“All right,” Bruce said, his voice slipping into the gravel of the Bat for the first time since he’d seen Selina late last night, “now tell me what happened.”

Selina smiled. “You know, I would have told you anyway. You didn’t need to bring us out here.”

Here was the Atlantic Ocean, over a hundred miles east of Gotham. More specifically, here was the Gatta, the motor yacht he’d purchased for them for occasions just like this one.

Well, maybe not JUST like this one. The circumstances of their arrival had been a bit out of the ordinary.

Last night Selina had paid her first visits to both the Rydbergii Lounge and its competitor, Jenna’s, while Batman was on patrol. He would make his own observations later, but for now he would rely on Selina’s impressions. He needed to know which establishment the criminal element was favoring (although he could make an educated guess), what kind of business the clubs were doing, and which was more likely to survive in the long run.

When Batman had returned from patrol that night, however, he had stopped Selina from speaking just as she was about to describe her night. Instead he’d asked, “Are there any urgent problems at either club that I need to know about?”

“Well, there are urgent problems,” Selina had said, “but not for you right now, no.”

“Good,” he’d replied. “You can tell me about it tomorrow. For now get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

“We do? With what?”

But Bruce hadn’t told her, not even when her questioning became persistent. He’d wanted it to be a surprise. Selina had gone the extra mile for him lately, doing things she really would have preferred not to, simplybecause he had asked. She would have gone to Jenna’s and the Rydbergii on her own for the sake of her curiosity, but just for going shoe shopping with Poison Ivy, she deserved this.

He wanted to keep her in the dark for as long as possible, but Bruce had to tell her that morning. “Pack a bag,” he’d said. “We’re leaving for the marina when you’re ready.”

“The marina? A little public for the Bat-boat, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t about a crime or an investigation. This is about us. Pack as if you’re going on a two-day cruise. Because that’s exactly what we’re doing.”

The excursion itself was a pleasant surprise for her. The boat itself, and his choice of names, was a greater one. But Bruce suspected that what meant most to Selina was that by taking them on a two-day trip, Bruce thought Gotham could live without Batman for a night. Not because Batman had been notified of a League-related emergency or located a criminal who had fled the city, but because the city was a little safer than it used to be.

It was only after they’d dropped anchor that Bruce finally asked for her observations. “This was the least I could do,” he said, “after some of the things I’ve asked from you over the past few weeks.”

“Well, I won’t pretend that the afternoon with Ivy was pure torture,” Selina replied, “but I’d still say I earned it. Even so, Bruce, this boat, and today, all of it, it’s really special. Thank you. I… ” Stuck for words, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, then gave a playful scratch just below the maskline. “So,” she said briskly, ignoring his blush and returning to her seat, “What do you want to hear about first, the Rydbergii or Jenna’s?”

“Since we’re talking about her anyway, fill me in on how Poison Ivy is doing. If she’s managed to make the Rydbergii a success, then I may never have to worry about her giant flytraps ever again.”

Selina grimaced. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t hold out hope that Ivan II will be retired permanently. The Rydbergii was a fiasco. She has virtually no customers.”

“What do you think is keeping them away? Is it her reputation alone, or did you see anything inside the club that could have driven them off?”

“I’m sure her reputation has a lot to do with it. I know I don’t have to remind you of the day we had a drawing room full of Rogues acting like scared parents who just learned a child molester was moving in down the street?”

Bruce grunted. The comparison wasn’t that far off, but he preferred not to remember occasions when he had Rogues for guests.

“And the henchmen and gang members follow our lead,” Selina went on. “The rogues lead, I mean. Besides, what man would drink anything Ivy puts down in front of him?”

“And her – “ His lip twitched. “Management style?”

She hesitated. “You’ve probably never experienced this yourself, but there are these very rare occasions where she makes you feel sorry for her. Last night was one of them. You should have seen the look on her face when I walked through the door. She practically dragged me by both wrists to my table."

“Did she have anything interesting to say?”

