"Good morning, Pamela." Dr. Birch greeted her favorite patient warmly as Pamela was escorted into the room. "Did you sleep well?"

"Marvelously!" Pamela declared with a smile, sitting down in her usual seat and tossing her hair back to let the sun bathe her as the session began. "Airing out my issues has really been helping me feel more relaxed... Even the asylum seems less gloomy than usual."

"That's wonderful, Pamela! Now, before we begin, I have an unrelated question I would like to ask you."

"Oh?" Pamela asked, lifting her eyebrows and looking curiously at the doctor.

"Yes. You see, last night I received an anonymous gift, a flower."

"Mmmh, I've always thought they made the most wonderful gifts... When they're not barbarically mutilated and delivered in a water vase..."

"Well, this little beauty was delivered in a nice little planter, but I'm afraid I don't know what sort of flower it is. I was hoping you could identify it for me, and tell me if there's any sort of special care I need to give it?" Hazel asked, withdrawing a Polaroid snapshot of the flower from within her jacket pocket and handing it to Pamela.

Pamela studied the photograph for a moment, her lips pursed together in quiet contemplation.

"Well, It looks to be a very healthy Brunfelsia. They're a lovely shrubbery flower, commonly called the Yesterday-Today-Tomorrow plant because of the three alternating flower colors. Do you have any pets...?"

Hazel blinked in surprise at the sudden question, then shook her head. "No. No, I simply don't have time to tend to a pet. Not in this line of work."

"That's good news, you see Brunfelsia are quite lovely, but they are also rather poisonous, especially their berries."

"Oh my!"

"Don't worry," Pamela soothed with a smile, "As long as you don't eat them you'll be fine, just make sure you wash your hands well after pruning to tending to it. Getting the spores in your nose can cause a horrendous allergic reaction if you have a weak nasal system or frequent allergies."

"But it's not dangerous? It's such a beautiful little plant, I'd hate to have to get rid of it..."

"Oh my no, as long as it's not ingested Brunfelsia is just a beautiful plant to place on a window sill to spruce up a place. I'm so glad you like it."

Hazel's entire body froze. Slowly she gulped, and levels her eyes with Pamela's, feeling her blood run cold in her veins. "Wh-what did you say?"

"The flower, I'm glad you like it. I went to great deal of hassle to make sure it got to you without getting myself in trouble."

"Y-you sent this to me?"

"Well... Yes..." Pamela replied, suddenly looking sheepish and upset. "I'm sorry, Dr. Birch, I didn't mean to alarm you I just... I wanted to thank you for all the help you've given me."

Slowly Hazel's heart stopped pounding and her adrenaline slowed. She took a deep breath and sighed with relief. "Pamela... You know you aren't supposed to interact with plants in anyway!"

"But I didn't!" Pamela protested with a slight pout. "I obeyed all of the regulations. I had no contact with any plants. I simply asked for a favor by having an intern send the gift to you... I didn't want to have the card addressed for fear you'd react like- well... Like this. Please don't tell the guard Captain! I didn't want to cause any trouble, I just want to find a nice way to thank you."

Hazel sighed again and gave Pam an understanding smile. "All right... Just this once. But you mustn't do this again, you aren't supposed to have contact outside these walls! And no more calling for favors from the personnel, you'll get yourself in trouble and severely limit your chances for reform and release!"

Pamela recoiled in horror at this and nodded earnestly. "I'm very sorry, Doctor, it won't happen again!"

"See that it doesn't." Hazel cautioned, using the stern voice of a mother catching a child with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Yes, Doctor..." Pamela said, bowing in her head apologetically. The rest of their session went on without incident. When it was over, before the guards arrived, Pamela grabbed Hazel in a hug so tight Hazel ended up squeaking that she couldn't breath. Pamela quickly let go, apologizing profusely and then shaking the doctor's hands gratefully in her own before being taken away by her guards.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hazel came home at 8 o'clock that evening. As she set her briefcase down and shut the door she shivered softly. It was unpleasantly cold in the house. Heading toward the thermostat on the wall, Hazel reasoned that her boyfriend must have turned the air down during the heat of the day and forgot to reset it before leaving for his evening shift at the lab.

"Jesus, Eric, what is it with you and putting the thermostat to Siberian Winter?" she asked aloud to the empty house as she checked the thermostat, but it wasn't on. Straightening up Hazel looked into the mirror hanging on the hallway wall and gasped.

