Work Text:
When Ivy fits the key into the back door of the Gotham Museum of Natural History, it turns like the lock has been oiled.
“After you, m’lady,” she says, opening the door for Harley.
Harley looks at the key questioningly. “Where’d ya’ get that?”
“Let’s just say Selina is willing to pull some strings if it means getting her hands on some hybrid hash.” Ivy smiles and lets her head fall to her shoulder. Her irises are barely visible now, just a thin circle of green around black. “Now let’s go. My Yellow Lady’s Slippers are waiting.”
“I’m guessin’ Selina shared her prize with ya’, then? You’re actin’ a lil’ loopy, sister.”
Ivy laughs—a full, real laugh that fountains up into the air and makes Harley blush. “Oh, hush, you. We both know that Selina never grew out of being the weird kid in elementary school who ate glue and hogged all the blocks. ‘Share’ isn’t in her vocabulary.”
“That’s not true!” Harley says as she walks through the door, but she’s laughing along because they both know that it totally is true.
“That being said, there may or may not have been a cookie left in the freezer.”
“Ivy!” Harley tries to sound disapproving, but she starts laughing instead. Typical.
The inside of the museum is as still as a set for a ballet, waiting on the first flowery run of notes from a flute; for the lights to turn on and reveal the frozen line of girls all in pink, poised perfect and impossible.
This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Harley waits for Ivy to say something about the night they first met, a question, a comment, a joke, even a this place seems familiar, but she’s met with nothing but the hum of the AC coming through the vents. She tries to let the disappointment slide off her shoulders, but it’s too heavy.
Her stomach feels all squirmy and liquidy, and she wonders if she’s about to be sick.
Though Harley doesn’t hear any footsteps, she can feel them in the light scent of lilies trailing behind her.
“Hello,” Ivy says more solemnly, taking her hand. The goofy look has left her eyes and she’s no longer smiling. This is when Harley notices that Ivy’s hand is shaking a little bit. This is also when she remembers that Ivy only gets high when she’s really nervous about something.
Is she going to break up with me?
Always the idealist, Harley is no stranger to being let down. In her mind, everyone feels as deeply as she does. Everyone experiences love like it’s about to burn them up, run them to ash. Everyone treasures the moments that really matter, knows what those moments are. Everyone cares until it hurts, sometimes past that. But outside of her mind, that just isn’t the case. She knows it isn’t—life has made absolutely sure of that. Her rose-tinted lenses have been shattered more times than she can keep track of.
So why then, after all the horrors she has already faced, does something this small sting this big? She thinks maybe it’s because it’s Ivy, that maybe it’s because she believed things would be different with her. Why here? Why now? Everything had been going so well. Why—
“Harl,” Ivy stops walking, “get out of your head.”
“Huh?”
“You’re telling yourself stories again. I can see it on your face.”
“I—”
Ivy squeezes her hand and gives her an uncertain smile. “Stay here with me. I’ve heard the view is a little nicer.”
They continue to walk in silence until Ivy says, “I do it, too, sometimes.”
“Ya’ do?” This time it's Harley who stops.
“Yes, I do. I’m not always as confident as I seem to be.” Ivy let's out a short laugh that sounds more like a sigh. “I usually am, but not always. Sometimes, the narrative in my head doesn't match the song in my heart, and it makes things like this...difficult.”
And then quietly, “Things like what?” Harley knows that this conversation is meant to make her feel better, but all it's doing is cementing the dread to the bottom of her belly.
Ivy doesn’t respond, just leads her to the greenhouse door. She doesn’t need a key this time.
It’s all green, vivid, spring greens that make her wonder if she’s ever really seen green before this moment. Flowers are curling through the greens, some forming tight ringlets of pink, others just spotting with purples and blues. Harley can smell the air, rich and pulsing with a thousand signs of life. Everything’s a little sticky, but in a way that makes her feel warm, like hot cocoa and fluffy towels.
Ivy lets go of her hand and runs to meet the plants. They’re all leaning out as far as they can to reach her.
“Hello!” She laughs sweetly, the acoustics all glimmer and ricochet. Ivy turns around.
It catches Harley, the way Ivy looks at her like she matters, like she wants to remember every detail.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve been here,” Ivy says carefully. Her eyes are intent, looking for something from Harley, badly scared of not getting it.
Harley feels her whole chest open up like a window, the relief flowing through her like sunshine. She wants to jump up and down, squeal and spin around. She remembers. “Yeah, it sure has.”
“I…” Ivy glances to the side, toying with the strap of her bag. “My emotional IQ is…fairly low. I know that. I do. I can’t always distinguish which emotion I’m feeling or why I’m feeling it, but it doesn’t take a genius IQ to know that I love you.”
