After overcoming the initial shock of not seeing the Poison Ivy she had expected, Harley Quinn regained her senses and invited her old friend inside.
"Sit down, Red, sit down!" she bubbled, making sure to seat Ivy on the side of the couch where she had stashed the gun. Harley was dressed in a white halter top, a pair of short red shorts, and ankle-high white socks, her blonde hair set in familiar ponytails with black bands.
"Thanks, Harley," responded Ivy, genuinely pleased to see Harley even if she couldn't fathom how much Harley hated her at this point. Harley had always been good at covering things up, had been a gifted psychiatrist before becoming a costumed criminal, and though Ivy was always wary about people in general, she also felt she could trust Harley. She just didn't know she could be putting her life on the line tonight in testing that trust.
Harley sat down on a small, four-legged wooden stool directly in front of Ivy, about five feet away from the beige-colored couch, just as Ivy removed her glasses and stored them away in her handbag. The only other bag she had brought with her was a small leather duffle, which sat on the floor next to the couch.
"It's been a while," declared Ivy, looking up from her handbag to Harley, before also placing it on the floor.
"A few months," responded Harley, still not sure who she was really talking to.
"Well ... it's actually been a lot longer than that, Harley," added Ivy, not sure what had happened a few months ago, but suspecting that somehow it hadn't been very pleasant. She was no psychiatrist, but Ivy now felt as though Harley was acting a little strange even for her, as if perhaps she might be covering something up. She was further taken aback at the new look on Harley's face, a mask of pure bewilderment.
"How – how much longer, Red?" answered Harley, and though she tried to hide them, Ivy could see Harley clenching her fists by her sides, fingers turning red, as if she was trying to stave off some growing anger within.
"It's a long story, Harls," responded Ivy. "I hope you'll bear with me."
So many thoughts began pin-balling around inside Harley Quinn's head that suddenly she didn't care what the explanation was. Ivy had always professed to be her friend, but she was always yelling at Harley when they teamed up, always berating the blonde and treating her like an idiotic child. Harley had never really stood up to Ivy in response to her friend's bullying, afraid that if she did they wouldn't be friends any more and that Harley would be all alone except for Mistah J - which would have been fine except he wasn't always exactly the loving type. People always told Harley that her infatuation with the Joker was bad for her; but in her own way, Ivy had been just as abusive to her as he had, and now Dr. Quinzel wanted some payback.
She's just gonna feed me a load of B.S. and twist everything around so that it seems like everything's my fault – again – thought Harley to herself. Her lips began to tighten across her face, her lower one sticking out as she narrowed her eyes and stared intently at Ivy. I don't know what happened to her or why she looks different, but I really don't care, her mind continued. She's trying to fool me, and sorry, Red, I ain't fooled. Green skin or not, Ivy, you're gonna get yours tonight, baby.
The time for pretense was almost past, but then Harley suddenly smiled, remembering that she had a little gift for Ivy before the real fun started.
"Hold on a second, Red, I'll be right back!" interrupted Harley, pointing at Ivy with one long index finger and grinning before bouncing off the stool like a rubber ball and into the small kitchen area behind the living room couch.
"Is something wrong, Harley?" asked Ivy nervously, wondering just what was going on now. She couldn't read Harley at all, and she was getting more than a little nervous.
"Nah, everything's good," said Harley with a downward wave of her hand. "I just got a little present for ya!"
The admission took Ivy back a little. Harley had always been very sweet to her, had always been giving her little gifts since way back when, so maybe Harley was just having a bad day and didn't mean to look so mad. Ivy felt a little more relieved, if still somewhat tense. Maybe it's just because it's been so long, she thought, but I guess that's to be expected. Just deal with it, Isley.
"Oh," Ivy finally managed to get out. "Thank you, Harley!" She tried to sound sweet herself. "Can I ask what it is?"
