This is for Toric, the Lionheart, the greatest of Gryffindors, the best of the bestest hobbitses. You are a smol gay squishy. You are my kindred, and I love you. Happy Birthday.
She lay there in the wreckage of what was once the living room. At least she thought it was the living room. She glanced around idly, her vision blurry, her head lolling slightly to the side. She struggled to focus on the broken furniture, the overturned potted plant, its dark soil obscenely splayed across the white rug. And tufts of fuzz, from what might have been a slashed couch, floated idly in the air, gently swirling to the floor, almost lazily, without a care in the world. And why would the fuzz care, it wasn’t laying on the floor, trying to recall how it had come to land in such an awkward position. It couldn’t feel the ache of the darkening purple splotches that spattered across her skin.
She dragged the air into her lungs, wincing gratefully at the burn. Her throat hurt from where large, manicured hands had pressed harshly into her pale skin. She slowly gathered her bent limbs, pulling her knees up to her chest. She lay her cheek on the top of her knees, too tired to cry, too broken to care. It took a few moments, long minutes that she didn’t realize had passed, before she dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the way the wreckage crunched under her feet. None of it mattered anyway. She had never really been attached to “stuff,” stuff that carried the possibility of shadows of memories, long ignored.
She shuffled into the bathroom, flicking the light on, wincing as it struck her eyes. She leaned her hands on the sink, staring into her reflection, barely seeing the dripping mascara, the hair pulled from twin ponytails. She licked her lips, tasting the iron. It had never bothered her before, the taste was an old familiar friend, but tonight…tonight everything and yet nothing was different. She was Harley Quinn, the Clown to his Joker, and yet never had she felt less like laughing, even in her mania.
She stared critically in the mirror, snorting at her reflection before pulling her lips back in a crooked smile, eerily similar to a china doll’s smirk. The Harlequin Clown. For she supposed she probably did look like a clown today, with her enflamed cheeks, bright red nose, and pale skin, purple and red stripes snaking along her ribs, pink rings around her neck.
She grabbed the washcloth, running it under the cool water, before ringing it out and pressing it against her hot cheeks. She carefully wiped the mascara away, before deciding it was enough. She tossed the cloth to the towel bar, frowning when it caught only to slip. She caught it before it could hit the floor, and she carefully draped it across the bar, lining it up perfectly. She nodded and turned to leave the cramped room, her eye catching the small plant on the windowsill. She hesitated, reaching out and letting her fingertips just barely scrape across the leaves. For a brief a moment, a crazy, insane moment she thought the leaves might have curled against her fingertips. She laughed harshly as she snatched her hand back. Fanciful notions of comfort had never been for her. She flicked off the light and closed the door carefully behind her.
She threw herself across her bed, groaning at the pulling in her ribs. She cursed him for the thousandth time, and she cursed herself even more. She buried her face in the worn pillow, as she lay there in the dark. The hollow ache in her chest only grew with every breath she took, until she was sure it had swallowed her whole, and no one would ever know she had disappeared. And with no one to see, and no one to hear, only one lone plant on the bedside table as her witness, she let the hot tears slide soundlessly down her face.
She slept fitfully, her mind spinning out of control, as she felt herself spiraling. She reached up grasping at air, her fists opening and closing impotently. Her jaw was iron, and she could barely breathe, couldn’t scream, and couldn’t even utter a whimper or even laugh. She couldn’t laugh. Harley Quinn could always laugh in her precious mania. And she reached and reached and reached, and there was nothing there.
********************
She didn’t know when she became aware that she had stopped falling, that she wasn’t laying on the rocky, black bottom of nowhere and nothing. She turned her head, her cheeks no longer enflamed and aching, to rest it against the smooth cushion. She wiggled her arms, stiffening briefly when she realized that she could barely move them. But instead of feeling trapped, she felt warm. Secure. Safe. She didn’t dare open her eyes, knowing it was simply a dream, that this warm, gentle cocoon was something she’d concocted in her delirium, because wasn’t she always delirious? Always high and falling?
“You’re safe.”
