"Let's go, guys." Harleen said, tersely.
Jolene grinned, looking happily at Miss Martian from the other end of the chess board. "We get to go see my Mom now."
"No," Harley sighed. "No you don't. Not today. We're going to get a hotel."
"What?" Anthony looked affronted as he turned in his chair. "Why?"
"We'll talk about it later," there was a bite to Harley's tone that the kids weren't used to. "Get up, let's go."
"Nuh-uh, wait a minute," Jo stood up, her expression stern. "We rode all the way here on a plane so we could see Mom."
"I know," Harley acknowledged. "But plans changed. We're not doing that today."
"But you promised!" Jo argued.
The blonde helped her son to his feet. "Yeah, well, sometimes I break my promises. Just ask your Mom." She ignored Jolene when the girl's gaze turned cold, looking at Miss Martian instead. "Thank you for watching them, M'gann."
"Oh, no, thank you!" M'gann stood, a charming, tone-deaf smile on her face. "Your offspring are wonderful, Mrs. Isley."
"Quinzel. Ms. Quinzel," Harley corrected, a bit harshly.
The teen's smile immediately dropped. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry for the error." Unlike Ivy, whose skin blushed a darker shade of green, M'gann's showed up red, her cheek's now looking unnatural against the verdant background of her typical complexion. "I was told that spouses on this planet often times take each other's family names after marriage."
"Often times, yes." Harley softened slightly, putting her hand on Jolene's shoulder to lead her in the right direction. "I appreciate the compliment to my…offspring, though."
"Of course, Ma'am." M'gann nodded emphatically. "I do not like to lie, and it would be a shame of me not to mention how much I enjoyed their company."
"Mama likes to lie…" Jo mumbled, "she does it all the time."
"Car. Now." Harley pointed towards the door.
Jo wrinkled her nose as she passed, stomping her feet all the way to her destination. Anthony wasn't much better, although he did offer M'gann a shy smile as he followed his sister.
"M'gann was just being nice, Ma." Anthony huffed, once they were all sitting in the back of the car Bruce had ordered for them. "And why would you make us miss school and drag us onto a plane just to not let us see her?"
"Excuse me," Harley leaned forward, speaking to the driver and ignoring Anthony for a moment. "Is there like a…I don't know, a Nordstrom around here or something?"
"Yes, Ma'am, about 15 minutes in this traffic." He told her.
"Fantastic," Harley sighed, her delivery not quite matching up with her diction.
Anthony looked appalled beside her. "You didn't let us see Mom because you wanted to go shopping?"
"You know what, guys? I owe you an apology." Harley's tone was clip. "Here I've been living the last 12 years of my life thinking I was the parent and you were the kids. Clearly, I made a grave error. You guys probably know best."
Jolene looked like she was going to pat herself on the back for a moment before a quick glance at her older brother communicated the proper reaction: scowling.
"Ugh…I'm sorry," Harley dragged her hands over her face, pressing her heels of her palms into her eyes. "It's…something happened to Mom. Something has been happening, I guess, for a while now, but now it's here and it's new and stressful and I don't know how to deal with it for myself, let alone for you guys." Harley crossed her fingers that they would allow her to leave it at that because the reality of what had happened was Pam had asked about her plant babies, not her actual children, and although her reasoning made sense, that might not be so easy for a 12-year-old and a 7-year-old to understand.
"What's the matter with er'?" Jo asked, her voice shaky.
"Well…" Harleen cleared her throat, straightening herself up. You're the one that wanted kids even though you knew things could get weird. Nut up, Buttercup. "Mom's powers have been…expanded. She…can do more cool stuff now, so…that's what she looks like."
"Expanded?" Jo furrowed her brow. "Did Mom get fat?"
Harley laughed, but Jo continued, taking this very seriously.
"Is that why we're going shopping? Cuz Mom grew out of all her clothes?"
"No, Jo." Harley shook her head. "That's not the problem. But she does need new clothes."
Pam did have a lot of clothes…a lot of blouses and skirts and tank tops and dresses…all of which would now be rendered useless for concealing her identity in the civilian world.
"She needs long sleeves…and pants…and sweaters and jackets," Harley told them.
/
Ivy sat in the corner of her cell—no, her room. She wasn't being held here. She'd asked them to keep her here. This wasn't Arkham. These people were on her side, as difficult as that was to believe.
Superman had just left, though calling him "Clark" would have been more appropriate as he'd come dressed in a checkered shirt tucked into some jeans. Pam didn't think she'd ever feel comfortable seeing these heroes dressed as regular humans…just as she'd had a hard time looking like one herself for a significant stretch of time. Now that was even more difficult—and not for psychological reasons. She couldn't affect her pigment anymore. Well…not yet, anyway. With the voices and the skin issue, Pamela essentially possessed the same control over her powers as her son had at 4 years old. And, yes, that was shameful. For the moment, though, Pamela was working hard to employ the strategy Clark had taught her for selective hearing, and some way, somehow, it was proving effective (again, just for the moment).
