Chapter Text
It became a sort-of tradition after that first Valentine’s day.
On Saturday nights, when the newbie guards were on the clock because the older ones got the better schedules, Dr. Quinzel would appear with some sort of high fructose corn syrup-y shit from the employee vending machine and a movie to recount.
Ivy sat upright on her bed when the glass door slid open. “Wait, really? Don’t you have like, a date or something better to do?”
Dr. Quinzel pouted but entered regardless. “Okay, this is supposed to make you feel better about being trapped in this shithole, not make me feel like ass about my fucking disaster of a social life.” She tossed her the packet of Oreos. “So do you want to hear the heartwarming tale of a little pig named Babe in the big city or not?”
Don’t be such a cunt, Ivy reminded herself, slowly learning to accept the doctor’s endearingly persistent attempts at friendship. She scooted over to make room. “Shit, sorry. Yeah, let’s fucking do this.”
Dr. Quinzel had a very... specific taste in movies. And while grateful, after a few weeks of detailing each entry in the Air Bud cinematic universe, Ivy could only take so much.
“Would you be open to requests? The only thing they let us watch in here is whatever the guards put on the TV and you know those assholes have the shittiest taste. I didn’t even know they still air The Man Show, for fuck’s sake.”
Dr. Quizel chewed thoughtfully on the Twizzler that hung from her mouth, kicked off her shoes, and crossed her stockinged-legs on Ivy's cot. “Sure. Shoot.”
“Well... I've heard really good things about the Phantom Thread but the Batman threw me in here before I got the chance to see it…” but then a wave of shyness overtook her and she busied herself with inspecting the hem of her orange jumpsuit. “I don't know... only if you have time.”
Dr. Quinzel chomped clean through the candy and used the dangling half to bop Ivy on the forehead. “Duh. For you? I got time.”
And then Ivy learned to look forward to Dr. Quinzel's visits, despite the nagging voice in the back of her head warning her to not get too accustomed to her kindness.
The week after she placed her request was particularly shitty; Ivy may have had a little slip up that got her sent to solitary. That guard was asking for it though—following her into the shower like that—and so she didn't feel all that bad watching his coagulated blood swirl down the drain, though it did mean she did not attend her usual sessions with Dr. Quinzel. By the time Saturday rolled around, Ivy was eager for the social interaction in a way that was foreign for the misanthrope. And while she didn't have access to a clock, it did seem later than usual based on the screams down the hall quieting as the night wore on. She was about to give up hope of the doctor making their unspoken appointment when the door slid open and a harried Dr. Quinzel rushed into the room.
“Okay, don't hate me,” she gushed, standing with her hands behind her back.
I could never, Ivy thought but she quickly pushed that aside. “What?” she asked instead, sounding much more like a normal human woman.
Dr. Quinzel kept her back glued to the door. “I tried with that movie, I really did, but Ivy—oh my god—that was the most boringest shit ever. I fell asleep like three times within the first twenty minutes. I'msosososorry,” she said all in a rush.
Her puppy dog eyes were irresistible and Ivy had the insane urge to fold her up and stash her in a pocket for safekeeping. “I literally could not care less.” She smiled and it drew forth one to match from Dr. Quinzel. “I'm just really glad you're here.”
A new look flashed over Dr. Quinzel's face but Ivy didn't dare name it as that nagging voice in the back of her head made its reappearance.
“I did come with an apology gift—gifts,” she said, revealing the crinkly grocery bag hidden behind her. She bounded onto the bed as if they were pre-teens at a slumber party. The paper thin mattress had hardly any give but it awoke a bouncy feeling that Ivy had trouble tamping down.
Dr. Quinzel tipped the bag over and spilled out the contents. Ivy gasped at what she brought.
“I'm going to cry,” she said, running reverent fingers over the snacks. Seeded vegan crackers. Dark chocolate covered medjool dates. Matcha truffles. “Bougie organic bullshit? It's been so long.” Her voice was a song.
“You know it!” Dr. Quinzel beamed. “For the bougiest bitch in this joint.”
