Chapter Text
Ivy’s first day at Floronic, Dr. Jason Woodrue’s self-ordained research center in Boston, was…eventful.
In contrast, her first night in Boston was anything but notable. Her flight came in on time, her hotel was fine, and she was able to enjoy a four-course vegetarian buffet for dinner before her official “Welcome to the Group” orientation the following morning.
Late that evening, Jason had invited her out for a drink, which she hastily, but respectfully, declined. Not only was she not a fan of drinking when she had responsibilities to tend to the next day, but her boss gave her the creeps. His lecherous gazes and pompous tone were a lot harder to pick up on during their phone calls.
In the morning, Ivy had woken up bright and early out of habit. When she scanned her suite and found no signs of flora, she embarrassingly remembered she had no reason to schedule in extra time to take care of plants. Instead, she used those spare minutes to go for a quick run in a nearby garden. It almost was like a smaller version of Robinson Park by her apartment and it put her at ease going forward into a day filled with mind-numbingly boring work that, once again, she could be doing from the comfort of her own home.
Although, as soon as she went through Floronic’s orientation, she did silently admit that their technology and resources far surpassed anything she would ever find in uptown Gotham.
After becoming acquainted with the facility, Ivy was led to her own lab and office and she effectively shut out the rest of the outside world by locking the door behind her. She could be forced to travel to Boston, but she couldn’t be forced to talk to anyone she didn’t want to–namely, a certain Jason Woodrue and his merry band of assholes.
The first few hours of her research went averagely well. She was spending the time organizing blood samples, mixing together her successful formula for the immunity serum, infusing said blood with said serum, and repeating until she had run out of samples and could put in a request for living subjects. Based on how tedious this work was, she estimated that wouldn’t happen for another week. As far as she knew, she could fly back and forth from Boston to Gotham however many times she saw fit–thus, she would never be spending more than three days at a time away from her babies back home. In fact, she already had her flight home booked for tomorrow afternoon.
When her work became second-nature after the third consecutive hour, Ivy’s mind had time to wander to other things. More specifically, to other people. Ivy could not shake the interaction she had with Harley the previous day. There was something about the bubbly, bright, woman that captivated Ivy’s attention and had her begging for more. Of course, it didn’t help that Harley was beautiful and incredibly easy on the eyes.
It wasn’t entirely convenient for Ivy to trust people–and Harley had yet to reach that full potential–but she was already significantly more comfortable entrusting her plants to Harley than she thought she would be. Thinking about the care with which Harley treated the ones she interacted with during the training made that odd sensation return to the pit of Ivy’s stomach. It was the same feeling that caused her to impulsively reach out and fix Harley’s glasses. Who does that?
“Shit,” Ivy’s distracted transgression caused her to spill some of her serum on the workbench. Rolling her eyes, she hastily cleaned it up before anyone had a chance to walk by her lab and see.
Taking this clumsy accident as a sign that her full focus had severely drained, Ivy wrapped up her work and organized the station as best she could and started the journey back to her room.
**************
Ivy intensely flipped her phone around in her hands, constantly pressing the power button on and off. The moment she stepped foot into her hotel room, Harley had texted a selfie of her in a silly pose with Mendel the tomato plant–Ivy did not fail to notice Harley’s decision to refer to him as ‘Sprout.’ Almost immediately, she fired back a reply that may have been an attempt to flirt. When she got no response, she started internally chastising herself for such a rash decision.
Of course Harley isn’t going to respond to that, Pamela. You creep.
Some basic explanations for why Harley was not responding clouded Ivy’s brain. Maybe she was taking her responsibilities seriously and only allowed herself one text a day while she was on the job. Maybe she suddenly dropped her phone off of Ivy’s balcony. Maybe someone had broken into the apartment and tied Harley up so she couldn’t use her hands. Maybe her phone combusted.
“Get a grip ,” Ivy covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes. She had never acted this irrationally before. Most of the time, she couldn’t care less if someone was not receptive to her communication because she more than likely did not want to be communicating in the first place.
But something felt different about Harley’s text. When her phone had buzzed to announce the message’s arrival, Ivy felt a fluttering in her chest. Rather than take a few extra moments to carefully craft a response, she sent off the first reaction that came to her brain, which was undoubtedly influenced by the aforementioned fluttering.
Before she could send herself down a spiral of self-reflection, Ivy’s phone was buzzing yet again. Her heart started beating rapidly–she would analyze that later–picturing Harley’s name on the screen. As soon as the woman had left the apartment, Ivy had immediately put her contact information in her phone with the red and black diamond emojis.
