Chapter 12: Aftermath
The grotto’s ethereal glow softened in the aftermath, the bioluminescent fungi pulsing with a slower, sleepier rhythm. The air, once charged with raw energy, now felt heavy and warm, thick with the scent of sex, damp earth, and their own exhaustion. Ivy had vanished, melting back into the shadows of her kingdom without a sound, leaving them alone in the vast, quiet cavern.
Harmony’s limbs felt like water, her muscles trembling with a profound fatigue. She stood unsteadily, the moss cool and soft beneath her bare feet. Harley, released from the vines’ grip, swayed on her feet for a moment before her knees buckled. Harmony caught her, the smaller woman’s weight surprising her. Harley was all compact muscle and dead weight, her skin slick with sweat.
“C’mon,” Harley mumbled, her voice slurred and thick. She hooked a weak arm around Harmony’s shoulders, using her for support as she half-stumbled, half-dragged them both toward a dense tangle of vines and moss that formed a large, nest-like bed against one of the grotto’s walls.
They collapsed into it together, the living mattress sighing beneath them, cradling their spent bodies. The vines shifted, curling gently around their ankles and wrists in a loose, possessive embrace before stilling.
Harley immediately burrowed into Harmony, her back pressing against Harmony’s front. She pulled Harmony’s arm around her waist, lacing their fingers together. Her skin was fever-warm.
“Stay close, bunny,” Harley breathed, the words a ghost of sound against Harmony’s neck. The pet name, once a command from Ivy, now felt different in Harley’s mouth—softer, a plea instead of an order. Then, the tension bled completely from her body, and her breathing evened out into the deep, unmistakable rhythm of sleep.
Harmony lay still, hyper-aware of every point of contact. Harley’s back was flush against her chest, the knobs of her spine pressing into Harmony’s sternum. Harley’s ass was nestled against her thighs, and the messy, damp evidence of what they’d just done cooled between them. Harmony could smell her own scent on Harley’s skin, mixed with the unique, electric aroma that was purely Harley—cheap candy, gunpowder, and chaos.
She stared at the back of Harley’s head, at the vibrant, tangled strands of pink and blue hair. This was the woman who blew up city blocks for fun. The woman who laughed while dodging bullets. The woman who, according to Arkham legend, had once taken a bite out of a security guard’s ear just to see the expression on his face.
And she was clinging to Harmony like a lifeline.
A confusing warmth spread through Harmony’s chest, something that felt dangerously like possession. She tightened her arm around Harley’s waist, pulling her just a fraction closer. The vines around her wrist tightened in response, a silent acknowledgment.
Her mind replayed the last hour in fractured, vivid snapshots. The feel of the vine inside her. The taste of Harley on her tongue. The raw, shattered sound of Harley’s climax. The look in Ivy’s eyes—not jealousy, but a kind of dark, satisfied pride, as if she were admiring a particularly well-trained hound.
She was supposed to be terrified. She was supposed to be planning her escape. Instead, she felt… anchored. The chaotic storm that was Harley Quinn had quieted, and Harmony was the harbor.
A soft, rustling sound made her flinch. She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Ivy stood at the edge of the nest, silhouetted by the glowing flora. She wasn’t looking at Harmony. Her gaze was fixed on Harley, and for a fleeting second, an expression of something unguarded and painfully tender crossed her sharp features. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual cool detachment.
She reached down, and a single, night-blooming flower—a deep, velvety purple with a central core that shimmered like a star—unfurled from a vine in her hand. She leaned over and gently tucked it behind Harley’s ear.
“She always crashes hard after a performance,” Ivy said, her voice low so as not to disturb Harley’s sleep. Her eyes finally flicked to Harmony, and a faint, knowing smile touched her lips. “You did well. You kept her steady.”
Harmony didn’t know what to say. Thank you felt absurd. Go to hell felt suicidal.
Ivy’s smile widened a fraction, as if she’d heard the unspoken conflict. She ran a single, green-tipped finger along the line of Harmony’s jaw. “Sleep, little rabbit. The garden protects its own.”
