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A flash of lightning streaked across the sky, arching overhead like a great forked tongue. It was accompanied by a thunderous escort, which rolled through with enough fury to make the cabin walls tremble and the wooden supports creak. Harley shivered from her perch on a wicker chair, illuminated only by the light of a flimsy electric lantern. She looked over at Ivy’s kneeling form by the stone hearth of the fireplace. Ivy’s eyes were busily completing an inspection, darting from the dripping stacks of oaken logs to her right, to the sooty interior of the chimney, before ending resignedly at the rusty iron grate before her.
Harley squeezed some more rain out of her colorful pigtails, adding to the already sizable puddle of water beneath her seat. “I’m going to shish kabob the weatherman,” she said matter-of-factly. Her voice rose an octave. “Partly cloudy throughout the duration of the day,” she mocked, gesturing with exaggerated air quotes.
“Well, technically it was partly cloudy for part of the day,” Ivy noted, pausing her examination of the fireplace to give a cursory glance back in Harley’s direction. “Until, you know, the sky just emptied.” She went back to adjusting kindling and logs into a rough teepee shape, as if optimal oxygen flow was going to solve the problem of utterly soaked fuel.
Harley sighed, letting her chin rest on her hands. “So much for my grand plans for a crew bonding trip. I bet the Legion of Doom is halfway to Barbados by now, sunbathing with mimosas and those cute little pink umbrellas. We can’t even get marshmallows roasting!”
She glumly pondered the subject of her latest Legion of Doom-related rejection. An exclusive villain retreat, complete with master plan seminars and lair-building workshops. All hosted on Black Manta’s freshly commandeered luxury cruise ship, staffed with the most genteel waiters and guided by the most elite navigators. There were even rumors this year’s henchmen bonding activity would involve pillaging Themyscira or Atlantis. But, naturally, she had been privately informed by Lex Luthor that (due to limited space of course) the retreat was to be reserved solely for Platinum LOD Members. Of which Harley was most certainly not a member.
Harley had been about to go on a spree of slashing as many “platinum” tires as she could find when Ivy intervened. Her cool head was the only thing that could prevail over Harley’s steaming rage. She could still feel that calm hand on her shoulder, and that soothing voice insisting that the Legion of Doom was filled with jerks anyway, and she should just take her crew on their own retreat. A better one, maybe outside of Gotham, where Harley could organize all the activities.
Harley had liked this idea a lot. As she filled out reservation applications for two state park cabins, her mind feverishly constructed elaborate visions of team bonding activities. There would be afternoon hiking to the summits, where the crew could see a golden-hour Gotham spread out before them like an open bank vault. There would be badminton and fossil-hunting to stoke healthy competition among the group. And then meditation sessions to foster reflection and good mental health, and so Ivy could rejuvenate and commune with nature. But the potential of all those grand ideas was callously popped by the microburst, forcing them to hunker down underneath leaking roofs. Rain wouldn’t stop the LOD Platinums. They’d simply move inside to play in high-stakes poker tournaments, accompanied by a live jazz band, and showgirl performances, with piña coladas in hand…
“Harley, you can’t think like that,” Ivy insisted, pulling Harley out of her own head with the grounding sound of her voice. She turned back to the hearth and pulled out a dingy matchbox. Ivy lit off a match, reaching into the fireplace to try to coax an ember out of her kindling. “It’s not your fault we don’t have the funds to do a luxury villain retreat.” She shook out the flame and let the burnt nub of her match fall to the ground. She struck a second one. “Besides, those things are bloated pieces of crap. Everyone does meaningless trust exercises before spending all their money on cheap souvenirs and booze. And then they get sunburned for their trouble.” She struck a third. “We were better off doing things your way. The weather being nasty isn’t your fault.”
The steady pouring of rain outside was suddenly punctured by a high pitched screech, followed by colorful muffled curses in the distance. The tone and language content greatly suggested King Shark and Clayface had managed to piss off Psy (not a particularly difficult task in the first place). Harley smiled fondly. “Sounds like the boys are getting along.”
Ivy smirked. “Would you expect anything less after their performance today?”
Harley’s smile widened into a grin. Their afternoon activity had proved that the boys were much better suited to villainy than recreational hiking. Doctor Psycho had replaced his usual tailored suit with khaki attire, making him look rather like a sour cub scout arriving for his first day of sleepaway camp. It was a look certainly not aided by a bright red baseball cap sitting atop his head. Psy had refused to part with it, lecturing the rest of the group on the dangers of deer ticks and Lyme disease.
