BAE Chapter 81

Barbara Gordon feels like herself again.

It’s not good or bad, just complicated. She steps off the treadmill in the small, well-appointed workout room on the 61st floor of Wayne Tower.

“You can take those off,” Lucius says absently, his eyes on his tablet.

Barbara removes her monitors and stretches, catching a glimpse of herself reflected in the windows, which offer a panoramic view of Gotham’s skyline. She prefers her profile without the bulge. Yet…

Lucius shakes his head. “Your vitals look more or less the same as they were before Seed. How do you feel?”

Barbara looks down at herself in her workout clothes. She forms fists and closes her eyes, taking deep breaths.

“Fine,” she reports.

Lucius nods slowly. “I have gone beyond thorough. If Ivy hid something in what she gave you, she’s done a good job of it. I’m inclined to give you a clean bill of health. What’s Alfred think?”

“Alfred’s no doctor, but he sent my blood to Victor Stone, and he said the same thing,” Barbara says, picking up a towel and wiping herself off.

Lucius folds his arms and returns her gaze. It’s late. He should be home, but he’s here.

“It’s not enough to trust her,” he says.

“No. It isn’t.” Barbara lets her hair down.

“But it’s a start.”

“Agreed. Thanks for staying late.”

“No trouble,” Lucius says, picking up his jacket. “I take it you’ll be back in uniform tomorrow night?” he asks as he walks past.

“Probably.”

“Be careful.”

“You don’t have to worry so much. We’re like a mob now.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Lucius says as he leaves the room.

Barbara bends to pick up her gym bag and pulls her phone out. She’s tempted to check with Alfred first, but she doesn’t want to be overbearing. It would be too easy to become exactly like Bruce. She judged him so much when he was still around, but every day it gets easier to understand why he operated the way that he did.

She brings up the security feed and checks Ivy’s floor. Her lights are still on. She must be in the privacy of her little apartment, but it looks like she’s still up. Barbara activates audio surveillance. Music is playing. Ivy’s awake.

She opens a channel to the intercom down there.

“Dr. Isley. Are you still up?”

After a brief pause, Ivy replies.

“I’m awake.” She sounds curious. “How do you feel?”

“Pretty good. I wanted to thank you.”

“Finally convinced that I didn’t poison you?”

Barbara smiles. “More or less.”

“Can I have a look at you?”

Barbara hesitates, embarrassed. “It’s about what you’d expect, Dr. Isley. I don’t have a penis anymore.” She snorts.

“Does it work?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is everything the way that it was before? That’s what I’m asking.”

“Seems to be.”

“You aren’t sure?” There’s a hint of judgment there, and Barbara bristles.

“Look, I’m not…” Not what? Not an expert? Who is? Dick? Probably. He’s the only one who has, uh, for lack of a better way to put it, spent a lot of time between Barbara’s legs. Then there’s Jason Bard.

And Kate. Barbara snorts.

“Look, I don’t sit around with a mirror. Ask my exes,” she says.

“I’m not asking how things look,” Ivy replies patiently. “I’m asking how they feel.”

Right. That makes a little more sense. Barbara clears her throat.

“I don’t know, OK? I’ve been under observation.”

“I think you should come down.”

Barbara’s ears heat up. She takes a deep breath. For a second, with her new penis, she had begun to discover a new… boldness. That courage is gone along with the penis.

“It’s important,” Ivy goes on. “They’ll ask about it on TV. You need to be able to answer them. Call your ex if you have to. Or I know some shops downtown that have what you need.”

Barbara twitches.

“I’ll come down,” she says irritably, heading for the elevator.

Barbara leaves her gym bag and phone in the hallway and tells the guards what she’s doing. She leaves her shoes behind as well. If Ivy can find a way to use sweaty workout shorts and underwear to escape, she deserves to get free.

Ivy comes out of her little private space wearing an oversized T-shirt that says BE SEEN BEING GREEN. Barbara walks toward her through the dim laboratory area. Ivy’s floor has a view of the city that some of Gotham’s elite would kill for. There’s irony in that.

Ivy looks curious. “What were you doing?”

“Running tests to make sure I’m OK.”

“Under strain. That’s an interesting choice. I didn’t know you were such a serious athlete,” Ivy says, folding her arms and putting her head on one side. “I mean, you do have the body for it.”

“I thought you were all cleared up on your horny plant anger hormones,” Barbara says.

“I am. That just leaves a normal, bisexual woman locked up in a tower with no human contact.”

“I’m a gymnast, Dr. Isley. I used to win ribbons and trophies,” Barbara says with a sigh.

“I dated a gymnast.”

“I know. I’m probably not in her league.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Did you really ask me down here to flirt?”

Ivy sobers slightly, straightening up. “No. I’d like to examine you and take samples. That’s why I called you down. It was seeing you like this,” she adds, gesturing toward Barbara. “That made me want to flirt.”

“And that gymnast partner of yours. How would she feel about this?”

“She’d be coming onto you twice as hard as I am.”

Barbara blushes. “Maybe I should arrange conjugal visits.”

“Don’t do that to that nice man, Mr. Fox.”

“Nice man? I thought you hated all humans.”

Ivy scowls and looks at the skyline. “Not all of them. You have Harley to thank for that.”

“Fair enough.”

“So?”

“An exam. Doctors do exams,” Barbara notes.

“I am a doctor.”

“Not that kind of doctor.”

“You aren’t trying very hard,” Ivy says, a smile creeping across her face. “Clean up. I’ll have you home in time for bed. Of course, you don’t look very tired. You stay up late a lot, Miss Gordon?”

“My friends call me Babs,” Barbara says. She doesn’t have boldness, but she can always call on stubbornness.

“I’m not your friend. I’m a doctor.”

“Sure. You want me to use your shower?”

“It’s your shower, Miss Gordon. I just live here.”

“Fine. No peeking.”

“You take the fun out of everything,” Ivy says disapprovingly as Barbara walks past.

“A lot of people have been telling me that. What do you think the media would do with it if they found out that Barbara Gordon was letting herself be seduced by Poison Ivy?” Barbara asks, pausing in the doorway.

“It wouldn’t matter. You can spin anything to be positive when it’s about two conventionally attractive femmes who photograph well,” Ivy replies, nonplussed.

Barbara feels a chill. Ivy has changed, at least somewhat. She’s less angry now, and that probably only makes her smarter. But the real Ivy’s still in there. And she’s still dangerous.

“Spoken like a true villain,” she says.

“No. A realist. Or are they the same thing?” Ivy asks.

Should Barbara take the bait? Or just get in the shower?