Then she was gone, dissolving back into the foliage as if she were part of it.
Harmony lay there, listening to the quiet drip of water somewhere in the darkness and the steady, reassuring sound of Harley’s breathing. The flower behind Harley’s ear released a faint, narcotic sweetness into the air. The vine around her wrist relaxed its hold, becoming a simple, comforting weight.
She buried her face in the juncture of Harley’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the chaotic, comforting scent of her. The world above, with its white walls and screaming order, felt a million miles away. Down here, in the dark and the damp, pressed against the living, breathing heart of madness, Harmony closed her eyes.
For the first time since they’d dragged her into Arkham, she didn’t feel alone.
The flower’s scent wove through her dreams, a purple thread pulling her toward consciousness. Harmony surfaced slowly, the deep, mossy softness beneath her a stark contrast to the thin asylum mattress. A profound warmth was pressed along her back, a solid, breathing weight. For a disorienting moment, she thought it was another vine.
Then she remembered. Harley.
She was still curled around the older woman, her arm draped over Harley’s waist, her face nestled in the messy, colorful hair. Harley’s back rose and fell in a steady, slow rhythm against her chest. The grotto was quieter now, the bioluminescent fungi dimmed to a soft, predawn shimmer.
Voices, low and woven through with a familiar tension, drifted from somewhere nearby.
“You didn’t have to go that hard on her, Red.” Harley’s voice was a sleep-roughened murmur, lacking its usual manic edge. “The kid’s new. She’s not one of your damn plants you can just fertilize and see what sprouts.”
A soft, rustling sigh answered. “She needed to understand the ecosystem. Order from chaos.” Ivy’s tone was cool, analytical. “You of all people should appreciate that. I saw the way you looked at her when she had you unraveling. You liked it.”
Harmony froze, her breathing deliberately shallow. She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me, Pammy. You’ll strain something.” A shifting of weight, the moss sighing beneath them. “I’m just sayin’. The rabbit’s got teeth, sure. But you don’t gotta test ‘em on my clit.”
“Your concern is touching. And hypocritical.” Ivy’s voice dropped, becoming almost intimate. “You forget, I remember the wreck you were when he was through with you. Broken things, desperate for any kind of attention. She’s stronger than you were. There’s a cold little core in that one.”
A long silence stretched, so thick Harmony could feel it pressing down on her.
“She’s different,” Harley finally said, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the dripping water. “It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Ivy’s retort was swift, a sharp vine snaking through the air. “You find a lost thing, you try to make it yours. You paint it in your colors. The question is, are you saving her or are you just making a new version of you?”
“Maybe she’s makin’ a new version of me,” Harley shot back, a defensive bite returning to her voice.
Ivy’s laugh was a soft, bitter thing. “Don’t be quaint. That’s my job. To put down roots. You? You’re a hurricane. You just rearrange the furniture.”
Another pause. Harmony could feel the fine tremors in Harley’s body where they touched.
“I’m not gonna break her, Pam.”
“I know,” Ivy replied, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. “Because if you try, I’ll be here. To pick up the pieces. And you won’t like how I put them back together.”
The threat hung in the humid air, absolute and serene.
Harmony lay perfectly still, the words etching themselves into her mind. A cold little core. Making a new version of you. The warmth of Harley’s body against hers suddenly felt like a lie, a performance she wasn’t meant to see. The sense of belonging she’d clung to just hours before began to curdle, twisting into something sharper and more dangerous. She kept her breathing even, a perfect imitation of sleep, while inside, everything was rearranging.
The conversation ebbed, replaced by the soft, wet sounds of the grotto. Harmony counted the slow, steady drips of water, each one a marker of time passing. She waited until Harley’s breathing deepened again into the true rhythm of sleep and the rustle of Ivy’s movement faded into the distance.
Then, with infinite care, she began to extract herself.
She slid her arm from Harley’s waist, millimeter by millimeter. The vines around her wrists loosened their sleepy hold, sensing her subtle shift. Harley made a small, discontent noise in her throat, a murmur that was almost a name, and curled tighter into herself. Harmony froze, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She waited, the humid air suddenly cold on her skin.