“More like what she didn’t say. It took me ten minutes to realize no one had told her about Jenna’s.”

“She didn’t know?”

“Pammy never was the best at picking up on things outside her field of vision,” Selina pointed out. “And I guess none of the staff was brave enough to be the bearer of bad tidings. I let them off the hook and told her. Since, you know, I have claws and a whip and… insurance.”

“And how did she take it?”

“She went to her office and closed the door. According to Dove, she does that every night sooner or later. Now denial, that she’s always been good at.”

Bruce nodded. “So she’s not going to last much longer.”

“I think it’s a race to see what gives out first, the Rydbergii or Ivy. Or Jenna’s, for that matter.”

“Really,” Bruce said thoughtfully.

“You might not think it to look at the place,” Selina explained. “Jenna’s was packed with criminals… and with civilians. They’re trying to cater to both groups, and that can’t work in the long run.”

“I doubt they’re actually catering to the Rogues,” Bruce said. “The club is probably using them to draw in regular Gothamites.”

“And as long as the Rogues don’t realize they’re there to be gawked at, nobody gets hurt,” Selina added. “Of course, the minute somebody gets hurt – and somebody will – the crowds flee and Jenna’s is left with nobody but criminals for customers. And not even Oswald was that successful at making them pay their tab.”

“They won’t have the anti-surveillance measures there that the Penguin had,” Bruce said. “We should be able to keep a relatively close eye on Jenna’s, and make sure that when someone DOES snap, it’s only someone else getting hurt, not getting killed.” He smiled slightly. “What you’ve described sounds like the best-case scenario.”

Selina raised an eyebrow. “A lot of innocent people are partying inside a ticking time bomb, and Ivy is about two weeks away from returning to your at-large list. How is this the best-case scenario?”

“When the Rydbergii fails,” Bruce admitted, “Ivy will have no reason not to resume her old activities. But when that happens, it’ll be a matter of time before she has to relinquish her control over Cobblepot. I didn’t try to stop that before because Ivy’s ‘leadership’ has weakened Cobblepot’s criminal operations, but I’ve never intended to let this continue indefinitely. If circumstances don’t free him naturally, I will eventually have to step in. The Rydbergii’s failure means I won’t have to do so. Either way, when the Penguin does comes back to his senses, he’ll restore the Iceberg Lounge, and if Jenna’s isn’t done by that time, it will be when the Rogues move back to their old haunt. And we’ll be back to the old status quo. All things considered, that IS the best-case scenario.”

“I wonder,” Selina murmured. “I mean, strictly speaking, the old status quo died with Joker, didn’t it? Iceberg or Rydbergii we’re in uncharted waters.”

Bruce would have responded, but it was at that moment that the fish started leaping over the boat.

“This isn’t normal, is it,” Selina observed after twelve dolphins hurdled the Gatta in formation.

“No, it’s Arthur,” Batman grunted. “Damn it. Now, of all times - If the League needed me that badly, they should have just contacted Barbara.”

“Well, it was a nice idea, anyway,” Selina replied.

Aquaman emerged from the ocean a few moments later. “Sorry for the dramatics,” he said, “but I didn’t want to startle anybody.”

“So you thought dolphins performing the final number from A Chorus Line off our port bow was the way to drop in without startling anybody?” Selina asked, with the grin she always gave heroes to show she was unimpressed with their flashy entrance.

“What is it, Arthur?” Batman growled.

“No offense, Bruce, but this has nothing to do with you.” Arthur looked at Selina. “Actually, I’m here for Selina. I may have a job for her.”

Weeds and greenery forced its way underneath the front doors to Jenna's. Climbing upwards, they worked the bolts free from the hinges, and the doors crashed downward. Poison Ivy stormed over them, a look of incredulous rage on her face. Competition? To HER? Hardly open for long, and already the Rydbergii had to waste money and energy on dealing with some pretentious upstart?!

