What Love Is

By Semerket

Chapter 8: Sweet Sacrifice

Ivy had lost track of the date. Arkham's florescent lights, lack of windows, and constant annoyances did nothing to assuage the already barely discernible passage of time. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? They admitted her back in January so she figured it had to be sometime around March or April. She had focused her energies on resting and gaining her strength. She was at her physical apex and under normal circumstances she would be leaving any time now, but there was one serious problem with her typical plan…

Harley was ill.

She had learned of this rather alarming fact from one of their block's guards. 'Why isn't Harley back?' She had demanded. 'Sick. Infirmary,' had been his simple response. Usually she preferred this guard for his silence and respectful distance, but she would have given anything for more detail than that. She worried the whole night. She'd confirmed it with Dr. Gadlow the following day. Harley's bones had knitted and she was off crutches, but due to some internal complication from the accident she had ended up with a very serious kidney infection.

Dr. Gadlow did a double take as her normally green patient was looking quite… normal today. Her flesh had all but lost its green tint leaving a normal complexion; however, her lips were still green and there were a few leafy tendrils that were still visible if one were to look closely. Ivy sat down on the couch across from the brunette.

"Pamela, you look nice today."

"I look nice every day, Leslie." Ivy stated plainly.

"Yes, that's what I meant." She quickly corrected. "Any particular reason for the sudden change?"

"It isn't easy being green, as you are well aware." Pamela smiled at her own joke. Then she shrugged, "And I just thought I'd try a new look."

Ivy typically only utilized her normal flesh tone when she was outside of Arkham and trying to blend-in in public. When she was in the institution she allowed herself to remain green the majority of her stay. It was a visual marker to remind these sick freaks that no matter how little she was wearing she was always off limits. She was poison and she used her greenness the same way poison dart frogs and insects did. Bright colors meant painful and sudden death. Even the most insane inmate could fathom one of nature's most basic concepts.

"Is it an effort to do that?"

"It's not too hard, but it does take some focus. It's easier when I haven't been getting adequate sunlight." There was a mild rebuke in her tone.

"Is that your way of suggesting we let you out into the yard?"

"You'd just say 'no' anyway." They gave her supplements to compensate for keeping her out of direct sunlight. She was much stronger when she could photosynthesize and this was their way of weakening her without the help of medication.

"As long as you understand that."

"Can I see her?" Ivy asked Leslie from out of nowhere.

Dr. Gadlow looked up from her notes, "Pamela, it is not within standard protocol to allow patients to visit the infirmary unless they are in need of medical attention themselves."

Ivy held her legendary temper at bay in order to get what she wanted; she spoke in clipped tones, "She's ill. I need to check on her"

Leslie noticed that her hands were balled up in fists. She could tell that being polite (Pamela's definition, anyway) was taxing her immensely. Pamela was expressing genuine concern for another human's well-being. She especially noticed that she 'needed' to see her. Dr. Gadlow wanted nothing more than to reinforce her positive behaviors, but Ivy was known for her duplicity and easy lies.

"And why should I allow you to do that?"

"Because," She spoke condescendingly. "Harley needs me. Who else is going to look out for her? This is an institution for criminals. We aren't exactly high on the list for priority medical care. I need to make sure those fools aren't killing her!"

Leslie made a note that Pamela's paranoia had extended to encompass Harley now. Leslie studied her expression and Ivy stared back expectantly. She cleared her throat, "Well, Pamela, I can understand your concerns, but from what I've been told, Ms. Quinn is expected to improve in time."

Ivy started to lose her temper and demanded imperiously, "But I've been on good behavior! I should be rewarded!"

Leslie held in a laugh and schooled her expression, "Why do you feel your behavior has been good?"

Her temper simmered dangerously below the surface. "Why do you think my behavior has not been good?" She glowered at the brunette; unimpressed, the doctor just stared back.

Leslie sighed, "Pamela, I will admit that there have been some improvements in your overall conduct, but whether or not your recent actions could be considered 'good' is debatable."

"I have cooperated with staff! …Mostly, and I have been wearing my uniform on a regular basis. And you know how much I hate it!"

"You told me in a previous session that the reason you wear the uniform now is because Harley asked you too. It wasn't motivated by a desire to be cooperative with staff."

"I can't help it if she's the jealous type!" She argued, "I am very beautiful as you are well aware, Leslie."

"You assaulted Arnold Wesker on the way to the mess hall yesterday." She replied dryly.

She was frank, "The Ventriloquist is a simpering coward whom I have nothing, but disdain for. And besides, the others dared me."

"Who?"

"Harvey."