After a breath that felt like an eternity, she tried again. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, the living moss sighing beneath her. Every shift of her weight sounded like a thunderclap in the profound silence. She swung her legs over the side of the nest, her bare feet meeting the cool, damp earth.
She stood, her legs wobbly. The grotto stretched before her, a landscape of glowing fungi and deep, menacing shadows. The path out was a memory, a twist in the tunnel she’d barely registered when Ivy brought them down here. She took a step, then another, her focus locked on the darkness ahead. Freedom was a concept that had shrunk to a single goal: get out of this room.
A rustle, soft as a sigh, came from behind her. She didn't dare look back.
She took another step, and the vines at her feet, which had lain dormant and harmless, suddenly coiled. They snapped around her ankles with the force of whips, yanking her feet out from under her. The ground rushed up to meet her, the impact driving the air from her lungs in a painful gasp.
She was dragged backward, her fingernails scraping uselessly through the soft soil. The world tilted, the glowing ceiling swinging above her. She came to a stop at the base of a massive, twisted root structure.
Ivy leaned against it, one hip cocked, idly examining her own flawless green fingernails. "The garden protects its own," she said, her voice a low, chiding hum. "It also doesn't let them wander off." She finally looked down at Harmony, her emerald eyes gleaming in the half-light. "The rabbit thinks it can run."
Ivy’s smile was a razor blade. “The rabbit thinks it can run.”
Harmony’s heart hammered against the dirt floor, the vines constricting like living manacles. She struggled for a breath, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of the night-bloom still tucked behind Harley’s ear. “I wasn’t running,” she gasped, the lie brittle. “I just… needed air.”
“The air down here is mine,” Ivy stated, not moving from her casual lean against the root. “You breathe what I allow.” She flicked a wrist, and the vines tightened another fraction, squeezing a whimper from Harmony’s throat.
A groggy rustle came from the nest. “The hell’s all the racket?” Harley’s voice was gravelly with sleep. She pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking. Her eyes, still soft with sleep, landed on Harmony pinned to the ground, then flicked to Ivy. The sleep vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective alertness. “Pam. Ease up.”
“She was attempting an unscheduled departure,” Ivy said, her tone flat. “We don’t tolerate ingratitude in the garden.”
“I’m not ungrateful!” Harmony’s voice cracked. The pressure on her ankles was becoming a dull, throbbing ache. She looked at Harley, desperation clawing at her throat. “I just… I heard you. Before.”
Harley went very still. “Heard what?”
“You and her.” Harmony’s gaze darted to Ivy, then back. “About broken things. And making a new version of you.” The words tumbled out, sharp and accusing. “I’m not a project. I’m not furniture for you to rearrange.”
Harley’s face did something complicated, a flicker of guilt quickly masked by a defensive scowl. She swung her legs out of the nest, stalking toward them with a predator’s grace that belied her petite frame. “You were eavesdroppin’? Not cool, bunny. Not cool at all.”
“What was I supposed to do?” Harmony shot back, the fear morphing into a hot, sudden anger. “You were talking about me like I was some pet! One you’re trying to save, the other one’s waiting to see how I break.” She strained against the vines. “I don’t need your saving. And I’m not gonna break.”
Ivy watched the exchange, a botanist observing two interesting specimens clash. “The denial is part of the process. It means the roots are taking hold.”
“Will you shut up about the damn roots for five seconds?” Harley snapped at Ivy, her focus returning to Harmony. She knelt down, her face inches from Harmony’s. The scent of sweat and sex still clung to her. “You think this is some kinda game? You think we’re playin’ house? Out there,” she jerked her thumb toward the cavern ceiling, “they’ll pump you so full of drugs you’ll forget your own name. In here, you’re alive. You felt it.”
“I felt used,” Harmony whispered, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it came.
Harley’s expression softened, just a hair. “Yeah, well. Welcome to the club.” She reached out, not to Harmony, but to the vines. She wrapped her fingers around them, her knuckles white. “Let her go, Red. Now.”
