Chapter Text
"Patient 11103, Pamela Lillian Isley, please step forward."
Squinting at the fluorescent lights above, Pamela shuffled forward across the linoleum tile. It was hard to walk when her hands and feet were both in shackles. They had tried to even put a muzzle on her a la Hannibal Lecter style, but when she threw a fit, they decided not to.
It's not like she could kiss or bite someone so easily when restrained like this. And the staff at Arkham seemed to get that.
So here she was, being escorted into Arkham State Hospital in handcuffs with a team of security guards around her.
As she was guided to the top floor of the hospital, where the most dangerous patients resided, Pamela reflected on the events that led up to this moment. If it wouldn't have been for that creepy Bat, she would have gotten away with her plan. Gotham's male citizens would be nothing but vine-filled carcasses by now.
But of course, a man always had to ruin everything.
Pamela hated him. She hated him more than anyone or anything she had ever hated before. She hated how he solved it all so perfectly and made it his problem. She hated how he got in her way. She hated how he destroyed her family home and all her precious darlings.
But what she hated most of all was how he wasn't like any other man she had encountered before. He wasn't fazed by her beauty or her gender. He was focused solely on his mission. He took her intelligence seriously and treated her like he would any other criminal.
He treated her like a threat.
And isn't that all she wanted from the world? From people? To be treated like the brilliant and talented scientist she was? For them to see her brain first and her appearance second?
It all inspired a bunch of confusing feelings for her. On one hand, she despised the Bat for what he did and represented. And on the other hand, she despised that he was the person she had been looking for this entire time. He saw her for who she was, who she had always been.
It was a twisted form of mutual respect.
Ironic how it took all of this for Pamela to finally meet a man who she didn't hate just for being a man. And this man was now her enemy.
A sharp, earsplitting laugh interrupted her thoughts. Pamela glanced up and felt every muscle in her body cringe at the source of that irritating laugh.
Even without the clown makeup, she recognized him.
Oh, for God's sake...
"Now isn't this a surprise?" Arthur called out from his cell. He was leaning up against the side, wearing that signature grin of his. "I thought you looked familiar!"
Pamela let out a disgusted groan and tried to look past him, but it was proving a difficult challenge. He continued to cackle at her as she approached his cell.
"Hey, Eddie!" Arthur tapped the wall next to him. "We have a new friend!"
"A friend?!" another voice exclaimed. Further down the hall, a younger man peered his head out through the glass window separating him from Pamela. He wore large glasses and looked like a complete dork. "And it's a girl!"
She recoiled as both men smiled widely at her as she was led past their cells. No way was she going to be housed with these losers. Yes, she might've done some bad things, but these two were on another level.
"What has lots of bark and no bite?" The man named Eddie bounced on his feet. When Pamela didn't answer, he tried again with a new riddle. "A thousand colored folds stretch toward the sky, atop a tender strand, rising from the land, til killed by maiden's hand, perhaps a token of love, perhaps to say goodbye. What am I?"
"No one cares about your stupid riddles, Eddie!" Arthur snapped. "I know! How about a joke? Knock, knock!"
The walk to her own cell felt like an eternity. And their lingering stares weren't helping. If her feet weren't shackled and surrounded by guards, she would have bolted for it and tried to escape, eager to get away from these idiots.
Not wanting to engage with them any further, she kept her mouth closed. Maybe Arthur would grow bored of her when he saw she wasn't interested or willing to humor him.
Evidently, she forgot just who exactly she was talking to.
"You're supposed to say who's there!" Arthur pointed out as if she didn't know how knock-knock jokes were supposed to work.
"Who's there?" Eddie asked.
"Honeydew," Arthur said.
"Honeydew who?"
"Honeydew, you wanna hear some more garden jokes?" Arthur burst into a fit of laughter followed by Eddie.
Pamela could feel her eye twitch at their pathetic attempt at entertainment. Even after the guards let her into her cell and shut the door behind them, she could still hear their laughter ringing through the cell block.
With a loud moan, Pamela collapsed to the floor and brought her knees up to her face, finally free of the chains. She told herself she wouldn't cry even though she desperately wanted to. The thought of spending years with these two in this cold, concrete cinderblock was unbearable. This was the forgotten tenth circle of Hell. This was worse than any torture she had experienced, and for a moment, she considered if she could still be locked up in a regular prison.
At least then, she wouldn't be driven to insanity by Arthur and Eddie's never-ending laughter.
She'd have to figure out a way to release her spores without fluid-to-fluid contact. Because there was no way she was putting her mouth anywhere near them, even if it was to take a fatal bite. They would have to be released through the air.
And then she could kill the Batman that way, too! Although she didn't want to kill him immediately since that would mean there would be zero men who respected her, but some day, she would be the one to kill him.