Ivy wasn't happy. The fact that the A-list Rogues had been spotted here, but not at the new Rydbergii Lounge, made her unhappier. At least Selina had visited once, but she'd been here too, Ivy knew, so it wasn't like she could expect any loyalty from Catwoman.

She was going to be happy when she was through here, though.

She snorted as she entered the establishment and saw the walls. "Pandering to your audience a bit much?" she thought.

"Smart move coming while we're still closed. Wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of a crowd."

Ivy's head snapped around.

"And really," Jenna said, dressed casually in jeans and a black sweatshirt. She took in Ivy's clothes. "You do know there are other colors that go with red, right? Oh wait, maybe you don't. Is that why you always wear green, Pammy? To cover up the fact that you know nothing about fashion?"

"Oh, that's good," Ivy retorted. "Dig yourself in a little deeper."

"Ooh, a gardening metaphor. Never saw that coming."

"You're the twit whose name is on the sign?"

Jenna's smile slipped. "As if you don't recognize me."

Ivy blinked. "No, should I?"

"You - you tried to ruin my life!"

"I can hardly believe I only tried. I'm sure I succeeded, whoever you are."

Jenna came closer, which struck Ivy as extraordinarily stupid. She should have kept as much distance as possible between them. "Remember a few years ago? We met at the Iceberg?”

“A lot of people seek out my company. Why would I remember you?” Ivy asked diffidently. Then her eyes narrowed. “Or were you one of those groupies? Perhaps one who presumed to name themselves? Daffodil? Sunflower?”

“Honeysuckle,” Jenna said through gritted teeth.

“Dandelion, perhaps?” Ivy mused, not even hearing Jenna. It was hard remembering them all, she’d tried so hard to forget. “The names are practically meaningless to me. It’s easier to identify women like you by something notably stupid you did. There was the one who believed the cannibal stories in the Post about Croc, and she thought smelling like a corpse flower would make her ‘unappetizing’.”

“I was Honeysuckle, and I only came to you – “

Ivy laughed merrily, no longer even totally aware there was someone else in the room. Looking back over the years, it was easier to find the humor in their idiocies. There was that one girl who thought Ivy was telling her to perform a deviant sex act, not bring her a specialty mixed drink, when she ordered the ninny to get her a “Demon’s Head.” Another had gushed about how pretty the trees looked “when they’re totally covered with vines and flowers,” clearly not understanding that those pretty vines were killing the trees.

“And then there was the time… “ Ivy murmured.

“You’re not even listening to me!” Jenna shrieked. “I CAME to you with some very good ideas for improving your schemes, because obviously you were doing something WRONG if you were losing all the time! I was there to HELP YOU, AND YOU FUCKING BLEW ME OFF!!”

Ivy looked at her for a moment, her eyes becoming slightly wider. “Ohh, you’re that Honeysuckle girl!”

Jenna growled. “If you’d only listened, you would have admitted how clever I was, and how the key piece you’d been missing was having me as - “

"My assistant," Ivy said. Her lips trembled as she fought against a laugh. "You're THAT groupie! Sure, get someone to hire you by telling them how wrong they are. That’s clever all right!"

“A little helpful criticism never hurt anybody," Jenna grumbled.

Ivy finally stopped trying to hold that cackle in. She wiped an eye. “How could I have forgotten you?”

"I don't know," Jenna shot back. "It's not like THAT many people could have wanted to talk to you over the years."

All humor Ivy had found in the situation vanished. "You were arrogant, full of yourself, demanding, and foolish."

"Gee, that doesn't sound like anyone else in this room."

"You had the utter gall to expect me to hire you as some kind of trainee! You didn’t just talk about my supposed flaws, you even gave a five-minute presentation on how you would fix them! Where did you think you were, The Apprentice?"

"My ideas were good!" Jenna retorted. "You were just too proud to admit it!"

"And you were too stupid to give up," Ivy recalled. "You kept harassing me at the Lounge!"

"I wasn't harassing you, I was showing my determination to get one foot in the door!"

"Oh, for - you don't become a henchwench by following the rules in a job-search strategies book!"