She'd seen her reflection; she knew there was nothing subtle about this change. There would be no hiding it from her family. She'd have to embrace it in the public sphere as well, there was no way around that.
She knew she should be angry at Harleen for something, but for the life of her, she could not remember what that was. Her short-term memory was still a bit convoluted.
Bruce said that was likely a stress response, and after she truly mastered her new powers, things would begin to clear up. Her mind wouldn't feel so foggy.
It was as if she was right back in that hospital room after the coma. Confused, overwhelmed, out of control…But this time, she wasn't alone. Bruce hadn't returned to Gotham since she'd been quarantined, she knew Barry had been attentive as well…and Clark, Kara, and Jessica had all paid her a visit, even if she hadn't seen them, she'd felt them in the next room, and that was better than anything she got back then.
And…Harleen was back for a second visit now. Ivy could feel her looking. Feel her eyes wandering over her body, studying how it had changed.
Pamela hung her head, pulling her knees to her chest because, although she'd adjusted to the artificial tropical climate of the room, she simply didn't feel like finding the pants she'd discarded was worth it. Poison Ivy wasn't modest with her "assets" by any stretch of the imagination, but this form? It would take some getting used to. And, at the moment, she certainly didn't feel beautiful.
The door unlatching startled Pam, and because her body barely felt like her own anymore, her physical reaction was greater than her mental one and she was just barely able to stop a vine from shooting forward out of her wrist. Which she supposed was an improvement, actually.
She was biting down on the side of her cheek to mute her groan of pain when a figure in a hazmat suit entered the room, the door latching shut once more behind them.
Pam knew it was Harley as soon as she took a step; from her stature, yes, but also from her gait.
The blonde didn't speak at first, just walked toward her, and that frightened Pamela. Harley always talked. Talked in bed (whether awake or asleep), talked as soon as the sun had risen or set, talked while doing the dishes or getting the kids ready for school. Talked when she was happy or anxious, when she was sad or angry…the only times she didn't talk was when she was forcing herself into silence because she knew speaking in that moment would mean wrenching her foot out of her mouth later on.
Pamela averted her gaze to stare down at her bare feet rather than watch her cautiously approach.
The first words out of Harley's mouth were, "I'm sorry," and they came out of the suit's internal microphone somewhat garbled.
"Your condolences are appreciated," Pamela mumbled.
Harley stopped a few feet in front of her, just out of reach. "No, I mean about saying the thing again. But about the rest of it too, sure."
And then it came back to her. Barry's voice over the microphone, saying what only Harley knew. That bitch.
Vines ripped from her forearms before she had a chance to calm her anger, and all of the sudden they had Harley hanging upside down, the panicked look on the blonde's face on full display through her helmet.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Ivy yelled in frustration, mourning the loss of the patches of skin she'd just sacrificed. Pam almost laughed for how intensely she had once hated the pain of growing a leotard. That absolutely paled in comparison to what this felt like.
The door began to unlatch once more but Harley called out for whoever was coming to stop. "It's alright. We're fine. Marriage, am I right?" She delivered the line like the opening act at a comedy show and Pam rolled her eyes in response.
Normal reaction…that's good… "We had a deal." Pam growled.
"I was just probing some phenomena, Pam. I just needed to see what we were dealing with here, that's all. And that's the thing that gets you pissed the quickest…followed by grammatical errors, industrialists, and men." That all fell out of Harley rather quickly. "In my head, I put an Oxford comma in there just for you."
Ivy scowled at her, not making any move to get her down just yet. She hoped that this display would come off as powerful because her moods had been rather unpredictable and she knew she'd be crying in no time at all. Either that or killing her wife, and really, neither was what she wanted.
"Come on, Red. Put me down," Harley's tone was calm despite her predicament. "I just wanna talk, OK? That's sorta hard to do when all the blood's rushing to my head."
Ivy turned away from her rather than obliging her.
"We missed you at home…" Harley ventured. "Me and the kids…they're here, ya know. In the lobby."
"They can't see me!" Ivy was insisted as she spun around. "Not like this—they—they can't."
Harleen was clearly trying to nod, but the suit and her positioning was making it exceedingly difficult. "It's only me in here right now, Babe. Just…let me down so I can give you a hug, please. Preferably a kiss too."
"You don't want that," Ivy decided. "I'm hideous." But her mind was clearly working against her as the vines lowered the woman back to the ground, planting her on her feet before retracting.
Harleen took another moment to look at her. Her eyes wandering unapologetically, covering every square inch of exposed skin (which was a lot at this point). "Oh, fuck it," She mumbled, pulling off her helmet and unzipping her suit.
"No, Harley, don't! I'm—"
"Oh, hush now." The blonde threw her gloves to the ground. "The readout in there says this is breathable oxygen and immune to your bullshit." And with that, she crossed the space between them and pulled her wife into a strong hug, her arms lacing around her back.
