Hey, all! Just something silly I had a random idea for. My first venture into the Batman universe. I had intended for this to be a oneshot, but if anyone wants me to continue, maybe add a real plot, just holler!

Also: Veggie quiche, assorted smoked fish, and some very colorful pastries are being handed around to all reviewers (you'll see why once you read the story)!

Ding-dong!

Ivy was just straightening up the sun room when she heard the doorbell ring. She gave her Venus flytraps a quick fluffing up before she went to answer.

Meetings were usually at Ivy's house, sitting in the glassed-in sun room at the back of her sprawling farmhouse outside of Gotham. It was nice to talk with the moon shining through the glass ceiling, and surrounded by all those exotic plants. Besides, no one else's house was really practical. Kitty still lived in her big, messy apartment downtown, where there were always clothes on the floor and cat hair everywhere, and as for Harley's . . . well, too much time in those bright purple rooms could do funny things to most people's heads. Besides, "Mr. J" was likely to wander in at any moment, juggling knives or something, totally throwing off the balance. This was supposed to be a girl's night. So that left Ivy's. Not that she minded. It was nice to have the feeling of control being in your own home gave you, and besides, the plants got restless if they were alone too long with nothing to do.

Ivy opened the door. The young woman standing there was wearing a loose-fitting red and black dress with a swirling pattern, and vividly scarlet lipstick, her blonde hair fell just to her shoulders, and she was carrying a tray of alarmingly bright, carefully handmade pastries- green and purple meringues, cupcakes with harlequin-patterned frosting, and a few unidentifiable goodies. She smiled. "Hey, Ivy."

"Harley, I am loving that dress." One of the nice things about these meetings was the opportunity to go out without the full uniform. Ivy herself was in jeans and her favorite pale green blouse, her red curls up with chopsticks. "Is it new?"

"Yep," Harley giggled. "A present from Puddin'. Said he saw it in the boutique next to the bank he was robbin' and just thought of me. First thing he bought with the money." She always giggled when she talked about him, wether she was talking about their latest heist together or his scars or a new joke he had told her. And why shouldn't she, she wondered? She was (no offense to her dear friends) the happiest villainess in Gotham, and there was nothing wrong with showing it.

"Come on," Ivy said to her bubbly friend, taking the tray of desserts from her, "let's get these into the kitchen. Kitty called to say she was running late, as usual." The two women exchanged a sympathetic roll of their eyes at their third comrade's lack of punctuality.

"Yeesh, Ivy," said Harley once they were in the scrubbed wooden kitchen as she dodged a hanging fern. "I understand the ones in the sun room, and the greenhouse, and even the hall, but do you need plants everywhere?"

Ivy sighed as she took her vegetable quiche from the oven and placed it next to a platter of crudites. One of the rules of the group was that everyone had to bring food- nothing stolen and preferably something homemade. "Actually, I do. And you ask me that every meeting," she added with a smile.

"Yeah," Harley grinned, "and mark my words, Kitty'll ask me if I gotta dress so bright all the time. Just wait."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. "Watch the food," Ivy said as she went to answer it. Harley ignored her instructions and followed her.

The third woman standing at the door was wearing a black skirt, black blouse, and a long black coat, her light brown hair in a loose ponytail. Since her friends had never seemed to like her homemade roast canary (suit themselves, the freaks), she had picked up a platter of smoked fish instead. She had on a dreamy smile that immediately caused her friends alarm.

"Oh, no," Harley shook her head in exasperation, waiting for the inevitable news.

"Kitty, honey," said a concerned Ivy, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Honey, you didn't. Tell me you didn't. You'll hate yourself afterwards, and you know it."

"Did what?" Kitty asked, genuinely confused, as she handed off the platter of fish.

"Got back together with Batman!" both of her friends shrieked.

"What? Of course not," Kitty laughed. How foolish did they think she was? After thirteen times, she had learned from her mistakes; that was one relationship that would simply never work.

"Then why the smile?" Harley asked. Enormous, silly grins were usually her department.

"Oh, that," Kitty blushed. "Well, it's just . . . I kind of met someone new."

That was the cue. Both of her friends started screaming and jumping up and down. "What's he like?" Ivy asked. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

"Oh," Kitty gushed, "He's such a gentleman, and he looks so handsome in this dark green suit he wears a lot." She ignored Harley's muttering of "I prefer purple," and went on. "And you know how it really bothers most guys when I play games with them? Well, he seems to really like it. And the other night, it was the sweetest thing, he left me clues to a candlelight dinner! Not even clues so much as riddles . . ." she trailed off, smiling at the memory.

"He sounds great," Ivy said. "But let's hear from the resident relationship expert. Harley, what do you think?"

Contrary to popular belief, Harley Quinn was no fool, and laughed when addressed, thinking that if she was any group's "resident relationship expert," that group had to be a pretty strange one. "Well," she said, smiling, "sounds like he no Mr. J, but then, who is? How'd you two meet?"

"Oh, it was the funniest thing, he was stealing a gold sarcophogus from the same Egyptian exhibit at the museum where I was stealing some jeweled cat statues. We sort of bumped into each other there, and he asked me to get some drinks after the getaway."

"Oh," Harley squealed, "that's so cute! You know when me and Puddin' met," Ivy and Kitty grinned at each other; they had heard this story a hundred times, but it didn't hurt to make it a hundred and one, "I was his shrink at Arkham. And every day we'd talk a little, about this and that, and he was so nice to me in his crazy way, nicer than anyone else, even for a criminal, and I just kept thinking about him. And one day, he'd just told me about that time he robbed that mafia bank, he just stopped and said, 'I know I'm a madman, but I love you Harley, I do.' And I realized I loved him and helped him knock out his wardens with some depressants I had prescribed to someone and break out of Arkham, and now here we are."

All three women smiled. It was a sweet story. Twisted, but sweet. "Hey, Ivy," Kitty asked, "that painting new?" she cocked her head at a priceless Monet landscape.

"Oh, that, yeah," Ivy smiled. "Fresh from the Gotham Art Museum. A little present from Oswald. He'd wanted to give me a scene with birds, but I told him I liked landscapes."

"Oswald?" Harley asked. "Didn't know you were with him these days. Bit formal for your tastes, I'd have thought. And what about Victor?"

"Oh, you know Victor, so cold-hearted. And besides, he just recently landed in Arkham. Although not before giving me a nice chunk of ice." Ivy fingered the massive diamond pendant at her neck and laughed her best evil laugh. Men. Infinitely amusing and easy to rid yourself of, especially in her line of work. In Ivy's twisted code of morals, one cardinal rule was that there was nothing wrong with cooperating with the police if they were looking for an ex-boyfriend, but informing on your friends was absolutely and utterly wrong. "Tell me something," she asked them now, "am I a homicidal tart?"

If the three of them had been good friends, Harley and Kitty would have said "oh no, of course not," or some such. But they were great friends, so they just said, "Yep. Now come, on let's start the discussion."

Harley pulled out a copy of this week's book; it had been her choice. "Something we all know all about," she said, settling into her chair, "Sense and Sensibility."

All three women cracked up in laughter. Even in the twisted underbelly of Gotham, it was good to have friends.