Jenna folded her arms and sneered at Ivy. "Yes, you'd rather have a sidekick who’s a total incompetent that doesn’t have a single thought in that empty head of hers!"

As Ivy had thought, Jenna had been quite foolish to get close to her. Because Ivy slapped her.

"You don't talk about Harley that way to my face," Ivy said icily, thinking unhappily of a woman on the other side of town still drowning in grief. "And a nobody like you doesn't dare challenge someone of my stature. I want this club shut down, and I want you out of Gotham. Tomorrow."

Jenna held a hand to her cheek, but her eyes weren't afraid. "No."

"No?!"

"You had me blackballed from the Iceberg.”

“I did no such thing. You can’t behave like that and expect the management to keep letting you in the door.”

“Then you found where I lived. It looked like a mold and mildew bomb went off when I got home that night. Everything I owned was ruined, and I had to pay the landlord for cleaning the place!"

Ivy looked at her blankly. “I can’t imagine why I would have done such a thing. I have better things to do with my time than target clinging fools like yourself. Perhaps one of my plants acted on its own initiative. They’re so good at sensing the source of my displeasure.”

“They’ve probably had practice. You were always one of those women who’s never happy with anything.”

"Whatever happened to your apartment,” Ivy hissed, “I can do much worse to you the second time around. Just ask Roxy Rocket."

Jenna shook her head and smiled. "No, Pammy. You can't do anything to me at all."

Ivy's hand lashed out and grabbed the front of Jenna's sweater. "And why not?"

"Because you do anything to me or this club, and my investors and I will press charges and slap you with a civil suit so fast, you won't even have time to call your lawyer before they're shipping you off to Arkham or prison," Jenna said smugly. "Try running the Rydbergii from inside a cell. God, when I found out that you were so clueless, so stupid as to think you could run a nightclub? That's when I knew you were handing me a stick to beat you with."

Ivy didn't let go of Jenna, and her face hardened.

"Go ahead, hit me again," Jenna dared her. "I'll bring you up on assault charges in an hour." She smiled. "It sucks being a law-abiding citizen, doesn't it? You can't just throw your weight and lousy personality around and not pay the consequences. Like being inside Arkham while whatever you've done to Oswald Cobblepot wears off."

"I haven't—” Ivy just barely managed to control her surprise. That wasn't something she'd thought about. If she was away from Penguin for more than a few days, a week tops, he'd come to his senses, and all her work would be undone in an instant. No one seemed to care about what she'd done to Oswald, but if he started screaming to the press and the police that she'd drugged and brainwashed him, they'd have to.

She let go of Jenna.

"You can go now," Jenna said, pleased. "Just remember - you do anything to me or my place, and no matter how clever you think you've been, they'll know it was you. The Batman, now - he'll be sure to find out what that horrible Poison Ivy has done to that poor defenseless businesswoman."

Ivy was so infuriated by Jenna's arrogance that she almost couldn't breathe. She really wanted to go this route? "You think I can't touch you, but I can," she promised Jenna. "I'll beat you in the worst way you can imagine. The Rydbergii is going to succeed while your little hole-in-the-wall sinks like a stone!"

Jenna just shook her head. "After all this time, and you still think you can make something happen by wishing it so."

"That wasn't a wish. That was a promise."

Talia sat on the plane and wondered, as she often had in the past, how she had gotten here.

She had boarded a plane in Gotham, one of a series of flights that would take her to her father’s home in Outer Mongolia. The final few days in Gotham had been a nightmare. There had been the dirty looks and snide remarks from every other stranger who crossed her path, not to mention the contemptuous dismissal by her Beloved when she had given him a broken and bankruptedLioncorp as a gift (as she’d planned from the moment she assumed control of the company, of course).

The fitting conclusion had been a drunken sexual encounter with one of Beloved’s enemies, a man so incompetent that he TOLD the police whom he was going to rob next! (How this man had become one of the most respected and feared criminals in Gotham was beyond her.)