The door to her cell squeaked open, and Pamela slowly lifted her head. In stepped a young woman with glasses and her hands clasped behind her back.
"Miss Isley?" She smiled down at her.
Pamela narrowed her eyes at the woman. She seemed to be an employee, perhaps a doctor, from what Pamela observed. Not just from the white lab coat she wore, but because of the way her blonde hair was tied in a tight bun and the professional way she carried herself.
The confusion on Pamela's face must've been obvious since the woman said, "I'm Dr. Quinzel, your psychiatrist. I've studied your file, and I've been eager to finally meet you."
She couldn't help but scoff. "Then you're an even bigger idiot than those two out there. You know what I can do and you still decided to come in here with me?"
The smile on Dr. Quinzel's face didn't falter. "I do know what you can do, and you've only targeted men. It's partially why I was able to become your psychiatrist. That, and we figured you wouldn't talk to a man."
Dr. Quinzel took a half-step closer. "And it's also why I was able to convince the rest of the staff not to put a muzzle on you like some dog. You don't want to prove them right, right?"
Pamela gave an exasperated huff. She didn't appreciate this woman's tone, acting as if she knew so much better than her just because she was able to complete her Ph.D. Pamela should be standing where she was, tall and proud in her white lab coat. Instead, she was dressed in this dingy orange and white jumpsuit like the other pathetic freaks.
Maybe she could practice using her airborne spores against her. It was true she didn't target men before, but nothing said things couldn't change.
A sly smile crept across Pamela's lips at the thought. But it was quickly wiped off when she saw Dr. Quinzel gently place something on the floor.
It was a tree. A bonsai tree, to be exact.
"Wha– Is that?" Pamela's jaw dropped at the sight. Very few times was she rendered speechless in her life, and this was one of them.
The doctor continued to smile as she pushed her glasses back up. "I was able to get it cleared through security. I figured since you can't control all plant life, this one was safe."
Pamela continued to scrisp wide-eyed at the tree, unable to utter a "thank you." She couldn't understand why an Arkham employee would ever give her a gift. Wasn't she just a patient here? Another number in a long list of other numbers?
"I look forward to speaking more with you, Miss Isley." Dr. Quinzel started to head for the door.
"Wait." Pamela rose to her feet and brushed her curls out of her face. "My name's Poison Ivy. Or Ivy, for short."
Dr. Quinzel blinked before giving a slight nod. "Alright, well, I look forward to speaking more with you, Miss Ivy."
She turned on her heel and exited the cell, and Pamela was left all alone again. Lifting the plant to her face, she examined it and saw it was a real bonsai tree. For a moment, she thought it would be plastic. But no, it was alive.
Those confusing feelings returned. For one of the few times in her life, another person had shown an interest in her beyond the physical side. They had even given her a gift without expecting something in return.
This would have never happened to Pamela Isley. Pamela Isley could never garner the respect and interest she did now. Not the way Poison Ivy did.
The Isley name was dead, burned to a crisp along with its mansion. But the truth was the Isley name had been dead the moment Dr. Woodrue stuck that needle into Pamela.
Despite what she told herself earlier, Pamela was just as much of a freak as Arthur and Edward. Perhaps even more so since they were still one hundred percent human underneath their flesh.
She had always been closer to plants than she ever was to humans. And now, that was literally the case.
That's why she needed a name that reflected that. Why she told Dr. Quinzel she went by "Poison Ivy."
Poison ivy got into the skin and made it itch and break out in a rash. Pamela had learned this the hard way when she was a kid.
Just like everyone in Gotham would, too, if they were unlucky enough to cross paths with her.
Everything had come full circle for her. Everything she ever wanted, she now had in her clutches.
Pamela smiled down at the bonsai tree in her hands and stroked it. She might be trapped in Arkham, but it wouldn't be forever.
She would get out, and she would kill the Bat. She just needed to work on evolving her spores first. But with a lengthy sentence like the one she got, she had nothing but time.
Who should she practice on first? Arthur, Edward, or Dr. Quinzel?
Dr. Quinzel would be the perfect target since no one would see it coming. Even the doctor's guard would be lowered. And it would be so easy to get close to her since they would be spending a lot of time together.
Another high-pitched, maniacal laugh from down the hall interrupted her thoughts. Pamela glanced down at herself as the early pangs of hunger started to hit her. That familiar sensation of something wriggling around inside her returned, and for a fleeting second, she saw her veins move across her skin.
Change of plans.
She couldn't kill Dr. Quinzel. Not yet. After all, she wasn't the one who tried to burn down the botanical gardens.
Maybe staying in Arkham wouldn't be as bad as she thought. If the food wasn't up to par, there was always a substitute just a few cells down.
She'd just have to work up the courage to get past the funny taste.