Title: Kiss From a Rose (5/??)
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.
_______________________________
Chapter 5
"Figures he'd have a hidden camera in his office," Bullock said. "These guys make a lot of money taping women in dressing rooms."
"His secretary said Poison Ivy was in the office the other day, along with Quinn and their attorneys - if that's what they're calling themselves," Gordon added dryly. "Do we have earlier tapes?"
"Afraid not, Commish," Detective Murthy told him. He and his partner Stensland had caught the original dispatch. "Looks like he just taped over the old ones. Amateur job he installed himself."
Commissioner Gordon sighed. He looked at Bullock, Montoya, and the two other detectives. "It's set up?"
"We rewound through it when we found it," Detective Stensland spoke up. "This is the scene."
"Play it."
Montoya calmly pressed the button on the control in her hand.
"No sound?" Gordon asked as the monitor showed the office door opening silently and Poison Ivy, decked out in green tights, entering the office.
"Nope."
"Well, lookee here," Bullock said as Harley Quinn appeared behind Ivy, unmistakable in her red-and-black tassels. "Guess it was a two-woman job."
"Harley must have escaped and left Ivy behind to take the blame," Stensland said.
"Or Ivy sent her away to deflect the blame onto her," Montoya suggested.
They watched as Johnny Jones' appeals, obvious by the defensive raising of his hands and the vigorous shaking of his head, fell on deaf ears. Jones grabbed the briefcase on his desk, which crime scene had found contained over thirty thousand dollars, and made an offering gesture. Ivy just stepped around him and slapped him across the face, causing the briefcase to fall back onto the desk.
"That girl's cold," Murthy said, chuckling. "Never did have the chance to tangle with her before. Guess we'll all have plenty of opportunities in the future."
Montoya's expression showed how not great she thought that idea was.
Ivy and Harley had little difficulty in restraining the man in his chair, so that the redhead was easily able to extract a needle from her bag and jam it into his fleshy neck.
"Why didn't Quinn take the money?" Montoya asked.
"This wasn't about money," Bullock guessed. "Once they found out for sure he'd been hustling them, it turned into an execution."
"Christ," Gordon muttered as Ivy pulled off Harley's tassels and masked and kissed her hungrily, while the dying man twitched in his chair.
"Johnny Jones' last Ivy/Harley porno," Stensland leered. "Betcha he didn't know it was gonna become a snuff film."
"That's not funny," Montoya murmured as she watched. Something was bothering her.
Stensland shrugged. "You must be thrilled, Montoya. A couple girl criminals for you to bust."
"Can it, Detective," Gordon retorted, while Renee had to bite her tongue to hold back a snarl. It seemed like her temper had been frayed for days now, ever since Harley had taunted her at the signing event.
Her finger pressed the PAUSE button so hard that it went right into SLOW mode. The women on the video kissed each other in instant replay, attacking each other with all the gusto of a pair of Jerry Springer guests.
"Dios," she whispered.
"Renee?" Bullock asked.
"It's not them," she said out loud. "Or at least, it's not Harley."
"Whaddya mean it's not Harley Quinn?" Murthy remonstrated. "Who else would it be?"
"Her hair."
"What about it?"
"It's blonde."
"News flash," Murthy grumbled.
"When I spoke to her at that sham signing," she said, "Harley's hair was brown."
Bullock stared at her. "Was it?"
"Well, you wouldn't remember. You were looking at Ivy." She frowned. "Remember when we saw her jogging before? What color was her hair? She had ponytails, remember?"
Her partner thought back, and then his hand slowly went up to his temple. "It was brown," he remembered.
"So?" Stensland asked. "So maybe she wore a wig. Or she dyed her hair. Maybe she used the brown hair to throw you off. Or hide her identity while she went jogging."
"She went jogging with a pair of _hyenas_, Stensland," Montoya said patiently. "Not exactly trying to hide."
"An impostor?" Gordon wondered, rubbing his chin.
