No Bed of Roses [Batman]

[Pamela Isley]

The Isley estate was a palatial property nestled among the other mansions of Gotham's elite. Surrounded by a six-foot-high wrought iron fence and a lavish garden - which was allowed to grow wilder around the fringes but was kept neatly manicured around the elaborate three-story mansion that was Pamela's home. It was a lot of house, especially after the sudden deaths of her parents several months previously.

And yet perhaps it wasn't quite enough because she'd expanded it a few months ago by adding a very large greenhouse in the backyard - so large that it dwarfed the houses of those who lived in less affluent neighborhoods. The glass-walled building lacked the long rows of carefully cultivated pots normally found in a greenhouse - instead, there were uncontained vines spreading everywhere, weaving their way through what would seem to be a rainforest choked with diverse plant life. Only the pipes of the irrigation system hanging at the level of the tallest plants, the absence of the calls of jungle animals, and the occasional sight of the outer wall of the greenhouse spoiled the illusion that one was no longer in Gotham.

Here was Pamela's sanctuary, and where she'd retreated in order to make herself scarce for a few hours - soon she would have to play the role of the shocked and bereaved girlfriend, confused by the tragic turn of events and appalled, though understanding, by any initial suspicion cast in her direction. Nothing that she was too worried about, as she trusted in her ability to deflect the investigation away from her. And she'd ensured that Bruce, as well as the waitstaff at the Rose Cafe where she and Harvey had been dining, would have seen that they were a perfectly happy couple only a short time before his collapse. That, combined with the fact that nobody, not even Harvey, suspected the grudge she secretly held against him, and it would seem that she had absolutely no motive to harm him at all.

This was very important because she knew it was a very bold move to kill him with a plant-based poison when it was well known that she was an expert on that very subject. In fact, that was one of the reasons why she'd arranged for her housekeeper to have the evening off and 'accidentally' wandered away from any phones - if they were quick enough to determine what type of poison it was and contact her about it then she'd certainly have to put on a big show of trying to save him, and that was too complicated. Making sure she wasn't easy to contact for a few crucial hours was much easier.

Either way, though, she expected the suspicion to end up being placed on the kitchen staff of the cafe. The poison she'd used was virtually unknown and the plant that produced it was supposedly extinct. It wasn't, though - instead the last surviving member of its species was hidden among the artificial rainforest currently surrounding her. Among the Rose cafe's specialties were exotic fruits and vegetables from around the world being incorporated into many of their dishes - surely something had accidentally or on purpose ended up in poor Harvey's food? She didn't care who ended up with the blame, though, as long as it wasn't her.

Still, there was a risk that something would go wrong. But even if she couldn't cast the suspicion away from herself in the end, she knew she would have the satisfaction of Harvey's death either way. The poison she'd used had no known antidote, and only someone with her training could make one, and it took longer to make the antidote than Harvey had left to live. She knew this because she'd done so - she'd made the antidote herself to have on hand, just in case something went wrong when she'd poisoned Harvey. But now it was in her lab - not exactly hidden, but it was in an unlabeled vial, and there were well over a hundred other unlabeled vials in her laboratory, and only she knew which one it was. And nobody would ever convince her to tell them which one it was.

Her lab was within the greenhouse, taking up the back wall of the space. Within it was a vast assortment of laboratory glassware and equipment, in a perpetual state of organized disarray - to anyone else it appeared to be chaos but she knew exactly where everything was. The labs of many scientists probably looked much the same except for one detail: the conspicuous absence of labels, notes, or other paperwork. Because, after all, she had no intention of sharing what she was doing with anyone, this evening's murder attempt wasn't the only illegal thing she was up to, and she was perfectly capable of remembering all of it in her head, where it was safe from inspection, and that was the smart way of doing things with all of that being the case.

