Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pamela dropped a thick stack of paper onto Harleen’s stomach. “I’m going to grow it in the lab.”

“What?” the blonde wheezed at the solid 5lbs that was just dropped onto her abdomen.

“Your child. Our child. The human child,” Pamela was clearly excited. “I’m going to grow it in the lab like what Woodr—well there was an incubation process involved…after the table…” a darkness passed through her eyes and Harleen held her breath, ready to deal with the trigger if they came to it, but Pamela seemed to shake it off just as quick. “I think I can mimic the conditions of a womb using that technology.”

Harleen was incredulous. “You want to grow our baby in a test tube?”

“But that’s just it!” Pam gripped her hand, smiling broadly. “It could be our baby. Yours and mine.”

“You’re kidding,” Harleen sat up from where she’d been lounging on the couch.

Pamela shook her head, her smile full of excitement. “It’s all in here. Look," she tried to show Harley the handwritten equations that were evidently supposed to mean something.

“No, shhh, Babe,” Harleen pushed the papers away and pulled Pam onto the couch instead. “The science stuff makes the baby making way less sexy.”

The redhead couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I can’t actually impregnate you. The fertilization will be taking place entirely—," she was cut off when Harleen grabbed her jacket and yanked her into a passionate kiss. “Can we tryyyyy?”  she giggled.

“Honestly, Harleen,” Ivy huffed. “You’re a grown woman, this behavior—," this time she was cut off by Harley swiftly reversing their positions so the redhead was underneath her on the couch.

“That’s right,” Harleen grinned mischievously as she unbuttoned Pam’s slacks and began to slide them down inch by inch. “I’m a grown-up who gets to have grown-up sleepovers with her grown-up wife.”

“That’s…not exactly a turn on,” Pam admitted as she raised her hips to help with the removal process.

“Then why are we taking these off?” The blonde referred to the pants as she tossed them aside.

“Well, I thought I’d give you another chance to wow me before I turned the tables," Pamela told her, and from her expression, Harleen knew she meant business.

/

Poison Ivy sat at Batman’s desk distractedly tapping her thigh.

She hated this. The whole premise of the question made her feel weak- needy. Poison Ivy was neither of those things. Never had been. It was embarrassing, really.

To ask for something is to open yourself up to rejection, and because that wasn’t a concept Ivy was intimately familiar with, she tended to take it harder than those plainer people who'd grown accustomed to the word "no".

But this wasn’t for her. It was for Harleen. So she would swallow her pride, if only for a moment, and ask Batman the question she’d prepared...If only he would get here.

Ivy had already been waiting in the Batcave for 20 minutes, and when the Batmobile did eventually show up, it wasn’t even Batman driving it.

Batgirl came to a stop on the parking platform and hopped out of the butterfly door, tossing the keys to Alfred as he entered the cave from the house, likely thinking Bruce was captaining the vehicle as well.

“Hey, Pam,” Barbara smiled as she pulled her cowl off, letting it fall to hang like a hood around her neck. “Isn’t it your day off?”

Ivy waited until the girl descended the steps down to her level before responding, that way she wouldn’t have to shout. “I’m on call," she explained her bodysuit.

“Ah,” Barbara stripped off her gloves and set them on the desk the other woman was sitting at. “So you’re here for Harl, then? I'm pretty sure she doesn't get off at Arkham for another three hours. Dick’s out patrolling, I was going to do a master scan…” she tried to subtly motion to the computer.

“Oh, sorry,” Ivy got up and Barbara took her place on the chair, booting up the program on the large monitor. “You’re correct about Harley; she’s planning on taking the nightshift here so you can sleep. You look tired, Darling.”

“Thanks, Mom," Barbara teased as she pressed the button to start scanning the city for threats.

That word cut through the distraction and reminded Ivy of her mission here. “I need to speak with Bruce.”

“He’s visiting Selina," Barbara informed her. “Can I help?”

Ivy sighed. “I suppose I’ve been procrastinating on a visit of my own…”

Barbara chuckled. “Sorry. You need a change of clothes?”

Pamela looked down at herself, realizing that Poison Ivy’s bodysuit probably wasn’t the proper attire for a human-run rehab center.

“Selina keeps some extra stuff in Bruce’s closet,” Barbara told her as the results of the system’s scan came back: two possible threats. She stood up. “I gotta go. We still on for book club this week?”

Ivy was nodding when Alfred came behind them and tapped her on the shoulder. “Here you are, Dr. Isley," he handed her what was presumably an appropriate outfit in a garment bag. “And might I suggest…” he dangled a set of keys from his index finger.

/

Pamela sped along the back roads of Gotham City, Selina’s Porsche cornering admirably.

Coming to a screeching halt in front of the building, Pamela tossed her keys to the valet (was he a valet? ah well) and pushed the pair of aviator sunglasses she’d borrowed from Selina’s console up on her head, using them to pin back her red locks.

She strutted up to the front desk, leaning over to inquire where Selina Kyle’s room was.

“Are you a friend or a family member?” The nurse behind the counter asked. “Because we only let family in without a scheduled visit.” 

Pamela groaned internally. “I’m her sister.”

“Okay…” the woman lifted a clipboard from her top drawer and handed it to Pamela. “You’ll need to fill out these forms and then submit to a full body search.”

There’s no way I’ll be doing any of that. “Is there a doctor I could speak to?”

And then, as if summoned by magic, a man in a tie entered through the door behind the nurse’s station.

“Dr. Grimmie,” the nurse got his attention. “This woman wanted to speak to a doctor.”

“How can I help you, Miss?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

Pam swallowed her anger at not being addressed using the “Doctor” credential, and smiled at him, cranking up the pheromones she secreted. “I would like to see my sister, but I don’t want to have to fill out this paperwork and I certainly don’t wish to be felt up like a common human.”

“That’s alright,” the man answered, a dopey grin on his face. “You can just go in.”

“Doctor Grimmie?” The nurse was alarmed at his sudden departure from protocol. 

Pamela briefly turned her attention back to the woman. “Your concern does not go unnoticed. I can assure you, though, I am no threat to Ms. Kyle’s recovery. I'm the one who suggested she come here in the first place. Doctor?” she focused on the man once more. “Would you kindly escort me to my desired location?”

The doctor obliged her, and despite the nurse’s frustration and protests, he did walk her to Selina’s room.

“Thank you," Pam said. “Now go away and never attempt to speak to me again."

“Okay," he grinned and started back towards the lobby.

“Idiot,” Pam muttered as she opened the door.

The room looked more like an upscale one-bedroom apartment than a rehab facility. It suddenly made a lot of sense why there would be valet parking up front. Bruce was sitting on the bed and Selina sat across from him on the ground with her back against the wall. Both looked up when Ivy entered.

“No fucking way,” Selina said. “She finally came.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “You’ve only been here a week, Cat. Honestly.”

“Hey, you don’t get to tell me when to not be disappointed with you,” Selina said. “And what the hell, Ivy? You just barge in here without knocking? What if me and Bruce had been doing the nasty?”

Bruce smirked at her word choice.

“Then I would have kindly asked the nursing staff for some chemicals that I could use to burn my eyes out,” Pam answered, calmly, sitting down next to Bruce on the bed.

“Oh, knock it off,” Selina glared. “How’s your child-bride anyway?”

“Selina!” Pam couldn’t believe they were back to this. “Harleen is 37 years old. When will she no longer be a child to you?”

“And you’re only 5 years older, Selina,” Bruce reminded her. “Come up with some new material.”

“Ugh,” Selina groaned, leaning her head back against the wall. “I want a drink.”

Pam regarded Selina for a moment, noticing the obvious fatigue in her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes, then turned to Bruce. “I need 1.3 million dollars and I would like you to give it to me," she’d decided to go for the blunt approach.

Selina’s head snapped back to attention and Bruce choked on the air he was attempting to breathe. “You want what for what?” he asked.

Pamela sighed at having to repeat the information. “I would like 1.3 million dollars for a scientific pursuit…Thank you.”

“There’s no way I’m—“

“Harleen wants a child,” Pamela confessed, the truth spilling forth without her consent.

Pamela held her breath waiting for their reactions, neither responding right away. Selina’s jaw dropped and Bruce’s eyes widened, causing him to suddenly looked like a person one might encounter in Arkham.

“I believe I have come up with a way in which the child could be both hers and mine,” Pam continued because the room was still silent. “You see, a normal human child wouldn’t be able to survive prolonged exposure to me, and would be too young to receive the immunity I afforded Harleen. So, really, a child that shares my DNA- including some degree of immunity- is the only workable scenario.”

“What in the actual fuck?!” Selina demanded.

Pam sighed once more. “Harleen Quinzel, the woman I’m married to. You remember her, don’t you? You were in our wedding? She was in a wheelchair for a while…blonde hair, blue eyes…”

“Don’t be a dick, Ivy. Yeah, I got it,” Selina sat forward. “Now explain the rest.”

The redhead pinched the bridge of her nose and began a bit slower this time. “Harleen would like a child. I am married to Harleen, therefore her having a child means my having a child. There are certain biological and physiological factors that prohibit not only successful procreation, but also survival of the fetus, infant, or even toddler. I have discovered a way to create a child that would not only share our DNA, but would also survive the toxins I emit. However, that plan requires me to more or less recreate the incubation chamber that…” she cleared her throat. “...that Jason Woodrue used to make me.”

Selina nodded slowly. “Hence the 1.3 million dollars.”

“Right,” Pamela nodded.

“So, what you’re essentially asking me is if I will fund the creation of another Poison Ivy? Another plant-human hybrid?” Bruce wasn't sold.

“I’ll have to experiment with the proper ratio of plant to human…and without those tests there’s no way for me to gauge what- if any- their special abilities would be,” Ivy admitted. “But my request isn’t nefarious in any sense. My wife wants a baby; I would like to give her one.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Selina scoffed. “What about you? Do you want a baby?”

The redhead cleared her throat. “I was…I was against the proposal initially, but have since come around to a different opinion.”

“How’d she convince you?” Selina wanted to know. “Sex? Guilt? Doe-eyes? All three, maybe? All three simultaneously? Pammy, she’s a manipulator.”

“Don’t call me Pammy,” Ivy snapped. 

Bruce had been deep in thought during Pam and Selina’s exchange, and so it startled both women when he suddenly spoke up.

“Yes," he looked Pamela in the eye. “Yes, I will give you the money and provide the lab space, should you need it. But if it’s a boy, I’m putting him in a Robin suit.”

Chapter Text

Harleen had been released from duty an hour ago, but she still hadn’t left the Batcave.

She sat, cross-legged, wearing her Batwoman suit, staring in wonderment at the incubation tank that was maturing the four fetuses.

Pamela had explained there was a high chance failure despite her tireless efforts, so in the interest of success, Pam had fertilized four of the viable eggs she’d extracted from Harley. At this stage, Pamela could tell that if they were to survive, three would be female and one male. The Y chromosome was evidently housed within Pamela’s plant DNA, so Harleen guessed that the boy would look more like Pam than her.

She was sort of worried it would come out with green skin. Actually, she was really worried about that. Pam had even told her it was “more than likely.” Harleen didn’t really care personally, she liked Pam’s skin, but she knew that it'd taken her a while to master the art of changing her complexion after she woke up from the coma. Still, Harleen was sure they’d be able to give their son a decent education and everything at home before he figured it out, Pam was super smart and so was Bruce, for that matter. Actually, so was she! Harley had to remind herself for about the billionth time that she was a doctor. But still, kids need friends, and the green skin would be a dead giveaway that maybe one of these things is not like the others.

“Are you familiar with the saying, ‘a watched pot never boils’?” Alfred asked, causing the blonde to jump to her feet in surprise.

“Alfred! I didn’t—you’re sneaky—I didn’t hear you,” Harleen stammered. “I’m sorry, I was just heading home.”

“No need to apologize, Dr. Quinzel. It wasn’t my intention to startle you," he came to stand beside her, looking at the incubation tank. “How are the little ones coming along?”

Harleen blushed. “Pam says I can’t call them babies yet. They basically look like aliens at this point anyway. But not the hot Kryptonian kind.”

Alfred squinted to try to get a better look at them in the orange fluid. “Have you named them?”

“Oh, sure,” Harley nodded, smiling. “Pam did. One, Two, Three and Four.”

Alfred smirked. “And who said former super villains shouldn’t be parents.”

Harleen sighed. “She’s just looking out for me. Doesn’t want me to get too attached.”

But she did get too attached.

When Two “expired” (as Pam put it) it felt as if a piano had been dropped on Harleen’s chest. When they lost Three, she tried her best to keep tears out of her eyes, to swallow it all back, or at least in Pam’s presence. She was so tired of feeling weak in front of her. First the mental Harley intrusion, then the chair…it was embarrassing. Pam had warned her this would hurt if she got too close, but she didn’t listen, or didn’t care, maybe. Either way, she didn’t let her wife know how much this process was breaking her heart until One died.

Pamela was up in The Watchtower when the alert came in. She'd been monitoring their vitals remotely. Harleen could just imagine her sighing with indifference before picking up the phone.

Dr. Quinzel was in a session when she called, so she was greeted with what was probably the most depressing voicemail she’d ever received after she was through. Pam hadn’t seemed all that broken up in the message, more just exhausted. So that night, even though she was supposed to only be on call with the Bat-family, she put her Batwoman suit on anyway and patrolled the city. She knew Pam was probably wondering where she was. Knew that Fridays were supposed to be their date nights…but she couldn’t stomach it at the moment.

Once again, though, Harleen was reminded that she could run, but she couldn’t hide when a rooftop garden suddenly came alive and thick vines wrapped around her legs, stopping her momentum before she could leap to the next building.

Harleen sighed and turned around to watch Poison Ivy pull herself up onto the roof.

“Are we getting kinky?” Batwoman asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Ivy allowed the plants to drop their grip on the blonde’s ankles as she approached her. “What are you doing?”

“Umm…patrolling. What does it look like I’m doing?”

The redhead crossed her arms. “It looks like you’re ignoring my calls.”

“I’m busy,” Harley tried not to sound too defensive.

Ivy narrowed her eyes at the other woman. “Busy patrolling. On your night off.”

“Yeah,” Harleen confirmed, haughtily.

Ivy was silent for a moment. One of those focused silences that Harleen hated because it meant she was thinking. When they first met, back when Ivy was a patient at Arkham and Harleen was her doctor, those silences had meant Ivy was scheming. Now they usually meant she was synthesizing information. Seeking to understand a behavior or an interaction.

“Four is still viable, Harleen,” Ivy said, finally breaking the silence. “His immunity appears effective, his vitals are healthy…if he survives another two weeks, he’ll have made it through the incubation process and be ready to function as a human infant would.”

Harleen could feel the pressure of tears gathering behind her eyes. His…he…him…they were going to have a baby boy. “But I’m not supposed to get my hopes up, right? Can’t think of him as a baby…can’t expect he’ll survive…”

Ivy came closer, holding out her hands to the vigilante. Batwoman took them with some reluctance.

“I think he’ll make it,” Ivy told her, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I think he’s going to be OK.”

Harleen’s bottom lip quivered. “That’s what I thought about the other ones.”

The redhead nodded. “I know. But this one is a fighter. He’s like a weed growing through the pavement. He can’t be stopped. He wants to be here, Harl.”

Batwoman hadn’t noticed she’d let down her defenses and begun to cry until a tear became trapped in her cowl and Ivy did the honors of wiping it away. “I want to be his mom.”

Ivy smiled kindly back at her. “I want that for you too.”

“But they all died, Pam," the blonde sniffed. “They all seemed alright, and then they died. What if he doesn’t make it?”

Poison Ivy ran her hands up Harley’s arms and back down again, maintaining her sincere smile as she did. “Then we’ll try again. It’s as simple as that.”

Maybe it was just their history of manipulating each other, but Harleen had this nagging feeling that maybe they’d never have a baby. Maybe Pam wasn’t even actually trying. Maybe her creations were never meant to live.

But Pamela was extremely goal oriented. She’d made a promise, and once she set her mind to something, it was difficult to pull her off the scent. So Harley had to trust. This is the woman she’d married, the one who slept beside her every night, the one she’d chosen to spend the rest of her life with. If she couldn’t trust her, then who could she trust?

Harleen leaned forward and kissed her. Pam was obviously surprised, they usually followed a strict ‘no public displays of affection in costume’ rule, but Batwoman figured it was OK to break it just this once. They were—maybe—going to be parents. If that’s not a reason to kiss your wife, Harley didn’t know what was.

/

“Earmuffs,” Selina explained as Harleen stared questioningly at the contents of the giftbag. “Nobody wants to hear their parents…you know...you two are gross.”

“We’re not animals, Selina. We do have the ability to—," Pam was cut off when Harleen began to laugh.

“I can’t even believe they make them this small," the blonde said, pulling them out of the package to examine them.

Pam sat back cautiously, watching this situation play out. Selina had been back for three days now, and so far it'd been smooth sailing between she and Harleen. Pam didn’t want to jinx it.

“Thanks, Selina,” Harleen set it aside and picked up the next present. “This from you, Babs?”

“No,” Selina answered instead. “That’s from me too, actually.”

“You didn’t have to…” Harleen began before the brunette stepped in.

“Part of this…process, is saying I’m sorry, and I have a lot to apologize to you about, Harleen. So…two presents is the least I could do. Seriously.”

From Selina’s sincere tone, Pam knew that she meant it. Harley did too- evidently- because she just nodded and began unwrapping the green paper.

Pam peered over her shoulder and watched as Harleen revealed what appeared to be photo album with a personalized cover that included a powder blue bat symbol covered with ivy vines and the title: “Isley-Quinzel”.

Harleen looked over at Selina, a wide smile on her face.

“I know you like to take pictures…the albums you had were getting pretty full. I thought this could represent a new chapter. Leave some of that other bullshit behind," Selina explained.

“That was thoughtful…” Pam mumbled as she plucked the gift from Harley’s hands to examine it.

Barbara pushed a package towards them. “This is from me and Dick.”

Harleen grinned and tore the wrapping away. “Aww…” she said as she lifted the copy of Goodnight Moon off of the stack of children’s books. “And look, Pam!” she held up The Giving Tree. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Oh, sure," Pamela crossed her arms. “By all means, let’s teach our son- who will be part plant- that he must sacrifice for the human race until he has given all of himself.”

Harleen rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Barbara. “These are really sweet. Thanks.”

“No, but Ivy, that’s why we got him the tree,” Dick indicated the seedling they’d brought in when they came. “Like dogs are supposed to be man’s best friend, but since the little guy’s gonna have some plant in him, we thought he might prefer a tree. In the book, the kid and the tree are friends.”

Pamela narrowed her eyes, quickly glancing from Dick, to the seedling and back again. “I…I understand the sentiment," she admitted. “That’s…kind of you.”

Dick smirked, seemingly pleased with himself as he received a thumbs-up from Barbara.

“Everything else you’ll need I’m having shipped here,” Bruce informed them. “A crib, a stroller…all top of the line.”

Harleen picked up the last gift. “So then what’s this?”

“Just putting him on the right track,” Bruce smiled as Harley took the gift out of its bag.

Selina laughed immediately while Dick and Barbara looked at Pam, obviously wanting to gauge their reactions off of hers.

“You have got to be kidding me," Pam groaned in response to the onesie styled to look like the Robin suit.

It didn’t matter how long she’d been working with Batman; she would never get used to being known as a part of his team. Yes, carbon emissions were down by 22% worldwide since the Justice League began helping to push her environmentalist agenda, but she was still sure it would never feel quite right. And now her son was to be part of the Bat-Family as well? Was nothing sacred? But Harleen had risen from her seat and was pulling Bruce into an unrelenting hug. And Pam sighed, remembering that Bruce’s true gift was the finances he’d donated to creating their baby in the first place. He felt invested in the boy’s well-being.

Chapter Text

It was on Harleen’s last day working at Arkham that Ivy was alerted the fetus had completed its maturation process.

Selina volunteered to pick Harleen up from the asylum because she was still pretending to be disabled and couldn’t get her driver in time. Harley found it impossible to sit still for the trip from Arkham to the Batcave, which was likely driving Selina up the wall, but she couldn’t help it! Her baby was coming!

“Is Pam already there?” Harley asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Selina nodded calmly. “She’s giving him a last minute check-up before she shuts down the incubation tank.”

The blonde grinned giddily and jumped into her wife’s arms once they'd finally arrived. She could feel Pam’s heart beating fast against her chest, and it occurred to Harleen for the first time that maybe she was excited too.

Selina grabbed the swaddling clothes from where Pam had stashed them and stood at the ready as the redhead lowered Harley back to her feet.

“He’s ready,” she whispered.

“I am too," Harleen whispered, her voice catching.

The “birth” wasn’t quite how Harleen imagined herself having a baby. There wasn’t anything “natural” about it, really. It was more like something out of a sci-fi movie. Which, like, really…was exactly what this was. The more Harleen thought about it, the more it made her head spin. But to Pam—to Ivy—it was magical. Harleen could see it in her eyes, this was…moving. Deeply moving. Pamela was bringing innocence into this world by the same process that had robbed her of hers so many years ago. It was, in some ways, the ultimate redemption. And all of Harleen’s worries about how Pam would interact with a boy (given her complicated feelings towards men) melted away when she pulled him out of the liquid.

Harleen’s heart skipped a beat when he didn’t cry right away, but Pamela calmly wiped the excess fluid away from his mouth and eyes, using a small tube to extract a mucous-like substance from his lungs...and then Harleen heard it.

Her baby boy, bright blue eyes wide open, sputtering through his first breathes.

Selina handed Pam a blanket and she wiped his head, drying the patches of fiery red hair he already had growing there. Harleen wasn’t sure it was totally normal for a baby to be born with hair like that, but then again, their baby wasn’t exactly normal. And his skin wasn’t green like Pam’s, just pale with a slight tint. Like…like Ivy on the day they’d first met in Arkham. Definitely different, but easily played off as a trick of the light.

Harleen didn’t even realize she was moving until she felt his soft skin below her fingertips. Pam turned to her with a dazzling smile, equal parts “Look what I did! Aren’t you proud?” and “Can you believe it? He’s ours.”

“What are you going to name him?” Selina asked. “Barbara Jr.?”

The new parents looked at their baby then…he did sort of look like Barbara…

“Anthony,” Harleen answered, as if ‘Barbara Jr.’ was actually on the table. “I want to name him Anthony.”

“Why?” Pam asked, examining their son closer, searching out the name in his features.  

“Because Anthony means flower,” Harleen smiled, reverently brushing her fingers over his forehead and down his soft cheek. “And he’s my little flower.”

/

Pamela was granted 6 weeks of maternity leave from Wayne Enterprises, and although she was still required to report to The Watchtower when necessary, Pam and Harleen were, for the most part, able to keep that time just between Anthony and them. It was sort of…perfect.

So maybe it wasn’t exactly how Harleen imagined having her first kid. Maybe she wasn’t raising it in the environment she’d expected to. And maybe that was fine. Actually, yes. It was fine.

Motherhood came naturally to Pam. Harley had watched her relate to her plants as their mother for years, but always with a sort of endearing snicker. In the back of her mind, Harley regarded Pam’s obsession with her “plant babies” to be part of her mental illness...but now…seeing her relate to an actual baby, Harley realized that it was all the same. Yes, a human demanded a bit more from her, but she was just as warm and loving towards Anthony as she was towards any of the occupants of her greenhouse.

Harleen didn’t have as much experience under her belt, but she got the gist of the whole thing: be at Anthony’s beck and call, change his diaper, and don’t eat him. That last part should have been obvious, but good God, he was so fucking cute and his cheeks were so round and his hands were so little…

Anthony didn’t sleep as much as a normal baby would. Pam said he didn’t need to, which was just as well for Harleen. She liked to watch how he took in the world. How his eyes widened as he attempted to understand what was going on…again, and not to be understated, Anthony was far and away the cutest baby Harley had ever seen. And yeah, yeah, she knew all moms said that, but…the kid did have some pretty solid genes working for him, after all.

It was really important for Pam that Anthony knew she loved him. She said it a lot. Whispering it into his ear when she thought they were alone or nervously reaffirming it in front of Harleen when she knew they weren’t. But even still, Harleen could tell her wife was afraid. Afraid of the baby she loved so much, probably for that very reason. There hadn’t been many things in this life that Pamela had allowed herself to love. And Harleen hadn’t forgotten what Pamela said at the restaurant that night, either, how hard it would be on her to not only lose Harley to old age, but Anthony as well. And yes, Harley understood that argument, it was valid…but isn’t it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? Or maybe Harleen could only say that because it wasn’t her reality to face.

In any case, at this rate, she was on track to fill up the photo album Selina had gifted her before Pam even went back to work.

/

Anthony reached his hand out and grabbed aimlessly at Harleen’s lips, but when he was unable to keep a strong hold, he grabbed a fist-full of her hair instead.

Harley giggled, turning her head and gently gnawing on the fingers wrapped up in her blonde hair. “Num num num," she smiled against his hand and watched as his mouth opened into a smile of his own, his blue eyes squinting slightly. “You’re really cute, you know that?” she asked, rhetorically.

Anthony gurgled and gave a sort of hiccup in response as his mother unwrapped his fist from her hair and held his hand in her own.

“Hey,” Pam sat down on the bed behind her.

“Hey,” Harleen said, not breaking her eye contact with Anthony lying beside her. “I think he’s gonna be smart.”

Pam chuckled, cozying up behind Harley and wrapping her arm around her stomach. “Of course he will be,” she breathed against her wife’s skin as she nuzzled her face into the crook of her neck. “I need to give him another shot today.”

“Nooooo…” Harley whined. “He hates them, Pam.”

The redhead sighed. “It’s to counteract the chlorophyll…until he can do it himself. It’s necessary if we want to be able to leave the house with him, or open the curtains, for that matter.”

Harleen sighed too as he remembered how his skin had reacted the same way Ivy’s did in the sun- photosynthesizing in some capacity, leaving him noticeably green but still less so than his mother.

“Yeah, alright,” she turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I just hate it when he cries like that.”

“It would seem crying unnecessarily is hereditary,” Pam smiled, adjusting her head to lay on Harleen’s chest so she could look at Anthony.

“Hey!” Harley protested, pinching the other woman lightly. “That’s not true. My crying is always justified.”

Pam raised her eyebrows and looked up at the blonde. “You cried when I sent you that picture of him with the pumpkin.”

“Pam, it was Anthony posed next to a Poison Ivy jack-o-lantern. How could I not cry at that? You know I’ve always had the hots for her,” Harley reasoned.

The redhead laughed. “It looked absolutely nothing like me.”

“You know what, Babe? Next time you carve the human form into a pumpkin, I’ll let you know how realistic is looks,” Anthony laughed as Harleen wrapped up her sentence, causing both women to jump a bit, until they realized he was just preoccupied with the sock on his foot.

“Oh, yeah. That boy will have quite the wit, I can tell,” Pam’s tone was facetious, earning her another pinch from the blonde.

“You’re gonna give him a complex,” Harleen said as she reached over to help him pull the sock off. “And to be fair, these socks are pretty funny.” She held it up for Ivy to observe. “See? They’ve got little eyeballs on them.”

“Mmm,” Pam narrowed her eyes at the garment as she took it from Harley to examine it closer. She turned the sock over between her fingers, using her other hand to pinch the bulging eyeballs at the toe.

And Harleen couldn’t help but smile. “You know what’s funny?” she asked.

“According to our son? These socks.” Pam answered.

“I really like you,” Harley told her.

Pam scooted off of her chest, incensed, propping herself up on her elbow. “Well, I certainly hope you do.”

Harley laughed, reaching over to tuck a strand of stray hair behind her wife’s ear. “No, I mean…still. I really like you still. Like I just…enjoy being around you, ya know?”

“Not all the time,” Pam reminded her with a smile.

“No,” Harleen laughed in agreement. “Sometimes you can be a raging bitch.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Chapter Text

Selina watched Anthony closely as he crawled from where she was seated in the grass on the floor of the greenhouse, over to Harleen. “So you made the changes to the paperwork, right? I’m officially his godmother now?”

Harleen rolled her eyes. “We told you Babs is his godmother.”

“No…” Selina corrected. “Babs is his biological mother. I’m the godmother. It’s different.”

A tree branch bent down and smacked the brunette lightly on the back of the head. She whipped around to see Pamela smirking at her from her workbench.

“Let’s break down that joke you keep making, Selina,” Pam said, calmly diverting most of her attention back to the liquid she was siphoning off drop by drop from her beaker. “I mean, honestly. What would the exact mix of Harleen and I look like? Act like? A redheaded, blue eyed, sarcastic and highly intelligent gymnast. Now what did I just describe? Barbara or the perfect mix of Harleen and my attributes?”

Selina looked from Pam to Harleen to the baby and back again. “You’re blowing my mind. Do you two have something to tell Commissioner Gordon?”

Harley chuckled as Anthony crawled into her lap, finding himself a comfortable position before seeming to challenge Selina to a staring contest.

“I hope you’re not poisoning him against me,” Selina intoned, committed to winning the contest, even if her opponent was only 8 months old.

Harley brushed the question off with a smile. “Has Damian learned to hate you yet?”

Selina sighed, admitting defeat and turning her attention to the baby’s mother. “As a matter of fact, he has. Talia made sure of that.”

“Well…If it’s any consolation,” Pamela piped up, “Talia is the worst and I’m sure her kid will be too. Even if he’s mostly Bruce.”

“That does make me feel a bit better, yes,” Selina admitted. “But I am actually trying to make an effort, which is way more than I can say for her.”

“Selina…” Harleen pulled on her therapist persona. “She stole Bruce’s sperm and created a child clone, and even after all that—or, because of that?—he still picked you. I think some hostility is to be expected.”

The brunette sighed. “I feel like we should all be able to just murder people and steal things in peace.”

Harleen narrowed her eyes. “I guess Pam and I should pretend like we didn’t hear that?”

“Oh no!” Selina covered her mouth in mock horror, turning to look at Pam. “Poison Ivy, what happened to honor among thieves?!”

“I am an Eco-terrorist, not a thief,” Pam corrected without raising her eyes from the beaker now heating over a Bunsen burner. But she felt Harleen’s glare move to her, so she corrected to “was an Eco-terrorist,” as quickly as she could.

“Pameleen strikes again," Selina mumbled, turning her attention back to Anthony. She chuckled at the boy as he reverently placed his hand on his mother’s cheek, and then pulled it back to smack her in the face.

“Hey,” Harleen caught his hand as he went to repeat the motion. “That’s ouchie, Ant. Ouchie on Mama’s face.”

Selina was smiling broadly now. “I love that kid.”

/

Pamela flipped them over on the bed, taking her turn in the driver’s seat.

She dragged her lips from just below Harley’s ear to the hollow of her throat, planting kisses along the way. Harleen kept her bottom lip firmly between her teeth, but let out a strangled moan none the less when Pam’s tongue danced on a particularly sensitive area. Pam was quick to clamp her hand down over the other woman’s mouth, shushing her emphatically through a suppressed giggle. She gave her a warning look, and then slowly lifted her hand away.

Harley’s eyes flitted over to the baby monitor, which was (thankfully) still silent. Pam cautiously resumed the path of her lips down her wife’s chest and then stomach. She stalled once she reached her navel, resting her chin there to look up at Harley.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

Harleen grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her up and locking her in a hungry kiss. That was all the information Pam needed as she began trailing her fingers down the same path her lips had just abandoned. But Pam had only just begun to toy with her when the unmistakable sound of Anthony’s cry came bursting out of the monitor.

Harley’s breath hitched and her back dropped from its arched position as Pamela laid her head down on the blonde’s chest in defeat. “I’m starting to hate that kid," she mumbled.

“You are not…” Harleen chuckled, trying to get her heart rate down. “And anyway, I’m the one who got screwed here.”

“No, you didn’t,” Pam grinned against the smooth skin beneath her. “That’s the problem.”

Harleen sighed as the cries began to escalate. “I’ll get him.”

“No,” Pam raised her head. “It’s the least I can do. I’ll be right back.”

The blonde smirked as she pulled the sheets up tighter around her, watching Pam get out of bed and pull on a robe. “Fine. I’ll just be waiting here…frustrated…”

The redhead raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’m sorry, do we need a refresher on whose idea it was to have a kid in the first place?”

Harleen was clearly displeased with her wife’s lackadaisical pace (and the valid point she’d just made). “Can you please go make sure our son isn’t dying?”

Pam offered one more haughty look before exiting the bedroom towards the nursery one door over. She sighed when she entered the room and saw Anthony standing up in his crib, tears rolling down his face.

“Mama!” he sobbed, holding up his arms to her.

Pamela’s heart instantly felt heavy with guilt and she crossed quickly over to his crib.

“Come here, Baby," she picked him up and he curled into her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck and holding fast.

His sobs turned to sniffles as she gently rocked him before his breathing returned to normal and Pam sat down with him on the chair in the corner.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered into his ear when he wouldn’t loosen his grip. He was not yet a year, and as a result, could really only articulate “mama” and a series of other sounds that could be interpreted as words if the listener was generous. She still asked, though. He seemed to like her voice. Pam could feel him relax in her arms as she spoke and he responded by lifting his head to look at her.

She wiped the tears from his face and planted a kiss on his forehead before sighing and leaning back in the chair, looking at him where he sat upright in her lap, holding his hands so he didn’t fall backwards.

“I love you,” Pam whispered. She smiled at how similar his eyes were to Harley’s, and how his bottom lip pouted just like hers. Then she gripped his hands a bit tighter and focused, sending an identical message (I love you) through the green. The result was instantaneous. Anthony ripped his hands away from his mother’s and clamped them over his ears.

Ivy was surprised, to say the least. She’d been working on communicating with him through those channels nearly every night since they brought him home, but this was the first time he’d reacted in any measurable way. His eyes were wide and he looked…scared, honestly. So Pam repeated the phrase, saying “I love you” audibly. Hoping to communicate that what she was vocalizing was the same whether he heard it with his ears or he heard it in his head.

Anthony leaned forward until he fell onto Pam’s chest once more, tucking his head into her neck. She could feel his little heart beat and she was again reminded of just how perfect he was. Her creation. Her child. Her miracle.

Harleen was dozing when she came back into their bedroom, still holding Anthony in her arms, but she woke up when Pam placed him in the bed and crawled in after.

