Ivy was seconds away from absolutely losing her fucking mind. Here she was, operating on her closest friend and trying to save her fucking life and there he was, pacing behind her like he was her fucking mentor, leaning over her shoulder and growling out suggestions on occasion.

He's just worried about Selina. Slack, Ive, give him lots and lots of slack.

"Did you clear the wound of debris?"

"Yes."

A hum of affirmation and some more brisk pacing - "Did you clean the area with saline?"

"Yes."

"Ok." His ridiculously large boots began scrapping harder against her pristine white tiled floors. She'd just cleaned them, damnit!

"And you're sure it's been less than six hours since she was stabbed?"

An immaculate eyebrow went up. "Are you?"

The man fell silent for a few blissful moments, but then, "Maybe if you just-"

Ivy slammed her tools down on the table. "Maybe if you just shut up, I'll actually be able to save her life!"

"But-"

"Get out, Bat. You hovering over me isn't doing anyone any favors, least of all not Selina." Before he could chime in, she held up a hand, "I know you don't think I'm capable of patching her up, but I assure you…I have the experience and the motivation to see her survive this. Now get out before I throw you out."

It was either stupid courage or ignorant foolishness that kept the Batman standing firm. "I said I was going to monitor the situation. You can't be upset when we agreed upon the arrangement beforehand."

"And I said if you so much as breathed on me while I worked, I'd throw you out the window faster than you could say 'Bat'!"

They were at it again, staring at each other, daring the other to break first. And as always, Harley, seated precariously as she was on the edge of a storage box – a proverbial fence, if you will - figured it was up to her to break the stalemate.

"Can't say I disagree with her, Bats. Yer being awfully stifling."

He wanted to argue with them, but he got the feeling the decision was no longer in his hands.

"Fine, but hurry up."


It was quite a sight, one that would have ruined his reputation as Gotham's most feared vigilante if the paparazzi ever caught wind of it.

Because Batman looked wholly out of place in this modest, two-bedroom apartment with its eccentric color palette and stuffed animal army. But at the moment, he was more peeved about being stuck outside than about whatever the papers might make of this image.

Wealthiest billionaire this side of the United States and yet, here he was, unable to do anything other than trust the most dangerous super villainess in Gotham to treat his girlfriend as he paced around the living room, a helpless onlooker.

He hated every second of it.

Ten minutes, then I'll go inside and check.

He gingerly seated himself on the couch to begin the wait, eyeing the main quarter of the house for the first time since he'd been brought here on the back of Harley Jr, Harley's aptly named Harley-Davidson.

As he took in the humble abode, Batman figured he could forgive the people of Gotham for believing 1993 Bleaker St. was anything other than ordinary, because on first, second and third glance, the home looked like it belonged to a very lovely, if somewhat color-blind couple, what with the red and black themed furniture and the DIY clay decorations and the stuffed animals perched triumphantly on every surface worth sitting on. Even the hundreds of plants that sat along the window ledge and ran along the corners of the living room weren't exactly a dead giveaway anymore.

But only he could see the occupants of this cozy little home for who they really were: two of Gotham's most unpredictably dangerous villains and high-priority level threats on the Justice League's roster.

And yet, even he would be the first to admit that they had played their role well, hiding in plain sight like this, fabricating an unassuming existence in this far-too-large city of theirs, living under the noses of those they robbed at night.

Their cover could almost be deemed sincere, the decorations not just placed there to distract from their true identity, but items of genuine sentimental value, objects worth something to these two villains.

He found himself attracted by a couple of newspaper articles, stuck haphazardly to the fridge with a couple of peach? shaped stickers. Some of them were headlines of their most famous heists – he rolled his eyes at the elaborate descriptions of his failure to bring the self-proclaimed Queens of Crime to justice – while others were about events of note.

A Jazzfest in the park – who still listened to jazz? – to a local drag race near the docks – he remembered putting the kibosh on that little event himself – to the opening of a new nightclub – this particular headline was circled and starred and punctuated with a dozen exclamation marks, clearly the jester's work.

But even with this proof, he found himself hard-pressed to accept that the two went out in public and did normal things, like normal couples.

Because just what would become of said public if things ever went south? If one of them became upset by the jazz musicians, or if they decided to upstage the drag racers, or heaven forbid, if they decided to turn the nightclub into a breeding ground for their latest pheromone scheme?

No, he couldn't bring himself to accept that these two could be normal in any way. They lived, breathed, existed on chaos.

How could they possibly be okay with the hum-drum of ordinary life? How could they possibly be content with this picture-perfect abode with its white walls and motivational quotes and balconies overlooking the bay?

How could they pretend to be normal...when they weren't?

Batman clenched his jaw. No matter what furniture they bought or public pastimes they enjoyed, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were and always would be untrustworthy.

It was time to check on Selina.

He had only just begun to turn his back on the kitchen and towards the lab when he caught a photo out of the corner of his eye.

One with Harley and Ivy… and Selina?

He drew closer, curiosity piqued. The photo was a new one, and though it was gracious enough to include a caption, he found himself reading it twice, thrice, four times before he began to grasp the information.