"That could be why they pulled her mask off," Renee pointed out on the tape. "Maybe they knew about the camera, and they wanted us to see her blonde hair. So we'd know it was the 'real' Harley. But they didn't know she changed her hair." She stopped the tape, bored by the women's over-the-top makeout session.
"Is there anything else on that tape?" Gordon asked.
Murthy shrugged uncomfortably. "They kiss for a while, then they leave."
"Leave? Both of them? When do they come back?"
"We, uh, didn't get that far yet."
Bullock snorted. "Geez. Starsky and Hutch here."
Gordon snapped a look at both of them. "I want a complete sweep of that man's office. Carpet fibers, hairs, everything. Anything that can give us guaranteed scientific proof that the women in those outfits are really the originals. And go through the rest of that tape, damn it!"
__________________________
"Are you getting this?" Oracle asked, amazed.
"The detectives in that part of town aren't exactly known for their police work," Batman replied.
"When you saw them . . ."
"Her hair was brown. Unless she dyed it before the murder, that would strongly suggest it's not her," he admitted.
"I'm running a check on their physiques," Oracle told him. "By analyzing their images on tape, I can check to see if they're the right height and build to be Harley and Ivy."
He nodded, not that she could see it.
"Hm, that's funny."
"What?"
"According to my data files, if that's the right Ivy, then she's had some major breast enlargement."
Batman looked quizzical for a moment, before his eyes narrowed.
____________________________
Ivy felt unclean. Unclean in this dank mental hospital where she didn't belong, unclean in the patient clothing she'd sworn she'd never wear again. And she also felt useless, because they were keeping the Joker locked somewhere, safe from her.
Mostly, though, she missed Harley. It had been a long time since the last night they hadn't slept next to each other.
She went into the cafeteria for breakfast and, to her surprise, found it virtually empty. Only one man sat with his back to her, and as much as she could believe the Joker would arrange a little one-on-one like this, she knew it wasn't him.
The man raised his head and turned around. Ivy's jaw stiffened.
"Good - morning," the Mad Hatter said, startled. "I had heard we had a new guest, but I didn't expect you."
"Jervis," she replied flatly. She still hadn't forgotten his role in the scheme to make her allergic to plants. Ivy had learned his involvement was somewhat against his will, but she didn't have to care. And so she didn't.
He looked away, embarrassed. "I am so very sorry about . . . you know," he said quietly. He stirred his tea.
"Save it," she growled. "Where is everybody?"
"They changed the time for breakfast. You wouldn't know that."
"I don't suppose so."
Jervis turned to face her, and she turned her back on him. "Ivy."
"I said shut it," she snarled, spinning around and jabbing a finger in his face. "You don't do that to one of your fucking own! Not when I was this fucking close to putting myself in a hole in the ground!" Ivy pulled back and inhaled deeply. "Forget I ever said that last part," she added coldly.
"Forgotten," he said, stricken. He rubbed his hands absently. "Why are you back?"
She walked away. "Harl and I were in town for a few days."
"You're still together?"
Ivy shot him a look.
The Hatter held a hand up. "Forgive me, but we hear so little about you two."
"Anyway, the Joker framed me for murder," she growled.
He blinked. "The Joker? I find that highly unlikely."
"Are you kidding?"
"Well . . ." Jervis looked at his teacup.
Ivy approached him again. "What?"
"I'm not really supposed to say," he said cautiously.
"Jervis. You owe me. You _really_ owe me."
He sighed. "I implanted him with a chip."
She grabbed him by the shoulders, and his teacup spilled onto the table. "You WHAT?!"
The Hatter cringed. "He wasn't letting go! It was unbearable! Do you have any idea how much he obsessed over you two? How many crimes he committed that were connected to you? Did you hear about the time he went into a McDonald's and killed everyone who had a burger with ketchup and mustard?"
Ivy let go. "He what?"
"Ketchup and mustard? Red and yellow? As in hair color?"