Suddenly the floor was unlevel and Ivy snapped her green eyes to blue. “This shit is so overpriced and I won't be able to repay you. This is too much.”
Dr. Quinzel leaned against the wall and cocked her head, giving Ivy that knowing look over the top of her glasses that reminded her she had a PhD and was not, in fact, a pre-teen girl. She placed her hand to Ivy's knee. “Friends do nice things just because. So don't worry about it. Besides”—she scooped up the bag of sea salt marcona almonds and tore it open with her teeth—“you're gonna have to listen to me recount Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch because that's what I ended up watching instead.”
Ivy turned over the bar of chocolate to inspect its ingredients, hiding the blush that bloomed across her cheeks. “That's fair.”
Another week and Ivy began to question the regularity of these visits. Surely the doctor had better things to be doing on her weekends, knowing how much Arkham already ate into her time. And how had she not yet been reprimanded by the board for hanging out in the cell of a state-condemned criminally insane eco-terrorist?
“Can I ask you something?”
It was late and Dr. Quinzel was drifting off midway through her retelling of Happy Feet. She yawned and flipped her glasses to the top of her head so she could rest more comfortably against Ivy's shoulder. “Mm? And no, I don't know how George Miller does it. The man’s a genius.”
“How have you not gotten in trouble yet? No one cares that you’re… hanging out here?” Ivy stumbled over her attempt to define it but hanging out felt like the vaguest, safest choice.
Dr. Quinzel was quite drowsy then and her voice was shallow and warm with sleep. She waved a lazy hand to whisk the question away. “The Saturday night guards don’t give a shit, it’s fine. Besides, it’s not like you’re Joker and under constant surveillance or anything.”
At his mention, a thorn pressed into the space between Ivy’s ribs. She studied the doctor who sighed and snuggled in, letting her weight fall fully into Ivy who had to readjust and lean back to accommodate it. Was she actually thinking of falling asleep here? Ivy glanced at the glass door, not seeing any movement down the long corridor.
The thorn’s prick drew blood and it was so quiet that Ivy whispered her next sentiment. “Just don’t get fired, alright? You’re the only good doctor here. If I get reassigned to some shitty bald dude with an inferiority complex I’ll probably snap and murder everyone.”
“Mhm,” Dr. Quinzel mumbled as if Ivy had just sang sweet nothings into her ear. “Don’t get fired, got it.”
Ivy smiled into the doctor’s hair which smelled lived-in after a long day at the asylum. She was so sleepy that Ivy did not think she would notice if she imbibed the scent a half-second longer than excusable. A quiet moment settled and then another thought occurred to Ivy. “Is… everything okay? At home? I realize I never ask you because all we do is talk about me in our sessions.”
Dr. Quinzel used the opportunity to shift again and then there was nowhere left for Ivy to go except to lay down. “‘Cause I’m your psychiatrist, that’s kinda my whole job,” she said, pleased with their new position.
She really was going to sleep here. Ivy’s heart pounded against her better judgment, terrified that its hammering pulse would scare the doctor off—like Ivy was misreading this totally normal slumber-party-between-friends behavior (which she assumed this had to be, as she had never once had a friend to invite her).
She opted to disguise her body’s stiff response by continuing her line of questioning. “You’re here a lot. I’m not complaining, I just… do you not want to go home or something? I’d do anything to not be stuck in this dump.”
She felt rather than saw the flutter of Dr. Quinzel’s eyelashes opening. “I’m not stuck here,” she said evenly. “I’m choosing to be here.”
A fire erupted in Ivy’s stomach. “Right.”
Dr. Quinzel’s hand found its way to Ivy’s arm and she ghosted her fingers along her bicep before settling to hold at the crook of her elbow. “And yeah,” she said tentatively, the weight of sleep returning to hang itself from each word, “it’s lonely there.”
Ivy nodded, understanding the doctor for the first time that evening, because who knew loneliness better than Dr. Pamela Isley herself?