Because it had apparently been taken at the East End Women's Shelter, the one that supported women who'd escaped from abusive/neglectful homes and needed a place to recuperate.

He could understand Selina going there, she had accompanied him time and time again as a patron of the establishment. But them?

"Nice pic, ain't it, Bats?"

He spun around to find Harley leaning against the counter, a smirk on her painted red lips.

Does she always have to be leaning on something?

"It's part of my vibe, B-Man, you wouldn't get it. Yer far too uptight to relate." She slouched further against the surface, "Come on, try it. Slouch a bit."

He didn't move a muscle.

"See, too uptight. All that perfect posture's fine for gentlemen's finishing school, Bats, but a girl like me's gotta let her muscles rest a little." She gestured to the pic, "Yer probably wondering what kinda dastardly deed we got upta at the shelter, huh?"

He narrowed his eyes, but didn't bother correcting her. So sue him, he was curious.

Harley popped her gum and drew closer to examine the picture. "Huh, if I'm guessing right, that's the first time we went there." She scratched her head, "Yup. We'd just completed a real nice score – ya know with freaking boatloads of-"

Batman coughed.

"Right." She returned to the picture. "Anywho, we were wondering what ta da with the extra, cause one thing's for sure, Bats, we don't take more than we need, ya know? So maybe think about that the next time ya chase us down and dump us in the loony bin."

"Why were you there, Quinn?"

"Ooh! He speaks! And he asks a question, nicely too!" She patted his cheek, "Yer learning, Bats."

"Quinn."

"Ugh fine! Usually, after a heist, we all decide where to donate the rest of the money too. I always like ta give to small mom and pop shops, ya know, cuz they're the backbones of society. Ive's a fan of the local nurseries and environmental groups, and Kitty loves to give to local shelters, animal and human."

She pointed to the picture, "That's why we were there. Ta meet the women and give em the money."

Batman frowned. "But the shelter has plenty of donors already. Bruce Wayne, for example-"

"Ah, Wayne." She scoffed, "Fat load of good that man's ever done."

Bruce straightened up a little, "He's done a lot of good for the city through his philanthropy."

"You mean by throwing his money wherever he feels like it?" She shook her head, "That's the problem with these rich folks. They think chucking cash at the problem is enough. They don't bother dropping by and actually looking at things once in a while."

"Wayne does."

Harley rolled her eyes at the reply, "Right. I forgot yer Wayne's bestie. Well, then, Bats, since ya care so much about him, maybe ya could tell him to drop by his charities for more than just a photo op, cuz whew boy, Lord knows what we saw at that shelter!"

A pit sank in his stomach. What was she talking about?

"Now that I think about it, Kittty musta had a suspicion or something, but when we dropped by to donate the money, we found the women all bare feet and shivering in the dead of winter. No blankets, no coats, no clothes, hell, no food!"

Harley's eyes gleamed with an expression he hadn't thought her capable of, genuine sympathy.

"Seeing em like that, Bats…it broke my heart. Really it did... But ya know what hurt worse? All that philanthropy you claim is going on, all that Wayne money you're touting? It wasn't going to all those women and their well-being. It was being gambled away by the director and his cronies to the mob, Bats! That's what was happening to yer boy's money. But if he'd ever really taken the time to look at things, he'd have known that himself…" She shook her head, "Anyways, it's a good thing Kitty was paying attention. Cause we taught that scumbag a lesson he'd never forget."

The wicked glint in her eyes startled him into reality. "You killed him?"

"The fuck? Is that really the part that bugs you, Bats?" She turned on the caped crusader. "I just told ya Wayne's money was funding the mob instead of keeping those women alive and yer upset that we killed a guy?!"

"Of course I care about the women, Quinn, but killing is never the answer."

"Spoken like a true white man." Harley scoffed, "What'dya think I shoulda done, Bats? Maybe I oughta have dangled him off his ankles over a building till he pinky swore up and down that'd he'd never ever do it again. Or wait, maybe that's too much punishment. Maybe I shoulda put him over my knees and spanked him – or no, maybe I shoulda boxed his ears in and taken away his Gameboy, huh, Bats? Is that it?"

Bruce didn't budge. "We have a justice system, Quinn. Sooner or later, his crimes would have caught up with him."

"Yeah, before or after those women died?" Harley raised an eyebrow, "Cause that's the funny thing about justice, B-Man, it doesn't really care to check whether it's on time or not... which means people like them-" She nodded at the picture, "They gotta die before justice even looks their way."

"But we did." She leaned back against the wall with a soft, smug smile, "That's why, after that night, we decided we'd keep an eye on that shelter, make sure those women get taken care of alright. We still drop by every once in a while. Sometimes, Kitty and I'll teach them some self-defense, and Ivy does some gardening therapy, ya know, to help them cope with the PTSD. They're all total sweethearts…it's a shame society's given em such a shit hand. But they're tough gals. They'll hold out alright."

She jumped up, shoving a finger into his suit with a glare.

"But that doesn't mean there aren't more people like that out there, people who need real help escaping from no-good scumbags. People you haven't been able to protect because of yer moral code."

