Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
Gotham lacked the decency to die. America had severed ties two months into the Laughing War, declaring the city too far gone to be saved. The military, with surgical precision, amputated Gotham from the rest of the country. Instead of scalpels, they used bombs and machine guns. They blew up the bridges, collapsed roadways, and shot the few who managed to get through the fenced borders. Thousands of citizens were abandoned, sacrificed for the sake of the nation.
The President forbade the Justice League from entering Gotham, let alone assist in its ceaseless war. The citizens who refused the initial evacuation prayed for Superman, but he did not come. The lucky lost their lives before they lost faith.
Bruce Wayne remained steadfast as Batman, leading his Bat Family in the early resistance. The GCPD took arms beside them, Commissioner Gordon answering the Bat’s plea. They all fought until they could not, the foolish rushing to fill each vacancy. Their pride did not shield them, and the body count climbed so high they were unable to retrieve their bodies from the war zone of Gotham’s streets.
When the last bridge exploded and America turned its back, the remaining citizens could no longer stand neutral, hiding in their basements and shelters. Supplies into Gotham had ceased. Food was scarce. Medical supplies even scarcer. They chose a side to survive, the decision splintering friends and families into sudden enemies. Those who slunk into Joker’s territory, believing his victories to continue, sacrificed their souls and morals just to keep fed. They painted their faces and adopted new names. It was easier to kill a neighbour when you were a stranger even to yourself.
Those who joined the resistance came reluctantly more often than not, unwilling to join the Joker, but not eager to raise a fist against him.
That is, until the night Harley Quinn snuck into Wayne Manor, her hands raised in surrender, declaring she had come to win the war. She was interrogated all night by Batman, and finally ruled to be a truthful ally. A sudden wave of optimism coursed through the resistance camps. If the Joker’s girlfriend, his most loyal follower, could fight against him, there was hope for the collapse of his army.
The vigor renewed by Harley’s arrival lasted three months, allowing them to regain a mere two square miles of the city. They scratched and clawed, fighting for each inch, pushing towards the former Wayne Tower. The Joker’s invasion of the building had truly been the starting point of the war. His name rebranded over Gotham’s favourite family name, he tortured Lucius Fox for the passcodes, gaining control of all Wayne tech. He released a cloud of poisonous laughing gas from the rooftop, killing everyone in the surrounding two blocks. The air filled with involuntary laughter, their bodies falling to the ground with audible thumps, silencing until one man stood alone, laughing and laughing, perched atop his new palace.
Harley and Batman reached Joker Tower on what came to be known as J-Day, vowing to end the war once and for all. At nightfall, a lone figure was spotted by the resistance limping out of the building, dragging a body behind them.
The resistance fell back, sacrificing the ground they had gained.
Bruce Wayne was dead.
CHAPTER 1
Harley Quinn rarely slept. She had adopted the nocturnal habits of her former mentor, preferring the safety of nightfall. If she managed to nap in the day, her guilt riddled dreams would wake her, dropping her into consciousness with such speed she felt like she was falling.
Today was no exception. She had slept an hour before she dreamt again of Bruce Wayne’s death. Abandoning the idea of sleep, she headed out into the shadows of Gotham’s streets. Her Birds, scattered across the safe houses of the city, had whispered rumours of a new figure in the Joker’s army. She needed to know more. And who.
The horizon began to lighten, warming the night sky with a warm red hue.
Red sky in morning, she thought to herself, remembering her father’s words, sailors take warning.
The rising sun increased her risk and she quickened her footsteps, hugging the alley walls and the fading shadows. She saw a glimmer in the cracked cement and bent down, crouching, to brush away the dead leaves and filth. She picked up an emerald, the size of a marble, and inspected it between her fingers. Before the war, the gem would have been worth a fortune. It was worthless now in the bartering market, nothing more than a shiny bauble discarded like trash. She pocketed it anyway, liking the way it shone.
A can rattled up ahead and Harley froze, listening for the telltale signs of footsteps.
Silence.
