She hadn't been home in a while, and already Pamela Isley was feeling uncomfortable being back in Gotham City. The bayou had been so much more peaceful, and coming back now after a few years was literally rejoining a rat race, rats and all prowling the dark corridors and alleyways of this city that always seemed to be on the cusp of darkness. She would have been happy to have never set foot again in this urban blight, being a child of warmth and light like her beloved plants, but she felt that after all this time, she finally owed Harley Quinn an explanation.
Especially since that night several months ago where her vegetable duplicate had shown up and died on her doorstep, in the lab she shared with equally-brilliant botanist Dr. Alec Holland. The duplicate she had grown a couple of years back and let take her place in Gotham, to battle The Batman, keep Harley Quinn company and allow Ivy herself to build a new life of her own, far from Arkham and Blackgate and all the other places she had done time for her ecological indiscretions. She had wanted no part of that existence anymore, and after spending so many months incarcerated at one place or another, she just wanted to live out her life in Louisiana with her beloved plants, and with Alec.
Pamela hadn't actually seen her duplicate die – she came in just after it had expired in Alec's arms, leaving mud and residue all over his white lab coat – and truth be told, she was surprised it had lasted as long as it did. Normally her duplicates were good for just a matter of days, but this one had been her crowning achievement, had been designed to live for years with all her memories and impulses intact, acting just like she would have. Nothing lasts forever, though, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the clone had experienced some sort of dramatic trauma before it finally collapsed into mulch on the lab floor.
She had cleaned up with Alec's help, laying the clone to rest in the Louisiana soil, and gotten back to her botanical business – but truth be told, she had missed Harley all this time. She had been wondering what would happen to her gal pal when the "Ivy" she had known the last few years never returned to Gotham again; and if there was one other person that Pamela Isley cared about in all the world, other than Alec Holland, it was the former Dr. Harleen Quinzel.
I lied to her, Isley thought. I know I just wanted her to be happy, and to keep the Bat off my back, but I lied to Harley. I felt it was safer to just replace myself instead of telling her I was leaving, so no one could wring the information out of her – not Batman, not Gordon, and definitely not The Joker. If for nothing than to salve her own conscience, Isley wanted to see Harley face-to-face and tell her the whole truth now that "Ivy" was dead and buried. There would be no need to mention Louisiana by name; the real and retired Ivy just didn't want her old friend to think she was gone forever.
Sort of an I'm-fine-but-please-don't-come-looking-for-me way to wrap up things, she thought. Not that telling Harley to stay away should actually work, but the former Arkham psychiatrist was no detective. Pamela realized who was, though, and she suddenly felt a chill surge throughout her bones – but no, even the Batman wouldn't be looking for her. If he had, doubtless he would have shown up down south a long time ago and dragged her back north to serve her sentences, unforgiving hard-ass that he was. No, I'll be fine she thought. Get in, get out, and then go back to the Bayou for good, end of story ...