She was not, however, in the lab area at the moment - instead she was among the plants of her greenhouse, pruning a Philodendron giganteum that was living up to its name far too well and blocking too much light from its neighbors. But it had many more leaves than it really needed so she was removing enough of them to restore botanical harmony. She hummed softly to herself, planning on ignoring the rest of the world until the events she'd set in motion forced her to pay attention to it again. Or for the fine folk investigating Harvey's sudden change of health to fail so completely that they didn't contact her this evening at all - in which case she'd simply go to bed.

[Bruce Wayne]

Batman was still, crouched low in the brush that lined the perimeter of the Isley family estate. It was very seldom that his business took him this far north onto the mainland, The Bat’s enemies typically preferred the comfort of dark alleys and smoke-filled backrooms, not affluent suburbs and gated communities. However, the night was as dark here as it was anywhere else – The Bat was still in his element.

A few moments earlier, he was anything but still – speeding down the winding country roads like a force of nature. He was in a race, a race against time where every second counted. He didn’t have time; Harvey Dent didn’t have time. In a hospital down on the island, Bruce Wayne’s oldest friend was dying. The doctors gave him a best-case scenario of a few hours before his body would give out against the poison that was ravaging his system. Despite their best efforts, they couldn’t ID the toxin, their best guess was that he had ingested arsenic. Right now, the MCU was tearing apart the Rose Café and grilling each member of the kitchen staff. The Dark Knight knew better, whoever had poisoned Harvey wanted them to think it had been from the food, it was the perfect cover. He did his own analysis of Harvey’s blood and found a perfect match, something the doctors wouldn’t have even considered: Rosaceae vularis, an extinct species of rose. An obscure variety, very few would know about it or its deadly properties, except for someone like renowned botanist and toxicologist Dr. Pamela Isley – Harvey’s new fiancé.

Through binoculars, Batman got a quick lay of the land. The manor was dark, no light was visible from any of the windows. Only one car was visible outside the house’s front entrance, it was the same car that Bruce Wayne saw at the Rose Café. He gritted his teeth at the thought. The only visible light on the property came from an unusually large greenhouse, Isley’s most obvious haunt. Swiftly and silently, The Bat moved toward the structure. He didn’t have time to appraise the situation much further, he had to rely on instinct alone. Since there weren’t any visible cameras or motion alarms, it was fair to believe that he retained the element of surprise, however, experience had taught him was always a safer bet to assume that he was expected. She was a skilled toxicologist; it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she would put that education to use against him if given the chance. The prudent measure would be to assume that she was armed and dangerous.

As he approached the door to the greenhouse, The Bat reached into his belt and retrieved his emp disruptor. With a quick flick, the device folded out into what appeared to be a compact rifle, which he carefully aimed towards a junction box near the entrance. The box let out a small burst of sparks as the lights inside the greenhouse went dead and the property was submerged in almost total blackness. If Isley had a backup generator -- which was more than likely -- such an occurrence would prove a mild inconvenience that would only serve to pull her away from her work for the short time it would take to turn the power back on. He wouldn’t give her that chance. With a press of a button on his utility belt, the Bat’s world lit up as his cowl’s built-in lenses activated night vision mode and he silently crept into Isley’s homegrown jungle.

Even though the green haze of night vision, Isley’s work was certainly impressive. Her specimens came from nearly all corners of the globe, and she had somehow managed to foster an environment that could allow this many species to grow to their full potential. She was a genius, and she had wasted all of that vast potential.

The growth also afforded him plenty of cover, perhaps he didn’t need to cut the power after all. Even so, he wasn’t willing to cede Isley’s home advantage – this was her jungle, after all. Through the brush, he was able to make out movement. He had her. In one swift movement, he whipped out a bola from his utility belt and launched them at her feet. With an audible swoosh, the weapon caught its target and ensnared itself. From the brush, he emerged, cracking an emergency flare to make himself visible amid the darkness. The red glow gave The Batman a grim, haunting appearance as shadows danced across his face in consort with the flame. What was visible of his face through the cowl bore a fierce expression, his jaw gutting and teeth clenched in a sneer. When he spoke, it was with a voice like distant thunder, powerful yet frightfully calm.