She stared at him, shocked. "But that's stupid. And all their burgers have ketchup and mustard." She should know, having once dismantled a trio of McDonald's stores with crushing vines. Damn the cattle industry . . .
"Of course it's stupid!" he shouted. "He was making the rest of us look bad. He has this reputation - totally undeserved, you know - of being the most dangerous criminal in Gotham. With him acting like an idiot, we looked like idiots. And he was totally insufferable to be around, and we didn't really want to see the two of you dead."
"So you hatted him."
"Sort of. First I met with Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler, and Scarecrow. As you might recall," he told her, his head dropping, "nobody was speaking to me after the incident with you. They knew it could have been done to them, too. They shunned me. So," he explained, "I asked them for permission. A kind of one-time permit. I still had the technology. I figured it was the only way to right his course."
Ivy nodded. "So they said yes."
"They helped," Jervis said. "About seven of us ganged up on him and knocked him out. Our own brand of intervention, you could say. Then I implanted a chip deeply into the back of his neck."
"And what is this chip telling him?"
He grimaced. "It was difficult finding something that wouldn't be exposed. And his mind works oddly. But now he thinks he broke up with Harley, and then he humiliated you both in some sort of Dangerous Liaisons thing only he could dream up, and then you slunk out of town with your tail between your legs, never to darken our doors again."
She rubbed her head. "When was this?"
"About a month ago. I didn't want to tell you because, you know, the same thing happened to you, sort of."
From the way he had failed to quote Lewis Carroll a single time, Ivy decided he was absolutely serious. Which meant that . . . "Someone else is trying to frame me."
He shrugged. "I suppose there are any number of suspects."
They were finally interrupted by an orderly. "Ms. Isley? You're wanted upstairs."
Jervis said nothing as she walked past him. But he managed to catch the barely whispered "Thank you" she said as she passed him. When he was alone, he poured himself some more hot water. "Happy un-birthday," he murmured.
________________________________
"I told you I didn't do it," Ivy said calmly. "I'll be leaving Gotham now. I'm sure you must be ecstatic."
"Not so fast, Ivy," Gordon told her. "We aren't convinced that you haven't hired a couple people to impersonate you, in order to provide you with an alibi."
She gaped at him. "How lacking in self-respect do you think I am?"
"And even if you are innocent, then someone is trying to frame you, and having you out of my city isn't going to help the situation," he added. "Sorry, but you're staying in town."
Ivy's glare could have melted his glasses down to their frames. "And you're keeping me here then?"
"The doctors say they can't keep you," he told her. "You're not crazy enough. And I have no reason to hold you at Blackgate. You'll be released. But you'll be monitored by my people."
"Great," she seethed.
"If it's any consolation," he added, "I will be ecstatic when you leave."
It wasn't.
Fifteen minutes later, when she was walking down the Arkham steps, he stopped her. "You'll have to contact your friend," he said. "We still don't know where she is. She's not at your hotel."
"And wouldn't you like to know?" she sneered.
Then the limousine pulled up in front. The window rolled down, and she could see Aidan's profile in the driver's seat.
She smiled sweetly at him. "Don't you just love valet parking?"
Gordon scratched his head in consternation as she traipsed down the rest of the steps and got in. The car drove away, but at least an unmarked car was following behind.
"I don't know how you knew to pick me up back there," Ivy was saying meanwhile to the woman opposite her, "but thanks, Harl."
"Don't mention it," she giggled.
Ivy's head snapped up. "Wait. Who are you?"
Electricity coursed through her veins as the other woman shot her with a stun gun. She collapsed onto the floor of their car.
As she looked up, she saw only blonde ringlets framing a white face.
"I mean it, don't mention it," she said. "In fact, don't mention anything else during our drive." Her fist shot out and knocked her unconscious.
The blonde got on the phone. "Mindy? It's Chrissy. I told you this would be easy."
To be continued . . .
Author: Allaine
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention.
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: This takes place about 15-18 months after "It's Just Allergies" and "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", which you can read at FFN as well.