To her dismay, the identity of the caller was Dr. Woodrue. Ivy groaned as she swiped the accept button.
“Hello?”
“Why are you flying out tomorrow?” He spared no time skipping the pleasantries. His tone was a lot edgier than it was when he had told Ivy she would need to start coming to Boston. Ivy suddenly remembered that because all flights were paid for by the company, it was inevitable that the research board would have a hand in overseeing the financial transactions.
“Because I have things I need to check on at home.” Ivy didn’t feel like specifying. Rather, she knew Jason wouldn’t accept “Because I need to be there with my plants” for an answer.
“I thought I told you to figure that out.” He was certainly getting a lot more ballsy on the phone. Ivy’s emotions were already tense, and he wasn’t helping.
“You can’t seriously have expected me to get everything in order when you gave me such a short turnaround time?”
“I expect you to put your work and this research group first. Especially when I stuck my neck out to get you here.” He was not pulling the victim card. Ivy was speechless.
“You told me that I could take as much time as I needed. That’s what I’m doing,” Ivy had put the phone on the edge of her bed and was now angrily pacing her hotel room. “I can’t produce great work if I’m anxious about my affairs at home.” She heard him take a deep breath.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I can’t believe I just acted out like that.” Somehow she didn’t believe him.
“Can you at least come back to the lab?” He continued. His voice had frighteningly shifted from cold and harsh to soft and vulnerable. “There’s something I’ve been working on that I want you to see.” Ivy rolled her eyes; how she wished he could see that.
“Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She pressed the end button before he had a chance to respond and started getting dressed in lab-appropriate attire. Wistfully, she checked her notification center one last time in case a certain plant-sitter had sent another text.
Exactly twenty minutes later, Ivy was knocking on Dr. Woodrue’s lab door. A muffled response gave her all the indication she needed to walk in, even though she couldn’t fully understand what was said.
“Jason, I hope–” she froze when she saw him hunched over a work station, a regulation needle lodged into the crook of his elbow.
“Pam!” He jumped in shock, immediately withdrawing the needle and slamming it away inside a drawer. He quickly rolled down his sleeves and pretended as if he was just straightening out his clothes.
“What–?” she narrowed her eyes, still holding onto the door handle.
“Oh, that? That was nothing. I noticed some of my equipment was dirty earlier and I was just double checking that I had cleaned everything properly.”
“Uh-huh,” Ivy was in disbelief. There was no use arguing with him, but she knew what she saw. “So, what did you need me in here for?” As she asked the question, she noticed Jason stealthily slide a stack of papers into the same drawer he had discarded the needle. Something was definitely not right about what he was doing.
“Yes!” He came over and placed both hands on Ivy’s shoulders, his face lit up. She did not like the movement at all. “I took a peek at some of your work earlier and wanted to take some samples for myself.” Ivy ignored the irritation creeping up her spine.
“I know your investigation is trying to make a serum that would make blood immune to plant toxin.” Jason brought Ivy over to another workbench that had several uncapped vials standing up, each one containing liquid that was glowing a neon yellow. Next to the glass containers was a medium-sized plant, half of its leaves brown and wilted.
“What if,” he dipped a syringe into one of the test tubes, collecting a string of serum. “We could just make the plants themselves non-poisonous?” He dispensed the liquid over some healthy leaves, which immediately wrinkled. He frowned irritably at the plant.
“If you can perfect that, there’s no need to mess with someone’s natural blood chemistry.” He finished, disregarding the failed result. Ivy thought that was an odd statement, considering seconds ago she saw him injecting something into himself.
“Plants need their poison, though. Protection against predators?” She knew instantly his idea would fail.
“That’s why I borrowed some of the blood samples you had,” Jason started to explain once again, pointing to several petri dishes that each contained quarter-size drops of blood. “You just make the plants recognize human blood biochemistry, then their poison doesn’t affect us.”
“Jason, you do realize that’s exactly my thesis. You just reversed the variables.” Ivy was quickly trying to think of any excuse she could to leave his workroom and go back to her own lab.
“Contract,” he simply winked, reminding her that her ideas were technically company property until she was able to patent her research or get the results on the market.