The blonde didn’t question the action, just pulled the blanket up around Anthony’s neck and wrapped her arm around him where he was sandwiched between she and Pam.

“Why was he fussing?” She asked.

Pam sighed as she lay her head down on her pillow. “I think he can hear.”

Harleen would have giggled had she not been so tired. “Well, I’d hope so…”

“I mean he can hear me,” Pam clarified, her simple sentence loaded with meaning. “And I think he can hear them, too.”

Chapter Text

“Damian!” Selina shouted from where she sat on the park bench to where Bruce’s son was perched atop the play structure. “You have to keep your hands to yourself, dude. We don’t hit our friends.”

“You’re not my mom!” He shouted back.

“Charming,” Selina rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Harleen. “Either I kill him, or he’s going to lead me to drink again, I swear to God.”

Harleen took a sip of her coffee. “I’m not sure murder is the best solution…”

“Then what do you suggest?” The brunette asked, tossing her now empty to-go cup into the trash can a few feet away.

“Umm…parenting?” Harleen suggested.

“I’m sorry, did you not just hear him?” Selina asked. “Hey, Damian!” she called back over to the boy. “Who’s your mom?”

“Not you!” was his immediate reply.

Harleen tried not to laugh, but… “Just be the adult, Selina. Whether he likes it or not, he lives in your house.”

The brunette scoffed in response. “What an adorable notion. And anyway, Mother of The Year, where’s your kid?”

Harley’s first survey of the playground was calm, but when she couldn’t locate her son, she shot up to her feet. “Anthony?”

Selina stood up too, but not quite as aggressively. “Damian, where’s Anthony?”

Silently, Damian pointed across the park to the tree line just before the road.

“Harleen,” Selina got her attention. “One: he’s over there. And two: I’m pretty sure people who need wheelchairs don’t just stand up.”

Horrified, the blonde glanced downwards and found that she was, indeed, standing, her wheelchair a few feet behind her. It was too late to fix that now, so she started at a sprint over to where Anthony was standing alone, watching the cars pass by through the trees.

Harleen grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around and finding his face was soaked with tears. Her nervous anger instantly gave way to concern and she knelt down in front of him. “What are you doing over here?”

His bottom lip quivered. “They said to come play.”

“Who did?” the worry was evident in Harley’s voice.

“The…” Anthony, now 3 years old, was having a difficult time articulating his answer. “The...the inside guys," he tapped his head with his palm, and then did it again, harder this time. And again and again before Harleen grabbed his arm once more and stopped him from taking another swing.

“Honey, no…don’t do that,” Harleen urged, gently massaging his arms where she gripped him.

“They said they needed my help, Mama. They said somebody was being mean," Anthony stared down at his shoes.

“Ant,” Harleen began, putting her hand under his chin and lifting his eyes up to meet hers. “Do these ‘inside guys’ sound like Mom? Do you hear them out here,” she tapped her ear, “or in here?” she moved to her temple.

Hesitantly, he reached out and gently poked her temple.

“OK…” Harleen nodded slowly. “So you know how sometimes Mom talks to you in your head? Does it sound like that?”

“But it’s not Mom!” Anthony began to cry in earnest again.

“Shh…it’s OK, Bud,” Harleen stood up and lifted him off the ground, holding him to her hip as she drew her phone out of her pocket. She called Pam 5 times and each one went to voicemail. She must be in a meeting.

/

“And we’re sure the headpiece is a necessary aspect of the ensemble?” Poison Ivy questioned.

Batman nodded. “Unless you’re familiar with the engineering of extraterrestrial explosives…”

Ivy grimaced as she loaded the camera and helmet onto her head and fastened the straps. “Happy?”

“Very much so,” Hal Jordan chuckled.

Ivy decided to ignore the Lantern, as he really wasn’t even worthy of her attention, so she instead directed her question at Batman. “Remind me why I’m doing this again?”

“We don’t have time to bring in the hazmats,” Batman told her as he booted up the live stream so he could see through the camera Ivy was wearing.

“Fine,” Ivy smoothed her hands down her body suit, adjusting her gloves for no other reason than to dispel with any nervous energy before Batman could detect it in her. “Let’s go, I don’t have all day.”

Green Lantern deposited her about 50 feet from the device. The area had already been cleared, so there weren’t any civilians, just abandoned storefronts.

“Do you have any idea how much healthier the planet would be if it actually looked like this?” Ivy asked as she approached.

“23%, Ivy,” Batman reminded her through her earpiece. “Emissions are down 23% and we didn’t have to kill anybody.”

“Well, sure, if you’d rather settle for mediocrity…” Ivy stopped a few steps short of where the explosive was strapped to the side of a building. “Can you see it?”

“Yes," Batman confirmed. “Give us a second.”

Ivy sighed, crossing her arms and making sure the camera stayed pointed at the target. A few minutes of silence passed. “Have you at least determined the planetary origin?”

“…Patience," Batman intoned.

Poison Ivy took a step forward, hoping to get a better look at it herself, but as she did, the display changed colors, from neon green to red. “Any idea what that means?” she asked.

“Pamela, back up!”

She felt her head slam back against something hard before she could react. With a groan of pain, she realized she was on the ground and that her vision was glazed over.

“Ivy!”

She shook her head, trying to do away with some of the mental fog the blow had caused, but soon realized that not all of it was in her head. There was actual smoke rising from her body. She was covered in a green gelatinous substance that was rapidly dissolving her suit.

“What is it?” Batman asked, watching from the first person view as it ate away at the fabric on Ivy’s body.

“I’m not sure…” Ivy attempted to focus. “An enzyme of some sort.”

“Are you immune?”

“Yes, evidently. But this suit isn’t, so you’re going to have to cut the live feed.”

/

“Harl!” Pam greeted as she closed the front door behind her. “I think I’ve compiled a definitive ranking for the Lanterns."

Silence.

Pam frowned, checking her watch and setting her keys down in the bowl.

“Harleen?” she tried again, walking into the living room to find she and Anthony asleep on the couch, Harley’s arm pulled tight around him. Toys were strewn around the room…Ivy almost had a heart attack when she saw a potted plant knocked over on its side. “Harleen,” she repeated, in a harsh whisper this time.

The blonde slowly opened her eyes. “Hey…” she said, groggily. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I left it here this morning since I wasn’t going into the office,” Pam explained.

“Oh,” Harley sat up slowly, careful not to wake Anthony. “What the heck are you wearing?”

“What?” Pam looked down at her pink crop-top and jean shorts. “Oh, right…It’s been an interesting day. Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, we had an interesting day too…” Harley rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “We went to the park with Damian and Selina, and then Anthony proceeded to throw basically a day-long tantrum.”

That didn’t sound like Anthony. He was usually a pretty mild-mannered kid. Pam gently brushed the bangs back off his forehead and saw that his face was, indeed, red and puffy from tears.

“He said he was hearing voices, Pam,” Harleen continued. “And…I don’t know…what if it’s my kind of voices and not yours?”

Pam shook her head, combing her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Harl.”

“What makes you so sure?” The blonde wanted to know.

“The problem is, his connection to the green isn’t strong enough for him to respond to their cries,” Pam explained. “He hears their suffering, but he is powerless against what’s ailing them.”

She began to gently shake him awake before Harley could protest.

“Mom? Are you home?” Anthony asked, his eyes still closed.

Pam smiled, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I am, and I need you to come somewhere with me.”

He was fully awake now, gazing up at her. “OK.”

Harley looked questioningly at Pam as she helped Anthony off of the couch and followed as Pam picked him up and exited through the back door, walking across the yard.

With a wave of her hand, Pam directed a vine on the other side of the greenhouse door to unlatch it for them.

“Mom…I don’t wanna be in here…” Anthony complained, wrapping his arms tighter around her neck and hiding his face against her shoulder. “It’s too loud.”

A chill ran up Harleen’s spine, but Pam’s expression remained the same as she nodded sagely. “Anthony, what’s your favorite room in the house?”

“My room," his words were muffled against his mother’s skin.

“Why?” Pam asked

“Cuz all my toys live there," he told her.

Pam smiled. “Well…this is my favorite room because all my friends live here and they always have a lot to say.”

Anthony detached himself slightly, clearly confused. “Who are your friends?”

“Do you know what this is?” Pam asked him, referring to a large blossom pinker than her shirt.

He looked. “Flower.”

Pam laughed. “That’s right, but do you know what kind of flower?”

“Flower,” Anthony repeated like she hadn’t heard him correctly the first time.

Pam grinned, looking over her shoulder at Harleen. “He’s so sure I almost want that to be the complete answer.” Harley giggled and Pam turned her attention back to the task at hand. “It’s a chrysanthemum. Can you say chrysanthemum?”

Anthony shook his head.

“You’re not even going to try?” Harley asked.

He shook his head again, his bottom lip pouting in trademark Quinzel style.

“Well…” Pam pulled them back on track, forfeiting that particular battle for now. “All of these flowers in here, all of my friends, have a lot to say, but, unfortunately, not many people can hear them.”

“How come?” Anthony asked.

Pam shrugged. “You have to be very special.”

Anthony furrowed his brow. “Are the flowers the inside guys?”

Confused, Pam looked to Harley for confirmation. She nodded, so Pam told him “yes.”

“Can you hear them?” The boy asked.

“I can.”

“Can Mama hear them?”

Harley came to stand next to him, taking his hand in hers and shaking her head. “I’m not special enough. Just you and Mom.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes again. “No, Mama, you are special!”

“I know that, Kiddo." His distress was so adorable Harleen had to fight the urge to take a picture. “I’m just special in different ways. Mom’s plants don’t like me all that much.”

“They like you just fine,” Pam guaranteed.

Anthony mulled that over for a moment. “But why are your friends always sad?”

“Are the friends in here sad?” Pam asked.

Anthony closed his eyes to listen. They weren’t crying like the others. They were singing.

“See? Flowers are just like people. Sometimes they’re sad, sometimes they’re happy.," his mother’s voice wove its way into his head.

“But—but then why were they hurting?” Anthony asked.

Pam sighed, leaning in to rest her forehead against his. “Because humans can be cruel, Sweetpea.”

“But you don’t have to be scared,” Harley assured him, placing her hand on his back. “That’s our job, OK?”

30 minutes later, after two read-throughs of The Giving Tree, Harleen had him tucked into bed. Pam was changing into a nightshirt when the blonde joined her in their bedroom.

“Oh, I don’t fucking think so,” Harley said, stopping her before she could get the crop-top all the way over her head. “You owe me an explanation for that craziness," she indicted Pamela’s fashion statement.

“There was an accident today,” Pam told her, a bit of annoyance in her tone as she let the fabric fall back into place. “My suit did not take kindly to a foreign substance, and so my suit is no more.”

“But that suit has been around longer than our marriage!” Harleen was clearly upset.

Pam raised an eyebrow. “Umm…the extraterrestrial enzyme was exceedingly apologetic?”

“Well, good! It should be,” Harleen huffed, plopping down on the bed. “But my question is about the California beach babe aesthetic.”

“Kara was the only woman with a change of clothes at The Watchtower,” Pam explained. “Kara is, by all accounts, a California beach babe.”

A wide smile spread over Harleen’s face then, which Pamela took to mean she was now permitted to change.

“Wait a minute, Supergirl…” Harley grinned, walking on her knees to the foot of the bed and looping her fingers into the waistband of Pam’s shorts, pulling her closer. “I’ve never had a Kyptonian before…”

“Well,” Pamela leaned in, whispering lasciviously: “Since I’m not a Kryptonian, I don’t see that changing tonight.”

Harley pushed her away, “Boo, Pam. You’re no fun.”

The redhead sighed affectionately. “Harleen…would you like to wear an alien’s jean shorts?”

“Oh thank God!” Harley immediately snapped out of her pout. “I thought you’d never ask.” She roughly unbuttoned them, stripping the garment off of Pam’s legs in record time. “It just makes more sense with the hair and all that.”

“Mhm…sure…” Pamela wasn’t opposed to humoring her.

Harley looked up expectantly. “I’m going to need the shirt, too.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Joan Leland entered the Baby Gap late on a Saturday morning. It was her granddaughter’s birthday, and even though she knew the girl’s mother already spoiled her, it was a grandmother’s duty to do the same.

The world was currently going through a superhero obsession, and her granddaughter was no exception to the craze. But Joan cringed when she asked her daughter who the girl’s favorite was and the answer was “Poison Ivy”. When Joan tried to remind her daughter that Poison Ivy was a psychopath and not exactly a great role model for little girls, her daughter replied with an annoyed, “I don’t know what to tell you, Mom. She thinks she’s pretty. She likes her hair, and she likes flowers, OK?”

So now here Dr. Leland was…buying her granddaughter merchandise modeled after a mass murderer who also happened to be a former patient. It was odd. Joan used to feel proud about the work she’d done with Ivy. How Ivy had successfully reformed. But now it was like the world was on Ivy overload. You couldn’t walk two blocks without seeing a giant billboard of her or watch an hour of TV without seeing her in an ad. Joan wasn’t sure if the Justice League was pushing the environmentalist angle this hard to placate Ivy, or because they actually believed in its importance…but either way, Poison Ivy was like a ghost from Joan’s past that she couldn’t seem to shake.

There was a family in the next aisle over. Joan could hear the wheels of a stroller or something similar being pushed across the wood floor and their attempt at hushed chatter was carrying through the rack of clothes.

“No, I wanna push Mama," little boy’s voice came.

“Honey…” a clearly frustrated woman began with a sigh. “You’ve already crashed her twice.”

“I’m a big boy, I can do it!” he protested.

“He just wants to be helpful," second woman attempted to appeal.

“But that’s just it,” the first woman responded, her voice a bit harsher now, and familiar somehow… “He’s not being helpful. Knocking over the displays is not helpful, it’s stressful.”

“Mom, I won’t crash again, OK? Pinky swear.”

Judging from the boy’s speech patterns and tone of voice, Joan guessed he was about 4 years old. Cute age, but tough age, especially for boys.

The first woman acquiesced: “Fine.” Joan heard a gentle smack of lips which she guessed was the boy receiving a kiss on the cheek. “Be gentle, please. It hurts Mama when you knock her into stuff.”

Joan smiled, but the clacking of heels stopped her snooping, reminding her of the task at hand.

Superheroes, superheroes…she rid herself of the distraction and scanned the aisles until she found what she was looking for.

The sections were divided into “boys” and “girls”, and the girls’ side was considerably more pink, which was odd seeing as how Joan couldn’t think of a single female superhero that wore pink other than Starfire, and she couldn’t imagine her merchandise being very popular with children.

Joan rolled her eyes at the “Super, Girl!” graphic t-shirt that included a print of Supergirl giving the ‘thumbs-up’. She walked past the pink Wonder Woman stuff and over to the Gotham Heroes section, which included a red Batwoman option, as well as a yellow or powder blue Batgirl variation. Joan grabbed the yellow one in the hopes of promoting a more appropriate hero.

She groaned out loud when she spotted the Poison Ivy stuff. “Pretty Poison”, “Kiss Me” …these weren’t shirts kids should be wearing. Clacking heels approached and came to stand beside her. Before Joan could turn and look, the owner of the heels was groaning as well.

“So fucking stupid," the woman mumbled. And then she addressed Joan: “Can you believe th—," her voice trailed off, and Joan turned—curious—until she saw who it was.

Poison Ivy—the real one—was staring at her dumbly. Joan didn’t speak either. She couldn’t. She hadn’t seen this woman in person in about 18 years. But yet, here she was, standing in a Baby Gap, barely even disguised in civilian clothes. Joan had assumed she would at least wear a wig or colored contacts now that she was attempting to maintain a secret identity. Although her skin did look tanned and altogether human rather than her usual emerald coloring, so maybe that was enough to throw people off the scent.

Joan didn’t know how long they’d been looking at each other, but the silence was broken when a little boy bounded over and flung himself around Ivy’s legs. “Mom, can I get s’more Flash stuff?”

Dr. Leeland blinked, then her gaze shifted down to the boy. He was wearing darkly washed jeans over bright red sneakers that matched his argyle sweater vest. His button down was a pretty shade of periwinkle that brought out the bright blue of his wide eyes and highlighted the auburn hair that fell in soft curls on his head. Honestly, the boy looked like he’d materialized out of one of the store posters, he was so perfect.

“Mom?” he tugged on Ivy’s blouse, pulling it out from where it was tucked into her jeans.

“I told him yes, but no Reverse Flash stuff. I think it sends the wrong message to—," the woman approaching in the wheelchair now trailed off as well, having come close enough to realize who Joan was.

It was Harleen. Of course it was Harleen.

“D-Doctor Leeland!” the blonde stammered from her chair. “What are you—I didn’t—it’s been a while, huh?”

Joan nodded slowly, looking from Harleen to the boy hanging off of Poison Ivy’s leg. Those were Harleen’s wide blue eyes she saw in his face.

The boy was now looking back at Joan, regarding her curiously, critically, even. “Mama, who is that lady?”

“Anthony…” Harleen cleared her throat. “This—uh—this is my boss, Joan.”

“This is your son?” Joan asked. She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it anyway. From the primary source.

Harleen nodded. “Anthony. Yes. And this is…” she looked over at Ivy who hadn’t moved- her posture or her expression. “This is my wife.”

Joan wasn’t exactly sure why she wasn’t completely surprised. Maybe she’d just spent too many years talking to the mentally ill. Maybe her perception of what was and wasn’t acceptable or plausible was distorted. And she’d wanted this for Pamela, right? Or else why had she spent 12 years treating her? Why had she signed off on Harleen’s sanity plea for her? All that time, all that effort…and now here she was, looking normal and healthy in jeans and a blouse with her son wrapped around her leg, helping her paralyzed wife through the department store.

So maybe seeing she and Harleen together didn’t surprise Joan, but what she—herself—did was certainly unexpected. Joan turned her attention to Ivy and held out her cellphone. “My granddaughter is turning six today. You are her favorite hero…could you…record a message for her?”

Pamela studied her for a moment, both cautiously and critically, just like her son had, before reaching out and taking the phone. “What’s her name?” Ivy asked as she opened the camera function.

“Layla,” Joan told her.

Ivy nodded and exited the store, Joan assumed in search of a place where she could revert back to her usual skin color.

Harleen was staring into her lap. She looked good, though. Healthy, which was a relief to Joan. By her calculations, Harleen was in her early 40s by now—although she didn’t look it—which made Joan feel very old indeed. They spoke on the phone occasionally, but hadn’t really seen each other since Harleen resigned, which was...well, 4 years ago, she supposed. Joan knew Harleen had been married some years ago, but they rarely discussed their personal lives. Joan hadn’t even thought to ask if she’d married a man or a woman, and certainly not whether she’d married a supervillain.

“Did you know my Mama when she was little like me?” The boy—Anthony—asked.

Joan was a bit surprised, not at the question itself, but at being asked one. There was a fascinating confidence within the boy that Joan found endearing. “No, I did not. How high can you count?”

“Thirty,” Anthony announced proudly.

“Oh…” Joan was beginning to smile despite herself. “You must be a very smart boy, then.”

Anthony nodded emphatically. “Mom says I’m the smartest boy she ever knew.”

Joan almost laughed. This little boy had no way of knowing that was just a way for Poison Ivy to sneak in a slight on the male sex. Joan had quickly deduced that Harleen was referred to as “Mama” while Ivy—or, Pamela—was “Mom”. “She was 26 when I met her,” Joan told him.

“I can count to 26,” Anthony informed her.

Joan remembered Harleen, fresh out of medical school, the prettiest thing most of those patients at Arkham had ever seen. She’d strolled in that first day with her tight skirt and heels…Joan had nearly laughed at the naivety. And then the young woman had surprised her by walking right up to Poison Ivy’s cell and snapping back at her taunts.

…oh…

Joan realized she’d never seen Ivy show legitimate affection for anyone, maybe that’s why she couldn’t tell the difference.

Joan was roused from her thoughts by a tap on the arm. Ivy was back, and holding her phone out to her.

“There you go,” Ivy said, glancing around somewhat nervously. Joan could tell she didn’t want to be spotted, but she must have been feeling pretty safe not to disguise herself further.

It was so truly bizarre seeing Poison Ivy like this. Dr. Leeland was, honestly, having a difficult time wrapping her head around it. Around any of it. Poison Ivy had married her doctor and they were now raising a child together? That’s insane! Almost as insane as Poison Ivy was. But, strangely, all that came from Joan’s mouth in response was “Thank you.”

The three woman stood there in silence, Harleen still looking into her lap like a schoolgirl who’d been caught passing notes. Not even Anthony moved for those moments. No one did, until Harleen reached her hand out and took Ivy’s in hers, finally raising her gaze to look Joan in the eye.

“It’s really good to see you, Joan,” Harley said. “Isn’t it, Paula?”

Ivy nodded subtly. “But you didn’t really see us, did you, Joan?”

“But, Mom…” Anthony protested. “We’re right here. We’re not ghosts.”

“Brilliant observation,” Pamela said, distractedly, her focus remaining fixed on her former doctor.

Leeland cleared her throat. “Wonderful to meet you, Paula. Anthony," she gave the boy one last smile before walking past them, towards the checkout counter where she paid hastily before heading out the door.

Joan didn’t take a deep breath until she’d made it to her car. For 12 years Poison Ivy had been her patient. For 15 years Harleen had been her employee. Arkham was Dr. Leeland’s Asylum. She was the head psychiatrist and she hadn’t known one of her doctors had married a former patient.

With a sigh, she checked her watch and realized her shame spiraling was going to make her late to the party, so she put her car in gear and headed out.

The smell of pizza hit her the second Joan opened the door.

“Mom? That you?” her daughter’s voice carried from the kitchen.

“It’s me,” Joan hung her coat up and made her way into the kitchen. She gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek and smiled.

“Gift?” the young woman asked.

Joan held up the bag in her hand as proof. “Where’s Layla?”

“Living room," her daughter told her as she bent over to take one of the pizzas out of the oven.

Layla was on the couch watching some cartoons when Joan entered. “Hey, Sweetie. Happy birthday.”

The girl smiled broadly. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I—I have a surprise for you,” Joan said, sitting down next to her. “Someone very special would like to wish you a happy birthday.”

Layla looked at her curiously and took her phone, waiting as Joan leaned over and pressed play.

Poison Ivy showed up on screen with her distinctive green complexion. Joan felt the girl’s body tense beside her.

“Hey, Layla,” Ivy was smiling pleasantly at the camera. “I’m not sure if you know who I am…”

“Poison Ivy,” Layla breathed.

“...But an old friend of mine told me that it was your birthday today, is that true?”

“Yes,” Layla replied, excitedly, like she was watching Dora the Explorer.

“Well if it is, then I hope you have a very happy birthday, and if I really am your favorite hero, then I must say, you have excellent taste,” Ivy winked.

Joan watched as Layla grinned.

“Evidently, you’re turning six, which may be a bit too young to become a member of the Justice League, but you’re never too young to be a part of my army of environmental warriors. Anyone can be a hero for Mother Nature.”

“I always recycle,” Layla whispered.

“When I was six years old, my favorite toy was a magnifying glass,” Ivy informed the camera. “I’m not sure what yours is, but that magnifying glass helped me learn a lot about the world. It helped me answer questions that I didn’t even think to ask. See, before I became ‘Poison Ivy’, I was just a girl named Pamela who wanted to be a different kind of hero: one that wore a lab coat, not a cape. I was a scientist. And anyone can become that kind of hero if they’re curious enough. So Layla, happy birthday, and I sincerely hope you keep asking questions,” Ivy ended the video by blowing a kiss.

Layla slowly turned to Joan, eyes wide with amazement. “Grandma, how do you know Poison Ivy?!”

Dr. Leeland had no choice but to laugh. “Like she said, we’re…old friends.”

Chapter Text

“Mama, why do I get ice cream?” Anthony asked as he skipped down the sidewalk.

Harleen was pushing herself as Pamela was preoccupied on her cellphone. “Because you were patient in the store and Mom and I have something very important to tell you.”

“Is it a secret?” Anthony wondered.

“No,” Pam mumbled, now typing furiously.

“Mom!” Anthony yelled, suddenly, startling Pam into dropping her phone on the pavement, cracking the screen. He was pointing above their heads at a building across the street. “Look! It’s you!”

Pam glanced up at the billboard, narrowed her eyes, and then smashed her heel down on the broken cellphone in frustration.

Harleen and Anthony both stopped to stare at her. Wordlessly, Pam snatched Harley’s phone from the purse hanging off her wheelchair, murmuring “I need to use this.”

“Mom, why are you mad?”

“Grown-up stuff,” Pam answered curtly, dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear as she walked away. “Four typos? What the fuck, Harold?”

Anthony’s eyes widened. “She is so grumpy.”

Harleen had to laugh. “Honey, can you pick that up?” she indicated the broken cellphone. “Nothing makes Mom grumpier than littering.”

The boy nodded ardently, picking up the splintered device and placing it in Harley’s purse. “I just wanted to show her the pretty picture…”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s mad about, Bud,” Harleen assured him. “But what’s our deal?”

Anthony stared down at his sneakers. “Mom’s big pictures are secrets that only we get to know.”

“That’s right,” Harleen nodded. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I need some ice cream in me like yesterday.”

She let him order for both of them which resulted in two pistachio cones…not exactly Harleen’s first choice, but she knew that he’d chosen it because it was green, and he was likely hoping it would help put Pam in a better mood. So Harley ate it all the same, wiping Anthony’s face every other lick because, for the life of him, he could not manage to keep his cone from dripping. He just didn’t understand the concept of equal attention.

…Maybe because most of Anthony’s attention was focused outside the window where Pam was speaking animatedly into Harleen’s phone. Harley could tell he was nervous about Pam’s mood. Yes, she did still get angry, she still had a temper, but for the most part she was able to have the self-awareness to remove herself from Anthony’s presence at least before she allowed it to truly flare. Harold, a paralegal at her firm, was evidently not as lucky. Harley felt a little bad, but at the same time was just relieved Pam’s frustration wasn’t being directed at her.

When Pam finally sat down with them inside the parlor, Harleen had already finished her ice cream and was contemplating throwing Anthony’s away for melted it was.

“Look, Mom!” Anthony exclaimed, shoving the mess in Pam’s face. “It’s like the polar ice caps!”

Harleen bit her lip to starve off a laugh and tried to read Pam’s reaction.

The redhead looked at the melted cone and then at her son’s proud expression at his analogy. “An apt assessment.”

Anthony grinned, turning back to Harleen. “Mama, I am done eating this now," he stated resolutely.

“OK,” Harley giggled, taking the sticky mass from his hand and dropping it in the trashcan behind her. “But if you’re never going to finish it, why do you always make me get you the big one?”

“Because it tastes better,” Anthony told her like it was obvious.

To Harleen’s relief, Pam was smirking now. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Nuh uh!” Anthony turned on her.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Harley gave him a stern look. “Cool your jets, Mr. Attitude. We already have our designated grumpy goose today.”

Pamela slid the phone she’d borrowed across the table, fixing Harleen with a look as she did. “I have never been less attracted to you than in this moment," she mumbled.

Harleen wrinkled her nose at the other woman, slipping the phone back into her purse before placing her hand gently on Anthony’s arm. “So…we have some exciting news.”

“You’re going to have a sister,” Pam told him.

Anthony cocked his head as the information sunk in. His question, when he finally did ask one, was: “Who?”

Harleen laughed. “Well, we haven’t met her yet. So, we don’t know.”

Anthony looked a bit lost. “Will she live with us?”

“Yes…” Pamela confirmed, watching him curiously.

“But—but how do you know she’s nice?” he asked. “If you haven’t met her yet, how do you know it will be good for her to live with us?”

Harleen cursed herself for not having recorded this. “Well…you, me and Mom have to make sure she grows up to be nice. That’s our job. That’s your job, as her big brother.”

Anthony crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair and regarding both women critically. “Will she be a baby?”

Harleen nodded.

“Will I get to hold her?”

Harleen grinned. “Definitely.”

“What will her name be?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you can help us figure that out.”

/

“Drop it.”

Riddler whirled around to find Batwoman standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unimpressed.

“Didn’t I drop you off at Arkham last week?” she asked, tapping her foot.

“Bigger than the biggest animal, than a feather I am lighter, though at night I take my flight,” Riddler said, a sly smile stretching his lips. “What am I?”

Batwoman groaned, she didn’t have the patience for this song and dance tonight. At night I take my flight… “A shadow," she decided.

His smile collapsed, disheartened at her correct answer. Without warning, he flicked his cane out and struck her across her face.

“Motherf—," Batwoman angrily grabbed the cane as he retracted it and used it to pull him closer, ramming him into her foot as she kicked him hard in the gut, forcing him to double over. She uppercut swiftly, landing a blow to his throat, causing him to choke and sputter as she finished him off with another kick to the chest.

She stood over him. “A man rides into town on Friday. Three days later, he leaves, also on Friday. How?”

“The—the horse’s name is—is Friday,” Riddler wheezed, clutching his stomach where he lay in the fetal position on the ground.

“Wrong!” Batwoman said, handcuffing him. “Time machine, bitch.”

/

Light was just beginning to seep into the city when Harleen stumbled up the stairs.

She unceremoniously kicked off her shoes as she entered her bedroom, pulling her jacket off and her jeans down, tossing them both into the corner.  

Pamela was curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, in a very similar position as Riddler had been in earlier that night. Harleen wondered how many times Batman had seen her like that…in pain…ready to be carted off to Arkham. Harley wondered if she would have done the same, had circumstances been different. Had Ivy not signed the contract. Had she remained a villain.

But Harleen didn’t want to think about that, not now, anyway. She was sore and her face had just barely stopped bleeding. She didn’t even want to look in the mirror, knowing the swelling would already be ugly. Instead, she grabbed Pam’s ankles, pulling her legs straight so that she could crawl up into her arms.

She hummed contentedly, nuzzling her face into Pam’s neck and breathing deeply, smiling at the pleasantness of the floral aroma compared to the smells she’d encountered in the bowels of Gotham’s back alleys. She knew she should just go to bed, Anthony would be up soon and he wasn’t so into naps these days, but she just couldn’t resist kissing the warm skin in front of her.

Pam shifted slightly as Harley scooted up on the bed so that she could kiss her lips as well.

“Mmm…you smell like a sewer,” Pam murmured against her lips.

“Funny you should say that…” Harleen smiled sleepily.

Pam’s eyelids fluttered open and she frowned as she took in the sight before her, although with Harley pressed so close to her, it was hardly a revealing vantage point. “Daffodil…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” Harleen attempted to brush off her concern by peppering kisses along her jawline. “I’ll take care of it in a bit.”

“No,” Pam sighed, detaching herself from the other woman. “That needs to be closed up.”

“Can’t you just lick it better?” Harley asked, rolling onto her back to watch Pam get out of bed.

“Firstly: that’s not an actual thing,” Pam told her from the bathroom as she searched for the first aid kit. “And second: why would I want to lick your open wound? Yes, I’m impervious to bacteria, but that’s disgusting, frankly. I mean, honestly, even if my saliva did contain some magical power of coagulation, why wouldn’t I bottle it?”

“Well, what is that stuff made out of then, if not your spit?” Harleen asked, gently dabbing at the gash in her cheek to see if the bleeding had resumed.

“Nothing derived from my physiology,” Pam informed her, climbing back onto the bed, first aid kit in hand. “What happened?” She asked as she began to clean the wound.

Harleen winced slightly at the stinging of the alcohol. “I wasn’t really paying attention and Riddler whacked me in the face with his cane.”

Pam said something under her breath that Harley couldn’t quite make out as she began to press down harder with the alcohol wipes.

“Hey, ow!” the blonde complained.

“Sorry…” Pam mumbled, applying her blood-clotting ointment to the open wound before clamping the skin together with butterfly bandages. She then took Harley’s face in her hands and examined her handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, she readied an ice pack and placed it delicately on the epicenter of the swelling on Harley’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Harley replaced Pam’s hand with her own and held the ice pack to her face, watching the other woman as she closed up the kit once more. “Hey,” Pam wouldn’t make eye contact with her. “Hey," she repeated, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” The redhead murmured. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

And Harleen understood. They were returning to the reverberating effects of Pamela’s possessiveness. There were many ways a psychologist could approach this particular character trait of Pam’s in relation to Harley. They could say that it was Pamela’s need for control that drove her to worry for her wife’s well-being. They could say it was because Harley was her toy and Pam didn’t like when other people played with and broke her without permission…and sure, Dr. Quinzel acknowledged those avenues, incorporated them into her diagnosis and treatment, but it wasn’t what Harleen believed in her heart of hearts. If that was it, then why was she here? For an extended case study? Dr. Quinzel could have conducted that without the romantic entanglement. No, she truly did love Pamela. She was, at this point, dependent on her, and so she had to believe that the foundation of Pam’s possessiveness was rooted in a dedicated affection, and more specifically, rooted in fear of again being devoid of that affection.

Harleen cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Pam asked, her eyes focusing on the patterns of the comforter below her fingers.

“For trusting me,” Harley answered with a smile, taking the other woman’s hand and lifting it gently to her lips.

Many people assumed that because they’d been married so long, their routine had become monotonous or their interest diminished, but the truth was, they hadn’t been married to this version of each other for all that long. Harleen was paralyzed at the time of their wedding, and spent the next six years in that chair as a much different human being than she was today. Temperamentally and psychologically speaking, of course. And Harley’s attitude had forced Pamela to adjust as well, assuming the role of the doting wife, the emotional support system. But now that Harleen had moved on and was faced with a drastically different future than what she’d envisioned the night that gun went off, Pam had adjusted again, finding a place somewhere in between Pamela and Ivy where she could exist fulfilled. Anthony had changed their marriage too, and now that they were bringing a little girl into the world in a month’s time, there simply wasn’t room for monotony. It was a learning process, all of it. Every day filled with teachable moments.

Which reminded her…

“Do you know what day it is?” Harley asked, changing the subject, seemingly to Pam’s relief even though it soon became abundantly clear she had no idea what day it was. “It’s September 11^th,” Harley reminded her.

“My condolences to the country,” Pam answered in a safe and generic response. She still didn’t quite understand how to gauge the correct emotional response to human tragedies she, herself, had no stake in.

“Oh, come on. Seriously? Again?” Harleen wished she didn’t find things like this so frustrating. “It’s my birthday, Pam.”

The redhead cringed slightly, biting her lip in a show of mild embarrassment.