“Harvey Dent’s Antidote. Now.”

[Pamela Isley]

Was Pamela expecting Batman? Absolutely not! She'd hardly paid any attention to the stories about him, but what little she'd heard about him indicated that he was going after the mafia, the gangs, and certain major criminals and she was none of those things. True, she was not unaware that her activities were becoming more and more criminal, but she saw no reason why Batman would notice her activities when it seemed like his attention was elsewhere.

So though she certainly noticed when the power flickered, it didn't concern her. Especially since she had better than a generator - she had a backup battery system that was able to restore the power nearly instantly even without her having to do anything, though only the most essential appliances were automatically included and that meant very minimal lighting in the greenhouse. But it did cause her to pause and wonder what was going on - not that she suspected that it was a prelude to anything more. Instead, she simply moved to where she could see some of the nearby streetlights - was it just her house that had a power issue, or was it the entire neighborhood?

She was still in the process of determining this and what, if anything, she should do about it, when a strange sound to one side was followed by something wrapping around her legs. Because she didn't attempt to move either before or after it was deployed she was able to stay on her feet, though she grabbed hold of one of the branches of a small tree to maintain her balance as she turned to see where the sound had come from.

Caught by surprise, for an instant what she truly felt at this moment appeared on her face - pure, absolute hatred. Far more than any reasonable person would believe that Batman deserved at this moment, even with his theatrics, the bola, and his demand - no, something about this triggered something very deep and passionate within this woman that went far beyond even the present circumstances. But the expression was not one without fear - no, this was someone who felt trapped in a corner, but her first instinct was not to cower but to be instantly ready to destroy whatever put her there.

But it was only an instant before her expression changed drastically to one of alarm, and she gasped at the sight in front of her. "Who... Wh-what are you talking about?" she stammered, her eyes very briefly glancing about for a way to retreat. But that was quite impossible with her legs tied, so she could only turn to face him and lean away - anything more and she was likely to fall to the ground and that certainly would improve matters for her. As she turned her free hand that was not holding onto the tree subtly shifted to hide behind her - it was still holding the gardening shears she'd been using when he'd interrupted her.

[Bruce Wayne]

There are several traits any good detective should have; he should always be able to remain objective at all times, he must never take someone at face value, and he should always know when he’s being lied to. Pamela Isley had managed to compromise all three of these in Bruce. At their first meeting at the Rose Café, Bruce had fallen for her charming socialite façade completely. He hardly seemed to question how she had so completely wrapped Harvey around her little finger, why she had this insatiable charisma that ensnared everyone around her. He had gotten too caught up in being Bruce Wayne that he forgot to ask the questions Batman would. Stupid.

However, that was them, and that rage and mad fury that he saw flash in her eyes just now told him everything he should’ve known earlier. This woman is dangerous, this woman kills without remorse.

By now, the backup lights had activated. They were automatic, he had miscalculated. The pressure of a ticking clock had made him careless; he was making assumptions and acting without thinking. It hadn’t made much of a difference here, but that shouldn’t matter, a miscalculation like that could have been devastating under different circumstances. Speed and efficiency without compromises – Harvey doesn’t need you getting sloppy. He turned off the night vision but kept the flare lit. The lighting was dim enough that it still gave him an otherworldly glow.

By now, the shock of his attack had worn off and Isley was playing clueless. Too little too late. He had to give her credit for her performance – it might buy her some sympathy from a jury, and if she were performing for anyone else, they would be too distracted to notice the arm tucked behind her back. The Bat made certain that there was a distance between them in case she tried something stupid.

“Rosaceae vularis: The Wild Thorny Rose. A bold choice given your background, but nobody would suspect that the District Attorney was poisoned with a supposedly extinct flower, would they?” He spoke with a calm, even cadence – underneath, however, something angry and terrible threatened to emerge. “Give me the antidote now before things end badly for you.”

With a sudden jerk, his free hand flew down to his belt and he drew back a piece of curved serrated metal, not unlike a small boomerang.