Tentatively, she pressed forward, angling her weight to the outside of her feet, softening her footsteps. She walked with slow deliberate steps and paused as she neared the alley’s crossing. The brick wall in front of her showed no shadows, no hint of an enemy on either side.
Silently, she cursed herself for choosing this alley, knowing the T intersection made her vulnerable without a partner. Taking the gamble, she bet left and sprinted across the opening to the opposing wall.
Lady Luck was never a fan of Harley Quinn.
Ahead, two clowns stepped out of a doorway, dragging an old man by his shirt collar. The man did not beg. Did not scream. His fate accepted, he turned his head away from his attackers, focusing down the alley where Harley stood obscured in shadow. He lifted his eyes, holding Harley’s gaze. One of the clowns drew his gun and aimed down. The man smiled, and with a deafening bang was finally free of Gotham’s hell.
Harley did not flinch at the gunshot, long since numb to the sights and sounds of death. The clowns would have continued on their way if not for the stray cat that leapt from the garbage can at the shot. They turned at the noise and there stood Harley, exposed.
“Fuck,” she muttered, and turned on her heel, sprinting back where she had come.
The clowns shot once. Twice.
Bang. Bang.
Their bullets missed their target, exploding the brick wall in Harley’s wake. She zigzagged down the alley, randomizing her positioning to avoid a clear shot.
Seeing the open roadway ahead, she ran until her feet hit the crumbled asphalt and she stumbled, losing her footing. Catching herself, she looked back, seeing the clowns closing in.
If she stayed on the road she was dead. She could not lose them on foot. Her gun weighed heavily on her hip but she did not reach for it. These men, despite being murderers on the wrong side of the war, were no different than her. Bruce had taught her redemption was not limited.
Her bullets were reserved for one man.
What remained of Gotham University was across the street, its architectural skeleton overrun with greenery. Both sides of the war knew not to enter the mysterious “Green” that overtook the city. The bloodied, unclaimed land of Gotham, sites of former battles, were turned into jungles seemingly overnight.
Spies, taking to the foliage for cover, were never seen again. Stories spread around campfires of man eating plants and a goddess who wailed at night, her cries echoing over the city.
Harley had no choice. Her death was set in stone, either by gunfire or greenery. She accelerated, resigned to her fate. Plunging into the Green, she covered her face, protecting herself from the dense branches.
She stopped in a small clearing and willed her breath to slow, allowing herself to hear around her. Birds whistled and called to each other. Bees buzzed, flying flower to flower. And the wind rustled through the leaves. There was no sound of her pursuers.
She turned to assess her positioning, curious which of the plants was going to be her demise. Harley could not remember a time she saw anything so beautiful. The war had turned the rest of Gotham into nothing but concrete and brick. The flowers’ scents melted together into an enchanting aroma and Harley could not help but reach out, bringing one of the buds closer to her nose.
The simple beauty of her surroundings affected her and she wiped her sudden tears with the back of her hand, relieved no one was there to see. Her crew would never have let her live it down.
The skin on Harley’s neck suddenly prickled and she turned, feeling watched.
“Hello?” she said.
There was no answer and Harley was not sure if that was a relief.
“I’m sorry for bargin’ into your home like this. It’s real nice. Nicer than any place I’ve ever lived.” She gestured around her, waving her hands at the flowers that had captivated her.
The wind slowed and the leaves stilled, silencing the greenery.
“I uh… I didn’t want to kill them is all,” Harley explained, thumbing back to the street. “But fair is fair, so I won’t be mad if you do your thing. I’ve done enough bad in my life that I’d rather go out on a positive, ya know?”
There was no movement, no indication that any plant, or goddess, was going to punish Harley for her trespassing.
Harley continued surveying around her, circling her feet in tiny steps. Green eyes stared back at her. Harley blinked and they were gone, nothing more than a metallic beetle flying leaf to leaf. A trick of the light. Her mind playing games.
She reached into her pocket and a gust of wind rattled the leaves. Her hand froze in her pocket, fingers grasped around the emerald.
Holding up her other hand in surrender, she spoke to the plants around her. “Just wanted to give ya somethin’. A peace offering? Or a tribute? Whatever ya want to call it.”