Harley stares at her, open-mouthed, starry-eyed.
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I mean, I’ve had crushes before, but nothing like this. I…” Ivy runs her hair back, clumps it in her hand and pulls at it. “I’m sorry. My brain is very foggy right now. I can hardly think. Okay. Shit. The cookie was Selina’s idea.”
Ivy squeezes her eyes shut and opens them, taking a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that every day I’m with you is the best day of my life. I love waking up next to you. I love your coffee breath and how you can eat whipped cream straight from the can. I love how much you hate Sigmund Freud and how you still buy Lip Smackers. I love that you could probably tell me everything there is to know about the French Revolution, and yet you still can’t spell ‘equestrian’ correctly. I love how funny you are and how you always ask how I’m feeling. I love falling asleep next to you.
“You are my best friend, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Ivy unzips her bag and pulls out a tiny wooden box. She gets down on one knee.
Harley can’t move, and she’s worried that if she tries, she might faint.
“Harleen Francis Quinzel, I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me, too?”
Before she can say yes, or anything else, Harley’s crying, sobbing.
The flowers around them wilt. Ivy’s chest lifts and falls. She says, her voice unbearably gentle, “I’m sorry. I didn’t…This is too soon. I jumped the gun, didn’t I?” Ivy takes a breath to keep going but bites it down.
No. No. I mean yes. Yes, I wanna marry you. No, it’s not too soon. I just...I’m so happy, and Red, I thought ya’ were gonna break up with me. I know it’s crazy, and I don’t even know why I thought that. Maybe I’m crazy, too. No, I’m definitely crazy—”
“You’re not crazy.” Ivy stands up and wraps her fingers around Harley’s wrists, looking at her, studying her, searching for something. Her eyes are kind. “But I wouldn’t do that.”
Harley tries to force the tears to stop, but she can’t. “I feel like I’m always waiting for somethin’ to go wrong, and I just can't help but think about what this moment woulda’ been like if things went right for me like they do for other people.”
“I know what you mean," Ivy says, "Things haven't always gone right for me either, Daffodil, but don't you see? That's the beauty of it! I’m not him, and now isn’t then. You have come so far from where you started. We both have. It hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but we did it. We did it ourselves.” Ivy is smiling, a smile so clear it makes Harley shiver, dissolves her exhausted walls. “Inevitably, there are going to be more bumps along the way. That’s a given. Life is turbulent, but it’s how we deal with the unexpected drops that shapes who we are. We don’t have to be the victim in our own lives, Harl. Fighting back, falling in love again, making a life for yourself, even after all you’ve been through, that’s beautiful. That’s the beauty of it.”
“That’s a nice internal monologue. Mine’s a little more like, ‘Congrats, Harl, you’re almost outta’ the pit ya’ managed to dig yourself into!’”
Ivy tightens her grasp on Harley’s wrists. Her voice is prickly, almost defensive. “Don’t always assume that you did something wrong. Maybe life just got harder. Things happen like that, sometimes.”
Harley snorts to try to cover how good it feels to hear that. “Red, I kill people.”
“Always the comedian.” A hint of a smirk. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”
“When I look back, all I see is how bad I messed everything up for myself. I’m always wonderin’ when I’ll do it again,” Harley says. The squirmy feeling is back in her stomach, and this time she knows she’s about to be sick.
“Just because things don’t go according to plan doesn’t mean you’ve ‘messed up.’ I love you for who you’ve become because of the mistakes you’ve made. There are a lot of times when I feel like I’m on the verge of ruining something beautiful, too, but you’ve helped me find meaning in the narratives I tell myself. The fact that I thought to worry about you forgetting this place, about you saying no, about me screwing this whole thing up, it’s because that is how much I love you. When I remember that, I’m able to listen to my heart. I’m able to take a step back and look at the life we have together. I’m able to see you through all the doubts and scary stories running through my mind. Thank you. Now it's my turn to help you see me.”
The tears are still coming, but they’re happy now. Harley feels like something has been lit inside of her. “Oh, Red.”
“Grow old with me.” Ivy’s eyes are watery. They’re all passion and care. Hope.
The flowers are standing again, dancing and waving their pretty colors.
Harley’s chest is so full of love and life that she can hardly breathe. “I love you, and I wanna grow old with you, too.”
Ivy laughs. “Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there, I was worried I’d have to start selling the financial benefits.”
The air leaps into a soft hum all around Harley’s head as her lips meet Ivy’s. For a moment, Harley can hardly grasp reality. The way Ivy’s hands are cupping her cheeks feels so light and airy, so perfect.
She wonders if she’s idealizing, but lets the thought pass without grabbing onto it. She decides it’s time to listen to her heart for a change.