Harleen sighed. “I guess fixing my face was an alright gift…”

Apparently deciding she was done with the uncomfortable situation, Pam got off the bed and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom, turning the shower on as well.

The blonde rolled her eyes and flopped backwards. “Do you at least know how old I am today?”

“Yes…” Pamela affirmed in the voice she used to reserve for the victims of her seduction. “42.”

Harley turned her head to see Poison Ivy standing in the doorway, completely nude with a confident smirk on her face. Harleen quirked an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement as Pamela crossed over to the bed, slipping her arms around Harley’s legs and back like she used to when Harley needed to be moved to and from her chair.

“Wait a minute…” Harley started, grinning widely as she was lifted off the bed. “Is my present shower sex?”

“That and a breakfast that Anthony has no part in making,” Pam informed her, setting her down on the bathroom sink and removing her t-shirt for her.

“Aww, you do care!”

/

French Toast seemed the natural choice seeing as how they did not have the ingredients for pancakes or waffles.

“When’s my birthday?” Anthony asked from where he was laying on his stomach, examining an action figure under his microscope.

“November,” Harleen told him over the country music she had blasting from the record player. Pam had announced it was her day and Harley was trying to see how far she could push that. “Two months.”

Anthony nodded, deciding responding verbally wasn’t worth yelling over the music.

“Hey, Pam?” Harley asked as Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’ came on. “What is this song supposed to mean to me if I’m married to Jolene?”  

Pam carefully flipped the toast over in the pan. “I’m sorry?”

“Your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair/ with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green…” Harleen sang along with the music, unapologetically off-key. “That’s you, Babe!”

Pam laughed, but Harley continued.

“Your smile is like a breath of spring/ your voice is soft like summer rain…” she sat up straighter on the couch, watching Pam where she was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. “I’m serious, I think your parents really missed the boat naming you ‘Pamela.’”

“Honey,” Pam went over to slice some strawberries while she waited for the toast. “That song came out like 40 years after I was born.”

“Well, now that it’s out there, we can’t make the same mistake with our kid,” Harleen stated, resolutely. “I simply refuse to miss such a gigantic opportunity should she end up looking like you.”

Pam just shook her head, chuckling, so Harleen turned to Anthony. “What do you think, Ant?”

“Name the baby like the song?” He asked, looking up at her. “Mama, ‘Jolene’ sounds like your name.”

Harleen laughed. “Even better.”

Chapter Text

Pamela was going to cry. She could feel it. She was going to cry and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was passed the point of no return. The stakes were too high. The situation…unbearable.

…Jolene had been screaming, without even a hint of calming down, for the past hour and Pamela was about this close to flinging herself out the window.

Jo was far more human than plant. More so than even Anthony was, and so she was much more difficult for Pamela to soothe. In fact, it seemed an almost impossible feat at this point.

It was 3am, so Harleen was out working for Batman, leaving Pamela alone with the children. It started out fine. It always did. Harleen put Jo down while Pam read to Anthony, and then…that was it! That was supposed to be it! But it never was with Jolene. Every. Single. Night she woke up again, seemingly just as Harleen shut the door behind her, and cried, bawled, fussed. And it wasn’t like with Anthony. There wasn’t a reason behind it, it was just aimless noise. Aimless frustration and the powerlessness Pamela felt made her INSANE.

She had to walk her out to the greenhouse so that Anthony could sleep. Desperately, Pam paced back and forth, holding Jolene in her arms, bouncing her up and down, rocking her from side to side…and in those moments, when Jolene was the most distraught, Pamela couldn’t even bring herself to look at her. Because her eyes were green. Bright green, and so Pam wasn’t comforted or enamored by them. She couldn’t look at them and think of Harley. In those eyes, all she saw was herself, and she wondered if her parents had gone through the same thing. If they’d spent a sleepless night up with her while she’d cried. And in those thoughts, Pamela always came to the heartbreaking realization that no, they’d probably just let her cry herself to sleep. Left her in a room all alone…

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…” Pam whispered over and over again into her daughter’s ear, urgently needing to feel like a better parent than hers had been

Pamela wasn’t going to cry because she wanted to sleep. She was going to cry because the girl’s suffering was so upsetting to watch. She pressed her lips to Jo’s forehead as a tear rolled down her cheek, and held them there as she shut her eyes tightly, enduring the girl’s kicks and jerks.

The books assured them that this behavior didn’t mean she was an unhappy baby. That it wasn’t necessarily their fault…but how could Pamela look at this frustrated little thing in her arms and not blame herself? From what they’d observed thus far, Jolene was a child of extremes. She was either hysterical or beaming. There was no in between.

She was slowly calming down now, her crying more chokes than sobs at this point. And Pamela knew it was because she’d tired herself out and not because she’d been effectively soothed. That hurt.

Pam carried her back to the house in what felt like a walk of shame, clutching her tight to her chest the entire journey. When they returned to the bedroom, Pam couldn’t bring herself to put Jo back in her crib. Instead, she let her sprawl out on she and Harleen’s bed, hoping that her warmth beside her would somehow communicate to Jo that she wasn’t alone in this world.

/

“Mama!” Anthony ran into his parent’s bedroom, clearly upset. “Mama, you have to control your daughter.”

Harleen laughed out loud as she was certain that was the funniest sentence ever to come out of a six-year-old’s mouth. “What did she do this time?”

He was so angry not even his artificial coloring could cover the red in his cheeks. “She took my man!”

Harleen had to clamp her hand over her mouth.

“Honey…leave it…” Pam intoned from where she stood in front of the mirror, attempting to disguise the bags under her eyes by augmenting her pigment.

“Which man?” Harley asked, controlling herself best she could.

“My Superman!” he stomped his foot.

Harleen knelt down in front of him, seemingly sympathetic. “Why’d she do it, Ant? Why’d she take your man? Just because she can?”

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “Mama…are you makin’ fun of me?”

“Yes, Darling,” Pam sighed, deciding she appeared adequately chipper. “That’s exactly what she’s doing," she passed by Harleen and Anthony where they stood near the doorway and headed for the room the children shared. She found the girl sitting on the floor, gnawing on Anthony’s Superman action figure.

“Jo…” Pam pried the toy from her fingers. “No. You have your own toys. Plenty of them.”

“That’s right, Jolene,” Harley seconded from where she now stood in the doorway. “You can have your choice of men.”

“Harleen, I swear to Gaia…” Pam growled. “I’ll be gone in 10 minutes; can you hold off on the Dolly Parton humor until then?”

“Absolutely not, Pamela. Life is simply too short,” Harley grinned.

Pam rose back up to her feet. “You’re a terrible person. You know that, right?”

“Actually…” Harleen scrunched up her face condescendingly, “My Gotham City Humanitarian Award says otherwise.”

“’Gotham humanitarian’ is an oxymoron, like ‘lead from behind’ or ‘Christian conservative’," she kissed Harley on the cheek. “Love you, though.”

The blonde glared at her, but accepted the kiss none-the-less. “House warming party at Barbara’s tonight. Tim is watching the kids.”

“I don’t think that’s what Robins are for, Harl,” Pam smirked.   

/

Pamela passed her assistant in the hallway on the way to her office.

“Good morning, Ms. Irving," the woman greeted. “Umm…the top office left a message on my desk, Mr. Wayne would like to see you.”

“Fuck me…” Pam groaned, causing the woman to blush and Pam to roll her eyes in response. “Humans…” she mumbled, handing the woman her briefcase and heading back to the elevator.

“Hello, Ms. Irving,” Bruce’s receptionist greeted pleasantly. “Can I interest you in a coffee? Perhaps a muffin?”

Normally Pam would just say no, but…she was tired to the point where every little thing annoyed her. “Cindy, look at me. Does it look like I eat muffins? Honestly, look at my body and tell me if there’s any world in which you could conceive of me saying yes to 800 calories at 8am.”

“I—uh—I didn’t--,” the woman stammered.

“Paula!” Bruce sounded like a man who’d been embarrassed by his drunk wife at a dinner party. “My office.”

Pam offered Cindy a dazzling smile and a cutesy wave before following Bruce, and realizing he wasn’t alone.

“No, hey, no," was her immediate response to seeing Diana Prince and Clark Kent. “I have adhered to every single one of your ridiculous guidelines. I have participated in missions. I have followed the watch schedule…whatever this is, it’s a set-up or it’s bullshit because I have been a model league member.”

Clark smiled his dopey mid-western smile that Ivy always wanted to punch off his handsome face. “Calm down, this isn’t a disciplinary hearing.”

“Have a seat,” Bruce urged, gesturing to the stylish couch behind her.

Pam sighed, long and loud, making sure her annoyance was obvious, but did end up sitting down, crossing her legs neatly and smoothing down her skirt as she did.

Bruce leaned back against his desk as Diana took a seat across from Ivy.

“You do not age,” Diana said in her accented English. “You will not die. Like me, you are immortal.”

Pamela certainly hadn’t expected that to be the first question. “As long as plant life survives on this Earth, so will I," she told them.

Her statement was evidently affirming something for Clark, because he was nodding and taking a folder from Bruce’s desk. “As you know…” he started. "Many of our metahuman members are in a similar situation, their aging is slowed to at least some degree, me included," he handed Pam the folder and she eyed it warily. “The public generally understands and accepts this concept when we’re in costume, but our civilian identities are another issue entirely.”

Pam opened the folder, revealing her student ID card from Seattle University. It was marked 1966 and called her ‘Dr. Pamela Isley, PhD.” She stared down at the 55-year-old picture of herself, slightly unnerved by the innocence in her eyes.

“33, yes? That’s how old you were?” Diana asked.

Ivy nodded silently.

“A time comes in our lives when we have to move on from our identity,” Diana told her. “Or at least from who that identity is.”

Pam furrowed her brow, more concerned now than when she thought she was being disciplined. “I don’t understand…”

“You’ve worked here as Paula Irving for 16 years. Handled high profile international cases, had your name and picture in the paper. Many of your coworkers have been here just as long or even longer.” Bruce told her. “The problem is; Paula Irving still barely looks 30.”

Oh…Pam flipped to the next page in the folder and found a copy of her Wayne Enterprises ID badge, the name ‘Paula Irving’ sprawled across it in the company’s signature Gothic font.

Bruce cleared his throat. “We’ve run a few aging progressions and have determined you can continue in this identity, in this position for another year before people begin to become more suspicious than impressed.”

Ivy studied the graphs on the next page. “And then what?”

“I am prepared to offer you a severance package,” Bruce said. “One that will take care of your family until Harleen…”

“Dies,” Diana finished for him. “It’s my understanding that your children should be grown by then…”

“So that’s option one,” Bruce continued. “Option two, you do away with your civilian identity entirely and exist solely as Poison Ivy, like you did before the contract. Although that avenue I can’t recommend seeing as how it would likely put you and your family in danger.”

“Is there a third option?” Pam asked, hoping that the answer was yes, knowing that it would be unhealthy for her to be without some sort of day job, and impossible for her to live with the risks of the other choice.

“Yes,” Clark nodded. “The third option is assigning you a new identity and profession. That has already been prepared.”

Pam flipped to the next page to find a STARR Labs ID badge with her picture already inserted, even though she had no memory of posing for it. “Dr. Lillian Rose?” Pam couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“That’s the identity we set up,” Clark said, gruffer than usual. He must have come up with the name. “Take it or leave it.”

“You’ll get to be a scientist again,” Bruce told her, a self-satisfied smirk creeping onto his lips.

No matter how ridiculous the name was, Pamela couldn’t take her eyes off the credential…Doctor…

“Yes,” She told them, attempting to come off as slightly disinterested, although she was powerless against the wide smile overtaking her features. “Option three.”

Chapter Text

“I cannot fucking believe you!” Harleen was angrily attempting to button her shirt whilst maintaining an argument with Pam. “I mean, Jesus, could you be any more fucking selfish?”

Pamela had watched her button the shirt unevenly three times now. “Can I help you, please?”

“No!” Harleen was adamant. “You don’t get to touch me for at least another hour.”

“Harleen…” Pamela sighed, closing the space between them and forcing the other woman’s hands away from her shirt. “Stop it," she maintained focused eye contact while she did the buttons correctly, although Harley had to look away more than once as she bit back angry tears. “We knew this issue would eventually come to roost.”

“Don’t even start with that,” Harleen pushed her away after she’d finished with the shirt. “We said we were going to discuss our options when we had to. You just greenlighting some sort of bullshit witness protection program is not us discussing our options.”

Pamela was clearly using all her willpower not to escalate the situation. “We gave the kids your last name for this very reason. This isn’t unexpected, it’s just inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” Harleen’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Understatement of the fucking year. Can we even be married anymore?”

“That’s already been taken care of," the redhead assured her.

Harleen looked up at the ceiling like she was hoping some celestial being would come down from on high and tell Pam she was being ridiculous, but when none came, she did it herself. “WHAT. DOES. THAT. EVEN. MEAN?”

“Well, Bruce had some connections at—“

“Oh my God…” Harley interrupted. “Did we already get divorced and then married again?”

“…Yes,” Pam answered, cautiously.

Harley couldn’t even look at her, plopping down on the foot of the bed with her face in her hands. “Do we have to move?”

“Yes,” Pamela answered again. “Anthony will need to change schools, which is just as well seeing as I wouldn’t exactly describe his current institution as academically rigorous.”

Harleen was shaking her head. “I hate you so fucking much right now.”

Pam decided to leave that one alone, allowing for a moment of silence between them. Harleen was upset, yes. Reasonably so, to some extent…but they really had discussed this before. They’d said when the age difference...Oh, right. Of course.…Pam crossed over to the bed and knelt down in front of it, tentatively placing her hands on the other woman’s thighs. “Daffodil…this isn’t about you. It’s not about how you look or how we look. It’s about how I look to my coworkers.”

“Yeah, maybe today,” Harley said in a strangled voice. “But pretty soon, Pam, it’s going to start looking weird.”

“Honey…” Pam pushed the other woman’s hair away from her face with a reassuring smile. “You objectively look about 35 right now.”

“Great. And when Jolene starts school, I’ll objectively look 40 while you look 30,” Harley said, trying to still sound more angry than sad. “When Anthony graduates High School, I’ll look 47 while you look 30. And when Jolene starts college I’ll look 53 and you’ll—,"

Pamela cut her off with a hard kiss, breathing in deeply through her nose as she pulled Harley to her with a firm hand around the back of her neck. “This wasn’t my choice, Harleen," she told her once she’d allowed them to separate. “And I am filled with so much resentment…but without this…inconvenience, I would have never met you and we would have never had any of this. It’s a blessing and a curse, Daffodil. Always has been.”

Harley didn’t give any sort of indication that she’d even heard her. She just stared blankly ahead. Tim had arrived just a bit ago and was now playing in the yard with Anthony while Jolene sat in the grass. Pamela knew this conversation with Harleen was important, but she had to check her watch, and…yeah, they were going to be late. She sighed and stood up, heading over to the dresser for the earrings she wanted to wear.

“I won’t be able to work again,” Harleen realized from where she was still sitting on the bed. “We won’t be able to attend another charity event together and we can’t ever go out onto the town with Selina or Bruce again since the tabloids know you as Paula Irving and me as your wife.”

“That’s right…” Pam confirmed, watching the other woman in the mirror.

Harleen nodded slowly, realization dawning. “My secret identity is a 43-year-old stay at home mom…I went to medical school to end up a 43-year-old stay at home mom.”

“No,” Pamela said, bristling a bit. “You went to medical school to become a nationally respected practicing psychiatrist for 15 years.”

“I always thought I’d go back…” Harley’s tone was morose. “Someday, when the kids were old enough…I didn’t know I was done.”

Pamela had finally located the earring and was clasping it into place. “You don’t have to be done. Why don’t you do what everyone with a PhD does after they retire?”

Harleen looked up. “What’s that?”

“Write a book.”

/

If Harleen had been forced to take a quiz at the end of the night based on what they’d spoken about at the party, she would have failed it spectacularly. Her conversations were brief, her tone short…she was certain Pamela had apologized for her behavior more than once…Look, she was happy for Barbara and Dick, OK? Wanted to be, at least. But she was too lost in the realization of her new circumstances to sell it. And she straight up hated Pam at the moment. Like it pissed her off to even look at her and her stupid face or hear her stupid voice…and yeah, maybe Barbara and Dick were serving alcohol and maybe, just maybe, Harley had downed a bit more than her fair share. So what? She was a grown woman

The situation with Pam turning into Dr. Flower-Power was inevitable. Harley knew that. But she should have fucking talked to her before accepting a new identity! That definitely seems like something you should run by your wife first, especially seeing as how it drastically effected their family life. Where does she get off? Oh, right. Poison Ivy is a narcissist. Duh. The fucking world revolves around her. OK…That’s enough…Harleen cut herself off the booze, although it was a bit too late.

She was still lost somewhere in that train of angry thought when Pamela began shuffling her out the door, citing the need to relieve the babysitter. Pam smiled and waved for both of them (which was clearly difficult for her), saying their goodbyes and offering Barbara a few last minute compliments on her home before ducking out of the house, dragging Harleen with her.

“You could have at least tried tonight,” Pam spat as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

Harley crossed her arms petulantly, not bothering to put on her seat belt or even acknowledge Pamela’s presence. She looked out the window and stayed silent as Pam pulled away from the house, setting them on the path back home (though it wouldn’t be their home for long—ugh).

Pamela tried to fiddle with the radio, settling on NPR before Harley leaned forward and shut it off. For a moment, it looked like Pam might protest, but ultimately she reconsidered, allowing the silence as they sped along the darkened streets.

They were about two blocks from home when Harley finally spoke. “Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over,” Harley repeated.

Although apprehensive, Pam did what she was told, pulling into the currently abandoned parking lot for the park where Harley and Selina sometimes took the kids.

Wordlessly, Harleen reached over and shut the car off, then took the other woman’s hand and tugged gently. When Pam’s only response was to raise a questioning eyebrow, Harley patted her lap, signaling for the driver to abandon her seat.

Again, Pam did as she was told. This wasn’t an uncommon way for the two to diffuse the tension of an argument. Sometimes Harley just got tired of talking about feelings. Getting paid to do it all day every day made the practice of domestic quarreling even more exhausting, so sometimes it was just easier to, you know…fuck. Yeah, yeah, maybe it wasn’t the most mature approach, but it had been effective so far. So, according to the precedent they’d set, Pam had no reason to distrust Harley’s motives.

When she’d settled on her lap, Harley attempted to put her at ease with a kiss, and before long Pam was panting hotly into Harley’s neck as she rocked into her, rising and falling on Harley’s fingers. Harley was experienced enough in these situations to make do with the confined space, and also know when her wife was getting close.

“Fuck, Harl…” Pam tossed her head back, knocking it on the roof, but too busy to care.

…and that’s when Harleen stopped. Just, removed her hand and sat back against the seat.

Pam’s head snapped back to attention. With her skin flushed and her breathing labored she asked, “Wh—what are you—“

“Trying to communicate to you what I feel like right now: frustrated, betrayed, and a pretty fucking embarrassed, honestly,” Harley told her.

Pam had forced her complexion pale for the party, and so the redness in her face was obvious. And yeah, there was a bit more shame in there than Harley intended, but that was sort of satisfying in itself. Pam was too proud to beg for sex, so she didn’t, even though she clearly wanted to finish. Instead, she leaned down and traced circles on Harley’s neck with her tongue in an attempt to stimulate her into continuing.

…But it was then that Harleen arrived at a crossroads and, without much deliberation or thought of any kind, chose the darkest path. “So eager…” she whispered.

Pam immediately froze on top of her.

Don’t fucking do it, Harleen!

“What’s the matter, Pammy?”

STOP IT!

“Aren’t you a good girl?”

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Harleen expected the slap. She even braced herself before impact, and it came hard and fast. A knee-jerk reaction from Pamela as she backed up as far as she could, angry tears welling up in her eyes. Then she looked from her own hand to the welt on Harleen’s face, and that look of horror in her eyes hurt worse than the slap for Harleen.

Quickly, Pam pushed herself off of the other woman and back into the driver’s seat where she rapidly exited the vehicle. Without stopping to readjust her dress from where Harleen had forced it up her thighs, Pam started into the park at a jog and didn’t look back.  

Chapter Text

Harleen rapped her fingers on her thigh, looking at her phone to check the time, and then the entrance of the park.

It'd been 20 minutes since Pam disappeared and they were now officially late to relieve Tim.

Harleen didn’t quite know what to do. She hadn’t planned for the fallout of her comments. Idiot. Why did she have to say that? Why did she have to go there? And in a sexual setting? REALLY?! As if it hadn't taken them for-fucking-ever to get Pam comfortable enough to...You're a terrible therapist Harleen. Or, wife. Terrible wife. I'm a terrible wife. Ugh. But also...she pulled a total dick move! Ends don't justify the means, asshole. Yeah, yeah... 

She felt frozen somehow, not wanting to drive home, but not exactly wanting to follow Pam either. For good reason, since she was pretty sure encountering an unstable Poison Ivy in a dark park at night was a popular start to horror stories some years ago. Harley was also, again, a bit drunk, so her decision making abilities weren’t exactly in full force at the moment. At 30 minutes, she finally came to some sort of conclusion and dialed Bruce.

He answered after the third ring. “Harleen?”

“Yeah, hiya. Listen, I did somethin’ sorta bad and now Pam’s pretty pissed at me.”

The line was quiet for a moment. “You’re calling me for marital advice?”

“No, I—I really messed up, OK?”

“What did you—“

“It doesn’t matter,” Harley cut him off. “Jus’…if Ivy gets mad, don’t hurt her, alright? She doesn’t mean it.”

“Harleen, I need to know what sort of risk we’re talking about here. What happened?”

“You can’t tell Selina,” Harley implored. “Please. She would be mad too.”

“Harleen, I—“

Harley hung up.

Taking one last look at the park entrance, she slid into the driver’s seat and carefully navigated the last two blocks home.

Tim was watching TV with his feet up on the coffee table when Harley walked in. He instantly readjusted, giving the table a fast wipe with his sleeve and scurrying to look respectable.

“It’s just me, you’re fine," She reassured him, sloppily hanging her coat on the hook. “Sorry we’re late.”

“No, it’s all good,” Tim smiled. “Teen Titans marathon on cartoon network. I always get a kick out of it.”

“Somebody a little full of themselves?” Harleen raised an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Tim laughed. “I’ll take what I can get! Speaking of which…”

Harleen pointed to Pam’s wallet where it sat on the counter. “The cash is yours.”

Tim vaulted over the couch to investigate. Rapidly counting the bills, he furrowed his brow. “Harl, there’s like 200 bucks here.”

“Are the kids asleep?” she questioned.

“Yeah. But, hey, what happened to your face?”

Harley had almost forgotten what was likely now a bruise on her cheek, or a welt at the very least. “Alcohol," she answered, plainly. “And you earned the money. Bruce doesn’t give you enough of an allowance anyway.”

Tim grinned. “You guys have fun?”

“Not even a little bit,” Harley told him. “Can you get yourself home?”

He evidently could, which was good because driving him in her current state wouldn’t exactly make her a model of lawful behavior.

Her first task was to check on the kids.

Anthony lay in his bed with his covers pulled tight around him, his glasses hanging lopsided off of his face, and an action figure clutched to his chest. Kid Flash, to be specific. Wally was his favorite since they had similar red hair and kids were superficial. Harley pulled his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. Some months ago, she’d called Pam to tell her she thought maybe Anthony was having depth perception issues, and Pam had left work immediately to get him to an ophthalmologist. Harley thought she vaguely remembered some story about Pam’s mom not letting her get glasses or something, so that was probably where that little heart attack stemmed from. Pam’s mission as a parent seemed to just be do everything better and different than her mother had…which Harley supposed was the goal of most parents, or at least the ones with mommy issues as gnarly as Pam’s. But for how much of Pam’s life that woman’s actions still dictated, Pam rarely ever talked about her. The last time she was discussed in any sort of detail was…shit…when Harley used her example to prove to Pam that no one had ever loved her. Technically, Pam had proposed that they get married about two years into their courtship, but looking back, Harley realized that moment on the grass at the hospital was probably the true proposal, and it was Harley who’d asked, or demanded it, really. That was the moment Pam truly became her emotional dependent. How romantic.

Jolene lay in her crib, limbs sprawled out everywhere, blanket kicked down to her feet, using her stuffed unicorn as a pillow (slobber receptacle). Harley smiled down at her little mess. “Are you an asshole like me?” she asked, gently running her fingers through the girl’s strawberry blonde curls.

“Mama.”

Harley jumped nearly out of her skin, whirling around to see Anthony sitting up in bed. “Anthony! You—,"

“Mama, why is she scared?”

Confused, Harley glanced down at Jo, who was still sound asleep.

“She’s mad and sad, too,” Anthony told her.

“Honey, what are you talking about?” Harley asked, crossing to kneel in front of his bed, thinking maybe he had woken up from a dream and was confused.

Anthony yawned, snuggling back into his pillow. “She can smell him, but he smells like you.”

He could hear Ivy. Harley suddenly felt very cold. Her spine tingled. She had to remind herself for maybe the 18^th time in her life that no, her son was not that kid in every horror movie. He just…sometimes said things that really creeped her out. And what was there to be afraid of? Her wife? The woman who stitched up her face and made her French toast on her birthday?

…or the one who strangled her parents, fed her victims to giant carnivorous plants, and ensured a painful death with just a kiss. Fuck.

Harleen leaned down and pressed her lips to Anthony’s cheek. “Mom is gonna be OK. She’s just throwing a fit.”

“Like Jo does?” he asked, his eyes closed.

“Mhm,” Harleen confirmed, standing up and taking one more look around the room. “Goodnight," she stepped into the hallway and only left the door open a crack before stealing down the stairs to check her phone. No word from Batman, which meant Poison Ivy hadn’t started tearing up the city yet.

She’ll come home, Harleen assured herself, curling up on the couch near the big picture window and watching the empty street. She’ll come home.

Chapter Text

Harleen woke with a start at the sound of the sprinklers turning on.

She felt nauseous, from the booze and from the guilt. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the light, Harley realized she’d fallen asleep on the couch. It was early morning—6, maybe 7. Saturday, thank God, meaning she didn’t have to get Anthony to school. The light was cold and the morning crisp. Harley had forgotten to turn the heat on in the house the night before, so that was what she did first before realizing the reason she was still on the couch—Pam hadn’t come home.

She panicked, ignoring her nausea to sprint up the stairs to their bedroom.

Empty.

The bathroom was next, followed by the kids’ room and Pam’s office.

All empty.

Fuck.

Pam definitely hadn’t slept on the couch, since that’s where Harley was. She should have been able to hear her if she’d entered the house…

Wait, that wasn’t the sprinklers, that was the garden hose! Harley’s heart lept as she peered out the back door to see Pam standing in the garden watering the plants. Her skin was green and her dress was smudged with mud in a few places, but other than that she looked pretty alright.

“Pam!” Harleen left the door open behind her as she burst out into the yard. “Oh my god, I was so worried!” Harley continued toward her but was stopped by her voice.

“Good morning, Harleen," She said, icily, not turning to face the other woman.

“Hey, hi! Yeah, good morning,” Harley was too relieved to hide her excitement. “Where did you sleep last night? I thought maybe you might be cold…”

Pam didn’t respond, just calmly went to shut the hose off before heading back into the house and up the stairs. Harley jogged after her, hoping that maybe she could just be mad and they could get past it. Pam stopped short of their bedroom door and finally acknowledged Harley.

“The kids need breakfast," She said, before shutting the door in her wife’s face.

Harleen stood there in the hallway for a moment, studying the design of the wood in front of her. Well…I think that could have gone worse…Breakfast, yeah, she could make breakfast. She could make the best damn breakfast her kids had ever eaten! Best damn breakfast Pam had ever seen!

…

“No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” Jo fussed, banging her cup of dry cheerios on her high chair. “No!”

“Mama…” Anthony cautiously eyed his sister. “Jo doesn’t like cheerios.”

“Jo doesn’t like anything,” Harleen grumbled as she was pelted with her daughter’s now empty cup.

The girl began to cry, seemingly at her sudden self-induced loss of food. Anthony watched her for a moment before getting up and crossing the living room to the record player. He switched it on and gently set the needle down on the record, and suddenly, Jolene fell silent, listening to Dolly Parton repeat her name over and over again.

“She likes the song,” Anthony explained as he took his seat at the table once more, just in time for Pam to walk down the stairs wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans, her hair still a bit damp from the shower. “Mom!” Anthony grinned.

She offered him a half-baked smile in return, coming around to kiss Jolene on the head and then grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “I’ll be in the greenhouse," She told them, leaving as quickly as she’d arrived.

“Wait! Pam, hold on…” Harleen pulled on her winter coat. “Anthony, you’re in charge of Sis for a second. Just make sure the song keeps playing, come get me if you need to," with that, Harley jogged out after her. “Pam, please. Can we talk? Look, I’m really sorry. I seriously fucked up, OK?” Pam was sitting down behind her work bench, so Harley let herself in and closed the door behind them. “I just—I was really angry and pretty drunk and I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry," she concluded.

Pam took a bite of her apple, watching her where she stood near the entrance. “I can still see the ceiling.”

“What?” Those weren’t exactly the first words she was expecting.

“Have you ever been raped, Harleen?” Pam asked, putting the piece of apple in her cheek so she could speak. “And not statutory rape. I mean, have you ever been held down, gagged…had your legs forced open, and something—not necessarily part of the human body—shoved inside of you? Have you ever been torn apart, Harleen? Ripped in two?”

“I—uh—no,” Harleen stammered, her stomachache worsening.

“Mm,” Pam nodded, chewing and swallowing. “The ceiling…it was cement. He moved me down to the basement. We used it to store equipment, but he used it to store me.”

“Pam, I’m…I’m so sorry,” Harleen breathed.

“No you’re not. Not really, anyway,” Pam said, taking another bite. “The ceiling had a few cracks in it. On the first day, I thought they were just cracks, but by the end of the first week, that ceiling could have very well been the Cysteine Chapel for all its intricacies. That’s what I see when I close my eyes at night. 55 years later, that ceiling is what I see.”

Harley swallowed, hard.

Pam got up from her chair and walked around the bench, casually leaning against it. “I could hear people walking above me. Just…going about their usual days. Sometimes I’d wonder if it was my friends up there—Alec, Damian, Linda…but it was usually him. I’d scream until my voice went hoarse…or at least I thought I did. With what was being pumped into my system, I could have made it all up. But I’d scream and he would come. Have you ever been fucked by a dog, Harleen?”

Harley’s mouth fell open, the color draining from her face.

“Oh, don’t worry. Neither have I,” Pam waved her off. “But if you were to ask my drug-addled brain that question back then, I’d probably have a much different answer. That was one of the more vivid hallucinations I experienced. He took the form of a giant, salivating hound…In reality, though, it was just my brain attempting to assign him another face.”

Unbidden tears were gathering in Harleen’s eyes. “Pammy, I—,"

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Pam rifled the apple at her, and Harleen had to duck to avoid it.

Pam tapped her wrist in a pattern that she’d learned through their EMDR therapy, and in another moment she’d calmed back down.

“Nobody came to save me, Harleen. No one heard my screams. Leather is an impressive material, truly. If I wasn’t now frightened of the feeling or the smell, I would employ it more often in my work…turns out leather is much sturdier than the human wrist and ankle bones,” Pam rubbed her right wrist soothingly. “Do you understand the level of desperation required to purposefully snap your bone in half? To focus all your energy on hurting yourself so severely?”

Harleen nodded, silently.

“And then I ran on it,” Pam laughed, mirthlessly. “For two miles through the streets of downtown Seattle on my broken ankle, in nothing but my bra and underwear…I didn’t have time to feel ashamed, I just had to get away…and after that…I didn’t see the world again for another four months, and when I did, I was…” she held up her green hands. “This.”

Harleen had forfeited to her emotions at this point, allowing tears to roll down her cheeks. “Pamela, I am so. So. Sorry,” Harley wanted to go to her, wanted to reach out, to touch her, to kiss her…to fix her. But she didn’t dare take a step closer.

Pam was watching her again. “How long have you had that in your holster? How many times has it been on the tip of your tongue? Was it your fail-safe? If an argument ever got out of hand, did you keep your finger in the pin of that grenade knowing it would ruin me? When I gave myself to you for the first time, when I asked you to marry me, on our wedding night, when Anthony and Jolene were born—were those phrases there, swimming around in your mind, poised for your selfish use the whole time?”

“No, no it wasn’t like that, Pam. You have to believe me,” Harley pleaded.

“Were you curious, Harleen?” Pam asked. “Curious as to how I would react? Did you think about it when we were having sex? Did you make me pull the car over last night because you knew that’s when it would hurt the worst?”

Harley sniffed and wiped the tears away from her face.

“I can’t stand the smell of you,” Pam said, disgusted. “I trusted you, Harleen. I trusted you with everything and you threw it back in my face. Get out. Please.”

Chapter Text

Pamela clacked her heels insistently below the table, her hands trapped under her thighs on the seat. The sun was long past set and dinner was long past cold, the gravy having congealed on her potatoes. But still, she waited. Patience, patience, patience, she sang in her head, ignoring the insistent growling of her stomach and the sharp pain in her bladder.

When the clock chimed nine, her tapping became louder, her rhythm faster.

“Pamela!” her mother scolded from the other end of the table. “Stop your incessant fidgeting!”

Pamela did stop, her face now hot, switching to squeezing her hamstrings instead. That was silent, at least. “Mother, may I be excused?”

“No.”

“Just very quickly, please. Just to use the washroom.”

“No.”

Pamela’s gaze returned to her plate where she studied the thickened gravy, then she looked up excitedly. “Mother, did you use an animal fat to make this gravy?”

“Yes, Pamela,” her mother sighed.

“Well…” Pamela smiled. “Did you know that animal fats don’t stay liquid at room temperature because their carbon atoms are saturated with hydrogen atoms, so they’re able to lie straight and pack neatly into solid arrangement? As opposed to plants, whose missing hydrogen atoms cause kinks in the fatty acid chains, reducing the amount of intermolecular bonding that occurs, therefore allowing it to stay liquid?”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “And what in the world will I or you ever do with that information?”  

“I just think it’s sort of wonderful,” Pamela smiled. “To think of coagulation as atoms snuggling closer together to fight off the cooler temperatures.”