Noting the leaves no longer moved, she felt reassured and slowly removed the gem, holding it out on her open palm.
“I found this. A friend of mine likes sparkly things. But I uh….” She bent and placed the emerald gently on a rock. “I thought maybe you’d like it more on account of it bein’ green and all.”
There was no response, though Harley was unsure why she expected one. She stood in silence for a few minutes longer, enjoying the foreign feeling of peace.
She took tentative steps towards where she had entered, expecting to be killed at any second. Reaching the edge, her toes bordering the lush green grass and the asphalt outside, she looked back over her shoulder at the Green.
“Maybe you’re just a story. But either way…thanks for not eating me. And uh…” She paused to gently touch the leaf of an oak tree, rubbing it between her fingers, feeling the delicate veins. “Thanks for reminding me there’s still something beautiful in this world. More than just this shithole.”
She stepped out onto the asphalt, breaking into a sprint, desperate to get out of the open space.
Ignoring her normal safety protocols, she ran straight to the eastern safehouse, only bothering to check over her shoulder sporadically. She jumped the fence and climbed the old cable tower that was still precariously attached to the side of the former high school. Throwing her leg over the ledge, she stepped onto the roof and continued to the large air vent. Quietly, she pulled off the slatted cover and crawled inside, replacing the cover behind her.
She slid down the vent and crawled the remaining distance to the familiar opening. Dropping from the hole, she landed softly on the tiled floor.
The room, a math classroom in its glory days, now acted as one of the sleeping quarters for the members of the resistance. A solitary mattress lay on the floor under the chalkboard. Above it, she had scrawled “Harley is here” in white chalk. She had written it last week when they moved into the school, using it to claim the room. But also, she admitted alone later, as a reminder to herself.
Harley is here. Harley is not there.
She walked to one of the windows, the glass still protected by the outer metal cage. The cage, once intended to deter petty vandalism and broken windows, now gave Harley a thin sense of security.
She rubbed the heel of her palm in circles on the dirty glass, clearing a small section to look out through. From her fourth floor view, she was able to see over the surrounding houses, the towering skyscrapers of downtown Gotham on the western horizon. The Joker Tower stood taller than the other buildings, a middle finger on the landscape, a fuck you to the resistance.
And scattered amongst the grey landscape was the brilliance of the Green, blanketing over entire buildings, consuming random city blocks. Harley stared at the environmental whitewash, considering it with newfound respect.
“Tim’s furious you missed the briefing.”
A familiar woman’s voice startled Harley out of her thoughts. She did not turn to the doorway, knowing that Selina Kyle was walking towards her.
“I was busy.”
“You were busy last time.”
Harley shrugged. “You can catch me up.”
“It’s not his fault, you know. He’s doing the best he can.”
Harley’s response caught in her throat. She did not answer.
“You didn’t come through the security door,” Selina said.
“Didn’t feel like talkin’ to anybody.”
Selina approached and placed a hand on Harley’s shoulder, playing lightly with the strap of her leather top, black and red split down the middle.
Harley turned, facing her friend.
Selina held up a dusty bottle, sloshing the half-filled liquid happily. “I found us a little something while I was exploring the maintenance room.”
It had been quite some time since Harley had seen a liquor bottle, but she recognized it immediately as a brand of cheap, shitty whiskey. Liquor was one of the most sought after bartering items. She couldn't help but calculate in her head what they could trade for it.
Selina grabbed two glasses off the old teacher’s desk, blowing lightly into them to remove the dust. She poured heavily into the glasses before Harley could protest. She carried the glasses in one hand, the bottle in the other, and offered one to Harley.
“What’s the occasion?”
Selina cocked her head in surprise. “You didn’t remember?”
Harley shrugged. Time made no sense to her anymore. Each day was a repeat of the one before it.
“It’s a year today.”
Harley squinted in thought and suddenly remembered a split second before Selina said his name, her stomach falling.
“Bruce.”
It was the one year anniversary of J-Day, and Harley had forgotten. She stared down at her glass, swirling the brown liquid before raising it to her lips. She grimaced as the alcohol burned down her throat and Selina mistook the expression for remorse.
