Chapter Text
Pamela Isley didn’t expect to find anything more than her lovely plants when she entered her greenhouse on the outskirts of Gotham one stormy night in September. However, Gotham was Gotham, and as such, certain precautions were required to keep her babies safe when she was absent—from both “hero” and “villain” alike.
Flipping on the lights, several of her more sentient plants shook their buds in greeting, and she responded in kind by stroking their luscious leaves. Her plants appeared well, all appropriately fertilized and watered despite her three-week stint in Arkham. She smiled, shaking her head. Harley had asked her a few months prior how she managed to keep all her plants thriving, and Ivy had eagerly jumped into an explanation of the care of her babies, not expecting Harley to remember all she said. Despite the slightly less than sane appearance she put on, at her core she was, like Ivy, a brilliant scientist.
One of her large venus fly traps that guarded her greenhouse shook what could be considered its head to get her attention, appearing agitated. “What’s wrong sweetie, are you hungry?” It shook again, and motioned towards the back of the greenhouse, where her lab and experiments were stored. That was not a good sign. Just before she had been captured by that dratted Batman, she had successfully grown a hybrid plant of her design (primarily a mixture of venus flytrap, aconite, and belladonna, among others) to maturity, and had planned to test its properties over the next several weeks.
She rushed over to her experiment, expecting to find the large plant with drooping leaves or even reduced to a shriveled stick. She did not expect to find the large, dark red plant happily munching on a young boy.
“Drop him,” she commanded the plant, and was surprised when it snarled at her, dedicated to its (hopefully still alive) meal. Oooh that will not do. The green house around her burst to life with a simple flick of her wrist, and in an instant, all that remained of the rebellious plant were a few ruddy leaves.
The loyal plants parted for her as she rushed to the boy, carefully examining him. He was alive but unconscious, and beneath tan skin his lips were blue, his breath sputtering weakly in his chest. There were shallow puncture marks in a row along his chest and back, obviously from where the plant had grabbed him. Gently tugging the material of his clothing away from the wounds (and noting absently that the weather was already far too cold for such a small child to be walking around in nothing but a leotard), she found that the skin around them was also tinged with blue, no doubt a reaction to the poison of the plant.
Ivy quickly gathered the boy into her arms and carried him over to her bed as gently as she could, and ran back to her lab to begin working on an antidote as her plants tucked him in. “Come to me if his condition changes!” she yelled over her shoulder. She didn’t need to look at her plants to know they had understood.
* * *
While she hastily tried to concoct an antidote for the boy, Ivy’s mind reeled with questions. Who was he, and how on earth had he managed to get into her lab? What if he was a spy for the Batman? Her actions slowed for a millisecond before returning to the task at hand, shaking the thought from her head. While she didn’t see eye to eye with Batman on the best of days, she highly doubted he would risk the life of an innocent boy like this, and either way, she would still be determined to save him, whoever he was. Despite what some people thought of her and her methods of saving nature, Pamela Isley was no monster.
She worked quickly, occasionally checking in on the boy. He hadn’t woken yet, and was beginning to develop a fever. He would need the antidote soon if he were to pull through. Finally, after a little over two hours of work, she had an antidote. Hopefully it would work.
Ivy filled a syringe with the concoction and rushed to the bedside. It was difficult to find the vein in the boy’s elbow under his flushed skin (it certainly didn’t help that her medical background was more geared to toxicology rather than human biology). After some taping of the skin, she was able to get the vein raised just enough to insert the needle and give him the injection. Ivy hadn’t even realized that she was holding her breath until she noticed the blue tinge begin to fade from the boy’s lips, and she exhaled in a large puff. He should be alright for now, but she would stay in the room with him until he awoke.
Ivy bandaged the various cuts across his torso (there might be some scarring, but it would be minimal) before taking a seat at the foot of the bed. And if anyone asked her later on, she would swear that letting the boy sleep in her bed while she slept on the floor was purely in the best interest of getting her patient well and out of her space, and absolutely not due to any concern she had for the mystery boy. None whatsoever.
* * *
“Uh, Miss? Excuse me, miss red hair lady?”
Ivy awoke with a start to a boy with bright blue eyes and messy black hair leaning over the foot of her bed with a questioning look. Patting down her own tangled red curls as she sat up and kneeled so she was level with the boy, she offered him a hesitant but warm smile.
“Hey there, sprout. How are you feeling?” He still looked a bit pale, but the fact that he was sitting up without assistance gave her great hope that the antidote had worked.
“Um, not too bad, I guess. I’m sorry, but what’s your name? I- I don’t remember how I got here. Did something happen to me?”
Hmmm, Ivy thought, his confusion must be a side effect from either the poison or the trauma. She noticed the boy spoke with a very slight lilt to his words, maybe the accent was French? German?
“My name is Pamela, but you can call me Ivy, everyone else does. As for how you got here, I don’t know myself. This is my home, you see, and I’m a botanist. When I got home last night, it looked like you had gotten yourself tangled up with one of my more dangerous plants and were poisoned by it. Don’t worry about the plant, I’ve disposed of it by now, and I gave you the antidote last night.” She said this all in a calm, gentle voice, and the boy nodded along, those big sapphire eyes serious. “Would you mind telling me your name? I’m sure your parents are worried sick about you.”
He furrowed his eyebrows seemingly in confusion. “My name? It’s Richard… I think I go by Dick…”
The boy, Dick, didn’t lose his look of confusion, and Ivy soon had one to match his. “What do you mean, hon? Can you not remember?”
He was silent for a moment, and eventually shook his head. “All I remember is… waking up here, a few minutes ago. Why can’t I remember? Is this from the plant poison Miss Ivy?”
She was taken aback. “I don’t believe so, there wasn’t anything that should have caused amnesia… Well, Dick, I would say we have some detective work to do. But first, you must be hungry. Would you like some tea? And maybe some toast?”
Dick’s face lit up at the prospect of food and he nodded vigorously. “Yes please!”
She smiled at the child. “You got it, sprout. You stay in bed now, you’re still recovering from the poison. I don’t want you exerting too much energy.”
“Yes, Miss Ivy!”
She chuckled as she left her bedroom and made for her small kitchen. Small though it may be, it had the same large windows as the rest of the greenhouse and was always filled with sunlight. At least, as much sunlight as you could find in Gotham. She made a beeline for the phone that hung from the wall, and dialed the only number she had programmed into it. The receiver picked up on the second ring.
“Hiya, Red! How’s it goin’? Ya know, I was just thinking about you, I’m at the store and I just saw that vegan waffle mix ya love—”
“Hi Harles, that’s great, but could I ask a huge favor of you?”
“Of course! Who do you need dead? Or do you already have a body? Cuz I’ll let you know; my hyenas can get rid of a body in ten minutes flat.”
“I’m sure they can, but luckily there’s no bodies today. Can you come straight to my place after you leave the store? And actually, could you pick up some clothes for a…nine-year-old boy?” Ivy made a quick guess at Dick’s age; he could be older, but if he was then he was rather small for his age. At any rate, until he figured out where he belonged, he couldn’t be walking around in nothing but a leotard. “Oh, and Harles? Bring your doctor glasses.”