“Well, I think it’s a bit ridiculous,” said her mother, glancing up at the clock.

A few moments of silence passed before Pamela asked, “Did you attend a University?”

“No,” her mother answered, plainly. “But you will. Seems it’s the only way to find a man with any career prospects these days. And I think it will be wise to get you married as quickly as possible seeing as how I’m not convinced you’ll age well, given how much time you spend out in the sun, you’ll look like a raisin by the time you’re 30.”

Pamela took her hands out from under her and studied them, scrutinizing their every bend and divot for a blemish that didn’t exist. Not a single scratch marred their pale surface.

The front door opened and Mr. Isley walked in, hanging his hat and coat on the hook just inside.

“You’re late,” Mrs. Isley intoned. “We’ve been waiting.”

He sighed. “So I am, Lillian. I’ll take my supper in my study. I’ve got work to do.”

“You were just at work,” she reminded him. “And Pamela and I expected to eat dinner as a family.”

“Well, Lillian…” he took his plate and silverware from the table. “Seeing as how dinner was your sole responsibility today, I don’t feel terrible about giving you the opportunity to experience some adversity.”

Mrs. Isley drew her mouth into a hard line. “Very well,” she murmured, watching him retreat down the hallway.

“Mother, may I use the washroom now?” Pamela asked, desperate at this point.

“Yes, fine," she waved her off. “Go.”

Pamela rapidly rose from the table and began the fastest run she could muster in her school shoes.

“No running in the house!” her mother bellowed.

The girl forced herself to slow. Knowing what it would mean as she rounded the corner at a measured pace. She was two doors away from her destination when she began to feel the warm liquid trickle down her leg.

/

“Isley,” Flash’s voice came over the intercom.

Ivy ignored him, comfortable in her seat in the rec room, leisurely flipping through the newest issue of her favorite botanical journal.

“Dr. Isley.”

Cyborg stopped mid-pushup. “You deaf?”

“No…” Pam answered, plainly, flipping to the next page.

“…Paging Poison Ivy.”

“Oh, goddamn it!” she angrily threw the magazine down on the table and started in a huff up to the main floor. Cyborg snickered as she left and it took all her willpower not to attempt kicking his arms out from under him. “What do you want?” Ivy asked, her arms crossed.

Flash spun around in his chair...and then around again when he failed to stop his momentum. “They need backup in Metropolis.”

Ivy laughed. “I think whatever it is, Superman can handle it.”

“Superman and Supergirl are off planet for the day,” Flash informed her.

Ivy groaned. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m in charge!” he spread his arms wide, indicating the control panel he sat at. “It’s not my job to fix stuff today, it’s my job to find the right people to fix it…so…go do that.”

The shuttle dropped her off near a smoking, overturned car as civilians fled the scene.

“Excuse me,” she grabbed a woman by the shirt as she ran past her, stopping her in her tracks. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear. “Can you tell me what the problem is here?”

“It’s—it’s Livewire,” the woman breathed. “Batwoman tried to—“

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Ivy flipped the sky off just in case Flash happened to be looking and shoved the woman aside, rounding the corner towards the flashes of light in the distance.

Batwoman did a back-handspring to avoid a bolt of electricity that left the sidewalk blackened, returning fire with a spray of what Ivy guessed was silica dust, one of the bat-clan’s many toys.

“Leslie,” Ivy greeted with a smile.

Livewire turned, surprised to hear that name, until she saw Ivy and her lips spread into a wide smile. “Poison Ivy, you slut.”

Batwoman was evidently grateful for the break as she was resting with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

Ivy put her hands on her hips. “Oh, come now, Leslie. No need to be crude," she tsked.

“Fine, how about ‘traitor?’” Livewire asked, decreasing her electrical output to lower herself to the ground.

“Well, that’s a bit romantic,” Ivy chuckled.

“Mmm…” Leslie was amused. “Ever seen a tree in a lightning storm?”

“Yeah, she has,” Batwoman straightened up, circling around her target. “And it makes her really mad.”

Ivy rolled her eyes and stomped her foot on the ground, summoning a thick vine from beneath the pavement. Livewire was alert enough to zap it before it could wrap around her, and the vine flailed in the air as it burnt. “Bitch,” Ivy grumbled as three more burst from the concrete. Livewire gave the first two the same treatment, but the third exploded just before it reached her, the moisture running through it dampening her long enough for Batwoman to aim her silica spray. While her attention was removed, Ivy directed another vine to wrap around the woman’s waist and drag her to the ground.

Ivy sighed as Batwoman gave Livewire a thorough spray to finish her off where she lay on the ground. “You’re better than that, Leslie. Bring your A game next time," then she turned to Batwoman. “I thought bats were nocturnal…and lived in Gotham…and had other responsibilities to tend to in the daylight.”

“I’m on loan,” Batwoman told her. “And cats are useful allies.”

Ivy nodded, and, having received all the information she needed, began to walk back to the shuttle before tossing a “be careful” over her shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t have told Flash she wasn’t rushing to get home at the end of the day. He was so nosy…

She enabled her headset when she returned to the shuttle. “Should I be helping with containment?”

“That’s a negatory, Poison Oakey.”

“Ivy…it’s Poison Ivy…” she grumbled, strapping herself in.

/

Pamela was late getting home again…on purpose. She was aiming to arrive just as Harleen was putting the children to bed, that way she could relieve her of her duties and there wouldn’t be enough time for Harleen to attempt “a conversation” before she left for her patrol shift.

It was 9 o’clock when she walked in, but for some reason, everyone was sitting at the table.

“Mom!” Anthony said excitedly as she closed the front door behind her. “Mama got us pizza with pineapple.”

“Well, that’s…wonderful,” Pam hung her coat on the hook. “But what are you doing awake?”

“I was commuting today,” Harleen reminded her from where she was cutting Jo’s slice into manageable pieces. “And I’m off tonight so everything was sort of pushed back. We were going to wait for you to eat, but—,"

“No!” Pam said quickly. “No, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Harley, Anthony and Jolene were all a bit startled by Pam’s sudden outburst on the subject, but Harley cautiously braved another sentence. “I got you a salad. The one with the little oranges,” she pointed to a container on the table. “Dressing on the side.”

Pam didn’t move from where she stood, just looked from Harleen to the children.

“You could…eat it in the greenhouse, if you want,” Harley offered, sensing Pam’s continued discomfort around her. She watched curiously as Pam nervously squeezed the side of her leg. “Pamela…would you like to hold Jolene?”

When Pam didn’t answer, Harley got up from her chair, taking Jolene with her, and walked over to the other woman. “Hey,” she said, softly. “Whatever it is, you’re here, alright? Your feet are touching the ground, your head is above water…here,” Harley handed her the baby. “Just…it’s OK.”

Pam held Jolene tightly to her body, rocking her side to side like she used to on those sleepless nights when she was an infant rather than a toddler. Pam closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of the girl’s strawberry-blonde hair. Patience, patience, patience…

“I’m sorry,” Harleen whispered, for what was probably the millionth time in the last month. “I’m sorry I dragged you back.”

Pamela knew she was. At this point, she was sure of it. But she couldn’t stop the associations. Her brain made connections too quickly. But that night, for the first time since the incident, Pamela did sleep in their bed rather than in the greenhouse. She did it wearing a long-sleeved nightgown and sweatpants rather than her typical underwear and oversized t-shirt, but it was certainly progress none-the-less.

She sat up in bed and watched Harleen change, speaking up when she removed her shirt to reveal a large bandage on her side held in place by gauze that wrapped all the way around her waist. “Is that a burn?”

“Yeah,” Harleen said, a bit nervously, clearly treading carefully in any and every conversation with her wife at this point. “She zapped me pretty good. You came just in time…I was hurting.”

“Mm,” Pam nodded. “Who bandaged it?”

“Alfred. I think it’s a second degree,” Harley told her.

Pam just nodded again, laying down in the bed now, pulling the covers all the way up to her chin.

“So…” Harley cleared her throat, slipping into bed beside her, but careful not to touch her beneath the blankets. “It seemed like you might have been triggered by something in the kitchen? Do you want to talk about it?”

Pam almost laughed. “No. Certainly not with you," she could see the hurt in the other woman’s features at the comment, but it wasn’t Pam’s job to baby her on the subject.

“I understand,” Harleen murmured. “I wouldn’t want to talk to me either," she reached out to tuck the lock of hair that had fallen in front of Pam’s eye behind her ear, but quickly abandoned the movement, blushing a bit as she retracted her hand. “I—umm—I got in touch with a realtor today.”

Pam was intrigued, but tried not to let on. “Oh?”

“Yeah, Bruce recommended her to me,” Harleen said. “Since you went ahead and made the decision for us, moving is pretty inevitable, so I thought I should at least be involved in the process.”

“It was the best option,” Pam mumbled, rolling to lie on her side facing the other direction.

“That’s not the point,” Harleen sighed. “The point is people who are married make life changing decisions together.”

Pam didn’t respond right away, just brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, comforting herself as she’d been forced to for most of her life. “I got excited.”

“What?” Harley asked, lulling her head to study the other woman’s back.

“About being a doctor again,” Pam said. “I got excited and I…I wanted to keep you. I thought…I wasn’t quite sure…I just wanted to keep you.”

Harleen either wasn’t following or didn’t have anything to say because instead of responding, she moved forward slightly and pressed her lips to the redhead’s shoulder blade. “I love you, Pamela.”

Pam’s pillow was wet where her face lay, so she quickly reached up and shut the bedside lamp off, refusing to offer her wife another opportunity to perceive her as weak. “Goodnight, Harleen.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, I don’t think so, Dude,” Harleen warned as Anthony went to set his bottle back in the fridge. “You need to drink that entire thing before you get in the car.”

Anthony pouted. “How come?”

Harleen was strapping Jolene into her high chair for breakfast. “Because special boys need special drinks, alright? Just, please. You’re gonna make Mom late.”

Anthony grumbled as he begrudgingly returned the straw to his mouth, attempting to suck down the horrible liquid. “Mom, can you do-up my tie?” He asked Pam as she emerged from her study, briefcase in hand.

“Mama’s better at that,” She admitted. “But I can tie your shoes…”

“Pfft, Mom, I’m not a baby anymore. I can do that all by myself.”

Pam smiled to herself, turning to the sink to get a glass of water. “Well excuse me…”

“OK, come here,” Harleen beckoned Anthony over as she finished slicing Jo’s banana. “You know you don’t have to wear a tie to school, right?” she wrapped the fabric around itself.

“Mr. Wayne said it’s how come he has such a big house. Because he wears ties and stuff.” Anthony explained.

Harley laughed while Pam scoffed, setting her water down. “Mr. Wayne has such a big house because Mr. Wayne was born into a billion-dollar fortune. I can guarantee you it has little to do with his business acumen, let alone his wardrobe.”

Anthony frowned, doing some mental arithmetic. “Does he wear a tie when you go to work for him?”

Harleen froze, turning to look at Pam where she leaned against the counter, drumming her fingers on the surface. Narrowing her green eyes, she let slip a muffled, “touché” before pushing off and grabbing her brief case. “But not for long,” she gave an oddly cheery smile.

Harley finished with the tie and stood up. “Backpack?” She prompted.

Anthony slid it off the table and strapped it onto his back. “Check!”

“OK,” Harleen smiled, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. “Have a good day, alright? And you too…” Out of habit, she leaned in to give Pam a kiss, but quickly realized her mistake when the redhead moved back instead of forward.

“Yes, and you,” Pam offered, cordially, taking Anthony by the hand and walking out the door.

“Bye, Mama!” He said before the door shut.

So…that’s not gonna work anymore, Harley decided, turning back to Jolene. It had been a month and a half already. “Are you ready to do some work today?”

“Mmm—mm—mm—mm,” The girl hummed, a satisfied smile on her face as she pushed another piece of banana into her mouth.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’,” Harleen grinned. “First thing’s first, we’re gonna need to make a few calls…Does our fax machine work?”

Jo slapped her open palm on her tray, smashing the banana that was stuck there.

“You’re right. Of course it does. My wife is like 90 years old,” Harley started down the hallway to Pam’s study. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Leeland, leeland, leeland… She scrolled through her contacts as she plugged the fax machine into the wall. The doctor picked up on the 3^rd ring.

“Hello?”

“Joan! Hi.” Harley said, glad to have caught, her given her busy patient schedule. “This is Harleen—Dr. Quinzel. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m…doing well…” Joan was clearly surprised to hear from her. “Are you…calling to negotiate your return?”

“No.” Harley answered quickly. “I’m calling for a favor.” A loud clattering rang out from the kitchen.

“What was that?” Joan asked.

Harley jogged back to the kitchen to make sure Jo hadn’t knocked her chair over. Nope. Just pushed the glass Pam had used off of the table. “Nothing,” Harley assured her through the phone, scolding Jo with a look as she spoke. “My daughter is just…fascinated by chaos.”

“Daughter?” Joan asked.

Oh, right… “Yes. But listen, I need a favor.”

Joan was cautious. “Alright…”

“I need Poison Ivy’s file. I just need you to fax it to me.” Harleen said, getting the request out as quickly as possible.

Joan didn’t answer right away. “…You want me to send you your wife’s insane asylum mental health file?”

“Yes.” Harley confirmed.

“Dr. Quinzel…” Joan almost laughed. “That is so…morally corrupt, I can’t…I mean, no. My God, no.”

Harleen sighed. “I’m desperate here, Joan. Please. Pam’s hanging on by a thread.” OK, so maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. “I just need a refresher so that I can circumvent a possible blow up, alright? It’s a public safety crisis.”

“Harleen...” Joan said through what sounded like clenched teeth. “You’ve got me in tough spot here.”

“Yes, well…it’s not as if Arkham has a sterling record of ethics, Joan. And Ivy hasn’t been a patient for almost 20 years. I have her best interest in mind.”

A half hour later, she had the file in hand. And man, was it thick. Harleen had somehow forgotten that. Easy to gloss over a few faults—or red flags, maybe—when you’re sleeping with the patient. “This is a bunch of paper that tells me why your mom is crazy.” She explained to Jo, who was now sliding around on the living room floor on her stomach because Jo was sort of a weird kid and that was one of the many weird things she liked to do.

Harleen pulled down the dry-erase board that they sometimes used to make grocery lists and whatnot and uncapped the pen. “Alright…” She poised the tip at the surface. “The basics…” She wrote down the names “Ivy” and “Pamela” at the top of the board. “So here’s the deal, Jo. There are two distinct sides to your Mom’s personality. Now before you get all, ‘wait a minute, Ivy doesn’t have DID!’ you are correct. But you also don’t need to have Dissociative Identity Disorder to compartmentalize aspects of your psyche. That’s a valuable lesson, Jo. I’m serious. Everyone’s always rushing to make that diagnosis the second someone dissociates or proves they might be multi-faceted and it’s super fucking annoying, alright?”

“Mama-mama-mama,” Jo said, in what Harleen considered a confirmation.

“Good. So there are two distinct eras to your Mom: Pamela and Ivy.” She circled the corresponding names. Or, ‘BW and AW’. Before Woodrue or After Woodrue, of course.”

Jo tucked her head into her neck, attempting to eat a piece of smooshed banana off of her collar, but it sort of looked like she was nodding, so Harley continued.

 “Ivy was a reaction to what happened to Pamela,” she explained. “Ivy is angry, and mad is always either sad or scared just disguised. In your mom’s case I suspect it’s both. Now, what she’s sad about is clear: Woodrue took her life away. She was, I’m guessing, a bit socially awkward, didn’t know how to connect with people as well as she did plants, and so here comes this guy who tells her she’s smart and gives her a job, and she trusts him. For the first time she trusts somebody and how does he repay that trust? By violating that trust. Because what is rape if not a violation?”

Jo rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

“I know,” Harleen sighed. “I know.” She wrote the word ‘violated’ under ‘Pamela’. “So enter Ivy. The coping mechanism. Ivy was a modern woman before it was cool and that was scary for people. Well…that and the whole serial killer thing.”

Jo giggled from her spot on the ground.

“Sadist,” Harley shook her head. “Her connection to her Pamela side ebbs and flows, but she seems able to channel the Ivy persona whenever, so very rarely do temperamental or environmental changes affect her ability to perform her Poison Ivy related tasks. When I met her at Arkham, she was almost completely out of touch with her humanity, or…with her past, at least…well…I don’t know, maybe I’m giving myself too much credit.” She paced for a moment. “Or, maybe not. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter right now. The point, the first few months of our relationship—after she got out of Arkham—she was Poison Ivy, or…Pamela, because she’s always Pamela, but Pamela-leaning-Ivy.” She drew a circle around ‘Ivy’ and then connected it to ‘Pamela’ with a thick line. “So then the whole Joker thing went down.”

Jo’s tongue lazed out of her mouth and she slobbered on the floor.

“Well I’m not gonna get too much into it,” Harleen told her. “But, bullet points: I got shot because Joker insulted Pamela and Ivy couldn’t control her temper. It’s like she sees her former self as this…innocent that still, to this day, needs a champion. I think she idealizes her, or that time in her life...but anyway, your mom has a nasty temper.”

Jo didn’t have much to say about that, so Harley shrugged. “It’s true,” and then moved on. “So Ivy got triggered, like…pretty severely because of allusions Joker made to her assault—she has PTSD, by the way—but the weird thing is that afterwards, in her affected period, the flashbacks were about her childhood. Her mother, specifically.” Harley stopped pacing and turned to Jo. “Which is probably exactly what happened this time. I triggered her by referencing the rape, but last week in the kitchen…I mean, it must have been the domestic setting, right?”

Jo was humming to herself again.

“Exactly,” Harleen agreed. “So if…ugh.” She came back to the table and opened the file. “Jason Woodrue, Jason Woodrue…” she flipped past his picture to the crime scene photos of the basement, a section of Pam’s file she’d skipped previously. “Fuck, Jo…” She studied the weathered photographs, the bloodied table, the broken straps. According to the police report, after Pam woke up from the coma, she told law enforcement officials where she’d been held and they were able to connect her account to a crime scene they’d discovered some months before. They found the room before they found Pamela.

Harley’s stomachache returned. “So this…this was the breaking point, where she lost her ability to regulate,” Harley tapped her finger on the photo. “But the trauma…Jo, what if she had PTSD before Woodrue? Look, I mean, that’s how I beat her the first time…or, not beat her, relationships shouldn’t be a competition. I love her. Have for a very, very long time, but it took a little push to make it livable. The thing is, though, when I…broke her, I did it by invoking her mother. It’s almost like…Ivy’s “monster” is Woodrue, and Pam’s is her mother.” She made a quick note on the board before resuming her pacing.

“But see, she lost a bit of her confidence after that. Sort of took on this 50s housewife thing, which doesn’t exactly match up with the typical Ivy characterization, but was amazing and fantastic and totally what I needed for that time in my life…and I think it was good for her too. So maybe that was Pamela. Or, maybe that was her mother’s Pamela.” Harley drew a little offshoot of the name and added the word ‘mother’. “But Pam’s also a perfectionist through and through. She has to be the best at everything. So maybe…maybe that was her being the best wife possible. Proof that she was or is, in fact, perfect.”

Harley glanced down at Jo where she was gnawing on a Battlesuit Batman she’d found under the couch before turning back to the file. “I remember the whole murdering her parents thing not being in her file, but there should at least be some background. I mean, she was a ward of the state, so there should probably be a…birth certificate.”

Jo stared up at her questioningly.

“Yours is forged,” Harley told her, quickly. “Let’s see…7lbs, 14oz. Aww!” Harley smiled. “Guess how much I weighed. Seriously, Jo. Guess.”

The girl threw the toy across the living room.

“6lbs, 6oz, born on 9/11.” Harley told her. “I think I was meant for some terrible fate or, like, I was meant to be the antichrist or something. Probably am in your mom’s eyes at this point.” Harleen cleared her throat, getting off that train of thought. “Pamela Lillian Isley,” she read “Born to Howard Isley and…Lillian Isley.” Harley frowned… “Lillian…Dr. Lillian Rose. Rose. Jo, that’s weird, right?” Jo was bobbing her head up and down. “Because her mother, Lillian, was obsessed with roses, right? That’s what the…” she looked down at the engagement ring on her finger above her wedding band, the white gold rose holding a sapphire. “That’s either just a weird coincidence or some cosmic fuckery, I guess. But she does use that name a lot. Lillian, I mean. It was always ‘Pamela Lillian Isley’, not just Pam Isley.”

“Mama-mama-mama,” Jo mumbled.

“Well yeah, it’s her middle name, but you don’t see me going around introducing myself as ‘Harleen Frances Quinzel’, do you?”

Jo was preoccupied with knocking the Batman on the ground.

“OK,” Harleen sighed, shaking her head. “So what questions do I need answered? Because the Mom angle was how I fixed things last time. 1: Why is she still so important to her? 2: How do I use that to my advantage? Can’t answer the second without the first.” She took a deep breath. “If I had a shitty mom, I would want to do everything different with my kids, right? I mean, I already do. That’s like—human nature. To want to improve upon bullshit you had to put up with as a kid. So what does Pam do that her mother didn’t? What does Pam do? Pam insists on taking Anthony to school in the mornings. Pam shows a lot of physical affection with the kids. Pam…says ‘I love you’. All the time. She says it all the fricken time, so much so that Anthony asked me if she thought he would forget. Oh, holy shit.” Harley laughed, not cruelly, just continually in awe of how the mind’s most complex problems are often rooted in something so simple. “Pam’s still trying to earn her Mother’s love.”

Jo smiled, her green eyes twinkling.

Harley grinned too and sat down next to her on the ground, pulling the girl into her lap. “I could probably get her in two questions. But…there’s no way she’s ready for any sort of therapeutic conversation with me. I totally obliterated the trust necessary for that relationship.” She absently stroked Jo’s round cheek. “I need leverage. I need…to call that relator.”

/

The worst part this whole mess was that Harleen had initially been in the right. She’d had a strong argument. Pam had, indeed, been an asshole uprooting their family like that. But…Harleen took it too far. She just totally nuked the human decency that was supposed to be an example for Pam in their relationship. She just…she broke it, and now any argument Harleen raised on any other subject was essentially null and void. And so here she was, pushing herself around the 4^th listing on the relator’s list, trying to pretend like this wasn’t all complete and absolute bullshit. She was doing it for the leverage and because it was necessary to move forward.

Pam was carrying Jolene on her hip and discussing something with the relator. It was probably about money and Pam was paying for the house anyway. Harleen sighed as she came to a stop in the middle of the living room. She liked the open spaces, but it just seemed so…cold. They’d spent 16 years making their house a home and the thought of starting over wasn’t just frightening, it was frustrating.

“Honey, how were the ramps? Could you get up them OK?” Pam called over.

Harleen knew Pam was just putting on a show, since she hadn’t called her by any term of endearment in over a month, but she’d take what she could get. “Yes, fine.” She smiled.

Anthony was sliding on his butt down the carpeted stairs. “If we live here I want the room close to the stairs so I can do this before school,” he informed Harleen.

“Understood.” She nodded

“I”ll give you a moment alone,” the relator said with an almost frighteningly bright smile before she exiting in favor of the front lawn.

“Well…what do you think?” Pam asked. “What. Do. You. Think?” She repeated, smiling down at Jo and bouncing her with each word.

Jo giggled and covered her face with her hands like she was embarrassed. Pam was rarely playful like that, and the kids always loved it when she was. So did Harleen, actually.

“Jo likes it much better than the last one.” Pam smiled. “How about you, Anthony?”

“Well…” He said, thoughtfully resting his chin on his hands. “I don’t like it as much as our house.”

Harleen sighed. “We can’t live in that house anymore, Bud.

“Why not?” He asked, genuinely curious rather than upset.

“Yeah, Pam. Why not?” Harley passed the question along.

Pam narrowed her eyes at her before turning her attention to Anthony. “Because I’m getting a new name and a new job, so we need a new house.”

“Wait,” He stood up, suddenly concerned. “But we don’t have to get new moms, though, right?”

Anthony could always make Harleen laugh, even if she wasn’t exactly in the mood and he wasn’t doing it on purpose. “No, you don’t. I think you’re stuck with us,” she saw an opportunity to plant a seed for she and Pam’s later conversation, so she jumped on it. “Do you want new moms?”

Anthony’s eyes grew wide at even the suggestion. “No way.”

Harley glanced over at Pam to see one of those rare, completely unadulterated expressions of happiness on her face. A dazzling smile with slightly flushed cheeks.

She just wants to know she’s doing a good job.

Chapter Text

“The village children listened attentively,” Harleen read aloud. “And the Dryad no less attentively; She became a school-child with the rest.”

“Mama, what’s a Dryad?” Anthony asked, tugging at the cape on his Miss Martian doll.

Harley looked up from Hans Christian Anderson’s The Dryad. “It’s like a tree spirit,” she explained.

The boy furrowed his brow. “But don’t all trees have spirits?”

“Well…yes…but Dryads are like people, sort of. Or, they kind’ve look like them? It’s not real, it’s a fairytale,” Harley told him.

“But…” Anthony’s frown deepened. “Isn’t Mom like that? Isn’t she a plant and a person?”

“I—yes,” Harleen admitted.

“So they are real?”

“I don’t know, I guess so. Now are you going to let me finish the story?” Harleen asked, a bit impatiently.

Anthony wrinkled his nose and snuggled deeper into the covers as Jo abandoned chewing on her stuffed unicorn in favor of one of the wooden slats of the crib Pam had made.  They were convinced the girl would forever be teething.

Harleen cleared her throat pointedly and returned her attention to the book. “She felt so happy in beautiful France, the fruitful land of genius, with the crater of freedom. But in her heart the sting remained that the bird, that every animal that could fly, was much better off than she. Even the fly could look about more in the world, far beyond the Dryad’s horizon.”

Anthony scowled at Jo as she began to giggle. “It’s not funny, Jo. It’s sad.”

Harley reached out and squeezed his hand where it lay atop the covers as she continued. “France was so great and so glorious, but she could only look across a little piece of it. The land stretched out, world-wide, with vineyards, forests and great cities. Of all these Paris was the most splendid and the mightiest. The birds could get there; but she, never!”

“How come?” Anthony asked. “Why couldn’t she leave there?”

Harleen shrugged, “Maybe she was scared.”

“Mom wouldn’t be scared...” He mumbled.

“Among the village children was a little ragged, poor girl, but a pretty one to look at,” Harleen moved on. “She was always laughing or singing and twining red flowers in her blonde hair. “Don’t go to Paris!” the old clergyman warned her. “Poor child! if you go there, it will be your ruin," But she went for all that. The Dryad often thought of her; for she had the same wish, and felt the same longing for the great city.”

“What color is blonde, again?” Anthony wanted to know.

Harleen tapped her head, indicating her own hair as she continued to read, skipping a few paragraphs because she was sure Anthony wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and it wasn’t really for him anyway. “With the little girl gone, and herself still lonely, the Dryad’s thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on the grass by the bubbling water. “Thou wilt ever spring living from the earth,” she said mournfully. “Moisten my tongue—bring me a refreshing drought.”
“I am no living water,” was the answer. “I only spring upward when the machine wills it.”
“Give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass,” implored the Dryad; “give me one of thy fragrant flowers.”
“We must die if we are torn from our stalks,” replied the Flowers and the Grass.
“Give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air—only a single life-kiss.”
“Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red,” answered the Wind; “then thou wilt be among the dead—blown away, as all the splendor here will be blown away before the year shall have ended. Then I can play again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirl the dust over the land and through the air. All is dust!”

“That’s what they say to me,” Anthony admitted, quietly. “The flowers tell me they’re hurting.”

“I know, Baby…” Harley whispered, gently.

He clutched his doll closer, lip quivering. “So—so she was too scared to leave with the girl and—and then her world died?”

Harleen quickly glanced over the book. There was still a while more to go, and she felt like she’d skipped some important parts, but, with what she did read, she supposed that was a decent summary. “Mhm,” she nodded.

“And trees can’t live in dust,” Anthony realized. “So she died too…all because she was scared,” He studied his Miss Martian for a moment before looking up at Harley. “Do you think Mom would follow the girl?”

“Oh, I know she would,” Harleen smiled. “She already did. It’s how we got you and Jo,” She leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek and he wrapped his arms around her neck as she did, trying to keep her there a moment longer.

“I’m glad about that,” he whispered into her ear.

“Me too,” Harley whispered back before he let go and she tucked him underneath the blankets. “Goodnight.”

“Love you, Mama,” He mumbled, closing his eyes.

Harley walked over and forcibly detached Jo’s mouth from the crib, laying her on her back and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Night, Weirdo.”

Pam was sitting in the hallway just outside the door with her knees drawn to her chest and her head resting back against the wall, eyes closed. She opened them when Harley gently closed the bedroom door.

“Hey,” Harley prayed that Pam had been there the whole time, listening to the story and to Anthony because the choice of story had certainly been strategic.

Silently, Pam held her hands up to Harley, who tentatively grabbed them and helped her up. She didn’t move away once she was on her feet, and when she did release the other woman’s hands it was so that she could gently cup her jaw.

Harleen stayed absolutely still, starring back at her as Pam looked into her eyes, learning from the silence as she so often did. She attempted to further quiet her breathing and the pounding of her heart, as if even the slightest sound would scare Pam off.

After another moment of weighted silence, Pam leaned forward and kissed her softly. Not dispassionately, exactly, but also not an invitation to start ripping her clothes off (even if that was exactly what Harleen wanted to do). Harley was smiling before the kiss was even over, but her face quickly fell when Pam whispered, “you’re a liar.”

Harley was silently guided back against the wall, her confusion evident as Pam kissed her again, pressing deeper this time. “The girl’s hair is black, not blonde,” she hissed, tugging at Harley’s earlobe with her teeth.

So she had been listening…“I—“ Harley gasped as Pam’s hand snaked up inside her shirt. “I didn’t want him picturing Selina,” Oh, Pamela…for a second there I almost thought you were going to be unpredictable, but…nope!

Suddenly, Pam stopped and forcefully pressed her forehead against Harley’s, to the point where the pressure was almost painful. “Don’t ever try to pull that shit again,” she said through clenched teeth. "I don't ever want to hear those words from you."

Harley attempted to nod and surge forward to capture her lips again, but she was stopped with a hand around her neck.

“I’m fucking serious.”

She wasn’t squeezing with her hand, which Harleen was grateful for, just holding it there like a warning. Of what, Harley wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t think Pam would ever hurt her physically. Not really, anyway. But she was certainly drawing a line in the sand. Harley had made a significant mistake and further slip-ups of that nature would not be so “kindly” received.

“Do you hear me?” There was venom in her tone.

Harleen looked at the other woman with every ounce sincerity she could muster. Pam’s skin was her darkest shade of green and her eyes flickered with the poison she usually reserved for her enemies. This was Ivy, and she’d come to protect Pamela again.

“Red…” Harleen made sure her gaze never wavered, their eye-contact never ceased. “On my life, on the kids—It will never happen again.”

Chapter Text

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Selina asked through labored breaths.

“What?” Harleen panted, not quite registering what Selina was saying as she began her sprint interval. Her mind shut off for the next 60 seconds, but when she began to slow down again, Selina was still jogging on the treadmill beside her, staring at her judgmentally.

“That stupid smile,” she posed the question slower this time. “Why is it on your face right now?”

Harley brought herself down to a speed walk and felt her face with her hands. “Oh,” her smile widened and she jumped to set her feet on the fixed portion of the treadmill on either side of the moving track. With her arms thrust out wide she sang, “I JUST HAD SE-E-EX!”

Selina’s feet stopped running but the track kept moving, flinging her off the back of the machine. She was, of course, able to land on her feet, but was visibly shaken. “Doogie, why?!”

Harleen laughed as she jumped back on and started her final interval. Still giggling, although breathlessly by the end of it, she shut off the machine and wiped the sweat from her brow with a towel. “Oh, knock it off,” she rolled her eyes at Selina who was clutching her stomach as if she were ill. “We were having a bit of a dry spell, but that’s over now,” she sang the last part to the tune of It Must’ve Been Love.

“Please stop," Selina threw over her shoulder as she headed for the weight section of Wayne Manor’s private gym. “I’m so sorry I asked. I really don’t want to know.”

Harleen grabbed her waterbottle and followed behind her. “Well…like…it was mostly me taking and her giving, which she likes to think is a punishment for me somehow, but like…I’ll take it—anytime, anywhere—you know?”

“I hope you’re talking about my fist and not sex from Ivy,” Selina seemed to be resisting the urge to cover her ears.

“Oh, no way,” Harleen laughed, skipping now. “We never get that kinky.”

“Get out,” Selina said immediately. “Leave this place. Now. Go on, get. You’re not wanted here.”

Harley waved her off. “So what should we start with?”

“Muscle-up/pull-up supersets, remember? That’s what we—“ Selina stopped herself. “Hey! No. This is no longer a joint-workout. You lost that privilege.”

“The Great Catwoman, a prude? Who knew!” Harley spread her hands out like the words were up in lights. “I can see the headline now: ‘Gotham’s Second Most Notorious Sex Pot—a Fraud.”

Selina groaned. “Go fuck a plant, Harley.”

“I did!” The blonde laughed. “That’s how we got into this mess in the first place!”

Resolutely ignoring her, Selina jumped up and grabbed a hold of the pull-up bar, gathering momentum by swinging slightly and yanking herself up over the bar. She held herself at the top for a moment, her elbows locked under her before gently swinging down and returning to the starting position. She was beginning her second repetition when she noticed Harley dancing on the ground below her, thrusting her hips like she was playing a male stripper in Magic Mike. Selina swung forward and kicked her in the chest, pushing her to the ground.

“Rude,” Harley grumbled, dusting herself off as Barbara entered the room.

“No crying in baseball,” Barbara told her, smirking. “And no sitting in the gym. Them’s the rules, Baby.”

“Yeah, well…Selina, I seem to remember you saying that we don’t hit our friends,” Harley huffed. “I take it you’re not one to lead by example?”

“Kicking is totally different,” Selina reasoned as she dropped down, having finished her set. “Any chance Pam was able to take a quick break from her sexual exploits to replenish my skincare regimen?”

“Oh, what?” Harley crossed her arms. ‘So you won’t let me talk about my sex life but you will accept free shit from my wife?”

Barbara furrowed her brow. “I feel like I missed something here…”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Selina told her before raising an expectant eyebrow at Harleen. “So…?”