She heard the words, felt them pressed tenderly against the flesh of her forehead. She felt the sweet zing travel down her nerves, gliding along her flesh. The hollow ache in her chest, didn’t feel quite so hollow anymore, and she carefully opened her eyes, meeting glistening green eyes spilling over with some sort of emotion, that she knew was far beyond her comprehension. She was daddy’s little monster, and monsters didn’t get second chances, and they didn’t get the chance to love and be loved. Not like this.
She waited for her eyes to focus, before letting her gaze drift over the face hovering over her own, the green eyes and red hair, haloing a face that she had spent too much time memorizing in the past. She was sure she knew it better than her own, would recognize it before she’d recognize her own face.
She coughed and sighed in relief when she felt the glass of cool water pressed against her lips. She drank gratefully, raising her shoulders and tilting her head awkwardly. Once done, she rested her head on the damp pillow again before raising up a moment later to better see her cocoon. She stared in quiet awe at the myriad of dark green vines wrapped gently around her body, beautiful, waxy leaves curling around her limps, pressing against her bruised ribs like some sort of lush kiss.
It was so strangely intimate, so unfamiliar, so frightening in the intensity of the warmth she could feel from the cool leaves. She didn’t know how it was possible, that she could feel so safe, and so free at the same time wrapped so…lovingly…in the vines and leaves.
She finally met Ivy’s gaze again, the gentle smile gracing her plump lips. “H-how…why…why are you here?” She finished lamely as she struggled to sit up. She was reluctant to disturb the vines and leaves, but they gently fell away, pooling around her legs and waist as she pulled herself into a sitting position.
She was so unprepared for the warm hands that carefully, tenderly cupped her cheeks. Something hard and cold broke inside her chest, and she felt the salt burn her eyes, before she choked once letting the tears burn a path down her cheeks.
“Did you think, I didn’t know?” Ivy glanced down into Harley’s face, relieved that she looked better than when she had found her a few hours ago. It had taken much of her strength to will her vines and leaves to produce enough pheromones and minerals to help ease Harley’s pain, help heal the bruising.
She let one hand fall away, to gently stroke one of the vines, smiling at how it moved and curled around her fingers, eagerly pressing against her. She held her hand up, chuckling quietly at Harley’s look of awe as the vine reached out to Harley, just the tip tracing along her nose and cheekbone.
Harley shuddered at the touch that was both warm and cool. She supposed she should have been afraid of Ivy’s power over the plants, but she had known for some time now that Ivy was reluctant to use them against her, had always seemed reluctant to hurt Harley. She didn’t dare think about why. It was incomprehensible. Instead she leaned lightly into the touch, enjoying how it smoothly glided along her skin. She couldn’t resist, and she turned her head, kissing the tip lightly. It recoiled slightly before surging forward and nuzzling against her cheek.
Ivy laughed as Harley blushed. It was rare that the woman ever blushed, for even when she was uncontrollable, she was still controlled by her own sense of discord. She was a paradox, a beautiful dichotomy.
“It likes you,” she stated, smiling teasingly at Harley as she pulled it back, reeled it in and guided it to lay with its brothers and sisters in the nest of leaves.
Harley shrugged self-consciously. No one liked her.
Ivy sighed, knowing that it was time to have this conversation, maybe this time Harley was ready. “They told me,” she stated quietly. “They told me you were in trouble, and so I came.”
Harley’s mouth fell open slightly, as she remembered the plant falling to the floor as Joker screamed and raged at her, throwing furniture and fists in her direction. She remembered touching the plant in the bathroom, the brief moment when she would have bet her own insanity that the plant had answered her touch. She glanced to the left, her gaze falling on the small ivy plant next to her bed, except it was no longer small. It had grown with long, thick vines and large, green leaves. It was these vines and leaves that had wrapped around her, cocooned her, and kept her safe.
She stared hard at Ivy, noticing for the first time, the flickering green lines gracing her face, running down her neck and circling around her collarbones. The lines waved and shimmered, almost as if they were in constant motion, sliding down around Ivy’s arms and legs. They were breathtaking, and Harley reached up, tracing the lines dipping and swirling on Ivy’s face.