“… and Dr. Isley,” he said, in a now barely restrained growl. “Show me both of your hands. Now.”

[Pamela Isley]

One thing that Batman had gotten completely correct was that the woman he was facing was a genius, and though that didn't extend into every aspect of her thought process it certainly wasn't limited to plants. Hidden deeply on the inside, her thoughts were quickly racing to find the solution to the situation she was suddenly in - which is why her first action had been a delaying tactic. Playing the clueless socialite was an excellent go-to, after all, as that was exactly what anyone would expect her to be in almost any situation.

But already she was both literally and figuratively in a bind, which greatly limited her options even for someone with her level of ingenuity. Though the bola restricting her movements was actually secondary to the simple fact that Batman was quite unexpectedly here and she was honestly much better at planning ahead than she was at thinking on her feet. What's more, she knew almost nothing about him and much of her skillset was in the art of interpersonal manipulation - something significally easier to do if you knew even a little about a person.

All of that led to that feeling of being backed into a corner already, though aside from the brief glimpse that flickered across her face when she first realized her situation the façade she now wore was flawless. He may beat himself up all he wanted for not detecting her lies before, but how was he or anyone else to know when only someone who already knew better could possibly have known now that the figurative mask she wore was back in place - which was just as real as the literal one he wore.

Even when his words revealed what he knew, her façade did not slip - her expression of shock at the accusation appeared to be genuine, not rehearsed. All except a slight twitch of her eyes at the mention of the rose, a nearly instinctive reaction to look at it when it was mentioned, though she caught herself doing it and she forced her eyes to focus back on Batman - this left the exact location of the plant inconclusive but it was definitely in the greenhouse and it was somewhere toward the back, near but not in the lab area. But as she was already forcing herself to refrain from letting her eyes give him any more clues they remained steadily pointed at him as he mentioned the antidote - his sudden appearance may have thrown her, but already her mind was regrouping. How could he know? But no matter - he can't prove anything.

"What makes you think I have an antidote to the poison of an extinct plant?" she asked, beginning to shift from 'frightened socialite' to 'outraged socialite'. "And how dare you come here and threaten me in my house?!? Why should I listen to you?" she questioned, some confidence returning to her voice. Either above or below the façade, this woman was not easily intimidated.

Then again, at the last demand, there was only a brief moment of hesitation before she allowed the one behind her back to move to the front, garden shears still being held. Though that was perhaps because she didn't see keeping it hidden as a hill to die upon - the curved pruning shears could theoretically do some serious damage in the right circumstances, but it would be quite difficult to make those circumstances happen in a fight. Yes, they were metal there was a pointy end, but a normal pair of scissors would make a better weapon than these. And as her other hand was in a very visible position, simply holding onto the branch of a small tree in order to help her keep her balance, she had yielded to that request, at least.

[Bruce Wayne]

Opportunistic thugs are easy to intimidate. With the right application of brute force and theatrics, The Bat could effectively wring information out of most common thugs. However, ideological actors are a different story. To intimidate them, you typically need to strike at the very foundation of their beliefs. Find out what they are fighting for in and, if you can, hold it against them. For Pamela Isley, the motive was simple: ecology. She had poisoned Harvey with a flower his own development had wiped out, and she had surrounded herself with an array of rare and endangered plants -- perhaps several other species thought similarly extinct. This greenhouse was the culmination of potentially years of hard work, it wouldn’t be hard to turn it into a bargaining chip.

He ignored her as more nonsense frothed from her mouth, a deluge of desperate lies to distract from the truth. She had already confirmed what he knew already known, an incriminating twitch in her eye managed to break through the façade and had inadvertently revealed the plant’s general location towards the back of the greenhouse. After she revealed the shears she had been holding behind her back, Batman sheathed his batarang and slowly moved to assess the area Isley had indicated. A poor weapon, and from this distance she wouldn’t be able to use them for much anyways. Besides, her lack of footing made combat a non-option. She was immobilized, at his mercy, and clearly out of element – if he played the rest of this smart, he could end it in a few short minutes.