Meanwhile, Clayface had attracted frogs, who seemed to be under the distinct impression that his feet were the ideal place to take shelter from the sun. He had taken the whole matter in stride of course, but the chorus of ribbiting was really beginning to rub an already irritated Psy the wrong way.
King Shark had been pleasant enough, at least until he caught a potent sniff of carrion wafting their way from the next valley. It had taken the combined efforts of the four others, plus the strength of an American oak tree and a couple of kudzu vines animated by Ivy to hold him back. King Shark probably wouldn’t have come to any harm, but the group consensus was that trying to separate a grizzly from its lunch was a bad idea on principle. As Ivy stated, they were there to observe the wildlife, not mangle it. To which Psy pointed out that King Shark basically was wildlife. To which Ivy countered that a half-shark half-man hybrid most certainly does not constitute a native species, and any argument to the contrary was incredibly reductionist and irresponsible. Thus the group’s hiking accompaniment for the next half-hour was the exhausting sound of barbed insults ping-ponging back and forth.
And this was all before the storm of the century descended upon them. When the magenta skies opened up, it may as well have been hell’s version of the Great Flood. Psy had raced down the mountain at top speed, shouting about his luscious locks and his various expensive hair treatment gels that were rapidly washing away. And Clayface had begun to do a halfway sort of dissolve, and it was only through semi-melding onto King Shark that he made it down the mountain at all. It was certainly not the sort of “team bonding” Harley had had in mind when she planned this trip.
Harley giggled at the memories of this absolute disaster. Maybe the trip was more of… a bonding set of misadventures. Some problem-solving, some team-bonding. Harley glanced over at Ivy again and smiled. Maybe some more team-bonding.
The current task of course was to stay warm after this fiasco. They had gratefully changed into dry pajamas after the group had turned in for the night. But the temperature was plunging, and the fire clearly wasn’t working. It was time to try a new approach. And maybe have some fun in the process. There was time to kill, after all.
Harley stood up and stretched before casually plopping down beside Ivy, who now had a little hill of failed matchsticks piled beside her. “Any luck with the fire?”
Ivy groaned. “Nothing. Not even a spark.”
“It’s just as well. It would have been weird to see you light logs on fire.”
The corner of Ivy’s mouth twitched into a half smile. “I was going to think of it more as a funeral cremation since these plants are already dead.”
Harley laughed, and quirked an eyebrow at Ivy. “So… since you don’t get to do your Viking send-off, what are we going to do to stay warm?” She sidled up closer to Ivy and leaned her head on her shoulder, glancing up at Ivy inquisitively.
There was a pregnant pause before Ivy sighed and acknowledged the obvious conclusion. “Yes, you can sleep in my bunk tonight.”
Harley grinned, wrapping her arms around Ivy’s waist to give her a squeeze.
“This is the practical decision you know.”
Harley hopped up, reaching down to pull Ivy to her feet.
“Totally professional,” Ivy continued. “I mean, we’re basically in the middle of a business meeting right now.”
Harley grinned as she intertwined her fingers with Ivy’s to guide her towards the bunk bed, looking incredibly inviting in the soft glow cast by the tableside lantern. Harley nodded emphatically. “Totally. I’m going to cuddle you in the most professional way possible.”
Ivy sighed. “Cuddle is a strong word. We’re just… going to be closely enveloped to prevent the onset of hypothermia.”
Harley nodded again as she gently pushed Ivy into the bed. “Very business-like enveloping.”
“That’s right.” Ivy adjusted her covers, glancing up to see Harley excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands clasped as she waited for Ivy to get comfortable. Ivy sighed and gestured next to her. “Get in.”
Harley practically bounded in, snuggling up to the crook of Ivy’s shoulder, throwing an arm over her torso and entangling their legs. Once settled, she sighed contentedly.
Ivy felt a sense of calm wash over her, as if she was suddenly floating in a sun-warmed pool, not a care in the world. Just her and Harley, suspended together for a precious tranquil moment. No social awkwardness, annoying LOD politics, or the impending doom of climate change. Just them. She wrapped an arm around Harley, who responded by sleepily raising her head and giving Ivy a soft kiss on the cheek. It was so light and quick, Ivy almost didn’t register it until the sensation was gone.
“Goodnight Ive.” Harley gave her a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for always believing in me. Even when things go a bit haywire.” She nuzzled back against Ivy, yawning as she closed her eyes.
Ivy’s cheeks warmed as she smiled into the night, just as content as could be. “You’re welcome Harley.”