And despite the nervous buzz that lingered in her hip flexors and the gnawing fear of being caught by the guards, the dark embrace of the fluorescent lights flickering off and the warm confidence of Dr. Quinzel by her side was enough to lull Ivy to sleep.
She floated along the gentle current for an indeterminate amount of time before something broke through the haze: Dr. Quinzel's sleep-worn voice spoken directly into Ivy's ear. “Ives,” she said with a grain unlike which she had ever heard. “I had a weird dream.” She cut through Ivy’s subconscious like a hot knife and a dull, distant want seeped from the incision. But sleep's pull was too strong. When had she ever had so deep a slumber imprisoned in Arkham? It was irresistible and her body could not deny the need and so Ivy dozed off, missing whatever the doctor mumbled against her neck.
When she awoke, Dr. Quinzel was gone but the mystery of her words lingered like a once vivid dream dissipating in the light of morning.
Another week passed and Ivy was in knots. It would have come up in their sessions if it had gotten weird or if Dr. Quinzel was upset with her, right? Still, Ivy could not fight the nagging feeling that some line had been crossed during the early hours and Dr. Quinzel would decide it better to stop their tradition, breaking the rules when it came to Ivy's incarceration and their doctor-patient relationship. It was good timing for these visits to stop anyway. They were keeping Ivy distracted from what should be her main focus: breaking out of Arkham. She had wasted long enough away behind glass walls; The Green beckoned. So this month. It had to be. Dr. Quinzel would understand.
But when another Saturday evening was upon them, Ivy was nothing but grateful for the unmistakable clack of Dr. Quinzel's modest heels working down the hallway. “Hey,” the doctor said with a sheepish glint as she punched in the code and made her way into Ivy's cell.
Was she acting shy? She couldn't be shy! She was the well-adjusted, interesting one that carried the conversation and Ivy was the feral, unsocialized creature that had been coaxed from the woods with a packet of expensive almonds. Ivy cursed her god-awful social skills, unsure how to proceed. “Hey,” she said in a poor facsimile of cool. “What's up?”
Fuck. A trainwreck already.
Dr. Quinzel crossed her arms and leaned against the sink. “I want to apologize for last weekend.”
Ivy hugged her knees to her chest. “What? You already apologized! It's fine that you didn't watch that movie, Doc. Probably just pretentious bullshit anyway. I don't know why I even like that—”
“No, not that. For...” she sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, making her glasses bob with the motion. “For taking advantage of you—for falling asleep here.”
“Oh.” Ivy's knots unraveled. “No, don't. It's...” but she wasn't quick enough to it.
“You were right. About things not being great at home.” A dark bark of a laugh broke free and Ivy wanted to push it back inside her mouth and trap it there. “Never have been.”
“Dr. Quinzel—”
She held up her hand. “Listen. I just want you to know that this is up to you to choose, okay? If you want my company... in the way that I want your company.”
Ivy's heart leapt into her throat.
“'Cause we can do this normal-style too. Keep it professional and shit... me being lonely is so not your problem...”
“No!” Ivy blurted then clasped her palm over her mouth. Slower: “No. I like it—us... like this. So don't...”
Dr. Quinzel smiled. “Got it.” She coughed and then slid her hands into the pockets of her white coat nonchalantly, counting the cracks along the ceiling. She made a slow show of each awkward step towards Ivy's bed.
The grin on Ivy’s face threatened to split it in two. “Please,” she said, motioning towards what had become the doctor’s spot.
Dr. Quinzel needed no further invitation. She kicked off her shoes and crossed her legs, beaming. “Okay and well also I was maybe hoping you'd say that because”–she extracted her hands to show Ivy what she'd smuggled in—“I brought these.”
Two wine coolers. Bartles and Jaymes.
An instantaneous joy overtook Ivy and she shoved the doctor. “Oh my god, you are so full of shit! Where did you even get these? Holy fuck, I haven't had this shit since college.”
Dr. Quinzel's smile burned into Ivy as if she stared into the sun. “There's a catch.”