Ivy was startled—clearly. Her hands remained out like she'd intended to block the other woman, but, little by little…the warmth of a human being against her began to feel comfortable and she forced herself to hug her back, burying her nose in Harley's clean hair.
"You are so not hideous," Harley whispered. "In fact, if we didn't have an audience, I'd take you right now, I swear to God."
Pam wanted to laugh, but of course she cried instead. Gripping Harley tighter and dampening the soft cotton of her t-shirt. At least her tears were still human.
"Shhhh…." Harleen's warm breath was soothing against her skin. "You're upset, it's upsetting, it's totally unfair. It's like life has given you lemon after lemon, but not a single fucking knife or pitcher or tablespoon of goddamn sugar. This life has been absolutely, categorically, undeniably shitty to you."
Pamela couldn't remember the last time she'd sobbed, or, if she ever really had, actually. In her entire 88 years on the planet, had she ever just…cried?
Not with Woodrue, not while she was on the table…no…those tears were feverish, frightened…and then afterwards in the hospital, those were confused, angry…and then after that, she hadn't wanted to cry. She hadn't wanted to give him that. The satisfaction of her sadness…so she got angry instead. And she had been angry for a long time, oscillating between an intense, unabated fury and the overwhelming isolation that lends itself to emptiness.
"I missed you," Pam gasped, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.
"Oh, Babe…" Harley chuckled, "It was only four days."
"But I didn't think I would be the same," Pam sniffed, separating to look her in the eye. "I didn't know if this would still feel like home or if I…I started to forget the small things, Harleen, and I thought maybe I'd lost them, and then I was imagining the rest of my existence without what you've given me, and—"
"It was scary?" Harley fed her the words.
Pam just nodded, biting her lip now in embarrassment for her emotional outburst.
Harley smiled kindly, brushing Pam's red hair out of her face by pushing it straight back off her forehead, raking her fingers through it like Pam would if she were thinking (or upset, or stressed, or just…Pam). "You're not ugly, Pam…Pamela…Poison Ivy. You are powerful...and this?" Harley's eyes followed her finger as she traced an embedded tendril just below Ivy's collarbone. "This we can handle. Together. You remember our wedding vows, right? To have and to hold, through thick and thin, in health and in plant mutation, til death do us part."
"It doesn't seem like you were paying attention," Pam let a small smile slip as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
Harley grinned. "Can I kiss you now, or will that kill me? Not a bad way to go out, but I think I'd like to avoid the afterlife for just a bit longer."
To answer, Pam draped her arms over the blonde's shoulders and gently brought their lips together, shivering as Harley ran her left hand down a vine that curled from beneath Ivy's breast to her upper thigh. The redhead shivered involuntarily, and Harley smiled against her lips.
"You know…" Harley separated to lean her forehead against the other woman's. "Maybe these things could be fun…"
"Knock it off, Harleen." Pam pushed away, but the blonde was still smiling.
"No, really, I don't mind em'." She assured her. "I would like to know what sorta fashion statement you're making with that shirt, though. And you've got a great ass, Babe, but I feel like you something that couldn't be plucked off might be a welcome addition down there. Just…ya know, when we go outside."
"Oh, I'm not—I'm not ready to go outside," Ivy was suddenly defensive.
Harley nodded in understanding. "How can I help?"
"I—," Pam looked at the ground. "Will you come back?"
Harley smiled. "Everyday."
/
Bruce grabbed Harley and wrapped her in a tarp as soon as she re-entered the control room, he then pulled her down the hall in the direction of the decontamination showers.
"Get her a flowing plant, get her the haircare products from her greenhouse at home, and continue to stimulate her mind. You're fucked if she gets bored. I'm serious." Harleen's instructions came fast. "Ask her for help on a problem, give her the updated emissions numbers, show her some fucking graphs, it really doesn't matter. Just make her feel important and capable, alright? That's the key to placating Poison Ivy. Tell her she's important, capable, pretty and loved. Make her prove to you that she is. She likes games. Play a game she can just barely win."
Bruce turned the water on for her. "Is that Dr. Quinzel's foolproof strategy for how to pretend like Poison Ivy is sane?"
"She is sane, Bruce." Harley stripped off her clothes and stepped underneath the spray. "Just as sane as you or I. Her mental afflictions are all treatable, I've been treating her for the last 23 years, and rather successfully, I might add. But when you tell a person they're wrong, bad and crazy from the moment they're born, chances are they might start to believe it. This is like a…rebirth for her. She's not familiar with this stimulus she's receiving, either mental or physical. She hasn't learned to combat or utilize this degree of authority, which means…"
"We have the chance to do it right this time." Bruce nearly let a smile slip.
"Yep!" Harley confirmed with a grin. "And it starts with loving her unconditionally, and not calling her crazy."