"I know you're sorry, Red, I really do believe that," Harley stated sadly. "It's just going to take me a while to accept it. I was just so mad at you - or who - or what - I thought was you - but you weren't you, and you were really ... Geez, I'm gettin' an attention headache ..."
"I think you mean tension headache, Harls," corrected Ivy, but not in a mean fashion.
"Whatever," replied Harley. "Tell me, though, Red, was it awful when you – I mean, she – I mean it – died? I had some suspicions that it wasn't you, when you – her - it – survived a stabbin' in Arkham and other things, but I thought you were just going through, I dunno, changes ..."
"I wasn't in the room at the time, Harley," admitted Ivy, who wondered just how just how much trouble her evolving duplicate had gotten itself into. "I came in after the clone had expired, but I don't think it was pleasant for her - I mean, it. Alec and I buried what was left of it, and after thinking about it a long while, I decided I just had to finally tell you the truth, face-to-face."
They sat in silence again for a few moments, both looking down at the floor, before Ivy spoke again.
"I'm sorry, Harls," she expressed sadly, voice shaking slightly. "I should never have come back here."
Harley glanced over at Ivy, a glint of tears welling up in her eyes.
"No," she said softly, but directly. "No, I'm glad you came back here, Red - it was decent of ya to tell me the truth."
Ivy smiled again, but deep down inside she was angry at herself for having lied at all.
"Thanks, Harley, but I should have told you before. I should have trusted you, and it was such a selfish, selfish thing to do, to run away and leave you like that."
Now Harley chuckled.
"We're career costumed criminals, Ives - well, one of us still is. Ain't we supposed to be selfish?"
They laughed in unison, a sound both of them hadn't heard in a long, long while, a sound they found they both missed.
"I guess," chuckled Ivy.
Harley smiled, then spoke out.
"This Alec guy, Red," she started. "He sounds really nice."
"He is, Harley," Ivy smiled. "He's been there for me almost all this time, filling the void in my life, like you have."
Harley smiled again, and inside she was grateful that Ivy thought so much of her.
"It sounds like you really care for him, Red."
"I do, Harls. I really do - and you, too."
Ivy looked down again as Harley continued smiling, then back up, more confident in the request she was about to make.
"I know I've no right to ask Harls," Ivy started, "but do you think I could crash here, just for tonight? I promise I'll be out of here and on my way back tomorrow."
Harley frowned at Ivy.
"What kinda question is that, Red?" she mocked, sounding more like the zany old Harley. "Of course ya can crash at my pad, as long as ya want! I'm not throwin' ya out in this crazy city, especially not at night! Hell, we might as well just turn on the Bat-Signal!"
Ivy smiled, remembering how Harley had said something similar the first time they had met. She reached over and gripped Harley's left hand in her own right.
"Thank you, Harley," she responded with genuine affection and gratitude. "Just ... thank you."
Harley squeezed Ivy's hand in return, and then they reached over and hugged one another for what seemed like the first time in ages, holding each other until more than a minute had passed, just glad to be together again.
"No prob, Red," grinned the Joker's moll as they released one another. "No problemo at all. Now, how's about we stop all this sad sack talk, clean ourselves up, and watch a little TV?"
She released herself from Ivy's hand after one final squeeze, and then shifted her weight forward, balancing herself upon her hands before lifting herself up to her feet. Harley then picked up the remote control from the couch, clicked the set on, and handed the remote to Ivy, who still sat there on the floor, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Here ya go, Red," said Harley jovially. "Watch whatever ya want to watch, I'm just go gonna get ya a washcloth so ya can clean yourself up a bit."
"Thanks, Harley," smiled Ivy wearily. "Thanks - for everything."
Harley grinned again, and then bounded off towards the bathroom. Ivy soon heard the faucet flowing as she started to click through the local news channels.
" ... Gotham Knights falling tonight to the Metropolis Meteors in ..."
Ivy didn't really care for sports. Next channel.
" ... looking like a wet one tomorrow, rain on and off, with highs in the ... "
She was used to wet weather, being a Seattle native. Moving on ...
" ... disaster averted earlier this evening when the Batman managed to ..."
She didn't really want to hear about any of his heroics. She yawned, covering her mouth as she did so, and clicked the remote again.
" ... story coming out of Louisiana tonight where a lab facility in the Bayou was seemingly destroyed by an explosion ..."
What? Ivy snapped back to attention. What was that about a lab down in the Bayou? Oh god, she thought, the cold, liquid sensation of genuine fear coursing through her innards. Oh god, please don't let it be Alec ...
" ... no bodies found in all the fire damage, but police have strong suspicions that Dr. Alec Holland, a world-renowned botanist and biochemist, may have been a victim of the blast ..."
It was like watching a made-for-TV movie where the story ended tragically. Only Ivy knew that this was no fictional tale, it was her life, and it was turning for the worst - again.
"No!" screamed Ivy. "Oh god, no!"
Harley came rushing out of the bathroom, fear plainly on her face at hearing Ivy's plea.
"What's wrong, Red?"
Ivy stared ahead at the screen, trying to raise the sound, but her fingers wouldn't work, couldn't get the remote to increase the volume. Harley nimbly catapulted herself over the couch and hit the volume control on the set, bringing the sound up ten levels higher, before she settled on her haunches back by Ivy, who was still staring numbly at the television and the awful images it was projecting.