Harley sighed. “Yes, she did. You’ll have to come over and get it, though.”

“OK, no. But really. What did I miss?” Barbara glanced back and forth between the blonde and brunette in front of her.

“I guess Ivy was finally able to get her dick hard,” Selina informed her, promptly receiving a punch in the arm from Harley.

Barbara’s fingers were soothingly rubbing her temple. “That’s…a mental image I wish I could un-conjure.”

“Alright…well…” Harley took a swig of water. “At least I’m getting laid.”

“I’m getting laid,” Barbara told her.

“I’m getting laid,” Selina seconded.

Harleen flipped them off and jumped up onto the bar Selina had just abandoned.

“So…why are you celebrating sleeping with your wife?” Barbara prompted. “Isn’t that sort of…implied?”

“Yeah, I’m way more interested in possible trouble in paradise than hearing about how a 90-year-old woman behaves in the bedroom,” Selina agreed.

“Extraordinarily limber,” Harley grunted as she pulled herself up. “As for the other question: don’t worry about it.”

Selina rolled her eyes and sat down on the bench behind her. Barbara was slightly more difficult to shake.

“Seriously…” The younger woman’s tone was sincere. “Are you guys alright?”

“I appreciate—the—mmph—support, but I—ah—got it covered,” Harleen struggled through her final rep.

Selina narrowed her eyes. “Dr. Quinzel, are we back to handling our wife?”

“No!” Harley wiped her palms on her thighs. “That’s—no.”

The brunette didn’t exactly seem convinced.

Harley’s brain worked overtime thinking of a quick subject change, but Barbara ended up supplying it for her. “How much do you think your natural face-lifts cost, guys? If Pam were to charge you.”

“Mmm…” Harley stroked her chin thoughtfully. “She’d probably be able to pay my alimony with it.”

/

Pam would never wish them to be fighting, but it was nice to have a little bodily autonomy for a stretch.

“Harleen—can you just—space, I beg of you,” Pam implored, pushing the blonde off of her shoulder where she was scrolling through her phone. “Don’t you have to go?”

“Not for another hour…” Harley smiled, turning onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. “How about we do something constructive until then…” she walked her fingers across the comforter and up the other woman’s arm

“Good idea,” Pam acknowledged. “I’ll finish reading this, and then…you’ll go to work.”

“Mean,” Harleen pouted. “I was thinking something a bit more…intimate,” she slowly crawled up over her and swiftly snatched the case briefing away, tossing it behind her with little regard for how or where it landed. The answer to the question Harley didn’t ask was: splayed open all over the floor.

“Goddamn it,” Pam went to get up, but was pinned back on the bed by her shoulders

“Come on, Red…” Harley whined, her hot breath on Pam’s neck. “Don’t’cha wanna rev up your Harley? Make up for some lost time?”

Pam raised an eyebrow, aroused, sure, but also not wanting to give her wife the satisfaction. “Are we referring to ourselves as inanimate objects now?”

“Mhm,” Harley grinned, hovering over her now. “So are ya gonna let me water your plant or what?”

“Oh, Gaia,” Pam covered her face with her hands much like Jolene would. “Can we keep puns out of the bedroom for a while? I’m trying really hard to love you right now,” She watched as Harley’s expression sobered above her. Pam didn’t speak again. She’d said what she meant. But she did gently run her finger down Harleen’s cheek, watching them as they brushed against her soft skin.

Harley took Pam’s hand and lowered herself so she lay stretched out over her body, her head on her chest. When she spoke, it was after a few minutes of silence. “Why didn’t you tell me your Mom’s name was Lillian?”

“What?”

“Your Mom,” Harley repeated.

Pam’s tone was clipped. “What does it matter what her name was?”

Harleen sighed, “I guess I’m just…trying to understand your relationship.”

“It ended in me murdering her, what more is there to understand?”

Distractedly tracing the pattern on Pam’s tank-top with her index finger, Harley gave a half shrug. “Why is your name ‘Pamela Lillian Isley’?”

“My name is Paula Irving.”

“No…” Harleen corrected. “Your name is Lillian Rose.”

Pam didn’t respond right away, instead closing her eyes and allowing herself to be soothed by the repetitive motion of Harley’s finger. “My mother was a very intelligent woman,” she finally said, using cautious, measured phrasing. “And I think that made her angry.”

“Why?” Harley asked.

“Because…Because it wasn’t what she was supposed to be,” Pam explained. “She was resentful of her own capacity and so she was resentful of mine as well.”

Harley just listened, allowing her fingers to come to a stop as Pam went on.

“It’s an interesting experience—having a mother that doesn’t love you. That truly hates you, as a matter of fact.”

“I don’t think she really hated you, Pam,” Harley said, her voice affected slightly by how he cheek lay on her wife’s breast. “Maybe she just didn’t know how to express love.”

“No…” Pam sighed, now running her fingers through Harley’s blonde curls. “It was that unique sort of hatred rooted in jealousy. She had never strived to become anything, so when I did…I was a hopeful child. I was…curious, and that bothered her. She’d never allowed herself to be curious. Never would.”

“So she was angry with your dad for making her stay home and she took it out on you?” Harley attempted to summarize.

“No,” Pam laughed. “Not back then. She knew her place and that role was so engrained in her she couldn’t even allow herself to be resentful of it. I think she hated me from the moment the doctor told her she’d be having a child. Since she knew I was a girl. Since she held me for the first time. I think she looked into my eyes and saw a bolt on the front door, realized that even though she couldn’t even conceive of anything else, the screaming bundle in her arms was her life sentence.”

Harleen thought that over for a moment. “Then why did she give you her name?”

“I don’t know,” Pam admitted. “But she hated me the most the day I brought my diploma home. Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD…every day I wasn’t married she ridiculed me for it. Told me I was throwing my life away, wasting my beauty that could be used to create attractive offspring…my Mother thought largely in appearances, it seemed. So, at first, I introduced myself using my full name just to spite her. So she would always be lumped in with my ‘life choices’.”

“And now?” Harley prompted.

Pam was staring at the ceiling now. “I don’t regret killing her. She was cruel. Unapologetically, undeniably, cruel. She taught me to be subservient, and although I rebelled against that for most of my life, I fell back on those teachings when I needed to reject them the most and ended up strapped to a table, in a basement, being brutalized by a man I’d submitted to at first, even though he wasn’t what I wanted.”

Harley drummed her fingers on Pam’s ribcage. “What did you want?”

“Mmm…” Pam smiled a bit wistfully. “The librarian.”

Harley raised her head to look at the other woman, quirking an eyebrow playfully. “Who was The Librarian?”

Pam laughed. “I don’t know. I never asked. But she wore big, round glasses and her hair was never styled, not under any circumstances, so it would fall in her eyes when she leaned over, to, you know—“

“File books or whatever?” Harleen laughed.

Pam attempted a glare, but gave up rather quickly. “Yes, when she filed books or whatever. In hindsight, I may have spent a bit more time in the library than was strictly necessary.”

“Oh my God, you nerd,” Harley continued to laugh. “Did you put the nerd moves on her?” 

“No,” Pam was mildly offended. “The only conversations we ever had were exceedingly brief and were typically about the weather.”

“You lived in Seattle,” Harley reminded her. “What were your conversations like? ‘It’s raining again’?”

“Well…yes, if you must know,” Pam huffed. “I wasn’t exactly as forward as a human and I’m sure she was straight.”

“So is spaghetti…til it’s wet,” Harley winked.

“Oh my God, I married you,” Pam realized, clearly horrified. “I had children with you.”

Harleen giggled as she lay her head back down. “So why are you doing it now?”

“Because it’s a legally binding document and Bruce already had to fast track the new license…”

“No! Why are you going by ‘Lillian’ now?”

“Oh…” Pam smiled since Harley wasn’t looking. “Well I didn’t choose it this time, but…I think maybe she would have liked that—if it had been OK to dream of such things. Maybe she’d have liked to be Dr. Lillian Isley.”

“Or Rose.”

“Or Rose.”

Chapter Text

“IT’S THE MORNING!!!” Jolene shouted with glee, although the sun had yet to fully rise. “You guys! You have to wake up now,” She pulled herself up onto her parents’ bed. “Hey!” She poked Harleen’s cheek. “Hey, Mama. It’s the mornin’ time,” She grabbed onto her face and attempted to force her eyelids open.

“Jo…” Harleen groaned, sleepily pushing the girl’s hands away. “It’s still too early. Santa hasn’t even come yet.”

“He has to! I already checked. All the presents are under the tree. Look!” She held up a sticky candy cane as evidence. “He put this in my stocking.”

Harleen slowly blinked her eyes open, getting the darkened bedroom to come in to focus. Jolene smiled wider when she noticed and shoved her face against the woman’s, pressing kisses all over her cheeks.

“Honey, that--,” Harleen attempted to turn her face away. “That’s a lot first thing in the morning.”

“But I love you lots!” Jo reasoned. “Even in the mornin’ time.”

“Well, that’s very nice…” Harleen stretched. “Is your brother up?”

“Yeah, he’s how come I got into the greenhouse. I’m not big enough to open it myself,” Jo told her.

“And that’s by design,” Pam mumbled into her pillow, her eyes shut tightly.

“Yay!” Jolene exclaimed, wiggling up in between them. “Now everyone’s awake so we can start Christmas.

“What time is it?” Pam asked.

Harleen lazily flopped over and unlocked her phone. “5:20.”

“That’s…ridiculous. We made a deal, Jo,” Pam’s eyes were still closed, out of protest, it seemed. “What was our deal?”

“Mmm…I don’t remember,” Jo giggled.

“She’s lying,” Pam mumbled.

“I know,” Harleen sighed.

Jo grinned. “Look, Mama. I’ve been workin’ on my handstand,” She stood up on the bed and bounced once or twice before planting her hands and kicking her legs up. She was able to maintain the position for an impressive few moments, but the bed’s surface was too soft and her little muscles ultimately failed her. When she landed, it was unfortunately with her foot in Pam’s face.

“Goddamn it, Jo!” Her eyes shot open, blazing an angry green. But she only had time to take in Jolene’s fear-stricken face for a moment before she felt sticky liquid dripping down over her lip.

“I didn’t mean it, Mom!” Jo exclaimed, grabbing the bedsheet and pressing it roughly to the woman’s nose as it bled.

The fabric began to smoke as soon as it made contact with the green liquid, and Pam smacked her hand away.

The girl’s eyes grew wide and her lip quivered and Pam was immediately apologetic as she pinched her nose just below the bridge to stop the bleeding.

“I didn’t mean it, Mom…” tears began to gather in Jo’s green eyes.

Harleen gathered the girl up in her arms and kicked the soiled sheet down to their feet. “It’s OK…” She soothed. “Mom’s not mad, you just can’t touch that stuff, remember? It’ll hurt you.”

“She is so mad,” Jo insisted, her tears dampening Harley’s nightshirt. “I just wanted to help because I hurt her.”

“Well what the heck happened in here?!”

Pam, Harley and Jo all turned their attention to the doorway where Anthony was standing in his pajamas with snow on his boots.

“Your sister kicked me in the face,” Pam told him, her voice nasally as she kept up the pressure.

“But I didn’t mean it!”

“But she didn’t mean it,” Pam echoed.

“Did she break your nose?” Anthony asked, hands on his hips. “Because she breaks everything, so that would make sense.”

“Mean!” Jo pointed at him accusatorily. “Can’t be mean on Christmas.”

“You said the same thing about Chanukah,” he reminded her.

“That’s Mama’s Christmas,” Jo explained, earning her an eyeroll from her brother.

“Hey,” Harleen laughed. “No eyerolling on Christmas.”

“Well then what can we do on Christmas?” Anthony asked.

Harleen grinned. “How about…OPEN PRESENTS?!” She began to mercilessly tickle Jolene, replacing her earlier tears with laughter.

Anthony was smiling too now, but it faded somewhat when he looked at Pam. “You alright, Mom?”

“Yes,” She acknowledged, cautiously testing her slightly accelerated healing by taking her hands away from her nose.

“No gymnastics on the bed, Jolene,” He scolded.

The girl stuck her fingers in her ears and screwed her eyes shut. “Na-na-na-na-gymnastics is for everywhere.”

Anthony shook his head disapprovingly and retreated back down the hallway towards the stairs.

Jolene watched him go, but turned her attention to Pam when she heard her sigh. “I’m really sorry my foot hit your face on Christmas,” she said, staring down at her lap.

Pam narrowed her eyes slightly, watching Jolene fiddle with her Powerpuff Girls pajama pants by poking Blossom in the eye. Finally, as a smirk played on her lips, Pam held out her arms to her daughter and Jolene perked up immediately, lunging forward into Pam’s embrace

“Well…” Harleen sighed contentedly, getting up and pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, “At least we’re awake. Mission accomplished, Jo.”

The girl beamed as she separated from Pam. “Yeah, I did a really good job, huh?”

“Mmm…something like that,” Pam acknowledged, kissing Jo on the forehead before picking her up and setting her down on the ground. “I’ll need to have those incinerated,” she gestured to the rumpled-up sheets.

“That’s because you’re Pooooiiiiisssssson Ivy,” Jo stomped on a crack in the wood floor.  “And so only special little girls like me can hug you because you’re my Mom.”

“But…” Pam prompted.

“But nobody can touch your owies, not even Mama because then it would give us owies,” Jo answered, a wide, self-satisfied smile on her face. “I know all the rules cuz I’m the smartest.”

Pam got out of bed and cinched her robe around her waist. “Oh, really? What was the rule about Christmas morning?”

“That I couldn’t wake ya up until 6-3-0,” Jolene proudly put her hands on her hips, and it was only when Pam raised an eyebrow that she realized what she’d done. “Uh oh…”

“Yeah,” Pam agreed, “Uh oh.”

“Looks like we know who’s gonna be opening their presents last,” Harleen said. “Gotta work out those patience muscles.”

“Patience muscles aren’t real,” Jo pouted.

The tree and the presents were kept in the greenhouse because Pam categorically refused to cut down a tree and bring it inside, and having a plastic tree would have been downright sacrilegious. So, instead, she just grew one out of the soil bottom of the greenhouse. They’d brought the record player in to provide some background music appropriate for the holiday. Perhaps it was a bit unconventional, but an attempt at something “traditional” had clearly been made.

Harleen sat on Pam’s lap in the grass, mostly so she wasn’t tasked with holding herself upright given the limited amount of sleep she’d had. She nursed a poorly prepared mug of coffee Anthony had brewed for her while they watched the kids separate their presents into distinct piles to make the opening more efficient. The wrapping paper was all, of course, made from recycled materials.

“Anthony first,” Pam reminded Jolene, who already had her mitts on a package.

Smiling, Anthony dragged the largest box over to him and read the card aloud. “To Anthony, From…Nerd.”

Harleen snickered and Pam rolled her eyes. “It’s from me, Hon. Mama just wrote the card.”

“Hey! And wrapped it!” Harley protested. “Give me credit where credit is due.”

“It’s wrapped very nicely, Mama,” Anthony granted, making the first tear in the paper. He was only halfway through unwrapping it when he shot up to his feet. “No way!” He looked excitedly at his parents. “No way!”

Pam laughed. “Yes way.”

“Did you get this from work?” Anthony wanted to know as he tore through the rest of the paper, revealing the robotics kit.

Pam nodded, “To my understanding, if programmed and assembled correctly, it will be able to both crawl and fly.”

“I get to program it?!” Anthony looked at the box in awe. He couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, but Victor said you might be a little too young for it. It’s meant to accompany advanced robotics courses,” Pam explained.

“No, I can do it,” Anthony assured her. “I can totally do it.”

“Recruiting your Justice League friends to get presents for the kids is cheating,” Harley whispered.

“Cyborg is not my friend, and there aren’t rules to gift-giving,” Pam whispered back. “It’s not a competition.”

“It’s totally a competition.”

“Alright,” Pam laughed. “Then how about you step up your game, Quinzel? Don’t hate the player.”

Jolene was beginning to squirm watching her brother examine his gift. She bit her lip looking at her pile of presents and even went as far as to sit on her hands to resist the temptation to just dive in. “Maaaammmmaaaaa,” she finally whined, looking helplessly in her parents’ direction.

Harley laughed. “Go ahead, Jo. And good patience.”

The girl grinned almost maniacally and snatched the closest present to her, ripping the paper off with no reverence to speak of. Next she tore the lid of the garment box that she’d revealed…and then her jaw dropped. “It’s so sparkly…” she murmured, reaching into the box to grab the bright blue, sequined leotard. “This is the sparkliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harleen and Pamela both had to bite the inside of their cheeks to keep from laughing.

“What is it, Jo?” Harley asked.

She raised her eyes slowly. “Mama…” she clutched the fabric in her hands. “Its—Mama…”

“Yes?” Harleen giggled.

Tears began to well up in the girl’s eyes. “It’s a gymnastics outfit, Mama.”

Harley knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Jolene, why are you crying?”

“Cuz it’s---cuz it’s,” she held the leotard up to the light, watching as it shimmered. “Cuz it’s the prettiest outfit I ever saw.”

“Turn it around, Jo. Look!” Anthony urged.

She did just that, and when she saw there was a Bat-symbol on the chest, she absolutely lost it, her tears of joy turning to full on sobs.

“Jolene,” Harley sat forward and set her coffee down. “Jolene, would you like to put it on?”

“Yes, please,” She cried, getting up and running over to Harley, thrusting the garment at her with both hands and turning her head away like it was too amazing to even look at anymore.

Jolene spent the remainder of the day doing cartwheels and handstands in front of the mirror, or kicking and punching the air, adding a “na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-BATMAN!” for good measure. Later that night, when Anthony had changed back into his pajamas to watch Elf, Jolene refused, electing to remain in the leotard instead.

“So how is that not cheating?” Pam whispered, looking at Jolene who lay fast asleep on the couch, using Anthony’s shoulder as a pillow. He, too, was asleep, his glasses just barely clinging to the tip of his nose.

“Well, because I didn’t ask for help,” Harley smiled. “It’s just a natural instinct,” She shrugged.

Pam scoffed. “All she talks about is gymnastics. That’s like if I said I had a “natural instinct” that water is wet.”

“Sass on Christmas? How dare you,” Harley chastised, playfully nudging the other woman.

“Harley…you’re Jewish,” Pam reminded her. “Please explain to me your fascination with this holiday.”

The blonde smiled and interlaced their fingers. Looking down at them, she asked, “Do you remember our first Christmas together?”

Pam took a moment to piece together the timeline. “You were in your chair, right?”

“Mhm,” Harley nodded. “And I was so depressed I completely forgot Chanukah. Just…forgot it.”

“Well I would have reminded you, but—“

“You didn’t know I was Jewish,” Harley laughed.

“And I’m sorry about that,” Pam said, her gaze now drifting to their hands as well. “I just never found the need for human religion, and that was…selfish of me. Looking back.”

“It’s alright,” Harley chucked. “That’s what you said back then, too. Because I saw you in that red sweater, remember? It was like Christmas Eve, I think, and you were wearing a red sweater and up against your green skin…I was like ‘oh shit, it’s Christmas already.’”

Pam’s gaze hardened slightly. “And that made you very sad.”

“Yeah,” Harleen acknowledged. “It did. And you didn’t get why. You said Christmas was a trillion-dollar promotion of botanical genocide.”

“Which it is,” Pam affirmed.

Harley smiled. “Which it is…But completely spacing an eight-night Holiday helped illuminate just how lost I really was.”

“I don’t remember that,” Pam admitted.

“Well I do,” Harley turned to look at her. “Because after I told you that, you took the laptop into your bedroom for like two hours with absolutely no explanation.”

“Did I?” Pam laughed.

“Yeah…turns out, you were in there reading literally everything there is to know about Chanukah—because you’re a thoughtful nerd—and you suggested that we celebrate all eight nights in one, which was so…not Poison Ivy of you.”

Pam smiled as the memory slowly came back. “But you said ‘no’, it was too late. Might as well just celebrate Christmas.”

“That’s right,” Harley laughed. “So…there are a lot of things I like about Christmas. I like the decorations and the food and the spirit of the Holiday…but my favorite thing about it is you.”

“Why?” Pam asked. “Because I made an effort?”

“Mmm…I think I’d call it a sacrifice.” Harley corrected.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as the credits began to roll on the movie.

“21 Christmases,” Pam whispered.

Harley smiled. “Finally, our marriage doesn’t need a fake ID.”

Pam leaned her head against Harley’s shoulder as Jo shifted in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. “Do you want to take them up to bed?” Pam asked as the credits song switched to Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

“No,” Harley said, shrugging her off of her shoulder and standing up.

Pam raised an eyebrow and Harley extended a hand. Questioningly, Pam took it and was helped to her feet. With a small smile on her lips, Harley gently placed her hand on Pam’s hip and kept hold of the other one, swaying slightly with the music. Pam took her cue and draped her hands over Harleen’s shoulders, leaning in and resting her face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath as they moved in unison.

Harley wrapped her other arm around Pam’s waist and pulled her closer. “I wish we could have 21 more like this,” she murmured.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” Pam smiled, kissing the soft skin below her lips.

“But I am,” Harleen reminded her, and as she did she felt Pam suddenly clutch a bit tighter.

“We don’t have to talk about that now.”

“But we will someday,” Harley said. “Maybe someday soon. Anthony is 10 already, Jo is 5…I told you it would all move quickly.”

Pam nodded subtly, still not loosening her grip.

“The other moms in the PTA think I married a younger woman,” Harleen chuckled. “Pretty soon they’ll be calling me a cougar,” Her neck began to feel damp where Pam’s face was pressed, so she kissed the top of her head, knowing Pam was upset, but knowing it would upset her more if Harley saw her cry. “We’re going to have to explain it to the kids.”

“I don’t want it,” Pam mumbled, her voice a bit shaky. “And I don’t want things to change.”

“Yeah, me neither…” Harley sighed. “I’m sorry I’m a human.”

“You don’t have to be,” Pam whispered. “I could change you,” The words were out before Pam could think better of them. She knew it was probably a mistake to ask that. It was something Pam had been thinking about for some time, but she'd never asked because then it would be out there. Final. A yes or no question. And Pamela knew in her heart that she would say no.

“Would you wish it upon anyone else?” Harleen asked. When Pam didn’t answer, she stopped and put her hand under Pam’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. She used her thumb to wipe her tears away and then asked, “Would you wish it upon me?”

Pam dropped her gaze. “If you asked me, I would.”

“I’m not asking.”

Pam’s lip quivered, and as a new tear rolled down her cheek, she lunged forward and kissed Harley—hard. Like she was trying to stop this moment from spinning out of control. Trying to control something. Trying to keep Harley there and never let her go.

The song had long since ended, the DVD had looped back to the menu, but there Pam stood with her fingers threaded through Harley’s hair, Harley’s strong arms still wrapped around her waist.

“I’m yours as long as I’m here,” Harley murmured once they broke apart. “But I—I can’t stay forever.”

Chapter Text

“Jolene…” Harley sighed. “Please get off the counter.”

The girl was in a crouched position, biting her tongue where it stuck out of her mouth and scribbling with a crayon on a piece of paper. “Sorry, Mama. No can do. I’m drawin’ a picture.”

“I can see that,” Harleen acknowledged. “But why do you need to stand on the counter to do it?” 

“I gotta get the right vantage point to capture the light,” Jo explained like it was obvious, her focus never wavering from the task at hand.

Harleen tried not to laugh. “The right vantage point?”

“It’s all about perspective, Mama,” Jo told her.

OK, well…now Harley was curious. She got up from the kitchen table and walked over to the counter, looking over Jo’s shoulder at…stick figures. Of course they were just stick figures. She was 5. “They should go ahead and give you your art school diploma now.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinkin’,” Jo agreed. She made some final touches on the sun in the sky and then proudly held it up for Harleen to see in all its glory.

The drawing depicted three people holding hands while standing in front of a house. “Wow…it’s beautiful, Jolene,” Harley moved in to examine the crayon marks more critically. “Is that me?” She pointed to the tallest figure.

“Yep!” Jo said. “And that’s me,” she pointed to the smallest. “And that’s Anthony,” She indicated the redheaded figure that held her left hand while Harley took her right. “It’s our family!”

Harleen frowned slightly. “Where’s Mom?”

Jo laughed. “At work. See?” She pointed to the sun in the sky. “Mom’s not in our daytime family.”

Anthony started his self-taught piano lesson in the other room and it threw off Harley’s response formulation, so she just gently took the picture from the girl and went to hang it on the fridge.

“No!” Jo said, stopping Harley in her tracks. “That’s a secret picture just for us. Mom will be sad if we hang it up and Mom is grumpy when she’s sad.”

Harleen turned around, her brow furrowed. “So then what do you think we should do with it?”

“Put it in a secret hiding spot,” Jo suggested.

“Honey…” Harley leaned against the counter. “I don’t think it’s good to keep secrets from Mom.”

“But she keeps secrets from the whole world, Mama. That way we can be safe,” Jo reminded her. “I’m just keeping her safe from being sad.”

/

Pam felt her back stick to the car seat as she pulled herself out. “The f—“ she felt the spot with her hand and it came away red and sticky. “Of course!” Pam laughed mirthlessly. “Because why not?”

She yanked her bag from the passenger seat and slammed the door shut harder than was necessary. It was already 11pm, the lights were off in the house...Thank Gaia, Pam thought, realizing Harleen was probably taking her nap before work and the kids were already asleep, meaning she could just take a quick shower and then crawl into bed.

Pam dropped her house keys as she pulled them from her bag, forcing her to wave her arms wildly trying to trigger the motion-sense porch light. When it didn’t respond, Pam knocked her forehead against the door and whispered “FUUUCCCCCCKKKKK” in a clear attempt to reboot her mind, and that seemed to do the trick because the light switched on. “Thank you,” she clasped her hands in front of her, looking towards the sky. “Thank you," And bent down and picked up her key, inserting it into the door and twisting the handle.

Once inside, her first move was to flick on the light, but she immediately regretted it, as it illuminated the foyer effectively enough to see that Harleen was sitting in the large chair in the living room wearing the “we need to talk” expression.

“No,” Pam said, firmly. “No. Whatever it is—please, not right now.”

Harleen was offended. “I haven’t even said anything yet!”

Pam shook her head. “No…I know that look. I know what this is, and it’s not happening. Not until I take a shower.”

“Well…” Harley stood up, pulling down the hem of her t-shirt. “How about I join you?”

Pam regarded her critically as she set her bag down. “Fine. But only if you help me get this crap off my back,” she turned around to show her the blood attempting to dry there. “And then we have sex because I really don’t need a domestic quarrel right now.”

“Oh my God, what happened?” Harleen was alarmed at what she thought was an open wound.

“Harley, is that what my blood looks like?” Pam asked.

“Oh, pfft,” Harleen laughed, bonking herself on the forehead. “Duh. Who’d you kill?”

Pam squinted, affecting her best ‘WTF face’. “Umm…you didn’t know him.”

“Wait…” Now Harleen was concerned. “You didn’t actually kill anyone, did you?”

“No, Bruce wouldn’t let me,” Pam grumbled, before remembering there was another conversation they were supposed to be having. “So can I fuck you, or what?”

“Hey!” Harley was back to offended. “I resent that coarse language,” But then Pam raised an eyebrow and Harley giggled immediately. “OK, no I don’t.”

Shaking her head, Pam started up the stairs and the blonde was quick to follow. Their voices changed to whispers as they passed the kids’ rooms.

“But we do need to talk…can we try to multitask?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

Pam closed their bedroom door behind them, returning her voice to conversational volume. “Harleen, no offense, but you aren’t exactly the most…coherent lover. How do you expect—“

“How could I not take offense to that?”

Pam mulled that over for a moment. “How could you take offense to that?” She left Harley there with her brow furrowed in favor of the bathroom where she pulled her tank top up over her head, but as soon as she got the garment off, there was Harley again, inches from her face. “Fuck, Harl.” She jumped, startled.

…Something her wife ignored. “I think we ask the kids to keep too many secrets.”

“No, Harleen. No means no. Just give me like 10 minutes. Please,” Pam implored.

Harleen sighed, sliding her arms around Pam’s waist and slipping her hands into the waistband of her leggings, pushing them down past her hips. “I just…between asking them to maintain your secret identity and not telling them where I go at night…”

“You just brought up two contradictory examples,” Pam leaned back against the glass of the shower as Harley inched her pants down over her thighs, leaving them to pool around her ankles.

“I’m honestly not sure which one is worse anymore,” Kneeling down, Harley helped her step out of the fabric and then tossed them into the corner of the room. She pressed a kiss to Pam’s abdomen. “I used to think it was obviously keeping a secret that big from them, but now I realize,” she dragged her lips down to Pam’s hip bone and gently nipped at the skin there. “asking them to keep a secret that big might actually be in a shadier moral area.”

“Well you’re the one that,” Pam reached down and grabbed the back of Harley’s t-shirt, pulling it off as Harley helped her by raising her arms. “Said we needed to explain the extent of my powers to them. That’s just going to—mmm—“ Haleen had her panties between her teeth. “Further complicate things.”

“Things are already complicated,” the blonde muttered through clenched teeth as she dragged that garment down as well. “What I’m saying is…”

“Yes, what are you saying?” Pam demanded. “Because I really don’t underst—ah,” her hands suddenly fisted in Harleen’s hair and the blonde held up a finger to indicate it would be a moment before she got her response. “The sh—the shower,” Pam mumbled, her eyes closing of their own accord. “We’re—we’re wasting water.”

Evidently determining she was right, Harley stood up, and in one move opened the shower and pushed Pam backwards into it. She stumbled slightly, but Harley was pressing her into the wall before she had time to actually slip. Harley made no move to shield herself—or her sweatpants and sports bra—from the water spraying out of the shower head.

“What I’m saying is…” she moved Pam’s now wet hair out of her face to kiss her. “I think forcing the kids into our lie might have some,” she slipped her index finger into Pamela’s mouth. “Lasting negative psychological consequences.”

Pam rolled her eyes as she sucked on the other woman’s finger. “You know; water is actually a pretty effective lubricant.”

Harley’s eyes widened like she was surprised at this information and she quickly removed her finger. “Thank goodness I married a doctor, otherwise I’d never be privy to such advanced solutions to the complexities of human anatomy.”

“I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Harleen smiled, placidly. “I am,” and with that, she wrapped her arm around Pam’s waist and drove her up the wall.

Pam bit down on Harley’s shoulder as the blonde set their pace.

Harley gasped before gritting her teeth and pressing her forehead into the tile wall, her lips brushing against Pam’s ear with each push. “I’m worried we might be asking too much of them.”

“Well that’s not what—that’s not what I—“ Pam was trying her best to get her sentence out.

“Honestly, Pamela,” Harley laughed. “Must you be so incoherent?”

Pam’s response was to bite down harder until she apologized, and when she did, Pam forced the rest out: “That’s not what I want for them. But it’s a necessary evil. We knew that—mmm—going in.”

Harley’s pants were so soaked now their own weight was dragging them down off of her hips. “I hate that everything has to be so complicated,” She added a second finger and picked up the pace.

 “They’re—fuck,” she grabbed Harley’s face and kissed her roughly. “They’re happy kids, right? That’s what you’re always—fuck—telling me.”

“Yeah…”

“Then let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Pam suggested, snaking her hand up the back of Harley’s sports bra and digging her nails in. It wasn’t much longer before she fell apart with a cry that Harley muffled with a kiss.

“See?” Harley grinned. “We’re incredible multitaskers,” Pam glared in response and Harley wrapped a wet lock of red hair around her finger, smiling at how the water had darkened it to Anthony’s coloring. “The kids miss you when you’re gone…”

“You know…” Pam sighed. “I think I’d prefer we not discuss the children in this context,” She shut off the water and reached back to unclasp the bra she’d neglected to remove, helping Harley out of hers as well.

“Maybe you should—“ Harley looked down at her feet. “Maybe you should come home.”

“I am home,” Pam helped her out of her sweatpants.

“It’s midnight, Pam,” Harley reminded her. “Just…look, the Justice League stuff is mandatory, I know that. But if you dropped the lab job, you could be here when they get home from school—if you’re not on-call, I mean. Wouldn’t that be nice? The four of us? We have the money, Pam. You know we do. And I’m still in negotiations for this book deal, but I know it’ll be—“

“Would Dr. Quinzel agree?” Pam asked.

“What?”

“On my release papers you stated that ‘Poison Ivy should maintain a civilian occupation as well as fulfill her contract with The Batman. She requires constant mental stimulation, and without a replacement of purpose from her current villain alignment, she will continue to be a menace to society.’” Pam reminded her, quoting the report word-for-word and crossing her arms over her chest. “So, Harleen, I’m curious what Dr. Quinzel would think of your suggestion.”

“She’d think—yes! Well…Yeah, duh,” Harley laughed.

“Honey…” Pamela swept her up into a kiss. “I think you might be a little biased.”

Harley sighed. “Just…think about it, alright? They’re gonna hate both of us pretty soon, and that job will always be there for you. After the kids leave, after I…you know…just—let’s spend as much time together as possible while you still want to see me naked.”

Pam laughed. “Is that what this is about?”

“Well sorta,” Harley admitted with a smile that quickly turned sad. “And I want you to be a part of our daytime family.”

Chapter Text

Pamela had always been a careful person. She had an analytical mind. A scientific thought-process. She'd never been the sort of villain to break things just for the sake of it. She wasn’t Joker. Her lifeblood was not chaos.

So it had taken some time. Taken a lot of time. But she had finally arrived at a decision.

She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head as she pulled up to the gate at Wayne Manor.

“Who is it?” A male voice came from the intercom.

“I know you can see me,” Pam waved. “Just let me in.”

“Who is it?” The voice repeated.

“It’s Ivy! Who the fuck does it look like?!”

“Well…Aquawoman, sorta.”

“Dick,” Pam’s patience was already gone. “I know it’s you. Just open the fucking gate.”

“You in a bad mood?”

“Not until this exchange, I wasn’t.”

“Fine.” Dick’s spirits had clearly been dampened and so he forfeited, opening the gate for her.

...but only halfway, trapping her car between the doors so she couldn’t move forward.

“Dick! You’re going to scratch my car, you…”

“Dick?”

Pam sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Yeah.”

Dick laughed, opening the gate the rest of the way. “Come on in.”