Ivy gnawed off the top with her teeth. “Anything, you're amazing.”
“You've gotta do the movie recap tonight. I'm fresh out.”
Ivy handed the doctor the open bottle and got to work on the other. The drink was cloying and artificial but the taste of alcohol broke through and god, it had been so long. Ivy closed her eyes to indulge the taste and then opened them to indulge the sight of Dr. Quinzel on her shitty little cot. “You ever seen The Day After Tomorrow?”
Ivy's storytelling abilities paled in comparison to Dr. Quinzel's. Sure, she recapped the movie in a parsable, linear fashion, but she lacked the ping-ponging energy of the doctor who jumped to and from tangents in a near-incoherent way that turned even the most banal of movies into riveting tales. (Ivy really was a saint for putting up with so many Air Bud installments.) But her lack of skill didn't matter long because soon the night was late and Dr. Quinzel had snuck to her office and returned with two more wine coolers. The conversation shifted to boys, to college days, to their shitty families, and then they were back where they had been the previous week, with Dr. Quinzel's head resting against Ivy's shoulder.
“You really never went to a slumber party?” she asked through a yawn though the timbre of the question revealed she wasn’t so close to sleep just yet.
Ivy tipped back the last of the drink and tucked the empty glass under her pillow in case anyone were to walk by. “Nope. Not once. I mean, did I really miss out on much? The girls at my school were pretty bitchy…”
“Yes! You did,” Dr. Quinzel asserted, a dreamy remembrance coloring the sleep in her voice. “And the rich, bitchy girls had the best houses to sleep over. I remember getting invited to Soshona Cohen's in ninth grade and snooping through her parents' bedroom. Her mom had so many pills!”
“Well I was the rich one at my school so maybe I should have been the one to invite people over.”
“Exactly! I woulda loved to dig through all your piece-of-shit father’s rich guy stuff. Actually that would probably answer a lot of the questions we’re tryna work through in sessions…” Dr. Quinzel finished her drink and wiped it from her lips with the back of her hand. She shifted and Ivy, anticipating her move, urged them down into their more comfortable position. Dr. Quinzel seemed to have no further misgivings about sleeping here and Ivy was not one to protest, the faintest of buzzes from the wine coolers enough to put her at ease. “And then there was the kissing practice, and the other stuff practice...”
Ivy went rigid. She regretted hiding her bottle because she had nothing with which to fidget, now suddenly at full attention with the turn of Dr. Quinzel's reminiscing. “I thought that only happened in movies,” she said, appalled by her reaction as if she were the teenage brother spying through the keyhole.
“Nah, girls just say that. Shit got freaky.” She reached over Ivy to deposit her empty bottle on the other side of the cot, arm brushing her midriff in the process. “I'm tellin' you, ya missed out.”
“Sounds like it…” Ivy said awkwardly. The bed was too tiny. It left no space between them for Ivy to conceal the heat that sprouted like wildflowers at the doctor’s touch. “I dunno, I would have made a fool of myself anyway—especially at that age.”
Dr. Quinzel’s blue eyes snapped open and she peered up at Ivy. “You are so hard on yourself, it is absolutely fucking insane.”
Ivy couldn't bite back the smirk that worked its way across her face. “Is that your official diagnosis, Doc?”
The doctor propped herself up on her elbow and then she was looking down at Ivy, boring through her with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. “Yes. It is. Give yourself more credit, I mean, I wouldn't be hanging out if I didn’t think you were good company.”
Ivy couldn't meet her gaze. She focused on the gentle swell of Dr. Quinzel's cheek pressed against her palm. “Yeah, but that's your job.”
Ivy could tell Dr. Quinzel didn’t buy it but she played along. “You're right. It's my job to get you to a place where you can maybe, someday, let another human being in.” A spark lit and Ivy recognized something untamed that simmered beneath the buttoned up dress shirts and pencil skirts and glasses. She reminded her of an overgrown blackberry bush, full of tangled thorns that hid the glinting sheen of berries set to burst. “So let's treat this like exposure therapy then. You’ll get the full slumber party experience you missed out on so you can finally see that you're worth a little bit more than you give yourself credit for.”