“It’s not your fault either, you know.”
“That’s not what you said then,” Harley blurted, instantly filled with regret at the look on Selina’s face. “Fuck. Sorry… I didn’t mean that…”
“No, you did.” Selina moved to stand beside Harley, staring out the window she had cleaned. She swallowed the contents of her glass in one gulp.
“I shouldn’t have said it though,” Harley said, sounding genuinely remorseful.
“No, you shouldn’t have. But I shouldn’t have either. So, here we are. A couple of assholes toasting another dead asshole.”
Harley shook her glass. “It’s bad luck to toast with an empty glass.”
Selina turned and refilled their glasses, setting the bottle down on the floor. They raised their glasses, clinking them together.
“To Bruce,” Selina said.
“To Bruce.”
They sipped slowly this time, savoring the rare drink.
“What were you so caught up in?” Selina asked, pointing out the window.
Harley shrugged and finished her drink. “Don’t get mad at me.”
Selina snapped her head towards Harley. “What did you do?” she growled.
“I said don’t get mad!”
“Harley!”
“I had a run in this morning. Surprised by two clowns.”
Selina closed her eyes in frustration. “I told you not to go anywhere till your bike was fixed.”
“I felt trapped in here. I needed to get out for a while. And I’m fine. See? I’m right here.” She poked her chest for emphasis. “I couldn’t lose ‘em. So I ducked into the Green.”
Selina smacked the back of Harley’s head reflexively and then grimaced in apology. “Sorry. But Harley! The Green? What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I’d rather take my chances with some ferns.”
“You have to stop with this rule of yours. You won’t kill them, but they’ll sure as hell kill you. The bounty on your head alone is-“
“I know, I know,” Harley interrupted, “but I’m not changing that. Not ever. I promised him.”
“And look where that righteousness got him!”
Silence fell over the room, weighing heavily on the two women.
Selina spoke first, the moment over, and stepped away from the window. “What happened?”
“Nothin’,” Harley replied, sounding disappointed. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time. But nothin’ happened. Didn’t even prick myself on a thorn.”
“You must have done something to please her. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here!”
“Her?…” Harley asked, her question hanging.
Selina realized her mistake, blurting out her response in the heat of her emotions. She froze, panic visible on her face.
“What do you mean ‘her’?” Harley asked. “You told me all that was just a pissing contest between foolish boys. Nothing but drinking stories.”
Selina sighed and closed her eyes. “I used to know her. Back when… you know, when Gotham was Gotham.” She reopened her eyes, seeing Harley staring at her, captivated.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because the woman I knew no longer exists. This?” She gestured to the window. “This isn’t her. She’s gone…wild. Feral. If you don’t cut back a rose bush? It goes wild. Grows out of control.”
“Who?” Harley demanded. “Who is she?”
“Poison Ivy.”
Harley leaned back against the windowsill, a million thoughts racing through her mind. “So there actually is a goddess?”
“She’s not a god. Metahuman, yes. But not a god. She was born a human, same as you and me.”
Harley turned and stared out the window, resting her palm against the glass. She stared at the Green, imagining the woman responsible for all that rebirth and beauty.
“Harley…” Selina began, warning her friend.
“She’s going to help us win this war.”
“No. She’s not. She seems quite happy picking up all the broken pieces of Gotham and turning them into her personal paradise. She’s been here this whole time and never lifted a finger to help us.”
Harley turned, a mischievous smile on her face. “Yah, but she didn’t lift a finger to help them either.”
There was logic in Harley’s answer, but she would never admit it. “I’m not speaking at your funeral after she kills you.”
Harley smiled, acknowledging Selina’s joke as reluctant acceptance. The two friends had gone through too much together for one to think they could stop the other.
“You’ll be too drunk, I know.”
Selina placed her glass on the desk and walked towards the bed, speaking without looking back. “I’m not too drunk now. Enough about Poison Ivy. Let’s go to bed.”
“I’m not tired,” Harley said, staring outside.
“Neither am I.”
Harley looked quickly over her shoulder, seeing Selina slip her shirt over her head. “Oh… Oh!”