The laboratory, much like the rest of the greenhouse, was a seemingly incomprehensible mess of unlabeled samples and chemicals that would take too long to decipher. If the antidote were on this table, it would take Batman hours that he didn’t have to identify which one was the antidote. The thick brush of flowers and vines that wrapped around the lab was similarly daunting – he didn’t have time to carve through it to find the correct rose. That wouldn’t be necessary, the good Doctor would kindly provide everything he needed with further persuasion.

As he turned his focus back on the botanist, The Dark Knight reached his free hand into his utility belt and retrieved a small, five-inch-long metallic cylinder topped with a pulsing green light. He held it at an arm’s length away from himself, his thumb precariously hovering over the light atop the device. It was unusual for him to use this device as an intimidation tactic, he had previously only used it to clear away obstacles and carve a path through concrete and steel.

“This is thermite.” He didn’t bother to elaborate any further. She would be fully aware that inside of that grenade was a highly volatile mix of a metal and an oxide that when exposed to a flame, can burn in excess of two thousand degrees Celsius. All it would take was a press of his thumb to trigger the fuse and cause an inferno hot enough to burn through sheet metal, let alone wood and plant fiber. And if exposed to the chemicals at her laboratory, it would certainly be enough to raze the entire greenhouse to the ground.

“Tell me this: with the slightest pressure of my thumb, could I destroy the last remaining Wild Thorny Rose? How many other species could I destroy, how many hours of tireless work could I reduce to ash?” His deep growl was now accentuated by a jutting jaw and curled lips. The red light cast deep shadows on these features, lending him a truly animalistic and even demonic appearance. He needed her to know how gravely sincere he was being right now, to properly convey the lengths he was willing to go to.

[Pamela Isley]

As she had suspected, the garden shears weren't anything for Batman to argue about either. Though when he almost dismissively turned his attention elsewhere, Pamela's eyes immediately shifted to the bola around her legs. The shears weren't a very good weapon, but just how difficult would it be to use them to slice through the cord that kept her bound? It would seem to be a nearly ideal tool for that task but, on the other hand, the cord looked fairly sturdy so it wasn't a foregone conclusion that it would be quick and easy. And she suspected that Batman would object so perhaps it would be wise for her to wait until he was more distracted to make that attempt. Though the other question was just how useful freeing her legs would actually be - it wasn't like having her legs free would suddenly make her good in a fight. She was beauty and brains, not brawn.

Weighing these factors, Pamela shifted her attention back over to Batman as he continued to look over the lab - something that she wasn't very concerned about, especially given what he'd said he was after. It was the obvious place for the antidote to be, but given how severe the needle-in-a-haystack problem was she had nothing to worry about - he'd neither find it nor, at least if he was smart, dare ruin anything in it for fear of destroying the very thing he sought. So she waited in silence for him to decide on his next move.

But though she expected it to be something horrible to try to persuade her to give him what he wanted, she would have never anticipated just how horrific it would be. Thermite wasn't a compound from the branch of chemistry that she was overly familiar with, but it was still basic enough that she know somewhat of what it could do. Enough to know that, while she kept her plants well-watered and followed proper safety procedures in her laboratory so that neither of them was especially flammable by themselves, the substance burned hot enough to light it all on fire anyway. When he followed the presentation of the substance with his threat, he had hardly begun to voice it before she was no longer able to listen to him properly.

The mere... thought... the mere... suggestion... The façade disappeared as realization and horror spread across her face. He wouldn't! He can't! No sooner did her mind wrap around the fact that this was actually happening and wasn't some stray, ghastly imagining than she was trembling in sudden fury. "You... MONSTER!" she managed to scream, only finding the words with some difficulty. He was wrong about how much time and expense had gone into the contents of the greenhouse and laboratory - given her talents, the bulk of it had only come together relatively recently and it's amazing how cheap it is to get whatever you want when you're beautiful and know how to use it. But what he now threatened was worth far more to her than such trivialities as time and money.