By then she had become so emotionally overwhelmed that her only option was to leave the cursed city behind her, return home, go to her father, and allow him to send her to some place where she could be useful to him, and not have to think about what happened in Gotham.

And everything had gone according to plan until her father told her that he needed her in… Gotham.

There had been other times where her father had sent her on missions that had made no sense to her at all, but then he would explain and she would finally understand. That was not the case this time. Oh certainly, she understood WHY he wanted her go to Gotham. She just didn’t understand how this could possibly have happened to her.

While officially Ra’s al-Ghul had allowed Gr’oriBr’di to remain in charge of his Gotham operations in the wake of twenty members of DEMON being sent to prison for an unauthorized assassination, privately he wasn’t entirely satisfied with Gr’oriBr’di’s vague explanation that he had been “greened.” Being under the influence of narcotics was hardly an excuse! Therefore, he wished for his daughter to go to Gotham, seduce Gr’oriBr’di, and learn the real reason why this debacle had occurred. If the real reason wasn’t good enough – well, it was no coincidence that Il’Nar was a trained assassin.

Talia had been so dumbfounded that she’d fallen back on her instinctive response, an obedient acceptance of his wishes and a quick retreat from his presence. It was not until after she’d boarded his private plane that she’d begun to process what had happened to her. She had returned home, looking for solace and guidance from her father… and he had shipped her back to Gotham to offer some lackey her body?

She had devoted years of her life to the pursuit of her Beloved, the greatest man in Gotham and second only to her father in the whole world. But now that she had suffered her latest, most final rejection, her father’s response was to send her back to HIS city and make one of his servants there her new target. He might as well have asked her to sleep with Ulstarn.

This mental image was like a splash of cold water in her face… or perhaps a torrent from a fire hose in her eye. Revolted, Talia asked herself for the first time – did she really want to do as her father had asked her? And if not, would she do it anyway?

She swallowed. No, she did not want to whore herself to this man who had exercised such poor judgment as to share his base of operations with that pathetic Riddler! And while she had denied her desires in the past to obey her father, she could not bring herself to do it here. Not in Gotham, not with this man who was not Beloved. And not mere days after she had slept with another man not because her father commanded her to, but because she had wanted to. All right, so she’d been drunk at the time and her choice of partners had been less than wise, but this did not change the fact that the experience itself had been new and exciting and not unpleasant.

If Talia did what her father had asked, she might never have that kind of experience again.

But if she refused her father’s command, she might never be able to return to him. What then? What were her other options? She supposed she could try to make it on her own, but frankly the idea terrified her. She had not been brought up that way. She had been raised to find the proper man, support him, and follow his wishes.

That, then, was her only choice. Talia would find a new protector. The only problem with that was she would need to limit her search to the city of Gotham. Sooner or later her father would send men after her. She would be safest in Gotham, an object of such superstitious dread for almost everyone in DEMON that few would dare to look for her there. But who could she find there? Beloved clearly was out, as long as that wicked she-creature had him under her spell. Gr’oriBr’di would have been an intriguing option – she couldn’t really fault him for his ties to the Riddler, not when she’d slept with the man – if it wasn’t for the fact that he was the man her father told her to seduce. So who else was there?

When her plane landed in Gotham, she still didn’t know.

When Ivy's hour was up and she left Harley's cell, she found Dr. Bartholomew waiting for her. She'd been planning to speak with him anyway, preferably in his office where she might indulge in raising her voice a bit. Out here in the hallway, however, she didn't have that luxury. As someone pretending to be an upstanding businesswoman and pillar of the community hoping to generate some goodwill in the wake of the Rydbergii's - slow start, Ivy didn't want to be seen as a hysterical, overemotional harridan.

Not being able to vent was a petty frustration, but on top of what had already been an awful day, it grated on her tattered nerves. "Doctor," she snapped, limiting herself to one small, and very menacing, step forward. "Why isn't she getting better? How can you expect your patients to stop escaping if your track record is like this?"