She half-heartedly watched as he continued to collect small amounts of different serums and diffuse them onto various leaflets–each part of the plant shriveling after its respective dose. Instead of actually paying attention to his consistent failed trials, her mind wandered to when she had just entered the room and saw him injecting himself with something. In the milliseconds she had to observe, she had noticed he was straining, almost as if the needle was administering a sort of invisible pressure. It was larger than what she often used to experiment on plants, but smaller than a normal syringe that could give any typical vaccine. She couldn’t shake the crazed look in his eyes when he realized she had entered the room, and she wasn’t sure if it was caused by the injection or the fact that he was doing something he didn’t want anyone to know about.
“I’m gonna go,” Ivy stated matter-of-factly. Jason barely acknowledged her as he continued to fumble his experiments. When he was focused on a task, barely anything could shake his concentration. Ivy used this characteristic to her advantage as she backed up towards the bench he was standing near when she first arrived. Following her memory, she slyly grabbed the papers that were hidden in haste and stuffed them in the side of her coat.
Ivy fled the room without looking back.
*************
The journey back to the hotel was more aggravating than it should have been. That could have been because Ivy should have avoided that second trip to the research lab in the first place. Her thoughts oscillated between cursing Jason for his shitty leadership skills and interrogating his needlework as she walked the peaceful, gardened path to her room. If there was anything that could help her control her emotions, it was being surrounded by nature.
Thinking about plants led Ivy to think about her plants which led her to think about Harley. It had been hours since Ivy’s last text, which still sat waiting for a response. When she was in the comfort and isolation of her room, another moment of impulsivity resulted in her pressing the call button.
Shitfuckpisscakesofadick
She slapped a hand over her mouth as the dial tone rang out, in disbelief that she had just done what she did. It was too late to hang up now, so she had to think of an excuse for why she called.
Harley’s cheerful voice came through the speaker in greeting and Ivy instantly felt that confusing feeling in her stomach again. When she returned the salutation, she tried to sound a lot more confident than she felt. Then, she attempted to casually work in a question about Harley’s new friend, Sprout. They fell into a short rhythm of playful banter, which put Ivy at ease. Even though she had just met the woman, she had to admit that Harley had a talent for making someone feel welcome.
“Anyway, I wanted to check in. See how you’re–how the plants are doing.” Of course she had to Freudian slip this conversation. Harley didn’t say anything, but Ivy sensed that she noticed the mess up. But everything carried on like normal.
“I named almost all of your plants,” Harley ecstatically rambled. “There are a few I have to think of names for, but so far I have John, Ringo, Paul, George, Po, Waylon, Star…” and she continued until all the names she remembered were revealed.
“Alright, alright, you are creative, I’ll give you that,” Ivy was laughing easily.
“Thank you for finally recognizing it,” there was an audible smirk to Harley’s statement and Ivy could just imagine her doing a curtsy on the other end. The next several minutes of conversation were dedicated to Harley asking Ivy about her day at work and the kind of research she was conducting. Although bitter memories of Jason’s behavior were trying to push to the forefront of her thoughts, Ivy was too touched by Harley’s genuine interest to care. In return, she graciously told Harley some of the best local coffee shops and restaurants by her apartment and all the secrets of Robinson.
“Let me guess your favorite color,” Harley had insisted on asking Ivy useless trivia information, but Ivy felt obligated to entertain the idea. Oddly enough, she wasn’t hating it.
“There’s no way you get this wrong,” Ivy snorted, glancing at her green socks that were spilling out of her green duffel bag that was sitting next to her green jacket. Harley was probably confirming her answer with the literal greenery flooding the apartment.
“Green,” Harley said confidently. Ivy made a ding ding noise like a winner’s bell. “Now you guess mine.”
Ivy’s heart seized in panic. Harley so easily knew such a silly detail about Ivy that she was worried an inability to reciprocate would make Harley upset. She fought to remember any detail Harley could have given that would hint at her favorite color. They talked about food, pets, favorite television binges, but nothing that would allude to colors . Ivy thought back to their first time meeting–Harley was wearing a red turtleneck, black jeans, and heeled boots with red accents. Could it be?
“Red?” Ivy questioned tentatively. She had to hold the phone away from her ear during the high-pitched squeal that emerged from the other end.
“We’re like Christmas!” Harley exclaimed. Ivy smiled fondly, realizing that, yes, their favorite colors did make Christmas’s most popular colors. She barely had time to get her bearings after reeling from that unexpected question before Harley had switched topics.
“I still have to move your plants to their special beds, so can we switch to FaceTime so you can join the chore?” Harley was already sending the FaceTime request to Ivy’s phone, who had no choice but to accept. As the cameras connected, Ivy noticed she was being settled against what seemed like a windowsill so Harley could stand and move plants.
