Harley was a lousy drunk, though that was more in the sense that she was terrible at drinking. While most of it could be relied on to make it into her mouth, she only drank in little sips. Gagging and welching regardless of if it was neat liquor or watery beer. No level of sweetness, sourness, or any other 'ness' could get her to put down more than a few tablespoons per hour.
Ivy watched her take another thimble-sized mouthful, made a face like somebody had punched her in the gut, then looked up. She made a sympathetic face as Harley's lips quivered. Harley gave another weak sob and dropped her head.
"God, I'm such a fuckup," Harley was past the explosive part of her moping, the tears had slowed down. Now it was mostly widely-spaced heaves with the occasional flare-up. Judging by the high, keening wail to the end of her sentence, they might have been headed into another rough stretch.
"No you aren't," Ivy sighed and sat beside Harley, rubbing her back softly. Harley leaned her head over onto Ivy's shoulder.
In theory, even Ivy's patience had its limits. No matter how much she loved Harley, there was always the extent to which she was a package deal with a volatile, abusive piece of shit that was able to undo any progress made on Harley's mental health more quickly than Ivy could make it. From what Ivy understood of the job he'd sent her on; Harley had made her mistakes, there was no doubt about it, but that hardly justified the chewing out he'd given her. It certainly didn't justify the emotional state Harley had come to her in. The problem was, no matter how much reassuring and comforting Ivy did, the solution to most of Harley's problems was to lose the clown. But you convincing somebody in the middle of a self-loathing mope that their problem was somebody they cared about was not a winning strategy.
All to say, this was not the first time they'd done this. Far from it. And as much as Ivy hoped and prayed it would be their last, you couldn't make somebody make the right choices. No matter how much you cared for them, no matter how miserable the wrong choices were making them.
"It was such an easy mission," Harley sniffled and took another sip, then gagged a little.
"He said it was an easy mission," Ivy rubbed her back some more. "But he also wasn't willing to risk doing it himself."
"Because he trusted me-" Harley started, then began to shake again.
Ivy sighed. No matter how hard or soft you pushed, the object only moved if it wanted to. She reached over to Harley's drink softly.
"How about you stop trying to get drunk," She pulled it softly toward her. "I don't think you're making any progress while you torture yourself."
"I don't wanna drink, but I wanna be drunk," Harley rubbed her eyes, then settled her chin on her crossed arms. "Or high. Or knocked out... I wish I was just numb."
"I know," Ivy kept rubbing her back as she casually sipped Harley's drink. It tasted like it was a teaspoon of alcohol mixed in a cup of fruit juice. "But you know you can't drink. We could smoke if you really wanted."
"You smoke, Red?" Harley turned her head slightly. Ivy didn't have to specify what they would be smoking, anything artificial wouldn't have made it past Ivy's front door, let alone her lips. "Isn't that... against..."
"If you can take it from the plant without hurting it, there's no problem." Ivy got up and opened one drawer after the other, looking for wherever she'd put her supplies. She wasn't a drinker or a smoker, really, but she took the edge off sometimes the same as anyone. "Overripe fruit rots. Roses thrive when the bush is trimmed. Overconsumption is what harms."
She rummaged a little longer before finding the old pencil box - as was tradition - where she kept her gear. Then when she opened it, Ivy frowned. A pipe, some loose paper. Maybe crumbs here and there. It had clearly been a while since she'd had the urge to smoke, and past Ivy had not done present Ivy any favors. Though, considering the dust on the box, even if there had been any left it probably wouldn't have been in great condition.
"Well... shit," Ivy set the empty box in front of Harley. "I could go get some more?"
"No, no," Harley dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "I'm as lousy a smoker as I am a drinker. Last time I tried to get high, I coughed so hard I nearly wet myself."
"You know, for a 'villain', it seems like you're pretty lousy at substance abuse," Ivy joked, sitting back down to rub Harley's back.
"Yeah," Harley made a sound halfway between a sniffle and a chuckle. "In terms of the whole 'sex, drugs, and violence' stuff, I never really figured out how to make the drugs work."