Selina was sitting at the kitchen bar eating a bowl of cereal when Pam let herself in. She had clearly just been through a workout as she was dressed in a pair of spandex shorts and a sweaty tank top.

“Hey,” Selina greeted, not looking up from whatever she was reading on her phone as she took another bite of…Honey Combs. Jolene would spit that back on the counter, Pam thought. “This gossip rag thinks I had plastic surgery.”

Pam sighed. “You have to ignore that stuff, Selina. It’s all trash.”

Selina shrugged. “I guess I’m vain…Oh, hey, did you see the Gotham Star this week?”

“No…” Pam sat down, tossing her car keys onto the counter. “Did Hillary Clinton pop out another alien baby? Or did they finally decide to leave her alone?”

“Ha,” Selina scoffed, navigating to the magazine’s homepage. “Like that’ll ever happen. No, here…” She passed Pam the phone, who took it apprehensively. “They seem to think Batman and Poison Ivy are fucking.” Selina translated the headline that was splayed overtop a picture of the two on a rooftop wherein Ivy had her hand on Batman’s chest.

“That is such bullshit!” was Pam’s immediate reaction. “I’m not sleeping with Bruce! I have never slept with Bruce.”

Selina laughed. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. And what happened to ‘you just have to ignore it. It’s all trash’?”

Pam ignored her. “That picture is being taken completely out of context.”

“So what was the context?” Selina wanted to know.

“I was…” Pam had to think for a moment. “Oh! I was telling him how ugly I thought my new suit was.” Pam remembered.

“Yeah, not a fan of the teal.” Selina agreed. “The black was a lot sexier.”

“Thank you.” Pam breathed a sigh of relief at their shared opinion. “And then I told him I didn’t like his logo redesign either, and I had to show him where I thought the bat wings were too fat.”

Selina laughed. “Makes total sense to me.”

“Where do they get off reporting outright lies?” Pam demanded. “See, this is the true human condition. Just this festering—“

“You need to calm yourself.” Selina said. “Just…chill, please.” She waited until Pam was starring angrily down into her lap before continuing. “Now why are you here, bugging me on a Saturday? Isn’t there a…child’s soccer game you should be at or something?”

That seemed to turn Pam around rather quickly, because when she looked up to meet Selina’s eyes, it was with a warm smile on her face. “Flag Football, actually. I never much saw the appeal, but Jolene is very passionate about it.”

Selina chuckled. “Jo is the one playing football? Not Anthony?”

“Oh, no.” Pam shook her head. “Anthony isn’t exactly enamored by athletics. He’s a fairly talented pianist, though. And a—“

“Pam!” Selina stopped her, looking almost terrified as the redhead threatened to rattle on. “Why are you here?”

“Oh—I…I need to talk to Bruce.” Pam said.

“Mm.” Selina grunted, dismissively, getting up and beckoning for Ivy to follow her into the elevator. She silently pressed the button and crossed her arms as the car took them up to the top floor where Pam knew Bruce’s study was located.

“You…” Pam cleared her throat. “You look good…”

Selina stared straight ahead. “Thanks.”

Then the elevator dinged and Selina led them out into the hallway, passing a few bedrooms and the library until Selina was opening a large oak door, revealing Bruce working at his computer.

“I’d appreciate a knock…” He intoned, not acknowledging them further.

“Noted.” Selina and Pam said together…with the same snide cadence. They turned to look at each other, both with an arched eyebrow, and then Bryce was looking at them too, his eyes narrowed.

“What is this…?” She asked, cautiously.

“I don’t know,” Selina plopped down in the leather chair in the corner. “Ask Pam.”

Bruce looked at Pam expectantly, and she swallowed. “Firstly…did you receive my memo?”

He sat back in his chair, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Sighing, he asked: “Which one? If it’s about your suit—I’m sorry the color palette is not to your liking.”

“It’s just—it’s really ugly, Bruce!” Pam complained. “Booster keeps calling me ‘Mera’, and I can’t even argue because the reality is I look like a goddamn seahorse in that thing!”

“I thought you would appreciate an updated color scheme.”

“Why, Bruce? Why?!” Pam demanded. “Do I seem like the kind of person that appreciates a drastic change of appearance?”

“She’s got a reputation to protect, Bruce.” Selina helped her out.

“I’ve got a reputation to protect, Bruce!” Pam seconded.

Bruce was massaging his temples, his eyes closed in a clear attempt at something approaching ‘zen’. “For you, Pamela, I will take another look at the design.”

“Great,” Selina pulled herself out of her chair. “Glad we got that settled.”

“Where are you going?” Bruce asked, watching as she moved towards the door.

“To steal something.” Selina had her hand on the knob. “And if either of your assholes try to stop me I’m going straight to the Gotham Star to tell them Pam lets you take her from behind. And by that I mean up the—“

“Selina!” Pam was horrified.

But Bruce sat with his brow furrowed, mulling that over. “I fail to see how that would reflect negatively on me.” Before he’d even finished his sentence, though, the potted plant on his desk began to tremble, mirroring Ivy’s look of fury as her fists clenched. “Oh…got it.” He uneasily moved the plant to the ground. “Keep the price tag under one million.”

“Two!” Selina negotiated.

“One and a quarter.”

“One and a half!”

“Fine.” Bruce waved her away and she shut the door behind her with a satisfied smile.

Pam turned to him once she was gone, her arms crossed, residual anger still marring her fair features.

“I always pay them back,” Bruce assured her. He watched as the redhead rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “So what do you actually want? Because there’s no way you came up here on your day off just to complain about the shade of green I used on your suit.”

“Right…” Pam cleared her throat and reached into the pocket of her jacket, producing her S.T.A.R. labs ID card. Silently, she slid it across his desk.

“What’s this?” He asked, pointing to it without picking it up.

“I—I’m retiring.” She told him. “For this lifetime, anyway.”

“What?”

“I would like to forfeit my position at S.T.A.R. labs for the time being.” Pam clarified.

“I don’t understand…” Bruce sat forward. “I gave you everything you could have wanted.”

“OK, first of all,” Pam crossed her arms again. “You didn’t give me anything. The PhD I earned qualified me for this position.”

“Well, fine,” Bruce conceded that point. “But this is maybe the premier position in your chosen field. How could you possibly be unhappy?”

“I’m not. I’m very happy.” Pam told him. “But…I’m confident I can continue to make contributions to science without spending my days in a lab. I’d rather—I’d rather be at home for now.”

“Pamela,” Bruce sighed. “You know I can’t allow that. In your release paperwork it explicitly states that—“

She cut him off: “My psychiatrist signed off on it.”

Bruce stopped, looking at her with something approaching pity. “Pamela…”

“My psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, has given my proposal her blessing.” Pam said, slower this time. “I hear she’s married with two kids now, which is just…fantastic, don’t you think? So glad she could move in a healthy direction after the tragedy that befell her in her early adulthood.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, but Ivy didn’t squirm or waver under his judgement. Just sat there, one leg crossed over the other, her hands folded neatly in her lap, with the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. “Dr. Quinzel is no longer employed by Arkham Asylum.” Bruce reminded her.

“True,” Ivy granted. “But she is still involved with their outpatient program, assigned to special cases of patients she, herself, helped to treat. The mentally ill aren’t known for taking kindly to change, you see. Arkham didn’t want to interrupt my healing, and Dr. Quinzel was more than happy to stay on as my doctor.” She absently traced her finger over her thigh. “Some say she took a liking to me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Bruce gritted.

Ivy smiled. “Five years ago you offered me a deal. You said my family would be taken care of. That’s not what I want. I don’t need your money—although I have signed a few of my patents over to you, and those, in time, will repay the funds you donated to my…genetics project.”

“That wasn’t intended as a loan,” Bruce told her. “We agreed it was a gift.”

“Yes, well…that was then.” Ivy stood up. “But now I’m beginning to resent the leverage you have over me.”

“Is this even what you want?” Bruce asked. “Truly?”

Ivy smoothed down her skirt. “It took me two years to come to this decision, and it’s not without some trepidation. But yes, it is what I want.” She started for the door, leaving her ID card on his desk. “Oh!” Pam spun around. “I almost forgot—Harl wanted me to remind you that Jo’s game is at 2 today, in case you wanted to come.”

“Is that today?” Bruce sounded a bit regretful.

“Yeah, it’s the last game of the season so we were planning to go out to dinner afterwards.” Pam informed him. “Barbara is supposed to accompany us for that portion of the afternoon…and…Well, Selina didn’t seem all that interested, but you’ve been invited anyway.”

“I’ll see if I can push something back.”

/

The day was a bit overcast and windy, certainly. Gotham City wasn’t exactly known for its pristine weather conditions, after all, and although spring was usually the exception, this day was not. Jo had refused to wear pants…or a sweatshirt…not that Harleen was modeling the best behavior, with her jean shorts and ¾ sleeve t-shirt ensemble. For some reason, even without the sun, she’d elected to wear a baseball cap over her ponytail.

“Are we going to watch Jo or your office softball game?” Pam asked as they approached the field, Jo skipping ahead of them and Anthony following just behind.

Harleen looked down at her clothing, at first not totally understanding Pam’s joke. “Oh,” She chuckled. “No, I just left my ‘I’M A LESBIAN!’ sign at home. Needed some other way to communicate that.”

Pam laughed. “I think your shorts would have to be a bit longer to make that explicit.”  

“Damn it, you’re right.” Harley set her lawn chair down by the edge of the field and quickly pulled Pam into a kiss that may have lasted just a bit too long. “In the spirit of explicitness…” Now Harley was looking over Pam’s shoulder and animatedly greeting a couple that was starring. “Hi! I’m Harleen.”

“Y—yes, we know,” the woman stammered as Jolene pranced back over to Pam for a final hair adjustment.

“Oh, of course!” Harley acted like she was embarrassed. “You’re Simon’s parents.”

“And you’re Jolene’s Mom,” the woman acknowledged, eyeing the girl in question where Pam was tightening her ponytail.

Jolene herself caught the woman’s wandering eyes and smiled, “And this is my other mom.” She patted Pam on the shoulder. “I have two moms…which is sorta like having a Mom and a Dad, except for better because boys are terrible.”

Pam smiled slyly.

“But not Anthony,” Jo amended. “Brothers are the best.”

Anthony was sitting down in his own lawn chair at this point, initially watching the exchange with some indifference, but now charmed by his sister despite himself.

Pam leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek once she’d finished. “Have a good game,” she told her.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mom. I will.” Jo winked, before turning and sprinting across the field towards her team’s bench.

And Pam rose to her feet, brushing off her skirt and smiling as pleasantly as she could muster. “I’m Lillian, it’s a pleasure.” The man was grinning stupidly, so Pam elected to shake the woman’s hand.

“I’ve never seen you before…” The man said, dreamily.

So maybe Pamela could have reduced her pheromone output just slightly…but she’d always found this effect enjoyable. The woman was starring questioningly at her husband, who was basically drooling at this point. Pam ran a hand through her hair for good measure, and bit her lip just because she could.

Harley’s attention had already moved to something else. “No way,” she said under her breath.

Pam looked as well, to see Selina making her way over from the parking lot, her heels getting stuck in the mud every few feet.

“Hey!” Harley waved her over.

Pam could see her eye roll from here, but decided to sit down since Harley and Selina could handle themselves now. She was grateful every day that she no longer had to play the role of the kindly intermediary.

When Selina arrived, the first thing Pam noticed was the shiny diamond necklace she was displaying over her coat. At least she’d been productive. Pam had to grant her that. It became clear as the first half began that Bruce couldn’t make it, so he’d tagged Selina in, which was just as well, being that she and Pamela’s discussions of civilian life had always flowed more easily than with Bruce. Harleen spent most the game on her feet, cheering obnoxiously as Jo barreled down defenders. It seemed that Jo had missed the boat on this being flag football rather than tackle. But regardless of the ethics of Jo’s playing style—she was successful with it, accounting for all of her team’s touchdowns and most of their defensive stops.

Anthony sat and watched like Jolene’s behavior was normal. Like it happened every week…which it probably did, Pam realized. In all honestly, it had been some time since Pam had taken a Saturday off to actually come and watch the game. Previously, she’d only seen Jo play through videos recorded on Harley’s phone. But Jo clearly wasn’t trying to be a bully…she wasn’t overly aggressive, really. More just…physically dominant. Her movements were fluid, she was quicker on her feet and more coordinated than the other children—all boys, by the way. Harleen was extremely athletic, and by all accounts had been that way from a young age, but Jo seemed…enhanced, somehow.

Pamela looked down at her toned legs showing beneath her skirt, and then over at Anthony who, although only twelve, had visible separations in his arm muscles. Oh…Pamela hadn’t really considered those implications before.  Jolene was enhanced. They all were. Harleen didn’t look out of place in their family, but that was because she spent hours in the gym every day and her nights running around the city. Jo had an unfair advantage here. Maybe that didn’t matter today, but someday it might.

Pam filed a mental note to run further tests in order to determine the extent to which her DNA was affecting her children. She probably should have done that earlier, but most of her focus had been on how they would mature mentally and if they would appear human. She hadn’t factored in Harley’s athletic influence and their likely need to assimilate into that culture. But…she couldn’t perform the tests at the lab because she wasn’t employed there anymore…something she had yet to make Harley aware of.

Now she was staring at her wife uneasily from across the table at the pizza parlor Jolene had chosen. Pam’s stomach clenched as she remembered the last big decision she’d made on her own…but Harley had asked for this one. True it had been two years since that late-night conversation, but there were things to put in place. Pros and cons to weigh. And…no, they hadn’t spoken about it since, but Harley hadn’t retracted her request…so…there was no reason for Pamela to think her honoring that would be met with any resistance.

“Mom…” Anthony nudged her gently, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Jolene wants to know if you saw her knock Simon over.”

Pam blinked, shifting her gaze from Harleen to Jo, who was wearing an expectant smile on her face, her medal still draped proudly around her neck.

“Yes…Yes, Darling.” Pam assured her. “Yes, I saw it.”

“Whadd’ja think?” Jo asked with a toothy grin.

“Well, he was on your team, no?” Pam inquired. “Isn’t the goal of the sport to knock the opposition over?”

“Yeah,” Jo giggled. “But I didn’t really like the way his Mom and Dad were lookin’ at’cha. Because I don’t think people should be surprised if someone has two moms…and I was just really happy you came to watch me. Did you…” she absently fingered her medal. “Did you think I did a good job?”

Pam smiled warmly. “So good, Jolene.”

The girl’s cheeks flushed and she had to turn her smile away from Pam, now starring down at the medal around her neck. “Thank you.”

Tonight. Pamela would tell Harley tonight.

Chapter Text

Selina and Pam stood on the curb, watching Harleen and Barbara conversing outside the restroom as they waited for Jo. Anthony was already in the car.

“Why the crutches?” Selina asked, breaking the silence, surprising Pam in the process as she had evidently forgotten the other woman was still there. “She’s done with the chair, or…?”

“Experimental surgery,” Pam’s tone made it clear her words should have been in air quotes.

Selina leaned back against her car. “She couldn’t make a full recovery?”

“We thought that was a little far-fetched. For now, at least.”

Selina nodded until she was looking down at her feet. After a brief pause, she cleared her throat. “Is she happy?”

“Well, the chair was rather cumbersome,” Pam answered. “It will certainly be helpful logistically.”

“And what about you leaving your job? Is she happy about that?” She glanced over at Pam, who was looking at her with a curious expression. “Bruce and I have very few secrets.” She quickly explained.

Jolene was probably making a mess of the soap dispenser, Pamela assumed, as that was the only explanation for what was taking so long. “I haven’t told her yet,” she mumbled.

A smirk spread across Selina’s lips. “Yeah…I thought that might be the case.” She pulled her hand in a fist out of her jacket pocket and held it out to the redhead.

With a raised eyebrow, Pam offered an open palm and a necklace was deposited into it. More understated than the one Selina was wearing around her neck, but still beautiful. “What’s this for?” Pam asked.

“For in case you need to smooth things over,” Selina explained.

Pam examined it, admiring how the glow of the streetlight reflected in the metal. “You stole this for her?”

“I thought I’d donate to a good cause,” Selina looked satisfied with herself, but scuffed her heel on the pavement like she was unsure about something. Maybe even shy. “This is going to sound a cheesy,” she began, her voice a bit quieter than normal, “but I’m proud of you, Ivy. You are honestly the most stubborn asshole I know and I just wanted to commend you on how far you’ve come.” She cleared her throat. “I know you think Harl changed you, but other people can only inspire us to change. That influence is external. The actual mechanism—the action—comes from within us. Or, at least that’s what the people at my AA meetings shove down my throat every night. So…give her credit if you want to, but at the end of the day, you have this life because you wanted it. Because you went out and got even if it meant feeling vulnerable, which I know you really fucking hate.”

Pam was still starring down at the necklace. She didn’t quite know what to say. She and Selina’s relationship had always been complicated, to say the least. They defended each other to the world, sure, but in a one-on-one setting, things often got heated. Tempers flared. They were both too similar and too distinct…but, “Thank you.” Pam said, finally meeting the woman’s eyes. Green that seemed to shine just as brightly as the necklace under the lights. “This was…thoughtful.”

“Yes, well—I’m a wonderful person.”

/

“Dodo bird.” Jo said as Pam pulled out of the parking lot, Harleen offering a final wave to Barbara.

Anthony rolled his eyes, “That’s too easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then what’s the answer?” Jo teased.

“1662.” He told her, matter-of-factly.

“OK…” Jo furrowed her brow in thought. “Black Rhino.”

“West African Black Rhinoceros,” Anthony corrected.

“West Africa Black Rhinoceros,” Jo repeated. “Now quit stallin!”

“Last reported sighting was 2006, but it wasn’t officially declared extinct until 2011,” Anthony proudly informed her.  

“Hey, guys?” Harleen said from the front seat. “How about we don’t play extinct species tonight. It sorta bums everyone out.”

“Well if humans hadn’t been so careless…” Pam and Anthony mumbled simultaneously.

“Ha!” Jo laughed. “Jinx! You guys owe me a coke.”

“That’s not the way jinxes work, Jolene,” Anthony grumbled, turning his gaze out the window.

“Yeah, well, whatever happened to natural selection, huh?” Jo sat forward. “Didn’t know I was bein’ raised by a family that hates Darwin.”

“I don’t hate Darwin!” Anthony shot back. “You can accredit some extinctions to natural selection, like…sure, the Dodo bird, but in modern times, causes of extinction can more often than not be attributed to human activity and carelessness.” He had a rapt audience in his sister, but a critical one. “Habitat destruction, increased human population, pollution, global warming, overhunting and fishing, poaching, introducing alien species into an enviornment…these are all factors, Jo, and they’re all man-made.”

“Mom!” Jo shouted. “What’s the definition of Natural Selection? Word-fer-word.”

Pam switched on her turn signal. “A natural process that results in the survival and reproductive success of individuals or groups best adjusted to their environment and that leads to the perpetuation of genetic qualities best suited to that particular environment.” Harleen scoffed, so Pam amended her statement with, “That’s according to Webster’s, anyway.”

“OK, see?!” Jo said. “If humans are the dominant species, how come that’s not still Natural Selection? Our genetic-whatevers are just best suited for the environment, that’s all.”

“Alrighty then,” Harleen turned around. “How about you guys take a deep breath, huh? Your Mother is barely clinging to ‘biggest nerd’ status right now, and that’s alarming, frankly.”

Anthony and Jo both had their arms crossed sulkily over their chests at this point, but participated in Harley’s breathing exercise none-the-less.

“That’s a dumb argument, Jolene,” Anthony mumbled once Harley had turned back around.

“No, you’re a dumb argument!” was Jo’s counter.

“Mom, she’s being so childish! Please tell her to shut-up.” Anthony begged.

“Well that’s probably cuz I am a child,” Jo reminded him, and not exactly gently.

Pam cleared her throat as she rounded the final corner towards home. “It is the obligation of the most evolved and advanced species to have discernment, just as it’s our job as your parents to keep your best interests in mind.” She pulled into the driveway and shut the car off. “I understand the constructs of your argument, Jolene. And you’re right, if we were going solely off of the black and white clinical definition of that theory, from the standpoint of strict Darwinian adherence, I might be inclined to agree. But human beings need to take responsibility for their actions. And so, in that spirit, Anthony will be the bigger person and accept his victory with grace. Right?”

In response, Anthony unbuckled his seatbelt so that he could reach over and hug his sister. She pouted a bit at first, but was quickly overcome with affection and squeezed him back.

“Wait!” Harleen whipped out her phone, stopping them before they could break apart to take a picture. But did, eventually, allow them to go inside. Anthony headed straight for the piano while Jolene elected for a spot on the couch, flopping down and grabbing the TV remote.

“One show.” Pam instructed. “You can watch one show and then you’ve got a chapter to read.”

“Bleh,” Jo spat, but sighed and nodded once she’d been fixed with a look, then sunk deeper into the pillows and navigated to Cartoon Network.

Harleen started up the stairs to change into something warmer, Pam looked like she was about to follow, but hesitated at the bottom with her hand on the rail. “You OK?” Harley asked.

“I—yes, I’m just thirsty,” Pam quickly abandoned the stairs in favor or the kitchen, and Harleen looked after her questioningly until she’d ducked out of sight. With a shrug in Anthony’s direction (who was studying Pam’s behavior as well) she resumed her journey up the stairs, tossing her purse onto the bed before heading into the closet.

It was a minute or two before she heard the floor creek in the hallway.

“Why are you being weird?” Harley called out. “Did Selina say something to you?” She could feel Pam’s eyes on her from the doorway before the woman approached, slowly, almost cautiously… Then Harley felt warm hands on her shoulders, moving down her arms and back up. Pamela cleared her throat, and Harley pressed against her, smiling at the feeling of Pam’s chest on her back. “You were quiet today.”

Harley heard the jingling of delicate metal, and just as she was about to turn around, Pamela was draping a silver chain around neck. She pulled a bit when clasping it into place and Harley giggled. “Is this how you murder me? How elegant.”

Pam chuckled warmly into her ear. “If that was my endgame you’d have been plant food some time ago.”

“Well that’s…reassuring?” Harley looked down at the necklace. “Did I…is it our anniversary?”

“No…” Harley could feel Pam’s smile against her neck. “But I have news.”

“News?” The blonde chuckled, spinning around in her arms. “Come hither, brave traveler. What news do you bring?”

Pam attempted her usual affectionate eye roll at Harley’s ridiculousness, but swallowed this time. It was subtle, but still an admission of some degree of anxiety. Evidently steeling her resolve, she moved forward and pressed her forehead against Harley’s, taking a deep breath before saying, “I left my job.”

Harley put a few inches of space between them, as if more distance would improve her hearing. “You what?”

Pam body language turned to defensive almost instantaneously. “I thought about what you said—about the kids missing me, and I…I left. I decided to come home. Like you asked me to.”

“No—I—yes, but,” So yeah, that’s barely English. “Pam, you actually quit your job?”

“Well, no…I forfeited my position for the time being.” The redhead clarified. “I didn’t quit.”

“Pam, are you—are you serious right now?” Harley wasn’t sure if she wanted to smile or furrow her brow, so her expression ended up a confusing compromise. “You just…left? Just like that? Just out of the blue? After all this time?”

“No!” Pam quickly came to her own defense, although what she was defending herself against, Harley wasn’t quite sure. The bad memory from the last time she’d ‘brought news’, likely. “A transition like this takes time and thorough contemplation. I’ve been putting things into place since we spoke, preparing for my absence from that world.”

Harley stepped back fully, dropping her wife’s hands. “Pamela Isley, if we have to move again I swear to fucking God…”

Pam was visibly relieved at the topic of Harley’s concern. “That’s not what I mean. I just had to add some equipment to my home lab and finish up a project.”

“For two years?” Harley was fairly incredulous. More than she’d meant to be, maybe.

The redhead frowned. “I thought you would be happy about this…”

“Fuck, Pam, I am! I totally am. This is just all so…sudden, and a bit…well, too good to be true. I guess I’m just waiting for the catch. And—and you love your job, Babe.”

“Yes…” Pam acknowledged. “But I also love you very much. You and the kids, and I want to be with you as often as I can. And…and I know it sounds silly, but I miss you when I’m gone. And while it’s true on my worst days I am more effective than the people who make up my staff are on their best, I don’t believe in giving partial effort or attention. It’s unfair to all parties involved, and I have been distracted lately, mostly by thoughts of you all. So…” Pam glanced down at her feet briefly before returning her gaze to Harleen. “I choose you. I’ve decided to choose you.”

Harleen was crying by this point. Because, of course she was crying.

This time, Pamela was successful with her affectionate eye roll. “Every time, Harleen? Must this be your reaction every time I give a speech?”

“Oh sue me for utilizing my tear ducts,” The blonde laughed as she wiped the salty liquid away from her eyes. “But really, it’s you that should be crying for me.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” a hint of a smile played on Pam’s lips.

“With you at home, I fear the frequency of debates on Darwinism will increase.” Harley said, trying her very best to keep a straight face. “I knew Anthony was a goner, he wears glasses, after all, but Jolene is still young and naïve and impressionable and I’m afraid you’ll have your hooks in her before I can save her from an Ivy League education.”

Pamela smirked, sauntering forward and wrapping her arms around Harley’s waist. “I hate to break it to you, Daffodil,” she leaned in and ghosted her lips up the other woman’s neck, “But Jolene is 7 years old and familiar enough with Charles Darwin to casually cite his theories as evidence in a debate…” she planted a kiss at the base of her jaw. “I’m fairly certain I’ve already got her.”

“Mmm…How cruel,” Harley pulled the other woman’s face upwards to give her a proper kiss. “And here I thought Poison Ivy had turned a new leaf…”

“…”

“…see what I did there?”

“…”

“Pam, did you see what I did there?”

“Yes, Harley. I did.”

"'Leaf' because of the whole, you're a plant thing."

"Yes, thank you, Harley. I got it."

Chapter Text

“But, why?” Anthony was confused. “Your job is awesome, Mom. Why would you leave it just so you can hang out with us more? People have to work. That’s what you guys always say.”

“Yes,” Pam acknowledged. “But I am a…unique case.”

“How come?” Jolene asked. “Cuz of the that?” She pointed to Ivy’s green hands peeking out from her long-sleeved shirt. “Cuz you already have a job saving the world cuz you’re Poison Ivy?”

“Well…yes and no,” Pam said after a brief hesitation. “Yes, but not exactly for the reason you think.”

“OK…” Jo sat back, crossing her arms and eyeing her Mom suspiciously. “So what’s the reason?”

Pam drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, glancing over at Harley for some moral support. Harley offered a small, reassuring nod, and with a sigh, Pam pulled a shoebox out from under her chair and set it gently on the table in front of her.

Jolene moved onto her knees and leaned forward over the table to get a closer look as Pam pulled the lid back. Inside was a stack of photographs, along with some dried rose petals and what seemed to be shards of broken porcelain. The girl frowned. “How come ya keep dead flower in a shoebox, Mom?”

“That’s not important right now,” Pam said quickly, lifting the photographs out of the box.

“And what about this, huh?” Jo reached into the box and roughly grabbed at one of the shards.

“No, don’t!” Pam caught her by the wrist before she could reach it. “She’s—it’s broken.”

Jo pulled her hand away, moving cautiously back into her seat as Pam closed her eyes briefly, resuming the drumming of her fingers on the table.

“Hey, Red?” Harley ventured, gently. “Let’s move forward, OK?”

Pam pushed out a forceful breath before opening her eyes once more. “OK,” she affirmed, sliding a photograph out of the pile and across the table for Jo and Anthony to examine.

Both took a moment to study it before responding, but a moment was all it took for Anthony’s distress to override his artificial coloring. He was a pale green when he tore his eyes away from the picture. “You have another family?”

“And you let your other daughter dress up in old-timey dresses for family pictures?!” Jolene was equally distraught.

“What?” Pam was confused at first, but then she took another look at the picture. “Oh!” She laughed, uncomfortably, “No, that woman was my Mother. That’s me.” She pointed to the girl in the photo.

“Well how come you wouldn’t let us do a theme for our pictures?” Jo demanded.

Harleen sighed. “In hindsight…maybe we should have explained some of this before-hand.”

“Right…” Pam tried again. “Do you—how old do you think I am?”

Anthony shrugged. “Younger than Mama, I guess.”

Harleen made a face, though Pam wasn’t completely sure she meant to. “Actually, she’s about 40 years younger,” Pam informed them. “See, I was born in 1933. You were born in…what? ’71?” she checked with Harley.

“That…makes absolutely zero sense,” Anthony forced out a laugh.

“I was 7 here,” Pam tapped her finger on the picture in front of them. “Your age, Jo. That was 1940. In 1966…” Pam shuffled through the pile until she found what she was looking for. “I had just earned my PhD…” She slid them the photo Harleen had seen many years ago in the Jason Woodrue section of Poison Ivy’s patient file. This was the original copy. “And was employed by this man, here. He was…” she contemplated how best to phrase a description. “Unethical.”

“No,” Harleen shook her head. “He was evil, Pamela.”

The redhead nodded an agreement to the revision. “Evil.”

“But…” Jo’s brow was furrowed, her face screwed into one big question mark. “Mom, don’t look any older now. Just prettier.”

“So you were…33 here?” Anthony did the math.

“That’s right,” Pam nodded.

“OK, well, that’s what you look like. 30.” Anthony slid the photo away. “I don’t get how you can look 7 when you’re 7, 30 when you’re 30, but 30 when you’re also…” he did some more quick math. “Mom…are you almost 100 years old?”

“Yes. 88, to be exact.” Pam told him. “But you wouldn’t know it because of that man in the picture. He…trapped me here. In this body, with this face. He made me Poison Ivy, and Poison Ivy…she doesn’t age.”

“But so you weren’t green when you were really 30?” Jo asked. “He made you green?”

“Yes, and umm…provided me other—desirable physical attributes that I wasn’t—that I didn’t have before.”’

Jo studied the photograph for a moment. “You mean like your boobies?”

“Jolene!” Harley wasn’t quite sure why she was so offended on Pamela’s behalf, but her face was suddenly red.

Pam placed her hand on the blonde’s arm. “No, that’s…what I meant.”

“Oh my God…” Harley stared straight ahead. “My entire life has been a lie.” She then immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. “Holy shit, did I say that out loud?” 

“Yeah,” Anthony confirmed. “And you swore.”

Pam and Jo both ignored the flustered woman, the girl still staring down at the photo. With a delicate finger, she traced the features of her real 30-year-old mother. “How come?” she asked.

“Well…” Pam cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her chair. “He changed me to satisfy two of his needs—both his curious yet sadistic scientific mind, and his…masculine demands.”

Jo pursed her lips as the other two table occupants stayed silent. “Did he…did he hurt you in your privates?” She asked.

“Mhm,” Pam acknowledged with a nod. “Yes, he did.”

The girl finally raised her eyes then, and they were full of tears when she did…but not exactly ones of sadness or mourning, they were angry, her jaw was set. And through gritted teeth she asked, “Is that man dead now?”

“Yes…” Pam nodded, slowly. A bit perplexed by her daughter’s reaction. “Has been for about 30 years now.”

“Did you kill him?” Was Anthony’s question, although his tone was much softer than the one Jolene had taken.

“I did not. Although I would have liked to.” Pam admitted. “Batman killed him.”

“Do you think it hurt him?” Jolene wondered.

“Yes, I do.” Pam assured her. “I like to think his death was very painful.”

“Good,” Jo said, and there was a certain finality to her words. “Would you ever hurt a girl like that, Anthony?”

The boy looked horrified, his eyes widening at his sister’s question. “No way! No, that’s the meanest thing a person can do. No way.”

“Good,” Jo repeated. “Mom,” she was looked at Pam sincerely, pointedly, and told her, “I would kill him if he wasn’t already dead.”

“Jo…” Harleen was a bit jarred by her daughter’s reaction, especially as they hadn’t had a terribly in depth “rape talk” before. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I hate him,” Jolene snapped. “I know this man already. He comes in my head when I close my eyes at night. I see him when I have my scariest dreams.”

“This man, specifically?” Pam asked. “You recognize this man?”

Jo nodded ardently. “I can’t move and he asks me answers to questions I don’t really know, but I always have the right answer. But I don’t get scared anymore,” she stated, proudly.

“Why not?” Pam breathed.

The girl smiled reassuringly. “Because my name’s not ‘Pammy’. That’s your name, I think. So I’m not scared because he doesn’t really wanna talk to me. He wants to talk to you.”

Pamela sat, frozen, her mouth hanging dumbly open.

“Mom, is…is that what you remember?” Anthony asked. “Is that what he did to you?”

“That must be how they communicate with you, Jolene.” Pam murmured. “You can’t hear them…they show you.”

“Who?” Jolene questioned, her head cocked innocently.

Tears were beginning to gather in Pam’s eyes as well now. “Oh, Sweatpea. I’m so sorry.” She got up and walked swiftly around the table, kneeling in front of her daughter’s chair and pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

Puzzld, or at least taken by surprise, it took a moment for Jolene to hug back, but when she did it was with one arm around Pam’s neck and one hand softly patting her head. “It’s OK, Mom…I’m a brave girl just like you.”

Anthony was staring blankly into space. “How long will you be trapped?”

“Indefinitely,” Harleen answered when Pamela failed to. “Mom’s is a ‘unique’ case because she has all the time in the world, really.”

Jolene separated from the redhead to stare down at her. “So you won’t ever be an old lady?”

Pam shook her head, but remained silent.

“But Mama will?” Anthony attempted to clarify. “And Jolene and I will? Even though I’m—this?” He held up his green-tinted hands. “Just like you?”

“This isn’t what you want, Anthony,” Pam exhorted. “And there are a lot of ways in which you and I are different.”

The boy’s blue eyes turned glassy. “You made us…” his complexion had darkened to a shade of green nearing Ivy’s natural hue. “And you made us have to die.” He stood up from his seat, slowly, but with his fists clenched. “You didn’t want to be a Mom forever, so you made us just like all the other humans, but with all your worst parts.” He spat.

“Anthony, I wasn’t sure what the side effects would be to using my DNA,” Pam reasoned. “I could only run so many tests, and I—“

“You got lazy.” Anthony summarized. “So now I hear your voices and have your skin, while Jo has your memories as her nightmares. But we don’t have any real powers. That’s OK, though, right? Because we’re mostly just stupid humans and you’ll never get older, so you’ll probably have other wives and other kids…”

Harley shot up from her chair. “Anthony Quinzel, knock it off!”