“Is this how you control them?”
“Yes. It takes a great deal of energy,” Ivy smiled and held up a hand before Harley could protest. “It’s worth it. You are worth it.” She stared at Harley, refusing to look away, needing Harley to understand the magnitude of her words.
“They called to me, told me you were in trouble. When I entered the house, they were trembling trying to reach you, but they couldn’t. Until now.”
Harley nodded slowly. As unbelievable as it was, it was believable. This was Gotham, the home of Batman and the Joker and the Penguin and Harley and Ivy. She had seen Ivy’s power, but she had never felt it, had never truly been on the receiving end of it.
“Ivy…I don’t…I’m not sure…” she shrugged helplessly as she dropped her gaze, her fingers nervously plucking at the leaves, before she jerked her fingers away, worried she had hurt them.
“No, it’s ok. They aren’t hurt.” She laughed at Harley’s shocked expression. “They can sense your emotions, and they translate them to me. Sometimes it’s kind of murky, and I’m not entirely sure of what is happening, just a general sense.”
“But why would they sense my emotions? Shouldn’t they only sense your emotions? I mean, they are connected to your biology, right?” Harley frowned, confused and tired, too tired to have this conversation that she knew was on the tip of Ivy’s tongue. She stroked one of the leaves, smiling as it curled around her fingers. She closed her eyes, enjoying the way it kissed her skin. She could get used to this. Couldn’t she?
“Yeah, well…about that…” muttered Ivy as she looked away, suddenly embarrassed. She straightened slightly, pulling her hands back into her lap from where they had bracketed Harley’s thighs. “Well, when I grew these plants…” She let her voice trail off.
Harley’s eyes flew open. She had never heard Ivy so unsure before. This woman controlled plants and vegetation. She had wounded Batman, had made the Joker retreat. She was brilliant and just a little bit crazy, and so very beautiful. Harley blinked. That had been unexpected.
She cocked her head, licking her lips, blinking rapidly. She jerked her shoulders and arms, flailing slightly, not knowing what she wanted, but her body betraying her like a marionette, and she grasped Ivy’s hands in her own sweaty ones. She blinked stupidly, not sure why she had done it, just that she had felt the need thrumming through her nerves, humming across the vines, sinking deeply into her flesh.
And she was rewarded for her daring, not with a snarl or a fist, but with a gentle squeeze to her hands, and she stared in quiet wonder as Ivy tangled their fingers together.
“When I grew them, birthed them, really…I did it with the intent of giving them to you, to protect you,” she whispered as she stared down at their clasped hands. “I put all of me in these three plants,” she laughed ruefully. “I was bedridden for weeks, hoping Batman wouldn’t decide to leave his cave and come looking for me.”
“Oh. Oh,” she breathed, the words catching in her throat. She hadn’t known. She never would have guessed. Would have never believed, never dared hope; and even now she wasn’t sure this wasn’t more than a dream, an illusion, or a delusion. This was the unattainable, out of her reach. She pulled her hands back, the cold piercing her chest. This wasn’t for her, had never been for her.
“No, don’t.” Ivy tightened her fingers around Harley’s, not caring that the other woman could hear the pleading in her voice. “Not this time. Please don’t pull away.”
“I don’t deserve this.” She raised their hands, shrugging helplessly, “I’m not good, Ivy. I’ve done things. Such horrible things.” She whispered as she felt the tears lick down her cheeks again.
“You do. You have always deserved better, deserved more. We’ve all done things. We still will.” Ivy laughed, “We are super-villains after all. But this? This is no way to live. This is not love, this is not penance, and there is no redemption if you stay. There is Nothing here.” Ivy shuffled closer, her hips pressing into Harley’s legs. She raised their clasped hands, brought them to her lips, and kissed Harley’s fingers. She barely pressed her lips against the soft skin, just let them rest their as her breath washed gently over their hands. She pulled just enough to raise Harley’s hands to her cheeks, untangling their fingers, and pressing Harley’s palms against her cheeks.