Which was why she managed to force herself to curb her sudden, intense rage enough to stop it from consuming her thoughts entirely - she needed to be able to think in order to find her way through this dire circumstance. Fortunately, when she did so she was quick to latch upon something with substance. "If you burn the plants you destroy the lab..." she pointed out, her anger still visceral enough to cause her voice to tremble - it sickened her that she had to say those words. But as volatile as she appeared to be at this moment, she was right - the thick foliage practically held the laboratory in its embrace, and a fire big enough to consume the hidden plant would surely ruin anything in the lab as well.

Of course, in doing so she as good as admitted that the antidote did exist and it was somewhere in the laboratory - otherwise Batman could carry out his threat without consequence to him. But for that reason, she was forced to tip her hand on that point - just to be certain that he knew that his threat was mutually reassured destruction of their interests, not a victory. Knowing that helped her to calm herself by degrees, but it only relieved her anger and the fear behind it to a certain point - after all, she didn't know if this Batman was the 'if I don't get what I want, you don't get what you want' type.

And she was already beginning to suspect that he might find some equally terrifying way around this impasse, which was an unpleasant enough of a prospect that she found herself considering that perhaps they could make some sort of a deal. Because as much as she wanted Harvey dead, keeping her precious babies safe was one of the few things she considered to be much more important. But on the other hand, at this point, she hardly trusted Batman enough to believe that he wouldn't immediately burn the place down even after she handed over the antidote.

[Bruce Wayne]

This was not the first time that the name Pamela Isley had come to Batman’s attention. A few months ago, she was just a Doctoral Student who had been attacked by her professor: one Jason Woodrue. Woodrue had injected her with a cocktail of poisons that had somehow altered her anatomy by turning her blood into a potent toxin. Eventually, the trail on Woodrue had run cold and he had determined that Pamela Isley posed little risk – she was, herself, a toxicologist and could be expected to know the properties of her blood. Besides, Woodrue had been the primary concern, not her.

That was the first foolish assumption. It was absurd to think that this frothing, gnashing mess of rage before him could have ever been written off as unassuming or otherwise harmless. If he really was the “World’s Greatest Detective,” he would have found some way to establish a psychiatric profile and factored that into his risk assessment. Had he been that green? She had suffered severe trauma and had studied under a madman; both of those factors in isolation should’ve been grounds enough for further evaluation, particularly considering her unique physiology. Another rookie mistake.

At this point, any kind of psychiatric profile was a moot point. She wasn’t just ideological; she was utterly pathological in her devotion to these plants. He immediately disregarded any threat that emphasized sunk costs or appealed to a sense of professional vanity. This needed to be personal. Through her rage, she had tried to dissuade him by conceding that the antidote would be destroyed with the rest of the lab. It was her gambit to shift the balance of power back into her favor, and he wasn’t willing to give in.

“That’ll only stop me for as long Harvey Dent lives. If he dies, I promise you that your weeds will follow.” His words were firm, without any sense of hesitation or the slightest doubt. “Your success will cost them their lives.” He would never kill, no matter how dire the circumstances, but he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy every single plant in that room in exchange for a life. Bruce thought of Harvey, trapped in a nightmare -- unaware that his lungs were failing, that a machine was now doing his breathing for him, or that ice had been packed between his legs and his arms in a desperate bid to break his ever-rising fever. Soon, he could very well be dead and would never know how he died, why he died, or the identity of his murderer. She was lucky that there were lines he prevented himself from crossing.

[Pamela Isley]

If Pamela had thought that she'd come to Batman's attention at all perhaps she wouldn't have been so unprepared for this turn of events. Though the bulk of her anger was focused squarely in his direction, a small portion of it was reserved for herself. After all, hadn't she promised herself to never again find herself so helpless? And yet here she was. But she would beat herself up about that later when she had time to reflect.