Leslie rolled her eyes. Those two were very bad news when they were together. Whenever they interacted it was common for some poor unsuspecting third party to end up having a nervous breakdown or some kind of injury. If Arkham had an in-crowd they were its bullies.

Ivy tried to explain, "Actually, it was Two-Face that suggested it. He wanted to see him fall down the stairs and the coin agreed it would be a good idea. Harvey actually argued against it. He didn't want to be directly involved."

Leslie didn't bother masking her annoyance, "What have I told you about participating in others' delusions?"

She shrugged and said defensively, "Hey, I didn't 'participate,' he was arguing with himself and then the ugly one suggested that I shove him down the stairs, that way both personalities would be satisfied and everyone would get what they wanted."

Leslie frowned.

Ivy crossed her arms. "What? He presented a logical argument."

"Ms. Isley…"

When Gadlow started calling her 'Ms. Isley' she knew she had crossed the line. So what if she hadn't been a model patient? When had she ever? Leslie's expectations were so unrealistic. The redhead became desperate as she recognized the rejection in her voice. "Harley's illness is adversely affecting my own health," she declared rapidly with a hint of desperation.

She just had to hear this. She asked skeptically, "How so?"

"I have been sick with worry! I've been eating less and I have great difficulty sleeping."

"I believe you're exaggerating, Pamela."

Ivy stared at the floor as she arrived at a decision. Without taking her eyes off the blue carpet, she muttered something under her breath. It was a very uncharacteristic show of… submission? Or resignation? Ivy's tactics had always been straight forward- if she ranted and raved long enough someone would eventually cave or put her back in her enclosure, but this was completely new to Leslie.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you said." Ivy repeated herself at a higher volume, but she mumbled so rapidly she couldn't quite catch it. "Excuse me?"

She raised her voice and declared bitterly, "I said I'll volunteer for cleaning duty."

Leslie almost fell out of her seat. She was bewildered, "Y-You… you will?"

Ivy had a somber expression on her face as she resigned to her fate. She looked like someone that had just volunteered themselves for the guillotine. "If I can visit Harley every day for as long as she's in the infirmary I'll… mop the floors… until she's out."

Ivy would have preferred kitchen duty, but knew they'd never let her within a mile of everyone's food; never mind that she could out-cook the current cafeteria shmucks. They'd never let her do yard work either for reasons that were obvious, and she couldn't stand the idea of being cooped up in the library surrounded by piles of dead tree flesh and people like Edward Nygma! Gaia, this sucked. For the sake of the entire facility, Harley had better recover quickly.

The brunette sat back in her seat. She hadn't seen this one coming. Patients that wanted to up their behavior rating or look better to the courts and parole board often volunteered to perform menial tasks around the facility. "Well, Pamela, I think that would be a fair exchange. But if you step out of line once-"

"I know. I know. Privileges revoked and blah, blah, blah." She stood up from her seat, "I'd like to see Harley now."

[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]

"Shhh. It's alright. I'm here."

Harley could feel someone dabbing her head with a cool cloth. She peeled her heavy eyelids open and was greeted by the most beautiful sight.

"Are you an angel?"

The angel laughed, "It's me, Harl."

With the fluorescent lights behind her and lack of green complexion, Ivy seemed to have a halo to Harley's fevered eyes. "Red?" She replied weakly.

"Mhmm."

She smiled. The blond was frighteningly pale and she was very feverish. Her voice was weak, "I asked to see you, but they said you couldn't visit me."

"I have an arrangement with Gadlow now."

"I'm glad you came." She smiled tiredly. "Not sportin' ya green tahday?"

Ivy shook her head, "How are you feeling?"

"Sleepy." She yawned on cue. "And cold."

Without hesitation, Ivy snatched a clean blanket off an empty bed nearby and put it over Harley. "Thanks." She chuckled, "You always look out for me, huh Red?"

She didn't respond. Her brow furrowed with concern as she pulled the stiff, white blanket up higher and tucked her in more. Ivy hadn't realized just how bad Harley's condition really was until she saw her first hand. She remembered the doctor's words: 'She'll get better in time.' To hell with that! Harley looked like death eating a cracker, and failing at it.

"I'm going to visit you every day, Harley."

"Really? I'm afraid to ask whatcha did ta get that arrangement… You kiss a shrink?"

"I wish…" Ivy muttered darkly. "That means you have to get better quickly, Harl." She leaned in closer to Harley's face. "Then we can get the hell out of Dodge."

The blond whispered, "You could leave without me, ya know."

"No, I can't." She was going to make damn sure Harley stayed away from that awful clown if it meant she'd have to hold the woman's hand the rest of her life. "Besides, who else will be the getaway driver?"