Ivy chewed her lip. “Uh...” but Dr. Quinzel was already sold.
She counted off on her free hand. “We did the movie, that's step one. We talked about boys, but that's kind of all night so we'll come back to that one again. We drank. What else...?” She scrunched up her face. “Pranks! We have to play a prank. That's it. Okay... let me think.”
Her enthusiasm was impossible to deny and Ivy propped herself onto her elbows, swept away by her current. “Do you have your cell phone?”
A wicked grin spread across her face. “Fuck yes I do.” She slipped it from her pocket and handed it to Ivy. “Do your thing.”
Ivy tapped in the number she had memorized and put the call on speaker. Dr. Quinzel was practically vibrating, eyes darting between the phone and Ivy. Who is it?! she mouthed but Ivy put a finger up to shush her as the line clicked on.
The voice echoed through the speaker. “Hello?”
Ivy cleared her throat and asked with the velvet drawl she saved for the idiotic, impressionable men she persuaded into doing her bidding, “Is this District Attorney Dent?”
He lowered his voice in an attempt at charm. “Yes, yes it is.”
Dr. Quinzel, having only read of Ivy's seductress act in her files, expanded like a Macy’s Day balloon. Her outsized grin matched her wide eyes and she leaned into Ivy's side, biting the heel of her palm to keep from squealing.
“We met at the bar last Saturday. I had been waiting for you to call me”—she pouted and batted her eyelashes (even if Dent couldn't see since it helped sell the act)—“but maybe you were too busy to remember?”
“Right!” he said, scrambling. “I, uh... lost your number.”
“I'm sure you say that to all the girls...”
“No! Really, let me take you out. Anywhere you want to go. I can get us in at any restaurant, no reservation needed... being the District Attorney and all really has its perks.”
Ivy locked eyes with Dr. Quinzel and a warmth bloomed to see her so enthralled with the act. “How about we skip dinner and you just meet me in Robinson Park—tomorrow at midnight? And if you wear something special I’ll know you’re really sorry. How about some little gym shorts? So I can get the full picture.”
His desperation reeked even over the phone. “I like the way your mind works, sweetheart.”
“The shorter the better,” Ivy said in a rush, no longer able to contain her laughter. She clicked the phone off and both her and Dr. Quinzel exploded into a fit of giggles.
“What a boob!” the doctor shouted, taking off her glasses and wiping away a tear.
Ivy fell back to the mattress. “I’ll make sure some of my carnivorous friends in the park give him a nice welcome.”
Dr. Quinzel rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up again. This time when she looked down at Ivy, a pink flush from the laughter painted her pale flesh. She stared for a long moment, enough time that Ivy's nervousness returned, rubbed raw and exposed under the doctor's gaze.
“What?” Ivy asked, wishing again she had anywhere else to look.
The doctor bit her lip. Her mouth parted to speak and then she thought better of it, snapping her lips shut. She shook her head fondly before trying a different direction. “See? You'd have done great at a slumber party. Pranks? Check.”
“I guess,” Ivy said. “You... you make it fun. I don't know if I'd have had any fun back then. I was kind of...”
“Difficult?”
Ivy frowned. “I was going to say shy.”
“That voice you used sure as shit didn't sound shy to me.”
It was Ivy's turn to flush and she waved a dismissive hand. “That's just the Poison Ivy act,” she said but something deep shifted. Ivy hated to admit it but Dr. Quinzel may have been right. She was opening, aerating, like the doctor had repotted her with a new soil mixture. A human heartbeat thudded beneath her ribs, remembering the doctor's admission last week. She watched her hand float upward to graze the collar of her dress shirt, skim the lapel of her white coat. Her voice was unrecognizable when she spoke. “Kind of like this act, Doc.”
Dr. Quinzel's gaze lingered on her fingers—and did she drift closer? “Yeah,” she murmured. “Exactly like that.” And then Dr. Quinzel did lean in. And then she kissed her.