At the moment she had far too much on her mind to decide who was at fault for what. Unlike Batman, who had learned to control and harness his emotions when under duress - however shaky it might be at times like this when events became personal - she had no real experience with such things. Surely she knew some measure of self-control, as that was required to maintain the impenetrable façade she'd earlier displayed, but as pressed as she was at the moment it seemed that she had none.

Instead, though she'd managed to prevent herself from falling over some rage-induced edge, she still seemed to be at the very brink - it was easy to see that she was attempting to calm herself further, a certain desperation in her eyes hinting at thoughts racing to find a way out of her predicament. It was not unlike the look of any common thug being pressed for information, about to say what he knows out of sheer terror, but at the same time it was very different - there was something far more volatile about this woman and what she would do when pressed was far more unpredictable.

Of course, she didn't have the self-insight to know even that much about what was going on in her own mind, especially given just how irritating Batman's response was. "But he's alive right now, isn't he?" she spat back, annoyed by how he'd stated the obvious just to drive his point home. No doubt he could feel the seconds of Harvey's life ticking away moment by moment, but she felt the opposite. Though the poison she used wasn't one that could be perfectly predicted as far as how long the victim would survive and she had no way at all of knowing just how fast Batman could get the antidote to him, as far as she was concerned there was a bit of time to work with here even though she didn't doubt Batman would carry out his threat if he got the antidote too late.

How was it that she had so little to work with here? Or was it because it was so hard just to think? She had a problem to solve here, yet her mind refused to remain focused on it. Quite abruptly, she instead remembered what she'd been thinking about when Batman had revealed the thermite, which was strange in a way because when it had appeared she'd completely forgotten about the bola for several moments. She looked down at it and made a sound of disgust as she began to cut herself free of it with the garden shears.

[Bruce Wayne]

Bruce had spent the last decade enduring physical and mental torture, continually pushing himself beyond his limits. Those years spent immersed in extreme cold, learning to fight with broken ribs and swollen eyes had taught him the values of discipline and self-control. This was not an advantage that Pamela Isley shared.

Her eyes were fraught with frantic desperation, a mix of fear and rage dulling her senses and scrambling her thoughts. She was unlikely to escape him if left to her own devices; this was now the Batman’s domain, and he could now plan his next move more carefully. Admittedly, the opening move was a desperate gambit based on very little intel. Usually, he’d take the time to interrogate and press the perpetrator further. There was a lot that hadn’t been established outside of conjecture; for example, he didn’t yet know how exactly the poison had been administered, and any formal prosecution would hinge on establishing that fact. It would be better to take this time and wring the information out of her, but that would waste valuable time that Harvey didn’t have. Securing an antidote as quickly as possible was his prime motive, anything else would have to come second.

It was clear who held the power in this situation – Isley had nowhere to run, and the greenhouse was entirely at Batman’s mercy. Unsurprisingly, however, she wasn’t willing to discuss her terms of surrender. She spat the threat back in his face, seemingly refusing to engage directly with it. In a sudden movement, Batman holstered the thermite grenade, replacing it instead with the very same piece of edged metal as before. With a flick, it folded out into a winged boomerang and grazed the back of Isley’s hand before embedding itself in a nearby bush. The impact wouldn’t be serious, but it would be enough to draw blood and dissuade any further attempts to undo her bonds. Mental note: avoid direct exposure to any blood and administer the appropriate disinfectants to the suit's exterior if it comes into contact.

“That was a warning, the next one will take off your thumb and forefinger.” A bluff, but there was no reason for her to know that. The rumors surrounding him were immense and dramatic, and if Isley had been paying the slightest attention to any of them, she would have reason to believe that she could lose more than a few fingers. It paid to let your reputation talk for you.

The still glowing flare illuminated him, casting a menacing shadow on the thick canopy above – one that seemingly expanded as he began to take slow and deliberate steps toward her. “I’m not going to ask again: the antidote. Now.” His voice was fierce and demanding, the subtle growl giving way to a booming roar. He withdrew the grenade and stopped, standing less than six feet away from her. This would be close enough for her to see the fine details of the device, the subtle green flash of the detonator, and the matte black metal casing. There was no pin to pull; the green flash indicated that the safety was now off, and all it would take was the slightest pressure to trigger the fuse. It could happen in less than a second.