The blond managed a giggle. "Yea, I guess you drive kinda like a maniac."

"I can't help it if there are other things to consider besides the road," Ivy said sarcastically.

"Yea, it would probably be best if you waited for me…" Harley's eyelids were drooping. It was bedtime.

"I think so." Ivy smiled. She could hear the heavy footsteps of the guard approaching.

"Isley. Time's up," came the surly command she'd expected.

She gave the blond's hand a squeeze and she leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Try to get some sleep, Harley."

"Yea…" She was already nodding off, "Later Red…"

"Sleep well, Harley."

[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]

Ugh. Manual labor. Ivy had been working at her new assigned task for over a half hour now and she was already sick of it. Ivy's ears perked up as she worked her mop down the long corridor. The faster she worked the sooner she would be done. As she neared Sector Seven. She could hear singing. She could hear Whitney Houston's voice belting out the last part of 'I Will Always Love You.'

She glanced at a nearby inmate; he was rocking back and forth manically and becoming emotional as he mouthed the words of the song. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck involuntarily at the perfect vocals. She rolled her eyes.

Clayface.

Sure enough as she rounded the corner she saw Whitney Houston, well Clayface in the form of the late diva. Clayface had no out of cell privileges and he would occasionally perform to pass the time. He had been a movie star before turning to a life of crime, and his inner ham felt the need to express itself periodically.

Having him in Sector Seven was like having a radio that turned on at inopportune times and ever since Harley had been transferred to their cell-block he had become even worse. The bouncy blond would encourage him by singing along with her nasally voice, much to everyone's chagrin. And since just about everyone liked Harley to some degree, she had an easy time getting her way when it came to requests. If Ivy had to listen to Clayface do that Little Mermaid song one more time…

The guard motioned to this area to let her know that she should commence cleaning. She tried to ignore the others' conversation.

"Do John Lennon now!" She heard an inmate say excitedly.

"Patsy Cline!"

"No, do more Whitney."

"Whitney sucks!"

"Hey!" She recognized Two-Face's angry voice booming from around the corner. "You don't talk about The Voice like that or when I get out of this cell I'm gonna bust your crazy head open!" The offending inmate cringed in his own cell, while several others expressed a similar sentiment.

"Yea, shut the fuck up man!"

"You don't know shit!"

"Cretin with no taste!"

"I'm gonna cut your eyes out and dip 'em in chocolate!"

"How about some Richard Pryor?" Another voice asked, trying to steer the subject away from psychotic ranting.

Clayface reverted back into his normal, hideous gelatinous form as he noticed Ivy quietly mopping the floor. He looked ridiculous as he leaned his large squishy body against the glass wall of his cell, while she worked nearby. He chortled as he flattened his face against the glass, "So Ivy, you goin' straight or something?"

She glanced around nervously to see if anyone had overheard the question. She hissed quietly at the giant, gingerbread-shaped man, "Don't be ridiculous!" Her reputation was at stake. She whispered in his direction, "I have an arrangement with Dr. Gadlow."

His voice sounded thick and goopy. "Arrangement?"

"Yes, to see Harley."

"Oh." He grinned, "How is my little backup singer?"

"Not feeling too good, I'm afraid."

"Ah, tell her I'll do that Disney song for her when she gets back- that teapot one she keeps talking about."

She smiled slightly and tried to refocus on her job.

"Ow! Mop that floor, baby! Scrub it harder!" Some foolhardy inmate shouted at her excitedly from his cell. "

Ivy took comfort in knowing that it was only a matter of time before her day of reckoning. She mostly ignored the jeers and cheers and went about her business. At least she got to be outside of a cell, unlike these fools.

"We missed you, Ivy." There were a few cat calls and whistles following that statement.

Ivy rolled her eyes; yea, she had been missed alright. She was one of a handful of female patients and she had a tendency to walk around almost naked in a glass room in the middle of her sector. She was the closest thing these losers had to cable. A coed institution for the criminally insane- what a novel idea! Stupid, ridiculous, Arkham.

"Take off your clothes!"

She sneered at one of the nobodies, "How about I take off your head!" Several quieted down and another giggled quietly in the corner. They were crazy, but they weren't stupid. Arkham had a very clear hierarchy and Ivy was in its uppermost strata. She had proven numerous times that human life- particularly male life had a very low ranking in her value system. She also had a tendency to follow through on her threats and was well known for her vindictiveness and long memory.

Ivy continued to mop the floor, or at least she pretended too well enough to appease the guards. They weren't really interested in the quality of her work; they just seemed relieved that she wasn't trying to do anything nefarious (to their knowledge). That was fine with her. She only cared about her visits with Harley. The rest of them could all go to hell.