters that once churned and heaved vigorously have now settled into their comfortable routine of ups and downs. To a seasoned sailor this would be considered weather worthy of rest and reprieve, a lull of tedium. Within the control room of a certain battered yacht the change in weather is met with minute beeps and blinking lights as the computer navigation system, the only crew member aboard, readjusts its course and speed after lying idle during the hectic storm.
There are three passengers onboard, but only one can be found on the deck this late in the evening. Even with only the moonlight to guide you it is possible to tell that she is a woman unlike any other. Her shape and tone would send any man's heart into a heated seizure, and her deep red, flowing hair would only add fuel to that fire. Her fair skin is garbed against the cool night air in a robust green coat, her favourite colour. As she stands there she arcs her head, allowing the moonlight to shimmer across her face, revealing to any secreted observer ruby read lips and green eyes both mischievous and determined, the kind that seem to beckon regardless of the situation. As she closes them it becomes obvious she is straining her senses, as if desperately trying to hear something. She smiles, until another passenger makes their presence felt with an almost forced sudden footfall, suggesting they wished to be heard.
The red haired woman doesn't even move at the sound and merely produces a sly grin, "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough, Ms. Isley," he answers. Even in the dark his scarred face is evident, it's once handsome features forever changed into a garish grin.
"I thought you were working in the lab, Mr. Wayne," Ivy remarks, her eyes still closed, "I've managed to follow them a bit. They've escaped from Arkham."
"Good. Just make sure you're not found out. I still don't trust this power of…" There's a sudden call from above deck as the third member of the party leaps down from a single mast, landing with nary a sound and a triumphant, "Ta-da!" breaking Ivy's concentration.
"There ain't another boat in sight boss," she coos, placing both hands behind her back and standing on tip-toe before Bruce Wayne, a big grin on her face. She begins to nod her head, still grinning, blonde pig-tails bobbing in the air as she asks, "So can we turn in now?"
"I called the bed tonight," Ivy joins in, recovering from the sudden jolt.
"Nuh-uh!" Harley retorts, "It's mine! You got to use it during the storm!"
"That wasn't part of the deal, Harley," Ivy counters, "It's mine!"
"It's mine," Harley calls, then blowing Ivy a raspberry, "So there!"
"Why you…!" Ivy growls.
"Why don't you just share the bed tonight?" a beleaguered Bruce asks. He's just not used to these kinds of situations. Neither woman appreciates his suggestion however, prompting both to provide a cold glance that would freeze the most violent pit of hell. He sheepishly puts his arms up in surrender and backs away, "I'm…I'm going to sleep in the control room."
"I'll take the couch," whispers Ivy once she's satisfied Bruce Wayne is out of earshot.
Harley merely nods in appreciation and begins to make her way inside. She's halfway to the portal before realizing that Ivy hasn't budged, and in fact is continuing to stare towards the control center.
"Aren't you coming, Red? It's not often the boss gives us a full night's rest," she calls cheerfully with only the slightest hint of concern in her voice.
Ivy shivers only slightly, as if reviving from a daze, "What? Yes…I'll be there shortly…"
"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Harley prods.
"Nothing we've tried seems to work," she whispers, "Nothing's shocked him out of it. He's just some kind of robot going through the motions of being alive. It's like he's given up…"
"Offhand I'd say he's suffered through several serious and traumatic emotional episodes and is currently repressing his need for emotion and human contact less he's hurt once again, and for what may be the final time. Still, he has invited you and me onboard his quest which would suggest that at the subconscious level he's identified the problem and is trying to rectify it by forcing close contact with his fellow homo sapiens," Harley huffs and puffs for a moment, mimicking a gasp for air after spewing a mouthful of psychobabble as Ivy stands in stunned silence. Harley then points a finger to her forehead and grins wildly, "In other words, his brain's busted and he's slapped a band-aid on and's waitin' for it ta be fixed! HA!" She slaps Ivy's shoulder, "And they think I'm just another pretty face! The only thing I can't figure out is why you're willing to be dragged around by him. It just isn't typical superhero/supervillian etiquette!"
Ivy seems lost for an answer for a moment but manages to find one soon enough, "He saved my life, I owe him."
"That's it?" Harley asks, her grin seeming to grow with each syllable.
"That's it."
"Then you won't mind if I take him?" Harley giggles like a playful schoolgirl, her eyes bright and opened wide.
"What?"
Harley's voice is light and airy as she answers, her body dancing around on tiptoes to accentuate the effect, "Oh sure he offed Mr. J, but if Mr. J had to go he wouldn't have it happen any other way. Bats and puddin' in a big, bad final dukeroo…that's the stuff of legend. Besides, I don't know what it is, that swagger in his step or jolly grin on his lips, but he's irresistible!" She comes to a dead stop and turns towards the control center as she continues in a voice as cold as the night air, "And someday…someday soon, I'm going to show him just HOW MUCH he means to me…"
A slight chill came across Ivy's back at that moment. She didn't like the way that sounded…
TO BE CONTINUED…