He had forgotten just who he was talking to for a moment, so caught up in her passionate rant to forget that she wasn't the glasses-wearing, lab-coat-donning psychiatrist who adhered to societal regulations. But Harley wasn't one to let people forget who she was.

"Nothing justifies murder, Quinn."

Harley just shrugged, "Don't be so quick to knock something just cause you can't stand the stink, Bats. Sometimes, ya gotta do what's necessary to keep people safe."

Bruce straightened up, "I'm here to help people, not to be judge, jury and executioner."

"But that's the thing, Bats, you already are." She gestured to the window, the wailing police sirens and accompanying gunshots made for a morbid and timely accompaniment to her point. "By not killing the scumbags that roam the streets, you're dooming their victims to an endless cycle of abuse."

"Then again, I thought you would've learned that lesson already…but maybe seeing me get tossed out of a helicopter for the fifteenth time didn't really seal the deal for ya, huh?"

A thousand emotions crossed his mind in that moment.

Anger at being compared to him, of all people.

Disappointment, at himself for admittedly failing her when he'd noticed the abuse.

Frustration, for being asked this by the one woman who was both simultaneously qualified and not to corner him.

But most of all, confusion.

Because although he would die rather than admit this to Harley, he had long wrestled with the predicament that was the Joker, but never had he been able to find an answer to end his reign of terror for good. How could he when he had sworn never to take any lives? Not even his?

It was a testament to his muddled state of mind – and lack of sleep – that he failed to notice the third presence that had finally joined them until she piped up –

"Okay, so I'm not sure what I just walked into," Ivy rubbed her eyes, barely suppressing a yawn, "Buh-t I seriously need a coffee right now, so should I just leave you two be? Or…?"

He couldn't believe it but for perhaps the first – and hopefully only – time in his life, Batman was grateful to see Poison Ivy.


After one and a half cups of coffee, Ivy found the energy to speak.

"I've removed the knife and sutured the wound as best I could." She gripped her mug a little tighter and took a deep breath, "But Selina lost a lot of blood…and I'm not entirely sure how we can arrange for a blood transfusion."

Batman pursed his lips. Now didn't feel like the moment to say, 'I told you so.' Contrary to what most of the League believed, he did NOT have a death wish.

Harley gnawed on her lip as she processed the news. "So what do we do now, Ive?"

"I don't know, Harls…" Ivy's gaze fell to her coffee mug. "I do know of some herbs that could speed up her blood cell regeneration, but I'll need a second opinion."

Harley's eyes lit up, "Is it who I think it is?"

Ivy nodded, "He'll be glad to speak with you again, I'm sure, but he's on a mission right now. Contacting him will be a chore in itself."

Batman straightened in his seat, "A colleague?" His eye slits narrowed in pending disapproval, thoughts drifting to the various members of the rogue gallery. No one he knew had remotely the same type of expertise as Ivy, except for perhaps Johnathan Crane.

His scowl deepened. He didn't like the idea one bit.

Ivy raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps. Why? Do you have something against seeking expert advice? Or is it that you refuse to consider anyone else may be willing to help without having ulterior motives?"

Batman clenched his jaw. "Neither. I just need you to understand that this is a sensitive matter, one best kept between those who wish Catwoman well."

Harley didn't look too pleased by the implication, but Ivy simply appraised the man, releasing a knowing hum before she drank from her mug. "I must say, it is awfully impolite of you to dismiss my suggestion, Batman, especially considering how close you are to this contact of mine." She smirked, "After all, they are more your colleague than mine."

"What? My colleague?"

Ivy nodded, "Indeed. Though I may not quite understand it, he finds himself quite at home with you and your other caped cosplaying companions. Of course, I can't say I see the appeal in going around being referred to as 'The Swamp Thing', but he seems to believe the Green can be saved this way."

Batman blinked in surprise. "You communicate with Dr. Holland?"

"Frequently." She pushed her mug to the side and crossed her fingers before her. "He and I are chosen ambassadors of the Green, and though we may have some differences in opinion, there is a lot we bond over that regular humans cannot begin to fathom."

Bruce made a mental note to do a bit of research about their partnership. For League reasons, of course.

"In any case, I will need to track down Dr. Holland. He's off on a spiritual journey at the Green's behest for the past few months and without much recourse to reach him."

"How long will that take? To locate the doctor?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to turn to the Green to assist me in my efforts. It's the only way to reach the doctor on such short notice, but the process will be taxing."

She exchanged a look with Harley that implied there was more to the statement. Batman didn't quite know what to make of it, but this was Ivy's forte. He would not question her domain expertise, not when Selina's life hung in the balance.

"And in any case, I'll need to contact the Green at dawn, when the connection is at its most powerful."

"So what does that mean for Catwoman?"

Ivy's expression darkened in a manner that Bruce found himself rather unsettled by.

"It means there's nothing I can do for Selina except monitor her vitals and hope she lasts the night."

The occupants of the little apartment fell silent at that promising statement, crickets sounding in the distance, framed by muted sounds of screaming people and rat-a-tat gunshots and ringing car alarms.

Harley clapped her hands.

"Okay, so who's up for pizza?!"