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.
Summary: Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn visit Gotham after being absent for over a year. A sequel to "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses". Nuff said.
_______________________________
Chapter 5
"Figures he'd have a hidden camera in his office," Bullock said. "These guys make a lot of money taping women in dressing rooms."
"His secretary said Poison Ivy was in the office the other day, along with Quinn and their attorneys - if that's what they're calling themselves," Gordon added dryly. "Do we have earlier tapes?"
"Afraid not, Commish," Detective Murthy told him. He and his partner Stensland had caught the original dispatch. "Looks like he just taped over the old ones. Amateur job he installed himself."
Commissioner Gordon sighed. He looked at Bullock, Montoya, and the two other detectives. "It's set up?"
"We rewound through it when we found it," Detective Stensland spoke up. "This is the scene."
"Play it."
Montoya calmly pressed the button on the control in her hand.
"No sound?" Gordon asked as the monitor showed the office door opening silently and Poison Ivy, decked out in green tights, entering the office.
"Nope."
"Well, lookee here," Bullock said as Harley Quinn appeared behind Ivy, unmistakable in her red-and-black tassels. "Guess it was a two-woman job."
"Harley must have escaped and left Ivy behind to take the blame," Stensland said.
"Or Ivy sent her away to deflect the blame onto her," Montoya suggested.
They watched as Johnny Jones' appeals, obvious by the defensive raising of his hands and the vigorous shaking of his head, fell on deaf ears. Jones grabbed the briefcase on his desk, which crime scene had found contained over thirty thousand dollars, and made an offering gesture. Ivy just stepped around him and slapped him across the face, causing the briefcase to fall back onto the desk.
"That girl's cold," Murthy said, chuckling. "Never did have the chance to tangle with her before. Guess we'll all have plenty of opportunities in the future."
Montoya's expression showed how not great she thought that idea was.
Ivy and Harley had little difficulty in restraining the man in his chair, so that the redhead was easily able to extract a needle from her bag and jam it into his fleshy neck.
"Why didn't Quinn take the money?" Montoya asked.
"This wasn't about money," Bullock guessed. "Once they found out for sure he'd been hustling them, it turned into an execution."
"Christ," Gordon muttered as Ivy pulled off Harley's tassels and masked and kissed her hungrily, while the dying man twitched in his chair.
"Johnny Jones' last Ivy/Harley porno," Stensland leered. "Betcha he didn't know it was gonna become a snuff film."
"That's not funny," Montoya murmured as she watched. Something was bothering her.
Stensland shrugged. "You must be thrilled, Montoya. A couple girl criminals for you to bust."
"Can it, Detective," Gordon retorted, while Renee had to bite her tongue to hold back a snarl. It seemed like her temper had been frayed for days now, ever since Harley had taunted her at the signing event.
Her finger pressed the PAUSE button so hard that it went right into SLOW mode. The women on the video kissed each other in instant replay, attacking each other with all the gusto of a pair of Jerry Springer guests.
"Dios," she whispered.
"Renee?" Bullock asked.
"It's not them," she said out loud. "Or at least, it's not Harley."
"Whaddya mean it's not Harley Quinn?" Murthy remonstrated. "Who else would it be?"
"Her hair."
"What about it?"
"It's blonde."
"News flash," Murthy grumbled.
"When I spoke to her at that sham signing," she said, "Harley's hair was brown."
Bullock stared at her. "Was it?"
"Well, you wouldn't remember. You were looking at Ivy." She frowned. "Remember when we saw her jogging before? What color was her hair? She had ponytails, remember?"
Her partner thought back, and then his hand slowly went up to his temple. "It was brown," he remembered.
"So?" Stensland asked. "So maybe she wore a wig. Or she dyed her hair. Maybe she used the brown hair to throw you off. Or hide her identity while she went jogging."
"She went jogging with a pair of _hyenas_, Stensland," Montoya said patiently. "Not exactly trying to hide."