Harley looked so effortlessly beautiful. She was wearing yet another red shirt–a tank top this time–that was cropped just enough so Ivy could make out the taut lines of her stomach. Her hair was secured in a loose bun with a claw clip, with a few strands falling along her cheeks. Ivy was trying really hard not to stare or be gross, but it was hard. She hoped Harley hadn’t noticed.
“When did you start collecting plants?” Harley’s eager voice broke the silence, tinged with curiosity like always. Ivy was beginning to feel significantly more comfortable around the other woman, a feeling that was substantially aided by the fact that Harley was never disingenuous about her questions.
“My mother gave me my first plant when I was nine. A ficus,” Ivy recalled the dismal memory. Her growing stashes of plants were the best part about her childhood, a moment of peace in a sea of chaos. Harley didn’t need to know those details–yet. “Every year for my birthday, I received another plant if I was able to take care of the previous ones. When I was old enough to be responsible for my own money, I became addicted to buying them. I-I couldn’t help myself. They were comforting and I loved watching them grow and get strong. Pretty quickly, I realized I had a talent for botany.” Ivy tucked some hair behind her ear, feeling slightly embarrassed at such a personal admission.
“Is that how you decided you wanted to go into research?” Harley had paused her chore, a plant pot still in her hand, and was staring through the camera in awe. Ivy nodded and Harley resumed her task. “I think that’s so cool.” Ivy barely heard Harley’s compliment, so she couldn’t tell if Harley had meant her to or not; nonetheless, it made Ivy feel appreciated and respected that someone thought her passion was worthwhile. Harley’s praise was the exact opposite of her mother’s harsh criticism and constant threats to take away Ivy’s potted friends.
As Harley was finishing up, Ivy started mixing ingredients she had brought for her organic, homemade face masks. Normally, she couldn’t fathom letting someone into a routine in her life that was so personal and frequent, but the warning bells that usually stopped her from opening up too much weren’t sounding off now.
After applying the first layer, a stretch of silence alerted Ivy’s attention and caused her to turn back to the phone. Harley must have had the phone just resting in her hand, because Ivy was staring at the underside of her jaw, her lips downturned and her eyebrows furrowed. If Ivy didn’t know any better, she would say Harley looked scared.
“Everything okay?” When Harley glanced down at Ivy’s questioning, it was a motion that was anything but okay. Ivy had a sudden urge in her stomach that wanted her to reach through the phone and comfort Harley.
“Would it be okay if I slept on the couch tonight?” Harley seemed nervous asking, especially after she looked like she had seen a ghost and was being oddly reserved.
“Of course you can stay,” Ivy walked Harley through directions on where everything was located for her convenience and tried again to understand what had caused her to suddenly act so shocked. Somehow, Harley’s insistence that she was just scared of the dark didn’t seem like the full story; but it wasn’t Ivy’s place to push.
“That’s amazing, thank you,” Harley seemed breathless. Ivy was growing concerned with how quickly her demeanor had changed. “I’ll let you go, Red.”
Ivy’s eyebrow quirked at the nickname. Was it just a coincidence that this new moniker for her was also Harley’s favorite color? Her mind was stirring with questions as they hung up the phone.
As much as Harley’s behavior was upsetting, Ivy recognized that it was probably for the best that Harley was staying the night. Ivy looked up her address after Harley gave her some initial identifying information and she was not currently residing in the nicest parts of Gotham. Even if there wasn’t a specific reason that Harley had not wanted to go home, Ivy couldn’t have imagined that she wouldn’t have at least offered her couch up whenever Harley needed it.
She also remembered that Harley only had afternoon work tomorrow. And her flight was scheduled to land early in the afternoon. The realization that they would most likely both be in Ivy’s apartment together for the second time made her heart start beating rapidly.
A larger typhoon of emotions swirled around in her head. Harley made her feel so relaxed and non-judged; it was very easy to talk with her. On the other hand, a growing sense of dread and nausea started to encroach in her chest. Ivy had never felt the need to rely on another person before, let alone felt the need to even get close to someone. Not only did she not have experience in showing someone love and letting them love her in return, but Ivy didn’t even know if she was capable of forming strong relationships with anyone. The thought scared her enough that she was perfectly content not pursuing anything she didn’t know how to handle. Her decision was easily compounded by the fact that she was always making split-second decisions that sent her head spinning.
And that was why she told herself that once she woke up in the morning, Harley Quinzel would simply be a professional acquaintance from now on.