Ivy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Or what? You’ll pout?”
“Or I’ll start pullin’ up your precious weeds by the root,” Harley said, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “Starting with that ugly ass giant flytrap you’re so proud of.”
A tense silence stretched between the two women, thick enough to taste. The grotto itself seemed to hold its breath. Finally, Ivy gave a nearly imperceptible nod. The vines loosened, slithering back into the earth and leaving faint, red marks on Harmony’s skin.
Harley didn’t offer a hand. She just stayed crouched, watching Harmony rub her ankles. The flower, dislodged from Harley’s hair, lay crushed and wilting on the moss between them.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Harmony said, her voice small. The confrontation had left her hollowed out, raw. The brief sense of power she’d felt with her mouth on Harley, the fleeting belonging, it all felt like a lie constructed for someone else’s amusement. She looked at Harley, then at Ivy, her shoulders slumping under the weight of their combined attention.
Harmony frowned. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
The silence after her words felt heavier than the vines. Harley just stared, her blue eyes unreadable in the grotto’s pulsing light. Ivy let out a soft, dismissive sound, already turning away as if the show was over.
“A burden?” Harley finally repeated, the word tasting strange in her mouth. She scrubbed a hand over her face, smearing what was left of her lipstick. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Harmony whispered, her voice frayed. She hugged her knees to her chest, the red marks on her ankles stark against her pale skin. The crushed flower smelled like rotten honey.
Harley let out a sharp, frustrated breath. She looked from Harmony’s hunched form to Ivy’s retreating back, her jaw working. A war was happening behind her eyes, a familiar chaos wrestling with something quieter, something new.
“Pam, get lost,” Harley said, not taking her eyes off Harmony.
Ivy paused, a silhouette against the glowing fungi. “Don’t do anything sentimental, Harl. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I said beat it.”
With a rustle of leaves that sounded like a sigh, Ivy melted into the shadows, leaving them alone in the eerie quiet. The air still hummed with the aftermath of their fight.
Harley moved suddenly, dropping down onto the moss in front of Harmony. She didn’t touch her, just sat there, her knees almost touching Harmony’s.
“You heard that crap, huh?” Harley’s voice was low, stripped of its usual performative glee. “Me and Red… we talk a lot of shit. It’s what we do.”
“It didn’t sound like shit,” Harmony said, her face still buried against her knees. “It sounded true.”
“Yeah, well. A lot of true things sound shitty.” Harley picked at a thread on her torn shorts. “You think I’m tryin’ to make a mini-me? Some fucked-up doll to play with?”
Harmony didn’t answer. The question hung between them, ugly and real.
“I ain’t him,” Harley said, the words so quiet they were almost swallowed by the dripping water. “I know what that looks like. I know what it feels like. This… this is different.”
“How?” Harmony’s question was a challenge, a spark of the cold little core Ivy had seen.
Harley was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some point in the dark beyond Harmony. “I don’t know,” she admitted, the confession seeming to cost her something. “I just know I don’t wanna see you broken. Not by them. Not by me. Not by any of this.”
She finally looked at Harmony, her eyes blazing with a desperate, raw honesty. “You’re not a burden. You’re…”
She trailed off, searching for a word that wasn’t a lie, that wasn’t a tool, that wasn’t owned by Ivy or anyone else. She couldn’t find it.
So she showed her instead.
In one fluid motion, Harley closed the small distance between them. She didn’t grab her or pull her roughly. She wrapped her arms around Harmony, pulling her in tight. It wasn’t a gentle embrace; it was firm, almost clumsy, all wiry strength and stubborn resolve.
Harley hugged her.
Her face pressed into Harmony’s messy curls, and she held on like she was anchoring them both to the spot. Harmony stiffened for a second, shocked by the suddenness, the sheer lack of pretense. Then, the tension bled out of her in a shuddering exhale. She melted into the hold, her own arms coming up to clutch at the back of Harley’s tank top.
They stayed like that for a long time, in the heart of the maddening, beautiful garden, two lost things holding on in the dark.