"An impostor?" Gordon wondered, rubbing his chin.
"That could be why they pulled her mask off," Renee pointed out on the tape. "Maybe they knew about the camera, and they wanted us to see her blonde hair. So we'd know it was the 'real' Harley. But they didn't know she changed her hair." She stopped the tape, bored by the women's over-the-top makeout session.
"Is there anything else on that tape?" Gordon asked.
Murthy shrugged uncomfortably. "They kiss for a while, then they leave."
"Leave? Both of them? When do they come back?"
"We, uh, didn't get that far yet."
Bullock snorted. "Geez. Starsky and Hutch here."
Gordon snapped a look at both of them. "I want a complete sweep of that man's office. Carpet fibers, hairs, everything. Anything that can give us guaranteed scientific proof that the women in those outfits are really the originals. And go through the rest of that tape, damn it!"
__________________________
"Are you getting this?" Oracle asked, amazed.
"The detectives in that part of town aren't exactly known for their police work," Batman replied.
"When you saw them . . ."
"Her hair was brown. Unless she dyed it before the murder, that would strongly suggest it's not her," he admitted.
"I'm running a check on their physiques," Oracle told him. "By analyzing their images on tape, I can check to see if they're the right height and build to be Harley and Ivy."
He nodded, not that she could see it.
"Hm, that's funny."
"What?"
"According to my data files, if that's the right Ivy, then she's had some major breast enlargement."
Batman looked quizzical for a moment, before his eyes narrowed.
____________________________
Ivy felt unclean. Unclean in this dank mental hospital where she didn't belong, unclean in the patient clothing she'd sworn she'd never wear again. And she also felt useless, because they were keeping the Joker locked somewhere, safe from her.
Mostly, though, she missed Harley. It had been a long time since the last night they hadn't slept next to each other.
She went into the cafeteria for breakfast and, to her surprise, found it virtually empty. Only one man sat with his back to her, and as much as she could believe the Joker would arrange a little one-on-one like this, she knew it wasn't him.
The man raised his head and turned around. Ivy's jaw stiffened.
"Good - morning," the Mad Hatter said, startled. "I had heard we had a new guest, but I didn't expect you."
"Jervis," she replied flatly. She still hadn't forgotten his role in the scheme to make her allergic to plants. Ivy had learned his involvement was somewhat against his will, but she didn't have to care. And so she didn't.
He looked away, embarrassed. "I am so very sorry about . . . you know," he said quietly. He stirred his tea.
"Save it," she growled. "Where is everybody?"
"They changed the time for breakfast. You wouldn't know that."
"I don't suppose so."
Jervis turned to face her, and she turned her back on him. "Ivy."
"I said shut it," she snarled, spinning around and jabbing a finger in his face. "You don't do that to one of your fucking own! Not when I was this fucking close to putting myself in a hole in the ground!" Ivy pulled back and inhaled deeply. "Forget I ever said that last part," she added coldly.
"Forgotten," he said, stricken. He rubbed his hands absently. "Why are you back?"
She walked away. "Harl and I were in town for a few days."
"You're still together?"
Ivy shot him a look.
The Hatter held a hand up. "Forgive me, but we hear so little about you two."
"Anyway, the Joker framed me for murder," she growled.
He blinked. "The Joker? I find that highly unlikely."
"Are you kidding?"
"Well . . ." Jervis looked at his teacup.
Ivy approached him again. "What?"
"I'm not really supposed to say," he said cautiously.
"Jervis. You owe me. You _really_ owe me."
He sighed. "I implanted him with a chip."
She grabbed him by the shoulders, and his teacup spilled onto the table. "You WHAT?!"
The Hatter cringed. "He wasn't letting go! It was unbearable! Do you have any idea how much he obsessed over you two? How many crimes he committed that were connected to you? Did you hear about the time he went into a McDonald's and killed everyone who had a burger with ketchup and mustard?"
Ivy let go. "He what?"