"Oh, nothing fancy, just a little something," came Harley's sing-song voice from behind her. "But I know how much you like them, Red."
Ivy turned but only to see Harley bounding back, the blonde rounding the far edge of the couch, but keeping the gift out of sight and behind her back as she approached with her arms behind her. She stopped a few feet in front of her old friend.
"Hold out your hands," she admonished, and Ivy did as requested.
"Here ya go!" squeaked Harley, as she held out a small potted plant and jammed it into Ivy's hands. "Ta-da!"
The stems were brown, curled, and dry. No leaves, shoots or buds could be seen. It hadn't been alive for weeks.
"What ..." stammered Ivy, thinking that if this was meant to be a joke, it wasn't one of Harley's better ones. Harley knew how Ivy treasured plants.
"It's dead, Red," mouthed Harley matter-of-factly, no emotion in her voice or her expression. "Just like you're gonna be."
Ivy looked aghast, looking from Harley to the plant and back again, and she shuddered as Harley reached behind the nearest couch cushion and pulled out her toy, a red-and-black .45 automatic given to her long ago by Mistah J himself. In a way it seemed right, Harley surmised, the Joker giving her a gun that she herself would use to waste Ivy. It was almost like both of them would be blowing her away for wrecking their wedding bliss.
"Any last words, Red?" chided Harley, as she placed the gun barrel up by her own head, searching Ivy's anguished, pale face for the perfect place to put a slug through it.
"Harley ... Harley, what's going on?" was all Ivy could get out as the plant tumbled to the floor, spilling blackened soil on the worn carpet. Her mouth was dry with sudden horror, and she couldn't find her voice as she fixated on the weapon in Harley's right hand. Harley had never acted like this before – Ivy knew she hadn't always been the nicest person in the world to Harley, but she never thought Harley wanted to kill her for it. She also knew Harley Quinn never brandished an empty firearm.
"Don't treat me like an idiot!" spat Harley, her face now in Ivy's. "You always treat me like an idiot, Ivy, and I'm sick of it! You know what you did to me!"
Ivy raised her hands submissively, never imagining her trip home could have possibly turned into her own funeral.
"Harley, honest to god, I don't know what ..."
Her response was cut short as Harley backhanded Ivy across the cheek with her free hand.
"Liar!" screamed the former Dr. Quinzel. "You know damn well you screwed up my big day, and now you're gonna pay for it with your miserable, misanthropic little life!"
That was a lot of big words strung together for Harley, thought Ivy, who rubbed her reddening cheek gingerly where Harley had struck her. Thankfully she had removed her eyeglasses, which were more for disguise than anything, or Harley might have hurt her even worse.
"Harley, I swear to god, I don't know what I did to you, but please don't do this!" Ivy suddenly felt wet and cold, fear draining off of her in rivers of perspiration.
And Harley Quinn laughed. A deep, mocking, sinister kind of laugh, not the jolly timbre that Ivy had been accustomed to in all their years as partners.
"Like I said, Red, I ain't stupid!" she shot back, quickly lowering the gun and pointing it at Ivy's mouth, Harley lowering one eye as if focusing her aim. "But let me just ask ya this, Pammie," she asked coyly, just to draw out the tension and make Ivy sweat just a tad more before finally firing.
"If the great Poison Ivy didn't screw up my wedding to my Puddin', then who the hell did?!" She practically yelled the last five words, her anger volcanic by this point.
Wedding? Ivy thought to herself. Harley almost got married to that gargoyle? I didn't call it off – well, I might have if I were here, but - and then she remembered her duplicate and realized that it was the clone who had to be responsible.
"Not the real Poison Ivy," she said suddenly, responding faster than Harley expected.
The admission hit Harley like a brick, and her whole body, which had been stiff with fury, suddenly relaxed, including her gun hand.
"What? What the hell ...?"
And then all hell really broke loose as Ivy grabbed the gun with both hands and tried to wrestle it from Harley's grasp ....