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Over the navel, down the straining sides. Up and around, circle, repeat. The motion of her hands was transfixing, the soothing way she rubbed her bulging belly, as though applying body lotion to it.
Harley felt a coil of nausea twisting in her own gut and quietly recoiled from the woman sitting next to her. She curled in on herself, clutching at Ivy, who'd been frowning at some Plant Life magazine on her other side.
"What's wrong, Harl?" she asked, directing her frown at Harley.
"I don't feel so good, Red. Let's get outta here."
Her fingers skitter down Ivy's arm to hold her hand. She had never thought about logistics when she'd daydreamed about having children with Mr. J – it had been more of a hypothetical nature. Given his detached personality, adoption would have been the more feasible option, anyway. She would have been a good mama to any Joker Jr.
"It's only a routine check-up, girl," Ivy soothes. "There's nothing to fear."
She must have sensed Harley's growing agitation. Which wasn't difficult, since she kept throwing queasy glances at the parasitic outgrowth of the pregnant woman next to her as though it were catching.
"I know," Harley whined, unable to ignore the woman who seemed blissfully unaware of how offensive her quiet hums and serene beauty were.
"If it helps: I couldn't have done that to you," Ivy teased. Harley heaved a sigh.
Thank God Ivy was a girl and more interested in hybrid plants than human fertility.