Behind psychiatrist, standing by the open dining room window was the creature who only came to Arkham after hours, the man who's natural habitat was a rain slick rooftop and who's favorite pass time was putting the scum of the earth into intensive care. More than half the world believed he was a myth. Some people believed there was more than one, that they were funded by the government as a way to protect America's most polluted and crime-infested city; other's thought he was a psychological ploy conducted by the police to try and give them extra leverage in Gotham. The only people who really knew the truth were the people that worked with this man day in and day out. To the heroes of the League he was a dangerously intelligent, deceptive, cunning, and not-all-together trustworthy ally. To the men and women of law enforcement he was either the biggest problem in Gotham, or the only thing standing between the city and total anarchy. To the resident doctors of Arkham Insane Asylum he was the uncatchable patient, the one man who probably needed to be inside their facility more than any of the criminals he helped put in there.

"What are you doing in my house?" she demanded, trying to sound calm and controlled but only managing to sound just above piss-her-pants terrified.

"Hazel Birch. 5' 8", 127 lbs, age 27. Born in Murfreesboro, North Carolina, middle child out of three, parents still married and living in Murfreesboro. You graduated of the University of Virginia, top of your class. You completed your medical residency right here in Gotham, you know what you wanted and where you wanted to work the moment you chose your career. You're dedicated to your profession, you actually believe in what you're doing, you believe that they can be redeemed."

By the time he was finished with this simple breakdown of her life in a paragraph she was on the verge of tears. Having a complete stranger show up with the history of her life memorized was incredibly unnerving.

"What do you want!?"

"To warn you." He growled.

"Warn me about what?!"

"Pamela Isley is using you."

As it had that morning at Pamela's revelation about the plant, Hazel Birch's body stiffened in alarm at the Batman's warning. "What are you talking about."

With a rustle of paper, he threw down a file onto her coffee table next to the plant Isley had sent to her.

"Pamela's mother was sexual therapist and marriage counselor, she was a strong advocate of women's writes and refused to take her husbands name when she got married. Francis Andrews and Michelle Isley never got a divorce, by all accounts they had a steady marriage. Francis was a recovering alcoholic, Michelle refused to marry him unless he quite drinking. He was three years and six months sober when Pamela was born. When Pamela was 17 the family was in a car crash. Michelle Isley died on the scene; her husbands blood-alcohol level was .09; he'd been sober 19 and a half years. Pamela cut all ties with her father after the accident. She moved out of the house, graduated high school a year early and headed for Washington State University's Seattle Campus on a scholarship for the Gifted."

By now there were tears in Hazel's eyes, and a scowl of confusion. "How can we know that's true..? How can you be certain? What if that's the cover up, and what she's told me is true? Or what if she's shifted her own memories? What if she was abused? Or what if her mother's death was so traumatic that she chose to create a completely new memory of her childhood in order to justify the anger she felt towards her father?"

"It's not impossible." He conceded, still standing in the shadowed corner of the room, his cape falling in over his shoulders and hiding his body from view. "But, doctor, we are talking about a woman who has spent every waking hour since the incident with Jason Woodrue manipulating, using, deceiving, and mentally controlling others. Poison Ivy is a master of manipulating other peoples feelings, be it through pheromones or a gilded words. It's what she does, it's how she survives..."

"You haven't seen her! The pain on her face, the hurt in her eyes, the tears on her cheeks when she talks about the people she's killed!!!" Hazel sobbed, balling her hands into fists, clutching at her own chest. Her heart ached from the pain of the discussion, she didn't want to believe any of this, she refused to believe that Ivy didn't have a chance for redemption or reformation.

"Doctor... What do you know about Harleen Quinzel?"

"Wh-What...?" Dr. Birch asked, lifting her head up to look at the vigilante.

"Harleen Quinzel. Criminal Psychiatrist, a brilliant young woman, her mentors thought she would rise to be one of the finest in your field... Her case file is required reading for every new doctor to be hired onto the Arkham staff. Did you learn nothing from reading it...?"

Dr. Birch's face contorted with pain. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be true. Pamela wasn't that twisted. She hated the joker, loathed him for the way he used Quinn; surely she wouldn't do to Hazel the very thing that Patient J had done to Dr. Quinzel years ago? With a heart-wrenching sob, Hazel collapsed onto her sofa.

"I just.... I can't believe she would do this. It seemed so real... The tears, the pain... Her story..."

"You aren't the first to be so convinced by her, you won't be the last. At least now, you' have a full grasp of just who you're dealing with..."

After a few sniffles, and a loud snort into a tissue, Hazel turned to thank the caped crusader for showing her the truth. The words died on her lips as she looked towards her window; she was once again alone in her apartment. The young woman stood up and went to her window, tugging it closed and flipping the lock, peering through the glass out over the suburban outskirts of Gotham's prestigious north side. There was no sign of her cloaked and cowled visitor anywhere out there. Turning back toward the inside of her apartment her eyes fell upon the potted plant Isley had sent her... If what Batman had said was true, then why would Pamela have gone to so much trouble to send her that thank you gift?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Author's Note:
All right folks, things are about to take a turn towards the more extreme. As the warning goes... Prepare yourselves; here be monsters.