To further illustrate his point, Batman raised the device as if prepared to throw it down at his feet. Again, a bluff, but hopefully one that she would buy. She was desperate, her thinking unclear and frantic. If he could take her right to the edge, to the point where she realizes she has no other choice, she would give him exactly what he wants.

[Pamela Isley]

Many view emotion as a sort of oppositional force to intellect - the more emotional someone is at a particular moment, the less of their intellect they must be using at that same moment. But that was only really true if the ultimate goal was perfectly rational behavior. The reality was much more complex because Pamela, especially at this moment, was both extremely emotional and extremely intelligent. Of course, the emotions clouded her judgment, especially the ones that exceeded the boundaries of that thin line between sanity and insanity, but that didn't mean that her thought process wasn't perfectly logical. It's just that her logic was operating with a different set of facts than most people. And it wasn't even that so many of those facts were untrue, but they centered on a set of experiences foreign to most people.

To someone who knew her past - not simply the trite facts of her life up until this moment, but the events that had truly shaped her into the woman she now was - her thoughts, actions, and reactions would make perfect sense. One who knew which facts about the world she held to be the truest was one who was able to predict her. But anyone else attempting to exert any sort of control over her would find themselves fumbling about in the dark, especially since events still far too recent left her unable to tolerate any such control being placed on her at all.

Of course, being unpredictable was somewhat of a two-way street between the pair facing off in the greenhouse, and Pamela for her own reasons didn't expect Batman to object to her attempt to remove the bola. She hadn't even been looking at him, so the sudden pain in her hand was a complete surprise. She gasped and dropped the shears, though she didn't cry out - perhaps because her first instinct was to immediately bring the cut to her mouth. The movement was so quick that she managed to secure every last drop of blood that threatened to spill from the shallow wound.

For a moment she seemed to freeze, using her lips to apply pressure to the wound - that would help slow the bleeding faster. During that moment she appeared to draw into herself, her face turned downward with her eyes closed as she gave no initial reaction to his threat and the demand that followed. In fact, the first sign of movement from her was a tremble that overtook her body as the shock of what had just happened took hold. She was still shaking as she removed her hand from her mouth, immediately blowing on it in an obvious attempt to help the bleeding stop even faster.

As she watched it for a few seconds to see how effective her efforts were thus far, she didn't even glance at him as she slowly stated, "You... sick... bastard..." Her voice was quiet and deceptively calm, though easy enough for him to hear given how close he'd come. Seeing the amount of blood still coming to the surface, she decided that it needed another round of pressure so she brought it to her mouth again. The careful way she did so indicated that not only was she attempting to seal the cut as quickly as possible, but she was also very specifically trying not to let her blood get anywhere.

Her eyes closed again and she could be seen forcing herself to take a few deep breaths, which seemed to help steady her but the trembling didn't leave her entirely. When she removed her lips to check it again, this time her eyes lifted to meet his. With a sudden note of certainty, she said, "You're going to kill them whether I help you or not." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, for that was the conclusion that she'd reached. What calmness she showed now was that of resignation - not that it was an easy thing to accept, but it also made deciding what to do next incredibly simple.

"I... will never... help you..." she articulated slowly, to emphasize their finality. There was a certain hardness to her expression - a determination. After all, she expected such a declaration on her part to lead him to doing his worst, whatever that meant. And it wasn't that she underestimated what that could be either - though she'd not taken most of the rumors about Batman too seriously, she had an extremely poor view of men and what they were willing to do in general. No, but if she was going to lose her garden tonight then she would take Harvey with it - in fact, her motivation to kill him now was more to spite Batman than it was for Harvey's past wrongs.

But beneath that determination was something else - what led her thoughts in this direction in the first place: pure and absolute distrust. One can't imagine making any sort of a deal with someone you're too certain would immediately betray you, after all.