Harley flushed at the tender kiss, her body betraying her again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched so gently, almost reverently. She could barely breathe as her throat tightened around some foreign emotion that threatened to burst free.
She could feel the green swirls pulsing under her palms, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to press her lips against them, taste them, and feel their beautiful warmth against her lips. So she did. Harley Quinn, the Harlequin Clown to the Joker, brilliant and deranged, broken and rebuilt rose to her knees and pressed her lips against Ivy’s cheek.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed against Ivy’s skin, basking in the tingle against her lips as the green shimmered and danced against her lips, beckoning to her, pressing into her mouth. She felt Ivy’s arms wrap around her, felt the vines brush against her skin, the leaves kiss her cheeks and hair. And she was safe and secure. And she believed.
They stayed there for long moments, neither moving, wrapped in each other’s arms, wrapped in a cocoon of trembling vines and leaves. And there was nothing else that mattered except, no one else that mattered. And when they finally reluctantly parted, the vines slipped to the bed, slowly shrinking and retracting until a small plant sat in their place.
Harley picked it up, wrapping her hands around the small pot. She held it up to her face, kissing the leaves before giggling. “How can something so small…”
Ivy smiled, reaching out and tracing one small leaf before leaning into Harley’s side carefully. “This plant…well this one is special…”
“Oh?” Harley turned and looked questioningly at Ivy.
“This one is my heart. And it is yours.” Ivy whispered as she stared at Harley, watching the emotions scatter across the other woman’s face: disbelief and shock, embarrassment, anger, and something that looked suspiciously like hope, before the curves and dips of her face settled into a winsome smile.
“Then I shall keep it forever.” She felt bold and wild as she said it, hope and trepidation lacing each syllable as the words pushed past her lips in a whisper. She hugged the small potted plant to her chest, even though a cold voice in her mind mocked her for her sentimentality. She brutally slammed the door shut on it.
She reached down and carefully pushed herself off the bed, stumbling slightly but quickly regaining her balance as slim but strong hands wrapped lightly around her waist to steady her. She turned and looked down at Ivy, bending down close enough to breathe against her lips. She waited calmly, despite the bird in her chest fluttering madly against the cage of her ribs. And when warm lips pressed into her own, she could have cried in relief.
She was no stranger to kissing, but this…this was lush and bold, gentle and vibrant with promise. She hummed as she pulled back, suddenly ready to leave. She held out her hand, shocked at her own courage, her own audacity to embrace this thing called hope.
Ivy smiled, her blood humming from such a simple kiss that was anything but simple. It tasted like forever. She grasped Harley’s hand letting her pull her to her feet. She wrapped her arm around the shorter woman’s shoulders. “What do you want to bring with you?”
“Just this.” Harley hefted the tiny plant. “Oh, and the one in the bathroom, and the one in the living room,” her eyes widened in realization, and she gasped. “Oh no!” Before hurrying quickly into the living room.
She scrambled across the scattered, ripped cushions and broken furniture, before falling to her knees before the plant. “Oh Ivy,” she felt tears burn her eyes again, and she cursed herself for being so weak and letting a plant affect her so.
“It’s ok. It isn’t hurt. They are tough. Strong. Like you.” Ivy pressed her palm between Harley’s shoulder blades, rubbing soothingly. She set the other plant down that she had retrieved from the bathroom during Harley’s dash to the living room. She carefully scooped the soil back into the pot, carefully tucking the roots back into the soil.
“See, love. It’s fine.” Ivy beamed at Harley as she held up the plant for Harley. She blinked at Harley’s shocked expression. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Love?”
“Yes. Love.” She replied as she gracefully stood with the plant in her hand. She scooped up the other plant, and offered her elbow to Harley. “Come, love. We have a life to live.”
***************************
There is a small, broken house in Gotham.
It’s gaunt and empty, full of shadows and despair.
But Harley and Ivy aren’t there.
But you can find them in the park they built,
among their flowers and trees,
chasing bees
and little orphan children whom they love and call family.