"Ketchup and mustard? Red and yellow? As in hair color?"
She stared at him, shocked. "But that's stupid. And all their burgers have ketchup and mustard." She should know, having once dismantled a trio of McDonald's stores with crushing vines. Damn the cattle industry . . .
"Of course it's stupid!" he shouted. "He was making the rest of us look bad. He has this reputation - totally undeserved, you know - of being the most dangerous criminal in Gotham. With him acting like an idiot, we looked like idiots. And he was totally insufferable to be around, and we didn't really want to see the two of you dead."
"So you hatted him."
"Sort of. First I met with Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler, and Scarecrow. As you might recall," he told her, his head dropping, "nobody was speaking to me after the incident with you. They knew it could have been done to them, too. They shunned me. So," he explained, "I asked them for permission. A kind of one-time permit. I still had the technology. I figured it was the only way to right his course."
Ivy nodded. "So they said yes."
"They helped," Jervis said. "About seven of us ganged up on him and knocked him out. Our own brand of intervention, you could say. Then I implanted a chip deeply into the back of his neck."
"And what is this chip telling him?"
He grimaced. "It was difficult finding something that wouldn't be exposed. And his mind works oddly. But now he thinks he broke up with Harley, and then he humiliated you both in some sort of Dangerous Liaisons thing only he could dream up, and then you slunk out of town with your tail between your legs, never to darken our doors again."
She rubbed her head. "When was this?"
"About a month ago. I didn't want to tell you because, you know, the same thing happened to you, sort of."
From the way he had failed to quote Lewis Carroll a single time, Ivy decided he was absolutely serious. Which meant that . . . "Someone else is trying to frame me."
He shrugged. "I suppose there are any number of suspects."
They were finally interrupted by an orderly. "Ms. Isley? You're wanted upstairs."
Jervis said nothing as she walked past him. But he managed to catch the barely whispered "Thank you" she said as she passed him. When he was alone, he poured himself some more hot water. "Happy un-birthday," he murmured.
________________________________
"I told you I didn't do it," Ivy said calmly. "I'll be leaving Gotham now. I'm sure you must be ecstatic."
"Not so fast, Ivy," Gordon told her. "We aren't convinced that you haven't hired a couple people to impersonate you, in order to provide you with an alibi."
She gaped at him. "How lacking in self-respect do you think I am?"
"And even if you are innocent, then someone is trying to frame you, and having you out of my city isn't going to help the situation," he added. "Sorry, but you're staying in town."
Ivy's glare could have melted his glasses down to their frames. "And you're keeping me here then?"
"The doctors say they can't keep you," he told her. "You're not crazy enough. And I have no reason to hold you at Blackgate. You'll be released. But you'll be monitored by my people."
"Great," she seethed.
"If it's any consolation," he added, "I will be ecstatic when you leave."
It wasn't.
Fifteen minutes later, when she was walking down the Arkham steps, he stopped her. "You'll have to contact your friend," he said. "We still don't know where she is. She's not at your hotel."
"And wouldn't you like to know?" she sneered.
Then the limousine pulled up in front. The window rolled down, and she could see Aidan's profile in the driver's seat.
She smiled sweetly at him. "Don't you just love valet parking?"
Gordon scratched his head in consternation as she traipsed down the rest of the steps and got in. The car drove away, but at least an unmarked car was following behind.
"I don't know how you knew to pick me up back there," Ivy was saying meanwhile to the woman opposite her, "but thanks, Harl."
"Don't mention it," she giggled.
Ivy's head snapped up. "Wait. Who are you?"
Electricity coursed through her veins as the other woman shot her with a stun gun. She collapsed onto the floor of their car.
As she looked up, she saw only blonde ringlets framing a white face.
"I mean it, don't mention it," she said. "In fact, don't mention anything else during our drive." Her fist shot out and knocked her unconscious.
The blonde got on the phone. "Mindy? It's Chrissy. I told you this would be easy."
To be continued . . .