Dr. Bartholomew adjusted his collar. "Psychiatry isn't about short-term solutions, Ivy. You know this yourself. It's a long-term process where patients gradually—”

"Save me the textbook answer," Ivy hissed. "Yes, gradually, but she's gradually getting worse! When's the last time she wasn't in a padded cell, Doctor? When's the last time she wasn't in a straitjacket? Gaia, she can't be that much of a danger to herself!"

"It's a precaution. She's becoming increasingly erratic. That may even be a good sign, it's an improvement on persistent catatonia."

"You're just grasping at straws, Doctor," Ivy said. "Doesn't the situation call for a change in her treatment?"

"I realize you care about her, but her doctors are a better judge of what is appropriate for her at this time. There's even been talk," he said calmly, "of discontinuing your visitation rights. Clearly, if she's getting worse as you say, you're not helping her."

A month ago, Ivy would have exploded at the suggestion, but now she just looked at him and wondered if that would be such a bad thing.

That morning had been bad. Recently the Lounge's already pitiful nightly receipts had been sliced in half, and Ivy had no idea why until Selina had enlightened her about the opening of "Jenna's". Ivy had been clinging fiercely to the premise that given enough time, the customers would return because they had no other option. She'd been cruelly disabused of that notion, however.

And then Jenna had thrown it in Ivy's face that she had few responses available to her that wouldn't get her thrown in jail. Ivy had stormed out promising that the Rydbergii would end up beating the pants off Jenna's, but she could admit later that she had absolutely no idea how she was going to accomplish that.

Not knowing where else to go, she's gone to Arkham to see Harley. She couldn't say why. She couldn't say why the last dozen times either. Spending time with Harley - severely depressed, monosyllabic, self-loathing Harley - always left her feeling uneasy, drained, and helpless. Maybe she just hoped that the next visit would finally be the one where Harley smiled and told her she'd succeed. Maybe that was why she'd been going more than ever. Because she had no one else to go to.

But this was something Ivy would never admit to.

"I have to keep coming. No one else cares. I'm sure she has no other visitors. I'm all she has. If I don't look out for her, who will?" She managed not to choke on the irony of that statement.

Leland looked at her more closely. "Are you all right, Pamela?You've been looking tired. You know, if you ever need to talk—”

She cut him off, laughing sardonically. "Oh yes, doctor, I'm sure you would love to get me back on your couch again." She rubbed her eyes. Damn it, she was standing in the middle of Arkham Asylum voluntarily and being pitied by the likes of "Doctor Bart". What had happened to her life? "I have to use the ladies' room."

"Oh. Well, I can have—”

"Trust me, I know where it is," she snarled. "I just have something in my eye." Turning her back on him, she marched off to the nearest rest room.

Ivy stopped midway, however, and leaned against the wall. She suddenly felt so weary. No, she felt old. She never felt old. Goddesses didn’t GET old. So again she asked herself what had become a very good question: what had happened to her life? How had she allowed this to happen?

Well, there was a perfectly obvious answer to that question, but she didn’t want to think it. She would NEVER have any regrets about the night Joker died. It was a red-letter day, a glorious event that would be enshrined in sonnets and ballads one day. A hideous weed had been uprooted from the mortal coil, and it had been long overdue. That night Harley was freed forever from the Joker’s abuse, and Ivy was doubly blessed when an enormous money-making opportunity fell into her lap.

All because Harley gave the word, and Ivy didn’t try to stop it. How appropriate had that been? The most successful moment of their partnership!

So Ivy refused to consider the notion that so many of the bad things in her life now stemmed from that glorious day. The things that weighed her down, tired her out, and oppressed her soul were due to outside agents, and through no fault of her own! That bitch Jenna was ruining her club, forcing her to devote all her time to the business and none to protecting the plants! Harley’s doctors were failing at their jobs!

None of this was her fault!

Ivy put a hand to her face and found, to her displeasure, that her mascara was running. Why did she come here when seeing Harley made her sad?

So Ivy resumed her progress toward the ladies’ room. At her destination, however, she discovered a most unusual obstacle.