The boy blinked angry tears out of his eyes. “This isn’t fair.”

“You’re right, Anthony. It’s not.” Pam agreed, “Not in the slightest. Not even a little bit. I know you’re frustrated. I was frustrated too. I still am. I wake up every day frustrated. But this is the life I have and you are what I’ve decided to do with it. I love you and your sister more than I thought I’d ever be able to love anything, so I’m sorry for your suffering, but I am not sorry I made you, and I never will be. Not in a thousand years I won’t be.”

Anthony looked like he was trying to put together a response, but he ultimately just wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweater, and stormed off towards his bedroom after shooting a final glare at his parents.

Chapter Text

“No, Pam,” Harleen stopped her with a hand to her chest. “Give him a second, OK? How about you and Jolene go watch a show,” she suggested. “What’s that show you’ve been wanting Mom to watch with you, Jo?”

“Oh! Mom, you’re in it!” Jo perked up.

Pam didn’t move her gaze from Harleen, who she was silently pleading with. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” Jo was grinning a bit too broadly, trying in her own way to diffuse the situation. “Cept’ they only call you Ivy, and you’re just in High School so sometimes you mess up with your powers.”

Harley shook her head, and nodded towards the living room, communicating once more that’s where her wife would be most helpful at this juncture.

After one more miserable look, Pamela turned around to face Jolene. “Is that so?”

“Yeah!” Jo repeated, a bit more excited this time as she stood up and grabbed her Mom’s hand, dragging her out of the dining room.

Harleen stood there for a moment after they’d left, waiting until she heard the TV flick on to move. Once it did, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her sweatshirt and started up the stairs to the master bedroom. She leaned into Anthony’s door as she passed it, but couldn’t hear anything, so she continued on, opening the top drawer of her dresser and pulling her own version of Pam’s shoebox out. Though hers wasn’t a shoebox, it was her photo albums. Clutching them to her chest, she shut her bedroom door behind her and knocked on Anthony’s.

He didn’t answer after the first round, so she tried again.

“Go away.”

“Ant, it’s me. You know, your stupid human Mother.”

Harleen took his second non-answer as an invitation and let herself in. Anthony was laying on his bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. His skin was still green, which wasn’t exactly unusual at this point in the evening. He slept in that shade, as it was the most comfortable, but Harleen suspected that he was currently too upset to focus on his pigment. So even if he wanted to look more human in this moment, he couldn’t.

“Hey,” Harley said, “You’re pretty pissed, huh?”

He growled something incoherent and turned to face away from her.

Harleen pursed her lips, determining how best to move forward. “Anthony, can I show you something?”

She again took his non-answer as an invitation and sat down gingerly on his bed behind him. Silently flipping open the cover of her more well-worn album, she extracted a picture from it, reaching her arm over to hold it in front of his face. “That’s me,” she told him. “And that’s my Ma, and…that’s my Pop, and that little guy is my brother.”

It took a moment for Anthony to react, but slowly he reached his hand up and took the picture from her, gazing at it but still refusing to face her.

“Pop’s in jail now,” Harleen told him. “Has been for a while. 70 years old and still an asshole,” she chuckled.

It was clear Anthony was doing math as he tapped his fingers on the bedsheet, and when he turned to her, it was with a look of disgust. “You know that makes your wife 18 years older than your dad, right?”

“Yeah,” Harley sighed, laying her head down next to his on the pillow. “Pretty gross, right?”

“The grossest thing I ever heard.”

Harley chuckled. “God, you know what’s almost equally gross?”

“Nothing?” Anthony guessed.

“Ooh, a comedian,” Harley laughed. “No, do you know how I met your Mom?”

“No.” He said, plainly, handing the picture back to her.

“Well…I was a doctor at an insane asylum. A psychiatrist.”

“So you treated mental illnesses.”

“That’s right,” Harleen nodded. “At Arkham Asylum.”

“What?” Anthony turned to face her more fully, his eyes wide. “You worked at Arkham? That’s where all of Batman’s rogues get put.”

“Mhm,” Harley confirmed. “I worked at Arkham…and Mom lived there.”

“What?”

“Yep,” the blonde nodded. “Poison Ivy used to be one of Batman’s most powerful rogues. Maybe even the most powerful…but don’t tell her that, it’ll go straight to her head.”

“So you were…”

“I was her doctor,” Harleen finished his sentence so that he wouldn’t have to.

“Mama!” Anthony was sitting up fully now. “That is so messed up!”

“Pfft, don’t I know it,” Harleen agreed. “I felt so stupid, being in love with my patient. And I think she felt pretty stupid too, for falling for a human.” She adjusted herself so that Anthony could lay his head back down, but when he did it was to stare at the ceiling. “I thought I had lived a pretty normal life…up until I got to college and started studying psychology. That’s when I realized nothing about my life had been normal. My dad was in and out of prison my whole childhood, I spent all day every day in a gymnasium, I had no friends, I knew my brother would turn out an unambitious loser while my Ma sorta thought I would…but none of that really mattered to me because I had a dream, and I was doing everything in my power to achieve it.”

“What was it?” Anthony asked, his interest piqued.

“Oh, well I was going to win a gold medal, of course,” Harley laughed. “As a gymnast.”

“Why didn’t you?” Anthony murmured. “Were you not good enough?”

“I was plenty good enough,” She reached down to hold his hand, and, begrudgingly, he allowed it. “But I let someone convince me that I wasn’t.” She turned her gaze to the ceiling as well. “It was a long time before somebody told me I was good enough.”

“Was it Mom?” He asked, a bit cynically.

Harley smiled. “Oh my gosh, you must be—like—a genius or something.” He flicked her in the arm, but even without looking at him she could tell he was smirking. It’s what Pam would be doing, after all. “When the most beautiful, most intelligent person you’ve ever met tells you that you’re pretty and that you’re smart, I think it’s a good idea to listen. I was 26 years old…fresh out of medical school, like this adorable little blonde baby…”

“I don’t think you can call yourself adorable.” Anthony chided.

“No?” Harley challenged, propping herself up on her elbow so that she could flip through the open photo album. “How do ya like them apples?!”

Anthony rolled onto his side to look at the picture she was gesturing to so forcefully, and a full smile finally cracked his humorless expression. “You wore glasses?”

“Only to impress people,” the blonde confessed.

“I like your chipmunk cheeks,” He admitted, having reined in his smile. “Now you’ve got…” he brushed the backs of his knuckles gently over Harley’s face. “Cheekbones.”

“Well that’s because I’m a very old woman now,” She laughed. “And old women who workout a lot usually have those.”

“You don’t seem old to me, Mama,” Anthony assured her. “You don’t even look old.”

Harleen held his hand against her face. “Neither does Mom, right?”

The boy didn’t answer, just dropped his gaze. “Why did you have us?” he mumbled, like he was ashamed to be asking the question, or ashamed that he felt the need to ask it.

“Well…” Harleen smiled, wistfully. “I was very, very happy. We’d been married for like 10 years at that point, and…we’d just had this really strange experience where we got a window into what our relationship could have been, and I just felt really happy with my life choices, really happy I’d chosen Mom…and suddenly, I was ready. I wanted a baby, I wanted to be a mom. I wanted Pam to get to be a mom…”

“Did she want to?” Anthony wondered.

“Not at first, no.” Harley admitted. “She was afraid that someday we would have a night like tonight where we’d have to tell you what she really was. She told me I was being selfish, for asking her to not only watch me die, but our kids as well. She said it was unfair of me to introduce another thing to love just for it to be taken away like everything else.”

Anthony flipped back over to face the wall. “What did you say?”

“Please,” Harley giggled. “And I knew she would say yes because I asked her to, and she loved me too much to feel like she’d disappointed me somehow.”

“…but why did she have to make us like this?”

“Unfortunately,” Harley began with a sigh. “Her name is ‘Poison Ivy’ for a reason. A completely human baby wouldn’t have been able to survive around her, and they’d be too weak for the vaccine she gave me. So the only way we could have a baby that was ours—or even just mine—was this. And Anthony,” She scooted up closer behind him. “You are perfect. From the day you were born, you were absolutely flawless. The most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. And holy crap was Mom in love with you. Two peas in a pod, you two, from day one.”

“Mama,” Anthony groaned. “Your puns are lame.”

Harley laughed. “That’s actually just an idiom, but I’ll remember that…for future use,” she said, menacingly.

And again, she could tell he was smiling.

“Ant, you’re right to be angry, and you’re right to think this is unfair. It is.” Harley told him. “But there is nothing wrong with you. And for all the crap Mom talks about humans, she’s still a hybrid. She’s still Pamela Isley, she’s still married to me and she still has you and Jo. We’re a family, and growing up as a family is always hard, especially when you have to leave one person behind. But we’re all going to do our best, OK? I can promise you that every day, Mom and I will try our best.”

Anthony sniffed, his knees once again tucked into his chest, and his face still turned away. Harley watched as he raised his sleeve to wipe his tears away. “I don’t want to leave Mom behind.”

Harley wrapped an arm around his chest, craning her neck to kiss him on the cheek. “Me neither.”

/

Pam’s eyes were narrowed critically at the screen. “So we’re all enrolled in an academy specifically for female superheroes?”

Jolene was snuggled into her chest, her medal still hanging around her neck, “yup, pretty much.”

“Why am I dressed like that?” Pam asked. “And why is my voice so high? My voice was never that high.”

“Well maybe they didn’t know that,” Jo giggled, twisting her fingers in the buttons of her Mom’s shirt.

“Ridiculous portrayal,” Pam grumbled. “And why are Diana and Barbara so close? That doesn’t make any sense…I don’t think they’ve ever spoken one-on-one.”

“Funny that she’s Barbara Gordon just like Aunty Babs, huh?”

“Yes, very funny.” Pam acknowledged, although she wasn’t exactly listening—far more focused on her character’s appearance. “I’ve literally never worn my hair like that. And what are those shoes?”

Jo laughed, pausing it before sitting up to look at her. “Mom, you’re ruining the show! I was tryin’a put us in a happy mood.”

Pam bit her lip apologetically and smoothed down the flyaways protesting Jo’s pig tails. “I’ll try to stop.”

“Thank you,” Jo said with an exaggerated sigh, snuggling back down against her Mom’s chest. “She’s my favorite,” she pointed at the screen as some blonde in an argyle sweater pranced in.  

“Who the hell is…?”

“I’m Harley Quinn!”

“Oh, Jesus,” Pam buried her face in her hands.

“She’s a goofball,” Jo giggled. “I like how she breaks stuff and does gymnastics.”

“They all do gymnastics,” Pam pointed out.

“Yeah, but…she’s funny,” Jo smiled.

“You know…” Pam adjusted their positions slightly, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. “I’ve met Harley Quinn before. The real one...well, a version of the real one.”

“Shut up!” Jo twisted to look up at her again.

“No, it’s true,” Pam chuckled. “She was a bit more grown up than that version, but yeah. I’ve met her.”

“What was she like?” Jo wondered. “Did she call you ‘Red’ like in the show?”

“Mmm…no, I don’t think so.” Pam pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “She had her own Ivy to call ‘Red’, just like I have my own Harley.”

Jo furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”

“That’s…a complicated conversation,” Pam said. “But I will say that your Mother is an excellent gymnast, thinks she’s very funny, and breaks stuff literally all the time.”

Jo narrowed her green eyes, inadvertently recreating the expression Pam had made while watching herself on screen. “Mama’s not a superhero, though…”

“Well, she’s not that superhero,” Pam acknowledged.

“Are you just saying confusing things to confuse me tonight?”  

Pam smiled, “Silly girl, why else would I say confusing things?”

Jolene’s eyes were nearly closed she was observing her Mother so critically now, but slowly, her face cracked into her more typical grin. “I’m glad you’ll be young forever,” she finally decided.

“Oh?” Pam gently slid the hair-ties out of the girl’s strawberry-blonde curls, running her fingers through them so her hair fell just past her shoulder. Preparing Jolene for bed was easier when she was distracted. “Why’s that?”

“Because, maybe, when I’m older than you—I’ll get to say weird stuff that confuses you instead’a me.”

Pam laughed. “May-be.”

Chapter Text

Pamela awoke with a start…although she wasn’t completely sure why. It felt like she’d had a troubling dream or had forgotten something, maybe. But her mind was blank as her eyes blinked open to survey the darkened bedroom. No memories of a dream, she wasn’t due at the watchtower until the afternoon and the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

But Harleen was home. She could hear her breathing next to her. Pamela knew she hadn’t been asleep long, as she hadn’t started mumbling yet. Harleen was usually a talkative sleeper, nearly as active in rest as she was in operation.

Pam rolled over to face her, careful not to jostle the bed too much as she did so. The blonde lay in her sports bra with just the sheet pulled up across her abdomen. Pam sighed when she saw Harley had neglected to take her hair out of her messy ponytail, and…yep. Her suspicions were confirmed when she gently pulled the sheet down off the other woman’s body to find she was wearing her spandex shorts. Meaning she’d just stripped off her Batwoman costume and collapsed into bed. And…that’s exactly what it smelled like had happened too. It wasn’t Harley’s odor that Pamela disliked, really, it was the smell of Gotham City she preferred Harley to shower off before she got into bed. Like grease and rust and the fires the homeless lit on the streets. The city was better now than it ever had been. Cleaner…it’s parks manicured, it’s trees and window baskets vibrant…but it was still dirty. Always would be. Pamela knew she’d never escape it, well…not in Harleen’s lifetime, anyway.

And the places Batwoman was sent were nothing like the wide-open spaces Poison Ivy was now in charge of. No, these were holes in the ground. Wet, dank hovels were humans were trafficked and drugs were funneled.

Pam brushed the matted bangs out of Harley’s eyes, trailing her finger deliberately down the woman’s cheek, watching her hand as it went. She scooted lower on the bed as her hand continued past her collar bone, over the swell of her breasts, down over the subtle bumps of her ribcage. There, she gingerly laid her head, letting her fingers continue down to circle Harley’s navel and brush back up along the lines of her abdominal muscles.

“Mmm…”

Pam felt Harley’s lungs expand beneath her head

“What are you doing?” She mumbled, sleepily.

Pam answered by pressing a lazy kiss to her diaphragm. “Looking at you…”

“God, why?” Harley’s voice was horse with sleep as she stretched.

“Because…” Pamela traced the blonde’s hip bones with her index finger. “I don’t want to forget a single line…or divot…protrusion.”

Harleen giggled when Pam’s finger dipped below the waistband of her spandex, not moving any further, just ghosting along her skin.

Pam smiled when Harley reached out and threaded her fingers in her red hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” the blonde said with a sigh, “I thought we could make breakfast together. Remind the kids we’re normal.”

“Normal…” Pam repeated, letting that be the only sound in the room for a moment before she turned her head to face Harley. “Is that what we are?”

Harleen smirked. “It’s a relative term.”

“Mmm…” Pam smiled, her attention drifting back down to Harley’s torso

“You know…” Harley twirled a lock of red hair around her finger. “I was sorta liking the direction that hand was taking before…”

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” Pam acknowledged, her lips pressed against her skin. “But I’ve still got all your scars to catalogue.”

“Bleh,” Harleen sat up onto her elbows. “Why would you want to remember those?”

Pam laughed, “Harleen, if you despise them so thoroughly, why won’t you let me get rid of them?”

The blonde frowned. “Because I like them. They’re part of me.”

Pamela rolled her eyes with all the affection she could muster. “You’ve just answered your own question.” She pressed herself up onto her knees, and crawled on all fours over her wife as her long hair curtained them. “I want to remember you for what you actually were. Is that too much to ask?”

Harley laced her hands under Pam’s arms, holding onto her shoulders and gently pulling her down until they lay chest to chest, nose to nose. “Boooo,” she said before planting a chaste kiss on the lips above her. “Reality sucks. It’s why I hate Indie films.”

“Fine,” Pam smirked, kissing her back. “Then how should I remember you?”

“Smokin’ hot,” was Harley’s immediate answer. “With big tits and a nice ass.”

Pam laughed, kissing her longer this time. “If I wanted all that, I’d just look in the mirror.”

Harley scoffed. “What a charming narcissist you are. No, just…keep me at 26, alright?

“Don’t worry. She’s in here,” the redhead smiled, tapping her temple. “As is 30-year-old you, and 40-year-old you, and 45-year-old you…”

“And 49-year-old me?” Harley guessed. “Now we’re doing 49-year-old me?”

Pam nodded silently above her, nuzzling their noses together as she did, the smile slowly fading from her lips.

Harley looked at her for a moment, just took her in for a quiet second before bringing both hands up to cup her face. “Let’s go make breakfast.”

“Harl,” Pam chuckled. “The sun’s not even up yet. We’ll wake the kids.”

The blonde grinned. “Good. We let those fuckers sleep way too much anyway. We could eat, and then maybe go on a hike or something before you’ve gotta report to the tower.”

Pam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You hate nature…”

Harley looked offended, “Pamela, that’s absolutely ridiculous. I immerse myself in nature every day!...and night.” She added an exaggerated wink to the last part.

“Mm, well. You certainly won’t be ‘immersing yourself in nature’ this morning,” Pam rolled off of her. “I’m afraid those privileges have been revoked.”

“Aww, there’s my party pooper,” Harley grinned, reaching over to the bedside table for her phone before sinking back into the pillows. “Missed ya, Babe.”

 Pam grunted in response, accidently grabbing one of Harleen’s blouses from the closet and attempting to button it over her chest. She stared down at herself for a moment, confused, before breathing a sigh of relief at her mistake and exchanging it for one of her own. When she glanced back at the bed, Harley was still snuggled into the comforters.

“I thought we were making breakfast.”

“We are.” Harley confirmed. “But breakfast making requires a breakfast making playlist. I am making that playlist.”

“Whatever you say.” Pam pulled on a pair of black leggings and started out of the bedroom, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen towards the fridge, hoping they had the ingredients for pancakes.

She was setting things on the counter when she heard Harley approaching the stairs, and not slowly, either. Pam turned just in time to see her wife vault over the banister on the second landing. She tucked into a roll as she landed, turning once head-over-heels before popping back up to her feet, her arms spread out wide. “Ta-da!”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Harley laughed, walking over to the speaker she kept in the cabinet under the record player and plugging her phone in. “Toss me that.” She instructed Pam.

“Toss you what?”

“That.” Harley pointed to the wooden mixing spoon Pam was planning on making the pancake batter with.

“You’re going to lip sync, aren’t you?” Pam realized, disappointed. “Please don’t lip sync.”

“How about you just hand me the microphone and we’ll see where that takes us.”

“It’s a spoon,” Pam grumbled. Despite her obvious protest, though, Pam handed the spoon to a vine she’d summoned from the plant near the couch, which in turn handed it to Harley. 

Pam crossed her arms as the music began, looking deeply unimpressed when her wife immediately began lip syncing.

“How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable / so condescending unnecessarily critical—“

“Hey, how about you take it down a notch?”

“—I have the tendency of getting very physical / so watch your step cuz if I do you’ll need a miracle—“

“I have beat you in literally countless physical altercations.”

“—you bleed me dry and make me wonder why I’m even here—“

“Yeah, I think that’s enough.” Pam directed her vine to snatch the spoon away. “Could you get started on the eggs, please?”

Harley wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out to articulate her protest to the request, but went to the fridge none-the-less and grabbed the carton of eggs. “You know what your problem is, Red?”

“I’m condescending and unnecessarily critical?”

“Pretty much,” Harley placed a frying pan on the stove. “I think maybe Adam Levine should be our marriage counselor.”

Pam measured out her flour, dumping it carefully into the bowl. “I very much doubt Mr. Levine has his master’s degree.”

“Such little faith,” Harley tsked. “I’m sure most people forget you have a PhD.”

“Yes, but I actually have my PhD.” Pam argued. “Mr. Levine’s degree is completely fabricated and—why are we still talking about this?”

Harley shrugged, smiling as she cracked— “What do you think? 6?”

“I’m not eating.”

6 eggs into her bowl and scrambled them with a fork. “You still planning to go off planet next week?”

“Just a day trip,” Pam assured her, adding the buttermilk to the nearly finished batter. “J’onn found a cluster of embryophyte he’s having trouble identifying.”

“Ah, yes, well…in that case,” Harley pretended to understand, although from Pam’s smirk, it was clear she wasn’t exactly selling it.

They continued their cooking in a comfortable silence until the song changed.

Pam sighed, “Really, Harley?”

“What?” Harley laughed. “Not a Bon Jovi fan? It’s my life,” she sang along. “It’s now or never /I ain’t gonna live forever!”

“These song choices feel very pointed,” Pam mumbled, pouring a measured scoop of batter onto the hot skillet.

Harley rolled her eyes and changed the song. “Not everything has a deeper meaning, Red.”

Pam scoffed. “Says the psychiatrist.” She was just about to flip the pancakes when the next song arrived at the chorus.

I don’t know who’s gonna kiss you when I’m gone,

So I’m gonna love you now like it’s all I have.

Pam set the spatula down on the counter, turning to the other woman. “Why are you doing this?”

“I know it’ll kill me when it’s over,” Harley mumbled along with the music. “I don’t want to think about it, I want you to love me now.”

Pam sighed, coming up behind the blonde and wrapping her arms around her middle. “So you’re just being a bitch, then?”

Harley shrugged as she stirred the eggs.

Usually, Harleen wasn’t all that into non-verbal communication, so to Pam that response meant the was done with the conversation and uncomfortable with an emotion she was having trouble expressing. So Pam kissed her neck and smiled against her ear. “I think a hike sounds fantastic.”

Harley cleared her throat. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” Pam affirmed, nodding against her. “And, can I be honest?”

“Yeah, yeah, I need to take a shower. I know.” Harley grumbled.

Pam chuckled warmly, “Well sure…but that’s not what I was going to say.”

Harley turned around in her arms. “If you say some over-the-top romantic shit right now I’m going to punch you.”

“OK, Selina,” Pam mocked, otherwise ignoring her warning and lifting her up onto the counter. “49-year-old you is my favorite one.”

Harley seemed to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Why?”

Pam grinned, enjoying this as their more typical dynamic was the inverse. “Because she’s the one I have in front of me. The one I get to touch…” she trailed her hands lightly down Harley’s arms, leaning forward as she did so. “And the one I get to kiss.” She made good on that promise, softly pressing their lips together.

Harleen was smiling almost shyly when they broke apart. “88 years old and still puttin’ the moves on me. I’m impressed.”

“If I remember correctly,” Pam’s hands bracketed Harley’s hips on the counter. “That was a promise I made you on our wedding night. That I would forever be smooth as ‘puddin’.”

Harley furrowed her brow, “Did I make you any promises? Other than to have and hold and all that trash.”

Pam laughed, “Not that I recall, although it’s wonderful to know you refer to our marriage vows as trash. Not as if we’ve built an entire life and family on those promises or anything.”

“What?!” Harley pretended to be alarmed. “Is that what marriage is? I assumed it was just a contract that assured me sex I didn’t have to work for.”

Pam pushed away from the counter. “You’re batting 1000 this morning. Just…firing on all cylinders, really.” She flipped the pancakes.

“Hey!” Jolene was suddenly standing in the kitchen, and both women jumped as her high, childish voice cut through the air. “How come Mama gets to sit on the counter but I don’t?”

“Because Mama is a delinquent and a terrible influence,” Pam stated, plainly, turning the burner under the eggs off and moving the pancakes off the stove and onto a serving plate.

“Uh oh,” Jo giggled. “Do you get to ground Mama because you can be her wife and her grandma?”

“Jolene…” Pam turned around with a sigh, “There are 38 years between your Mother and I, just as there are 38 years between Anthony and your Mother…” her words puttered out towards the end of her sentence as realization dawned on all three of their faces.

“Oh…God…” was all Harley could muster as her face scrunched up into something nearing disgust. “Babe, let’s not ever phrase it like that again, OK?”

Pam nodded silently, turning back to the stove and Jo sat down at the kitchen island in some sort of daze. The kitchen was quiet aside from the sizzle of pancake batter on the pan until Jo spoke up. “Why are we awake so early?”

“Hike,” Harley slid off the counter. “We’re gonna go on a hike before Mom has to go to work.”

“I thought she didn’t work anymore.”

“No, her other job.”

Wordlessly and ignoring Harley and Jo’s conversation, Pam dropped her spatula again and cupped Harley’s jaw in her hands, kissing her in a way that was meaningful but also appropriate for public consumption. She nodded when she pulled away, as if the kiss had confirmed or reassured her of something…and then she moved back in front of the stove, mumbling “good” as she went.

Jo raised a curious eyebrow, but ultimately couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she saw Harley making the same expression. “Moms are weird.”

/

“Harleen, she’s going to trip!” Pam called down the trail as Harley chased Jo around the bend. “Why must everything be an athletic competition with them?” Pam asked…although she was speaking to herself, really, even with Anthony following close behind.

Anthony understood that, and so when he spoke it was with a private grievance of his own. “I hate hiking.”

Pamela did not extend him the same courtesy, stopping in her tracks and addressing him with a look of utter puzzlement. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t like hiking,” he repeated after brief deliberation on whether or not he should brave it. He knocked her with his shoulder as he passed her by, continuing down the trail.

She stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. “Anthony, I—“ she shook it off, starting at nearly a jog behind him. “I don’t understand. This is our true domain. Where home isn’t just a feeling, but a biological inclination.”

“No, it’s your biological inclination.” He stabbed his stick into a rotting log. “For me it’s just an auditorium with a concert that I didn’t buy tickets for.” He left the stick there, standing upright in the log. “I don’t know these guys and they’re not on their best behavior.”

Pam furrowed her brow at his back, trying to understand the true basis of his complaint like Harley would. Oh! “You feel pulled between two identities, but stuck in the middle somehow.”

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, “I guess,” and kicked a rock.

Pamela peered up ahead in search of her wife, knowing Harley would probably know exactly how to handle this conversation. But she was long gone. Preoccupied. So Pam picked up her pace a bit until she was walking in stride with her son. “I killed people.”

Anthony stopped. “What?”

“When I felt what you are feeling,” Pam clarified. “I killed people. Bad people. People who I thought deserved to die. But yes, that was my coping mechanism for emotional powerlessness.”

Anthony shook his head and began walking again. “Some role model you are.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Pam assured him. “Never claimed to be. It’s the media that pushes that image of me. I’m not suggesting that you follow in my footsteps in that regard, I’m just saying what you’re feeling is completely valid and difficult to deal with. Believe me, I know.”

“Mm,” he grunted. Although, by the slightly unfocused look in his eye, Pam could tell he was letting that sink in. “Do you wish you still killed people?”

Pam cleared her throat, buying herself a moment of consideration. “I hold no moral or ethical objection to killing humans, but if we were to look at life as a weighted scale, a series of sums and balances, I can state with absolute confidence that my love of you all far outweighs my hatred for the rest.”

“Why?” Anthony asked. “Why do you even love us? You’re a plant. You don’t have to.”

Pam took another moment to formulate a response, listening to the clapping of their footsteps against the packed dirt. When she did speak, her voice was quiet. “We fertilized four embryos during our first attempt to have a child. You were the 4^th—our only hope for a boy.” She fought the desire to put an arm around his shoulders. “I once told your mother you were like a weed who couldn’t be stopped, couldn’t be dug out. You wanted to be here and so you are. Thus is the case with my humanity. I’ve tried countless times to remove it from my psyche, from my physiology. To let it wilt and die within me giving way to something far less complex. But it won’t. No matter what I do, I will always be human to a certain degree. I wanted to have a family that loved me, but it needed to be on my terms. So I have you. Therein lies the unflappable nature of humanity, an overriding principal that contradicts our better judgment more often than not.”

Anthony didn’t respond right away. He kept his gaze aimed at the path only a few feet in front of his shoes. “Why do you talk like that?”

“How do you mean?”

He kicked at a clump of dirt. “Like you’re always giving a keynote address.”

Pam laughed. “And what a poor address that would be…” she glanced over at him and found his lips remained in a hard line. He truly wanted an answer. “Do the flowers speak to you with words?” Pam asked.

“No, not exactly.” He told her.

Pam nodded, “It’s more an intricate feeling, yes? Almost as if you’ve been tasked with translating the petals of a flower as it’s just bloomed.”

“Yeah.”

“Well when I communicate using the English language, I attempt to convey that same phenomena.” She explained. “It will never truly translate, but I try my best.  

“Alright,” Anthony shrugged. “Comes off a bit pretentious, is all.”

“Anthony,” Pam laughed, “You’re wearing a wool, turtleneck sweater on a hike.”

And here, a smile finally did crack his lips. “Touché.”

They watched as Jolene’s head popped up from behind a boulder aways up the path. She squealed when Harleen came into view, and they could see the wide grin on the woman’s face as she chased her daughter in a circle around the front of the rock.

Anthony picked up a pebble from the trail and threw it off the side into the gorge. “Why do you love Ma?”

Pam looked at him curiously. Love. “Well why do you love her?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He said. “I didn’t choose her. I’m asking why you did.”

“Mmm…” Pam turned those words over in her mind. “I think Harleen Quinzel is quite possibly the most human person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to sound too romantic, but perhaps there truly is a yin to every yang and your Mother is mine. Perhaps it’s that simple.”

The boy looked up at her like he was deciding whether or not to accept that answer. “Perhaps.” He granted.

“Anthony, darling.” Pam came to a complete stop and took his hands in her own, facing him straight on. “Did you ever, for one moment, doubt that I loved you, or that I loved Mama until last night?”

He couldn’t hold the intense sincerity of her gaze, so he looked down at his feet and shook his head.

“Nothing has changed,” she told him. “Not a thing. I was every bit as immortal on Thursday as I am today, the only difference is that you know now. I’m here to answer any question that might arise about our physiologies, but what’s most important for you to understand is that you are my son and I am your Mother, and that comes before and after every obstacle we’ve faced so far and every obstacle we’ll face from this point forward. Got it?”

Anthony scuffed his sneaker on the ground, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. “Yeah, I got it.”

Pam smiled at that.

“Howellia aquatilis,” Anthony murmured.

“Come again?”

“Howellia aquatilis,” he repeated, pointing this time to a white flower just outside of the trail markers.

Pam turned to look, and a beaming smile soon spread downwards from her eyes. “Anthony, that’s an incredible find! They’re endangered, and—“

“Not native to this region.” The boy finished for her. “Yeah, I know.”

Pam turned her smile towards the flower. “Hello, precious. What in the world are you doing this far east?”

/

Batwoman took a kick to the stomach and another to the chest, the second of the two forcing her backwards on her heels. She couldn’t regain her balance, so she fell, catching the edge of the building with one hand to save her from becoming street pizza.

She hung there as Batgirl picked up where she’d left off. “You’re a nightmare, Talia! And I don’t mean that in a cool ‘I’m your worst nightmare’ kind of way.” Batwoman yelled up onto the roof. “And your kid’s a dick!”

She heard a grunt that she didn’t recognize as Batgirl’s, meaning the younger woman had landed a solid blow. With some renewed strength, the blonde grabbed the ledge with her other hand too and pulled herself upwards, swinging back up onto the roof with a kick in the air for momentum.

“Honestly, Talia,” she breathed, watching as Batgirl got the woman into a headlock. “All we’re asking is for you to not be an asshole for like two seconds.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Talia choked.

“Let her go.” Batwoman instructed.

 Batgirl looked at her curiously.

“Let her go,” the blonde repeated. “Bruce can deal with her.”

Batgirl eventually obeyed, but her reluctance was clear. Talia gasped for air once she was free, her eyes quickly narrowing at the ginger. While Batgirl’s attention was removed, she kicked her—hard—in the groin and flipped both women off as she jumped down off the backside of the roof.

Harleen spat in the direction she left and looked to her teammate. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Batgirl’s answer was curt. “Glad you didn’t die.”

“Same to you,” Batwoman agreed in what had become their ritual. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Aren’t we all?” Barbara let out a pained chuckle.

“Maybe to be ‘Batgirl’,” Harleen acknowledged. “But you’ve still got a few good years on ya, and I think you’d look pretty alright in red.”

Barbara looked from the yellow emblem on her chest to the red one on the other woman’s. “You serious?”

Harleen rested her hands on her hips. “50’s gotta be a respectable retirement age, right?”

“Well, I…I guess…” Barbara had never really thought about her mentor retiring. She knew the products Pamela equipped her with gave her a false appearance of youth…Barbara supposed she’d just been lulled into that image of her.

“Just…” Batwoman sighed. “You ever get fed-up with having to chase Bruce’s jilted lovers around all night?”

“Literally all the time.” Barbara confirmed. “But that’s a relatively small portion of the job.”

“Yes,” Harleen acknowledged. “You’re right, but…do you think you would be? Ready, I mean. For this.” She indicated her suit.

“Of course.” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, attempting not to feel emotional at what Harleen was actually asking her. “I prefer you in it, though.”

Batwoman smiled. “Your charm will unlock many doors, my Padawan.”

Chapter Text

Ivy stared at her suit in its glass case. She had been for a few minutes now. Staring, that is.

Put your suit on, Pamela. She told herself. Now.

And as if time had been unfrozen, her hand jutted out to the control panel on the case, releasing the garment from its chamber.

She supposed this was what sleep deprivation felt like. How awful.

Ivy stripped her blazer off and unzipped her dress, helping the juniper green fabric to slide to the floor. Pushing it past her lower abdomen, her fingers brushed over something odd. She pulled her hands back immediately in surprise and stared down at herself. Bumps. Raised ridges etched into her stomach, seemingly bridging her hip bones.

Cautiously, she returned her hand to her stomach, curiously tracing the faint spiral patterns with her index finger.

“Hey!”

Supergirl’s voice startled her but she managed not to spin around in surprise, instead keeping her body facing away from the girl who was now standing relatively close behind her.

“Good morning, Kara.” She hurriedly pushed her dress down the rest of the way and grabbed for her suit, pulling it on as quickly as possible.

“And a good morning to you, Pamela.” Even without facing her, Ivy could tell the girl was miming tipping her cap. She wanted to call her an idiot, but her wife would have probably done the same thing. “You excited for the mission?”

Ivy sighed internally when she remembered she couldn’t zip her suit by herself. “I’m always excited to discover a new species…Kara,” she ventured, looking over her shoulder at her. “Would you be a doll and—“

“No problem!” The blonde grinned, taking a strong hold of her zipper and closing up the back of Ivy’s suit. “Can I just say I really like the teal?”