The lab where Ivy had spent time with Holland was now a cauldron of black cinder, with smoke wafting away on the Bayou breeze. If a building had really been there before, it was almost impossible to discern now, except for skeletal lines of ash where the frame had burned and settled. In the upper right corner of the screen was a mug shot of Holland, with the bold yellow text "PRESUMED DEAD" glaring below his photo, but there was no sign of him in the actual scene.
There was a long, ugly scorch of black ash stretched along the remnants of the small wooden dock at the edge of where the lab had been. It was as if something – or someone – had been aflame and tried to dash down the deck to extinguish the inferno in the cooling swamp. A police air boat was dredging the murky waters, seeking a body, or what was left of one. A forensics officer walked by, holding something up with a long wooden pole. It seemed to be nothing recognizable, but on closer inspection, it was the remains of a charred lab coat, looking for all the world as if it had been feasted upon by a swarm of angry, fiery moths.
" ... no other remains of Holland have yet been found, and police are not ruling out the possibility of arson or some kind of terrorist attack ..."
"Oh my god," mouthed Harley, her attention fixated on the screen. She suddenly looked over to Ivy, who dropped the remote just as Harley turned her head. Her hand was still stretched out towards the television, as if Ivy was trying to touch the lab all the way from Gotham, hoping to feel that what she was seeing was not actually real.
"Pammie?" queried Harley, wondering if Ivy was going into shock. "Pammie, are you ..."
The scream made Harley jump.
"Nooooooooo!!!"
Ivy went hysterical, and was now crawling on her hands and knees towards the set, trying to transmit herself through the TV and back to the Bayou.
"Alec!!! Nooooooooo!!!"
Harley jumped forward and caught Ivy a few feet from the screen. They looked like two wrestlers at the start of a high school bout, with Ivy in the bottom position and Harley on top, trying to pin her.
"Pammie, no, you can't - "
Ivy tried to throw Harley off, but the former Arkham psychiatrist held her fellow former Arkham inmate fast.
"Let me go!" shrieked Ivy, trying to wrest herself away. "He needs me, Harley! I've got to - to ..." and then Pamela Isley stopped fighting and began sobbing.
Harley Quinn was torn up inside, but good psychiatrist that she was - and she had been good, before getting mixed up with the Joker - she knew that lying to Ivy wasn't going to help. She had to make Ivy face the truth, or at least what damned well seemed like the truth. Maybe Holland hadn't been there when the place had burnt down; but if he had, there was no way in hell that anyone human would have survived that kind of conflagration.
"Pammie," started Harley, "I'm - I'm so sorry, Pammie. There's nothing you can do now. I'm sorry."
As if receiving an electrical jolt, Ivy started bucking again against Harley's grip, and Harley found herself almost having to sit on top of Ivy to stop her.
"No!" she snarled. "No! They didn't find a body, Harley - he could be out there hurt, needing help - oh god, they probably wanted the formula - they went after him - and I ..."
Ivy's resultant wail made Harley's blood run cold and her hair stand up. She had never seen her friend act this way - had never seen Ivy so shattered - and she hoped like hell to never see it again.
"Pammie!" she snapped, trying to break Ivy out of this horrible spell. "It's over! There's nothing you can do!"
Ivy turned on Harley and tried to wrestle herself away, but Harley grabbed Ivy by the shoulders and kept a hold of her.
"No, no, I can save him," Ivy sobbed, hot tears spilling from her eyes and raging down her cheeks. "Those animals - they killed him – damn them – got to get back – got to..."
The next sound was the rifle-like crack of Harley's open palm across Ivy's cheek, as Harley opted for the physical psychiatric approach.
"Pammie!" she shouted, her shrill, high-pitched voice reverberating throughout the living room, her tone deadly serious. "It's over! He's dead, Pammie, he's dead, and if you'd have been there, you'd be dead too, now!"
She squeezed Ivy's shoulders until Ivy was almost totally immobilized. Ivy still struggled slightly, but Harley could tell that the long trip and her newfound grief, plus their earlier struggle, had just about worn Pamela Isley out for now.
"Harley, no, he's - I can - oh god, no ..."
Ivy latched her hands onto Harley's forearms, buried her head just above Harley's chest, and sobbed uncontrollably - harsh, racking sobs that shook throughout her entire body and brought tears from Harley's own eyes.
"I'm sorry, Pammie," Harley sighed, dry voice cracking with sorrow as she stroked Ivy's hair with one hand and held her with the other arm. "I am so, so sorry ..."
Ivy continued to shake like one of her beloved leaves, her breath coming in ragged gasps and coughs as she tried to cope with this new horror, and couldn't fathom how to even begin to.
"He's gone ..." she cried, a statement followed by more sobs, each worse than the one before. "Oh god, Harley, he's gone, and I couldn't save him ... and I'm all alone now, I'm all alone ..." and then her speech disintegrated into mournful, almost howling cries.
Harley held Ivy tightly with both arms, warm silver streams spilling down her own cheeks and leaking onto Ivy's auburn tresses. The clown princess of crime then buried her face in the botanist's hair, kissing the top of Ivy's head as she wrapped her arms tighter about Ivy and squeezed her as hard as she could.
"No," Harley choked out, trying to sound strong for her friend. "You're not alone, Red. You'll never be alone. You've got me, Red, you've always got me ..."
The two young women finally collapsed upon one another in a tightly-knit ball of mutual grief, sobbing and crying and commiserating, as faceless television anchors droned on in the background.