The entrance was completely covered in ice.

Staring in disbelief, Ivy tentatively knocked on the ice. It was real, it was thick, it was…

Victor.

Her rational thought process shut down. An ocean of bottled-up rage had had enough. She didn't know why Fries had become the latest person to shit on her life. She didn't care. There couldn't be a reason good enough to save him from her wrath. Ivy spun and ran down the hall like the Bat himself was after her. Shocked faces barely registered as she charged towards the specially refrigerated cell of Mr. Freeze, her face a mask of fury.

Ivy finally skidded to a stop outside his cell. Fries was sitting to one side, doing nothing. It figured, he was such a boring, lifeless husk of a man! And she was supposed to be vibrant, full of life! How the fuck did she feel as bad as he looked?

Just for that, he deserved to die like any other man did. He looked up at her, surprised. "Ivy?"

"Victor," she said sweetly. "Wait right there. I'm coming in."

"Er, perhaps there's something I could help you with without you having to do that?"

"Only if you can come out here so I can strangle you."

Victor had the nerve to act befuddled, Ivy saw, as if he didn't know why she was there! "I apologize for not visiting your new Lounge yet," he said uneasily, "but I've been stuck in here, you see, and—”

And now he was taunting her with her lack of customers! Ivy let loose a shriek of fury and jabbed a finger in his direction. "You froze the door to the ladies' room solid!"

Ivy could almost hear crickets chirping as Victor stared at her.

"I did what?" he finally asked, his lip twitching.

"I don't know how you knew I'd be going there after I left Harley, but I don't deserve your petty little pranks… and… " Ivy started losing steam as the words coming out of her mouth even sounded silly to her.

"There's a problem with the vents piping coolant into my cell," Victor explained calmly - much more calmly than her. "There's a leak somewhere, and I am told there are random patches of ice and frost all over the asylum. What you are describing is no more than a freak coincidence. It has nothing to do with you." The look in his eyes suggested he could have added something more, but chose not to.

Ivy became aware that there were in fact a few glistening spots along the floor and the ceiling of the corridor. She also became quite mortifyingly aware of the employees and patients staring at her. "I suppose that makes sense," she admitted grudgingly.

"So you won't be strangling me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't push it, Victor."

"My apologies. I'm told you're here more often as a visitor now than you were as a patient."

Ivy snorted. "Hardly. I only pay Harley an occasional visit. Although I can't imagine why I bother. She's never herself any longer."

Victor nodded somberly. "She lost the one she loved, Ivy. I have - some idea of how difficult that can be."

"Please. From what I hear, at least Nora was a loving spouse. The Joker was an abusive animal. She should have gotten over him long ago."

"That's irrelevant. All that matters is how SHE felt for HIM. And we both know how strong that was." He paused. "You're not seriously considering ending your visits?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Ivy asked defensively. "I always feel worse when I leave than I did when I arrived. And she never gets any better. At this rate, I'll end up as depressed as she is!" Her shoulders suddenly felt lighter. It seemed so obvious. Instead of always asking herself why she kept coming back, why not just end it? Who cared why? Sooner or later she had to get better, and since Ivy's visits evidently weren't making any difference, why go on torturing herself?

"Ivy," Victor replied, "it shouldn't be about what makes you feel better. It should be about what makes HER feel better."

"Clearly I'm not doing that."

"Have you considered what she'd be like if you weren't seeing her? With the Joker gone, you're the only thing left from her life that ever mattered to her. If she loses you too, what would she have left to live for?" Victor sighed. "I have no special fondness for my fellow Rogues, but I wouldn't wish my life on any of them. Would you wish mine on her?"

Ivy didn't have a response to that. Of course she wouldn't, but why should she still be compelled to punish herself like this?

Not getting an answer from her, Victor shrugged and retreated into the back of his cell. Ivy stared at his back for a moment before turning away and heading toward the exit.

She'd come back one more time. Just to say goodbye. But that was it.

     To be continued…