"You're not exactly talking to the expert on drugs here, Peanut." Ivy moved from rubbing Harley's back to the base of her neck.
"But you drug people all the time," Harley turned her head to the side, resting her cheek in the crook of an elbow. She looked at Ivy with puffy red eyes ringed with streaking blue and white makeup. "The drugs and the femme fatale thing is like your whole schtick."
"Those aren't-" Ivy stopped herself mid-sentence. The semantic difference between her pollen and a drug was probably not very meaningful in the face of how she used it. They were much closer to pheromones, but even that was probably nitpicky. She hit people with it, then the people acted differently. If you didn't have a moral standpoint on it, they walked enough like drugs and talked enough like drugs. Harley perked up anyway.
"Hey, there's a thought," She straightened up and turned more intensely to Ivy. "Why don't you let me try some of your pollen? Being a mindless goon for the next few hours doesn't sound half-bad."
"It's..." Ivy hesitated, trying to choose her words extremely carefully. "That probably isn't a good idea. There are... things that would make that complicated. Risky."
"Well what kinda things?" Harley drummed her fingers on the table. She already had the look of somebody who had made up their mind.
"For one, I've found out the hard way before that some people have... allergies to me." Ivy probably didn't need to put it diplomatically, but she did. "Finding out that you're one of them the hard way would make your night substantially worse."
"So best-case scenario I don't feel like crud for the rest of the night, worst-case scenario I feel like shit and I have hay fever?" Ivy turned her head slightly.
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."
"Yeah, but you've got emergency supplies, right?" Ivy needled. "You've got benadryl. You can take me to the hospital if it really is that bad. I trust you, Pammy. You know I do."
"Yes, but-" Ivy's reasoning all sounded pretty shit, even in her head. Ivy would have a hangover tomorrow? Alcohol would have the same effect. It wasn't a true mindlessness? It was more mindless than she felt now. Ivy would have to babysit her the rest of the night? She was going to be doing it anyway. "I just... should warn you. You may not get what I want."
"Right," Harley nodded. "But I might get something I didn't know I wanted."
"You're awfully 'glass half-full' for somebody who has cried as much as you have tonight," Ivy gave Harley's back another rub.
"Yeah," Harley sniffled dramatically. "I'd like to think I got most of it out of my system, now I'm being big and strong and pushing it deep down inside like men say you're supposed to."
"That's..." Ivy stroked Harley's cheek. "Not exactly better. If you feel like crying is going to relax you, you shouldn't hold it in."
"It did at first," Harley settled a bit in her chair. "Now my head just kinda hurts and my eyes are all tired."
"You need a nap," Ivy stood up and gestured for Harley to follow.
"I need to relax first." Harley followed Ivy into the living room and settled beside her on the couch.
"Okay," Ivy took a deep breath and looked Harley in the eye. "I want to make sure we communicate clearly about this before we do anything."
"Whatever you want, Red," Harley nodded.
"I'm going to start you off with a very weak pollen," Ivy watched Harley's face grow impatient but she cleared her throat. "Until we know how you react to it. If you take it well, we can go stronger. But if something is wrong, I need you to be able to communicate."
"I'm a big girl Ive," Harley protested.
"I know, but you haven't experienced this yet." Ivy grabbed one of Harley's hands and squeezed. "Even the weak pollen I'm going to start you with will be enough to alter your ability to properly consent."
Harley seemed to consider a few different sarcastic responses before thinking better of it, squeezing Ivy's hand in return.
"I trust you to take care of me," Harley reassured her, "I'm gonna... remember what happens during, right?"
"Every second," Ivy answered. "Though perhaps more fondly than you might have otherwise."
"Then I trust you won't make me do nothing I wouldn't otherwise," Harley shrugged. "You wanna touch me, you can touch me. You wanna make me do silly little dances, I'll dance for you."
"And what if I command you to go lie in bed and get a restful night's sleep?" Ivy smirked.