It wasn’t anything like the movies. Dr. Quinzel wasn’t an experimental teen, it wasn’t chaste. It was warm and round, soft and firm. She moved the way only a woman could and Ivy rose to meet her—wanton, full.
The doctor mumbled something incomprehensible that buzzed against Ivy, then she placed a hand to her cheek and slid open her lips. She tasted of Fuzzy Navel wine cooler and a long day.
She tasted lonely.
A moan escaped Dr. Quinzel and Ivy swallowed it like a seed, planting it in her stomach where it could take root and flourish. If Ivy listened to her body’s ache, she would have snaked her fingers through the doctor’s hair, would have pulled her close until their ribs slotted together, until there was no room left for either to pull back far enough to stop this mistake. Dr. Quinzel’s thigh parted her legs and when she pressed, Ivy groaned into her mouth. A new buzz awakened and with it the sapling bloomed in full color, petals unfurling, desperately climbing upward to be graced by the heat of Dr. Quinzel’s sunshine—
But it grew too quickly. Its tendrils found their way to Ivy’s throat. They squeezed the air from her lungs and she pulled back, eyes flickering open.
There were a million things to say but Ivy had never been good at words. Dr. Quinzel did not seem much better, chest rising and falling in rapid swells. Ivy thought she might kiss her again but the moment flitted by. She lifted to upright and smoothed down her skirt so Ivy followed and then they were seated side by side again on the bed.
Dr. Quinzel cleared her throat and patted down her hair, seemingly embarrassed, and a wave of confidence Ivy only ever felt when The Green moved through her took hold. She had nothing to lose, already incarcerated and too far gone for any sort of normal life. Dr. Quinzel still had a chance, yet here she was, week after week, putting her job on the line for Ivy’s benefit. A rush of affection for the doctor took hold and in that moment Ivy knew she would do anything to protect her. “So… kissing practice. Check,” she said, too casually for how swiftly her heart pounded. “What’s next on the slumber party checklist?”
Dr. Quinzel’s eyes flashed with recognition and she blinked back to life. “Right. Um.”
“How about I tell you a secret?” Ivy nudged her shoulder. “Friends do that, right?”
Dr. Quinzel nodded, smaller than she had ever been.
Ivy folded her hands together to keep them from pulling Dr. Quinzel back to her. “I’m not sure how much longer I can last in here. I know I’m not supposed to tell you that since you’re my doctor and all, but I wanted you to know. In case you don’t see me. In case you thought it was because…”
The doctor shook her head quickly. “No… no, I… I get it. I really do. I, um.” Dr. Quinzel had never been at a loss of words before and Ivy’s affection for the woman cemented itself in stone. “Can I tell you a secret too?”
Ivy nodded.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can last in here either. I mean, you see it right? I’m in one of my patient’s cell every weekend. It’s hard to tell what’s real, what’s not. I feel like all it would take is one strong breeze from the wrong direction and I’d shatter.”
“That’s Arkham,” Ivy said, smiling sadly. If anyone deserved to make it out of here unbroken, it was Dr. Quinzel.
“I guess, what I mean to say is…” She swallowed and then she fished around the bed for her glasses, sliding them back onto her nose. “I’m very proud of the progress you’ve made.”
Ivy looked at the ceiling, unsure what to do with such a genuine compliment. “All thanks to you, Doc.”
Dr. Quinzel moved to leave but, confident again under the heat lamp of her kindness, Ivy grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “It doesn’t count as a slumber party if there’s no actual slumber, right?”
She slid her glasses off with a small smile and let Ivy pull her back down to the bed. “Can I tell you another secret?” Dr. Quinzel asked after a quiet moment.
Ivy was glad she had never had a sleepover before because she was certain they could not have compared to this one. “Shoot.”
“Those glasses don’t even have a prescription in them.” She bit her lip in a smirk, awaiting Ivy’s response.
Ivy hummed and closed her eyes. “I won’t tell.”