Ivy turned around fully now, ready to move to the next room. “You are absolutely free to voice your opinion…even if it’s incorrect.”

Kara giggled. “If you say so, Red.”

“Ivy. It’s Poison Ivy.” Pam corrected before giving the girl one more look over and walking through the hallway into the equipment room. “Off planet.” She told Red Tornado, who was manning the front desk.

“What sector?” He asked.

“0098,” she told him.

He nodded, entering something into his keypad, and soon after a sleek gray and black spacesuit was brought out on what was essentially an upscale dry-cleaning rack.

She acknowledged him cordially with a subtle bob of the head and pulled that suit on over her earth uniform, taking one more opportunity to run her fingers over the bizarre patterns she’d found protruding from the usually smooth surface of her skin before strapping herself into the equipment completely.

Ivy and Kara were the last to board the ship. Martian Manhunter was already in the captain’s chair while Jessica Cruz and Booster Gold were buckled into two of the safety seats in the back.

“Mera!” Booster immediately exclaimed upon Ivy’s arrival. “Can’t believe Arthur let you out of the house.”

Ivy chose to ignore him for the moment, taking a seat on the opposite wall and fastening the safety straps in an X pattern over her chest.

“Is everyone accounted for?” J’onn asked.

“Looks like it.” Jessica reported.

They were up in the air soon after, riding in silence as J’onn maneuvered them through the more turbulent altitudes.

Ivy watched out the window as the Earth disappeared behind them. It all looked so wonderful from this perspective. So healthy. She wondered if possible tourists to her planet would be able to tell just how thoroughly human beings had ruined it if they only beheld it from this vantage point.

“You bring your mermaid tail?” Booster’s voice yanked Ivy’s mind back into the ship.

She stared at him silently for a moment, just blinking at him once or twice before deciding to respond. “What good would Mera do in space?” she asked. “I’m not her, and I’m certain that’s not how her anatomy works. Although I suppose I should respect your commitment to that joke.”

“You’re right. My bad.” The man actually looked ashamed of himself for a moment.

Ivy smiled subtly and allowed her focus to drift back out the window.

“Murph? MURPH?”

Her attention was forced back onto Booster.

“MMMMUUUUURRRRRPPPPPHHHHHH!” He repeated, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

“What are you—why?!” Ivy demanded. “Because I’m a redhead in a space suit? She didn’t even leave earth in that movie!” Booster Gold had an uncanny talent for pissing her off.

“What?” his face scrunched up in what seemed to be genuine confusion. “Of course she did. She ditched Matt Damon and then had to come back and save her damsel.”

“Those are two different films, you imbecile.” Ivy retorted. “And what about my demeanor or expression signals to you that I would like to participate in a conversation? No one likes you, booster. I’m no exception.”

Jessica was watching this exchange with mild fascination while Kara was starring resolutely ahead of her, determined to keep her eyes trained on an obscure spot on the wall rather than feel like she was in any way participating in an argument.

“Hey!” it was hard for Ivy to tell if he was actually offended. “Beetle likes me just fine, as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, and how does his dick taste?” Even Ivy was a bit surprised at the response she’d chosen. Usually she thought those things, but…well…she decided to stand by it.

Booster was grinning now, though. Looking like every frat-boy Pamela had ever hated. “Ooh, you’re fun.” He said with a chuckle. “Lucky for you I like my women feisty.”

“Well I like my women…women.” Ivy quipped. “And I’ve been married since before you discovered your dick.”

Jessica laughed, both at Ivy’s response and at the fact that Kara had turned beet red.

“J’onn!” Booster shouted, sounding purposefully childish. “Pamela is bullying me!”

“Perhaps you should leave women alone when they ask you to,” J’onn calmly suggested.

Ivy watched Booster as he sunk back into his seat, that stupid grin still on his face, and silently fantasized about all the ways she could break him with her vines. Strangling…she could stab him if she used a sharp enough root…maybe rag-doll him around, slam him into the pavement a few times…and as these thoughts filled her psyche, her wrist began to hurt. It started dull at first, but sharpened as her thoughts intensified.

She looked down into her lap where the wrist in question lay overtop of her other hand. And as Ivy’s thoughts moved from murder to the pain she was feeling, it slowly receded. She turned her hand over to examine her gloved palm and clenched it into a fist before straightening her fingers again. No cramping... Ivy shook her head, closing her hand into a fist again and glancing around the hold at her colleagues, who all seemed to be caught up in their own thoughts. Good.

They landed roughly an hour later after not much further conversation. J’onn was first down the ramp, followed by Ivy and then Booster, Supergirl and Jessica.

“The meadow is about a mile up the way,” J’onn informed them.

Jessica nodded in some unspoken understanding and activated her ring, encapsulating them in a green force field that carried them over the planet’s smooth terrain.

“Remind me why we brought the plant lady?” Booster directed his question at J’onn.

“Besides being able to communicate with plant life, Dr. Isley here has a PhD in the subject,” the Green Martian informed him.

“You know the diplomas hanging up on adult film sets aren’t actually real, right, J’onn?” Booster laughed.

The pain in Ivy’s wrist roared back with a vengeance as her anger flared, and she had to bite her lip to muffle her cry.

“What’s your PhD in?” Booster asked, “Cleavage?”

“Botanical engineering,” Ivy muttered through clenched teeth, steadying herself on Kara’s shoulder.

The blonde looked at her strangely, but didn’t request that she move her hand. “Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yes—fantastic,” was Ivy’s strangled response.

Kara seemed like she wanted to ask a follow up, but the bubble touched the ground and then disappeared back into Jessica’s ring.

Ivy was immediately hit with a smell so overwhelming it delivered her a splitting headache. She was forced to drop to her knees, her hands squeezing the sides of her helmet.

“Ivy?”

It seemed like Kara’s voice was echoing from all around her, like they were surrounded by cement and the closer the walls pressed, the faster her voice traveled.

And suddenly—she knew the smell. She was all too familiar with that particular pungent odor. “Jessica—back in the—get back in the—leave,” Ivy was having a difficult time articulating her instructions, but Jessica still seemed to somehow understand and powered up her ring once more, closing the party—minus Ivy—back into her force field.

The redhead remained kneeling on the ground, her head clutched between her hands, her jaw tight, her teeth gritted. In a clumsy motion, she fumbled for the latch on her helmet and opened it, taking a deep breath as she did, trying to filter the alien air as quickly as possible, just as she would a foreign poison.

“What is it, Pamela?” J’onn asked, his voice sounding off within her head. “Is the air toxic?”

“Pheromones,” Ivy gasped. “Don’t—you can’t breathe the air.”

“Ok…uh…you good, though?” Booster asked. “Can I take care of your wife if you don’t make it?”

Ivy mustered the concentration to flip him off, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until she could once again form a coherent thought. “They’re stronger than the ones I expel.” She coughed. “More potent.”

“Then why’d you take your helmet off, dumbass?” Was Booster’s next question.

“I’m strengthening my immunity via exposure,” Ivy growled. “And you’re welcome.”

“So what would they do to us?” Jessica asked.

Shakily, Ivy drew herself up to her feet. “Impair and disrupt cognitive ability.”

“So?” Jessica followed up. “Booster’s cognitive ability is already impaired.”

“There is only one human being with the ability to resist Poison Ivy’s toxins, and that person was delivered the vaccine by Poison Ivy herself,” J’onn said. “So if Poison Ivy is standing before you, telling you this atmosphere is more toxic than she, I suggest you heed that warning.”

Ivy turned away from them before Jessica could provide a reaction. The meadow stretched all the way to the horizon line, as far as Ivy could see. And the sun was not yellow like the one they enjoyed on Earth, this one beat down with a faint red light…like one of the heat lamps Ivy utilized in her greenhouse. The meadow itself was absolutely smooth, not a single bump or dip in its surface, although it was colored an eerie shade of shamrock green.

“J’onn, have you made inroads with the inhabitants yet?” She asked.

“As far as we can tell, this planet is currently uninhabited.” He answered.

Her headache was beginning to dissipate, the fog clearing from her mind and her breathing pattern returning to somewhat normal, although she was consuming oxygen slightly faster than was typical. She squinted at the ground just below her feet. Taking a careful step forward, she found the terrain was springy. It gave beneath her feet, but didn’t let her sink.

Ivy leaned over to pick up her helmet, surveying the scene in front of her for another moment before smiling slyly. “Oh, you’re wrong, J’onn.” She called back over her shoulder. “Seems this planet is rather densely populated, actually.”

She looked to see all of her colleagues wearing perplexed expressions. “Jessica…” Ivy cooed, a look of disconcerting calm falling over her features. “I’m going to need back in there.”

“Why?”

With a sigh, Ivy turned to face the meadow once more, and after taking one more deep breath, she tossed her helmet into the air. It only traveled about 5 feet before the ground came alive, and the fanged green head of what looked like one of Ivy’s modified pitcher plants broke from the surface and snatched it out of the air. “We don’t seem to be standing on the ground.”

Things happened rather quickly after that. A strong hand was on Ivy’s shoulder, yanking her backwards, and they were moving through the air, identical plants rising to snap at their bubble as it flew.

When the ship appeared ahead of them, it seemed to be capsizing, like a boat on the ocean, being pulled down onto what was truly the planet’s surface.

“Holy fuck,” Booster said, his jaw dropping as one of the larger plants opened its maw and attempted to chew through the right wing of the ship.

Ivy closed her eyes, tuning he and the others out. Mentally closing herself off from the chaos around them. “We mean you no harm. We meant no disturbance. We won’t return. We shall leave you to your utopia.” 

The plant retracted and Jessica landed the bubble on the ramp, Manhunter flying immediately to the cockpit to start the engines.

When another plant reached out for Booster’s leg, Ivy shouted “ENOUGH!” and its head cowered away, diving below the canvas of green once more. J’onn closed the ramp and they were off before the others had time to buckle in.

Ivy laughed at Booster’s stricken face. All the color had drained from it, and he sat down in the nearest seat because the shaking of his legs was too intense for him to venture any further.

“Oh, Mr. Gold,” Ivy’s contentedness showed in her confident smile. “Why did you bring the plant lady?”

His eyes were still wide with fear, so she approached him slowly, her hips swaying as she went. With that cocky smirk still playing on her lips, she lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him so that she could lean into his ear. “It would be wise of you not to disrespect me again.” His breath hitched as she leaned closer, placing her tongue just below his ear and dragging it along his jaw, leaving a trail of smoke and blistered skin in her wake.

Booster whimpered at the pain and she dragged her lips upwards so they barely ghosted against his bottom one. “If you can’t even handle my tongue…” Her eyes flicked up to his, the green flickering like acid. “How did you expect to handle the rest of me?”

Chapter Text

Ugh, was Pam’s first thought upon pulling into the driveway. Tree trimmers.

“Excuse me,” she called out after rolling her window down. “Is there something I can help you with?”

There were two men standing outside her house, one assessing the tree that bridged the property line, the other retrieving something from their truck.

The second man closed the passenger door with a wide smile on his face. “No, Ma’am. Just doing some limbing.”

“Why?” Was Pam’s next question.

“We were hired by the owners of the house to clean this bad boy up,” he informed her.

Unfortunately for him, she’d had it up to here with grinning men today. “Well that’s odd…seeing as I’m the owner of the house.

“Which one? This one?” he asked, pointing to the neighbor’s.

Without first answering, she turned off the car and got out, walking with purpose back over to him, her heels clicking on the pavement. “That tree bridges our property line. They don’t have the authority to—“

Harleen, who had been playing in the front yard with Jo, bounded up beside her, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Welcome home, Honey.”

Pamela knew that translated to ‘pretend like you’re human, please,’ so she gritted her teeth. “Do you have a permit?”

“Yes they do,” Harley interjected before the man could answer. “And they’re not chopping it down, they’re just trimming it—to make it healthier.”

Pam scowled at the man. “And you have a license? You know what you’re doing?”

“Geez, lady,” he chuckled. “It’s just a tree.”

“Just a—just a tree?!” Pamela was horrified. “Sir, if you only knew!”

“Alrighty then…” Harley looped her arm around Pam’s and turned her around, dragging her towards the house. 

“It’s absolutely, totally, completely unnecessary, Harleen!” Pam complained, nearly tripping as she was led onto the front porch. “What do they know? The stupid Joneses with their stupid dog and stupid sweaters, and stupid, ridiculous lawn care OCD.”

Harley laughed, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘stupid’ so many times in a sentence,” running her thumb over her wife’s bottom lip, she leaning forward into a kiss. “How about we plant another one in our yard, huh?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Jolene skipped up next to them with a grin. “And then we could go to the store and buy better sweaters and wear them around just to make the stupid Joneses mad.”

“Oh, my vindictive little angel,” Harley cooed, with only a hint of sarcasm, running a loving hand through the girl’s hair.

Pam sighed, shaking her head and entering the house. Anthony was playing the piano—Bach, clearly, though Pamela couldn’t identify the specific piece at the moment. Jolene was following so close behind her she stepped on her heel, and Harley was asking what the kids wanted for dinner. Separately? None of this would have been a problem, but together—Pamela felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic, like she was still wearing that space helmet.

“Hey, Mom, check it out,” Anthony grinned, not looking up from the piano keys. “I think I finally got the bridge down.”

“Whaddya bring us back from space, Mom?” Jolene asked as Anthony’s playing grew louder.

“You’re dragging,” Pam observed, speaking to Anthony but looking at Jolene.

“Huh?” the girl’s face pulled into a question mark.

“No, not—get the metronome,” Pam sputtered. “You’re—“

Anthony yelped in surprise, springing up from the bench as a vine shot out from the flowerpot by the door, sprouting finger-like extensions to occupy the keys Anthony had just abandoned, resuming the song where the boy had left off.

Pamela stared in bewilderment along with her family. She hadn’t moved. Her hand had barely twitched, let alone directed the actions of that vine. She was used to being able to exercise that degree of control when dressed in her suit, but she was in civilian clothes now. Just a simple dress and blazer, no special fabric.

“I…” she cleared her throat and waved her hand to retract the vine back to its pot, stopping the music as she did. “I need to go to the greenhouse for a moment. And, umm,” she smoothed down the non-existent wrinkles in her dress. “I think you should order pizza, Harleen. With broccoli. Pizza with broccoli.”

“OK…” Harleen was looking at her oddly. “Are you alright?”

“What?” Pam had heard her, but the meaning of the words didn’t exactly sink in. The sentence was scrambled in her mind, like Pam’s brain couldn’t interpret the language she’d used.

“Are you alright?” Harley repeated, slower this time.

“Oh, yes,” Pam smiled, though it was slightly pained. “Perfectly—perfect.” And with that, she continued through the foyer and the living room, down the hallway and out the back door towards the greenhouse.

“Umm…I think maybe space broke Mom?” Jo theorized, just loud enough for Pam to hear as she shut the back door behind her.  

She moved quickly across the yard, but her fingers fumbled clumsily at the latch on the greenhouse and her breathing quickened, another wave of panic overtaking her. Finally, she did get it open, and closed herself inside, pressing her hand against her chest to feel her heartbeat as it raced.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, just as it had during the mission she’d participated in earlier that day, and her heartrate followed suit. Pam blinked, her skin adjusting to the sweltering heat of the greenhouse, and sunk down to the floor, sitting with her back up against the closed door.

It was at that moment that the tree trimmers decided to start up their chainsaw. Pam groaned, sticking her fingers in her ears in an attempt to shut out the sound of one of her children being maimed. But when she heard the metal saw make contact with the tree, she screamed in pain, feeling like someone was slicing her up the middle with a hot blade.

The pain didn’t stop until the trimmers had presumably sawed the branch off, and even when that stopped, Pamela was left with a lingering ache that reverberated through her body. She moaned in anguish and rolled forward onto her knees, crawling over the grass to her work bench.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her, but she was frustrated and confused…and the angrier she got the more her wrist began to throb. Pulling herself up and then leaning against the bench, she tore off her blazer and looked down at her wrist to see identical ridges to the ones she’d found on her stomach…but these ones were pulsing beneath her skin, like engorged veins being pumped with blood.

Pam yanked her top drawer open, grabbing for the scalpel and attempting to steady herself as she lined up the blade. Stuffing the blazer in her mouth to muffle any cries she might emit, Pam pressed the tip of the scalpel into her skin and drug it down one of the ridges, splitting it at the top. Her eyes grew wide, blazer dropping from her mouth and stomach turning as a thin, green vine slithered out of the slit she’d just created, writhing in the air, but remaining rooted beneath her skin.

Ivy stumbled back from the table, disoriented, almost like she was attempting to put space between she and her wrist. But being that it was attached to her body, it inevitably followed her, as did the tendril wriggling slowly in and out of her skin.

“Hey, Pam?” Came Harley’s voice after a few knocks on the door. “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fine!” The redhead attempted to sound nonchalant, but her voice came out unnaturally high. She prayed Harley wouldn’t detect the underlying panic.

“OK—sure, uhh…you want me to come get you when the pizza gets here so you can sit with us?” Harleen suggested. “Or, I don’t know—maybe you worked up an actual appetite?”

“You know, it’s entirely possible,” was Pam’s “casual” response. “I just need to catalogue a sample and I’ll be right in.”

“Great…” Harley was obviously unconvinced about something. “Love you.”

“And I love you too, Harleen.” Pam assured her, rather awkwardly, as she eyed the tendril twisting in the air. “So much.”

She could feel Harley linger by the door for another moment before turning away and heading back across the yard. As soon as she felt sufficiently alone, Pam grabbed the vine and held it there, pulling slightly to see if it was removable.

It wasn’t.

As she tugged, she could feel it pulling from the pit of her stomach somehow.

“OK, Dr. Isley…” she attempted to calm herself. “How about we…efficiently…assess this latest development.”

Clearing her throat, Pam made her way back to the bench and took a pair of scissors out of the drawer she’d left open. Gritting her teeth, she quickly let go of the vine just long enough to snip off the end. That hurt. Not nearly as much as whatever she’d experienced with the tree had, but certainly painful still.

She then snatched a clean petri dish from atop the desk and placed the portion she’d snipped off into it, watching as it moved like a worm would without soil.

Dr. Isley just stood there, staring at it, unsure—for maybe the first time in her life—how to move forward with some semblance of scientific procedure. But then she thought back to the vine and the piano in the house, and to how it had moved according to her thought process and not her direction…like it was a part of her. And then how it had felt like she, herself, was losing a limb when they’d sawed into the tree…and this vine actually had come from her, and…she glanced down at her wrist once more, seeing the identical spirals now protruding from her forearms as well. Slowly, sheepishly, she lifted her dress back over her hips to examine her stomach, and found those same markings running through her thighs.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped back to the vine in the petri dish. Grow. She thought…and that’s exactly what it did. Longer, thicker…it soon slithered, snakelike, off of the table and onto the ground. Like one of her genetically engineered seeds would, but this…this had come from her. This was an extension of her anatomy.

“Mutation.” Ivy breathed. “It’s a mutation.”

But why? And more importantly, how? She’d maintained the same physiology for 55 years, and now she was suddenly drastically different? What had been the trigger? Why would—the smell.

The smell of the pheromones she was exposed to today, it was familiar not because it was similar to the ones she employed on Earth, but because she’d been exposed to a substance from the same organism before! The enzyme that dissolved her suit all those years ago, it was the alien pitcher plant’s stomach acid. You idiot, Pamela.

So this change wasn’t subtle at all, that attack had laid the ground work, this was just the final stage of the mutation. Why had she stopped performing blood tests on herself?! These changes should have been on her radar! She got complacent, that’s why. Got busy and distracted. She’d taken shortcuts. There had been other things to focus on besides herself, like Harley and the kids, and…this was unsafe.

She snatched her cellphone out of the pocket of her blazer and dialed Bruce. He answered quickly.

“Pamela?”

“Bruce, I need to be removed from my home on the grounds of possibly dangerous levels of toxicity.”

“What, do you have a gas leak or something? Lead in the water pipes?”

“No, it’s me.” She told him, watching the vein-like vines pulse beneath her thin skin. “I seem to have undergone some…physical alterations, the extent of which is impossible to determine using the equipment I have here. I need an evac and a quarantine.”

Chapter Text

“How come it’s been a whole three days and we still haven’t seen Mom?” Jo demanded. Or, pouted, really, as Harleen strapped her into the backseat. Something she was perfectly capable of doing on her own, but was at the moment unable to because her arms were crossed petulantly over her chest.

“Hey, Jolene, remember a whole 15 minutes ago when I said we were going to see Mom?” Harley asked, rhetorically. “Well…there we go. The wait is over.”

“Yeah, but why did it take so long?!” The girl huffed. “First of all, she never gave me my present from space, and also you guys said she was gonna be home MORE because she doesn’t work. So you lied.”

Harley sighed, closing the back door and walking to the driver’s. Anthony had been kind enough to start the car for her and he now sat in the passenger seat, his buckle done of his own accord, thank God. “We didn’t know she was going to get sick, Jolene.”

“What sorta sick is she?” Jo asked, looking at Harley’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.

“I don’t really know. Plant sick, I guess.”

“Like she needs ta be watered?”

“No, not like that.” Harley tried to think of a better explanation for the extremely vague one Bruce had told her over the phone. “Just…I guess she might be more—I don’t know—planty?”

“Like we’re gonna have to put her in a flower pot?!” Jo’s intensity rose tenfold. “But, Ma! Mom says its disrespectful to put a flower in a pot that’s not as pretty as the flower, and we don’t have any pots as pretty as Mom!”

“Oh my God, Jo!” Anthony turned around to face his sister. “We are not going to put Mom in a flower pot! Right, Ma? We—we’re not, right?”

“Of course not,” Harleen assured them. “I really don’t know what the deal is. I haven’t seen her either.”

“M—m—mama?” Jo prompted, her lip quivering and her eyes now filled with tears. “Is Mom gonna die? Cuz I know people die alotta times when they get sick, but you promised Mom would never die!”

“OK, everyone just needs to chill.” Harley tried to sound stern and in control—like Pam would. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be fine. Just…keep it together, please. You guys get to just hang out and meet some real-life superheroes while I talk to her, and then you will get to say hi.”

Harleen glanced back at Jo then to make sure her message had been received. The girl’s jaw had tightened resiliently, her eyes still glassy but now determined in their gaze. Where, to most, “putting on your brave face” was just a figure of speech, to Jo it was literal. She had perfected the brave face.

Jolene looked like Harley, that was undeniable. With her round cheeks and wide smiles, her button nose and softly angled brows. But that splash of freckles across her nose had come from Pamela. And her eyes, too. That intense, almost unnerving green. And just like her Mother, there was a coldness rooted within them that seemed easy to tap. Beautiful, yes, but dangerous too. Harley wasn’t sure if Jolene meant to do it, but at rest her brow furrowed and her usually expressive features darkened, giving the illusion that whatever was behind those glimmering emeralds was something…disquieting.

Of course then Jolene would blink and grin and it feel as if Harley had hallucinated the rest of it. 

Anthony was the opposite. His eyes were wide and soft and likely betrayed his emotions far too readily for his liking. He would attempt to harden his expression, just as Harleen did, by narrowing them and setting his jaw, but like Harley he would always be the deer rather than the hunter.

…Other than that he was mostly just Pam—meaning just a truly gorgeous specimen. His hands were—at the moment—twisting nervously in his lap while he stared resolutely ahead…and good lord that kid had a lot going for him, what with the cheekbones, delicate nose and cleft chin of a goddamn champion.

“Hey, Ant?” Harley murmured, startling him as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. “It’s all going to work itself out.”

She took his hand with the one not occupied by the steering wheel and squeezed reassuringly, and after a moment, he squeezed back, chewing on his bottom lip as he did.

“I just…” He started, his voice quiet, timid. “I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“Oh, Dude,” Harley chuckled. “It’s totally alright to be pissed at your parents sometimes. Even if she does die I swear she wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Anthony’s jaw went slack, his eyes bugging out fearfully. “What? So there’s really a chance that she’ll—“

“Die?!” Jo was riled up again.

C’mon, Harleen…

They took Bruce’s private jet (not the Batplane, but his civilian jet) to Washington DC, and while that experience seemed to placate Jo, it had clearly amplified Anthony’s anxiety.

By the time they were scaling the front steps of the Hall of Justice, Anthony’s tie was completely wrinkled due to his nervous fumbling…which, of course, made him more nervous.

“Oh, here!” Jo exclaimed, snatching Harley’s bag off of her shoulder and pulling out one of Anthony’s gray, v-neck sweaters she’d smuggled. “I made Mama pack this cuz I thought you might get cold.” Her smile was prideful, a blush rising in her cheeks.

Harleen suddenly felt guilty for just assuming Jo was stealing it…and for being complicit in that theft, which yeah, turned out not to be an actual theft, but…oh, whatever.

She passed them off to Miss Martian, who seemed delighted to meet them, smiling and humoring Jolene by shapeshifting into her, which, of course, thoroughly blew her mind.

Harleen slipped off while they were distracted, navigating the halls in search of the conference room they’d assigned her.

“Ooh, I know exactly who you are.” A male voice echoed behind her.

Harley turned around, an eyebrow raised, to find…ugh. “Umm…Booster Green, right? Or…Gold. Booster Gold?”

The man gave her an almost uncomfortable look over before his face broke out into a grin. “Alright, I get it now.”

“I’m sorry?” Harley adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

“You’re boning the plant, right?” Booster inquired, his tone making it seem like that was a totally appropriate question. “Mad respect.”

“Uhh—thanks, I guess?” She shifted under his scrutiny. “I—I think I’m lost.”

“You’re here to see her, right?”

“Yes, I was supposed to meet a…” she pulled the piece of paper where’s she’d scribbled down the cryptic instructions out of the back pocket of her jeans and squinted at her handwriting. “Boo—oh, you.”

Booster chuckled, putting a strong arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go find your lady, Kid.”

“I think I’m older than you,” Harley mumbled as she was led through the halls, down to an elevator that they used to descend into the basement, which somehow seemed more expansive than the other floors.

“I was sort of exposed to the stuff, so they figured I might be a bit more resistant to it than someone who wasn’t on the mission,” Booster explained.

“Oh?” Harley was a bit confused, as she hadn’t asked him a question.

“That’s why I’m your guide.” He clarified. “I just, thought it might be a bit strange seeing me, since—you know—it’s no secret Isley isn’t exactly my biggest fan. I’m sure she’s complained about me.”

“Mmm…” Harleen furrowed her brow in thought. “Actually, I don’t think she’s ever mentioned you.”

“Not once?” There was some hurt in his voice that Harley was sure Pam would have enjoyed.

“Not once.”

“Oh.” He stopped outside of a thick door and looked to Harley. “So here’s the deal…past this is the medical wing. You’ll see the signs for the quarantine unit…follow those, Bruce and Barry are in there right now, I think. Good luck. Tell her I said ‘hey’.” And with that, he punched a code into the keypad and started back down the hallway, leaving Harley to enter by herself.

She followed his instructions, making her way past glass-walled hospital rooms that looked suspiciously like the cells one might find at Arkham, although clearly better funded.

The quarantine unit wasn’t hard to find…it was clearly marked, just as Booster said it would be, and soon she was standing in front of another metal door. This one without a keypad, though.

Harley was looking around, unsure of what to do next, when the door unlatched on its own accord and slid open, revealing a dimly lit control room with an observation window. What was meant to be observed, however, was more of a mystery, as the room beyond was clouded with verdant mist.

Bruce was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and jeans; a look Harley was only familiar with given their personal relationship. Still, it looked wildly out of place in these surroundings. She’d at least had the decency to wear a polo shirt. But Barry was wearing a lab coat, which helped things to feel at least somewhat official.

“Harleen,” Barry greeted, warmly. And she couldn’t help but smile in response, despite the circumstances. She liked Barry, even if she’d only had a few run-ins with him. One does not forget a man who asks to dance with your bride at your wedding.

“Barry…Bruce…” She acknowledged both men, her expression sobering when she saw the dark rings around the latter man’s eyes. “So, what’s the deal?”

Bruce cleared his throat, dimming the lights further in the observation room, making it easier to see into the mist. Harley took a step closer, now able to make out a shadowed figure against the far-wall of the cell.

Before her eyes could fully adjust, though, that figure was barreling forward, moving through the mist and slamming both fists on the glass.

“Harley!”

“Ah!” The blonde jumped back, alarmed by the bright green eyes seeming to stare right at her. It was Pam…or, a version of Pam, anyway. Ivy. Some terrifying variation of Poison Ivy.

Her eyes shone her angriest green, but her tone had been frantic. Her eyes were wide and fearful rather than furious. She was wearing what seemed to be a shirt the Justice League had issued her, but it was rolled up at the sleeves and held together with only two buttons just under her breasts, exposing her stomach and legs. And the view of those expanses of skin was what made Harley’s guts tighten. It was as if Pamela had truly become a plant, requiring roots that ran in spiraling patterns beneath her skin. Like the veins of a human, but thicker, stronger and alive. Pulsing. Crawling.

And there were leaves too, small ones, sprouting from the ends of the thickest protrusions. Her skin, usually a vibrant emerald in her Poison Ivy form, was now iridescent, shimmering almost golden as Harleen looked closer.  

“You have to help me!” Ivy’s fist opened to a palm on the glass.

“Can she—can she see us?” Harley whispered.

“No,” Bruce assured her. “Can’t hear us either.”

“Then how did—“

Barry pointed to the potted plant on the desk in front of them. “She wanted to know who would be looking in on her.”

Harley bravely turned her attention back to her wife, whose chest was heaving under some invisible pressure as she leaned against the glass. The woman’s red hair was greasy and unkempt in a way Harley had never seen in her before.

“She looks like crap.” The blonde murmured. That’s all she could say. And then, perhaps inappropriately, “I should have brought her some shampoo.”

“The plants! Can’t you hear them?!” Ivy’s voice was desperate, her body language communicating the same. “They’re crying out to me in agony!”

“W—what happened to her?” Harley asked, now not able to look away from the plant hybrid.

“We’re not totally sure,” Barry sighed. “See, if this were anyone else, Pam would have been our first call, but…she’s clearly indisposed at the moment. Seems she’s mutated somehow. Something effected the ratio of plant to human in her DNA, and she went from something nearing 50-50 to…let’s just guess 70-30.”

“Please, let me out.” Ivy pleaded. “They’ll die without me.”

Harley’s throat grew thick with emotion, strangling her words as they came out. “Why aren’t you listening to her?”

“Because she explicitly told us not to.” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She gave us three instructions on how to handle her: 1) do not tie her down. 2) do not introduce leather into the environment. 3) do not let her out until she’s fully incorporated the new stream of consciousness.”

“What does that mean?” Harley wanted to know, watching as Ivy dragged her hands down the glass, leaning against it for support.

Bruce picked up a file from the desk and opened it. “According to her statement when we first admitted her…she had noticed some memory issues as of late, as well as delayed or sluggish motor skills and sensory overload. She said she just assumed the sensory stuff was connected to her PTSD, and the other two to her advanced human age.”

“What?” Harley couldn’t quite make sense of what she was hearing. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Maybe she was waiting until she knew something definitive?” Barry offered.

Bruce pressed on. “She now believes those issues stemmed from her body’s attempt to incorporate the plant world’s stream of consciousness more fully as the mutation took over.

“More fully?” Harley almost laughed. “She can already hear them and control them. You telling me she got an upgrade on her powers?”

“Well…I suppose you could call it that,” Barry admitted. “She is now able to demonstrate complete control over plant life with just a thought, as they are now an extension of herself, not just her kin.”

“Meaning she doesn’t need the suit anymore.” Bruce sounded a bit bitter about that.

“The—upgrade—as you say, did come with some consequences, though. Like, she’s currently finding the voice of the ecosystem to be overwhelming. It’s louder, it’s amplified and she’s having trouble tuning out what she doesn’t want to hear. We’re bringing Superman in to help her with that tomorrow, if she hasn’t already figured it out. The dude is a master of selective hearing.”

“Good,” Harleen nodded, pretending to be brave, though this entire situation was making her skin crawl.

“The other side effect is…” Barry cleared his throat, “Bruce?”

The taller man sighed, reaching out to the potted plant on the desk in front of him—which Harley now realized was a bonsai tree—and roughly ripping one of its branches off.

Ivy instantly screamed in agony on the other side of the glass, as if Bruce had torn one of her fingers off.

“She felt that?” Harley murmured, disbelieving. Horrified.

“Yes,” Bruce affirmed, something approaching remorse in his voice.

“And what about the—the,” she indicated the patient’s altered anatomy.

“Right…those…” Barry leaned forward into the microphone on the control panel, his finger hesitating over the button. “You got something to piss her off?”

Harley stalled a moment, Pam’s pained expression tugging on her heart strings. She didn’t want to hurt her, but she knew that—at her core—Pamela was a scientist, and she had subjected herself to this. Harley needed to see what she was dealing with. So, with the pressure of tears behind her eyes, Harley told him: “Call her ‘Pammy’. Tell her to be a good girl.”

Barry cleared his throat, his obvious nervousness making Harley anxious. “Hey, Pammy…”

Ivy’s head snapped to attention, starring straight into the control room. Straight at Harley.

“Pammy…” he repeated, glancing over at Harley, who offered him a nod. “Be a good girl, Pammy.”

The redhead’s eyes darted to the corner of the cell, and once she locked on to the speaker, she thrust her arm in that direction and the vine lurking just below the skin of her hand shot out, ripping its way through on a b-line straight for the speaker, which is skewered, ending any further communication.

Harley promptly leaned over and vomited.

Chapter Text

“Let’s go, guys.” Harleen said, tersely.

Jolene grinned, looking happily at Miss Martian from the other end of the chess board. “We get to go see my Mom now.”

“No,” Harley sighed. “No you don’t. Not today. We’re going to get a hotel.”

“What?” Anthony looked affronted as he turned in his chair. “Why?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” there was a bite to Harley’s tone that the kids weren’t used to. “Get up, let’s go.”

“Nuh-uh, wait a minute,” Jo stood up, her expression stern. “We rode all the way here on a plane so we could see Mom.”

“I know,” Harley acknowledged. “But plans changed. We’re not doing that today.”

“But you promised!” Jo argued.

The blonde helped her son to his feet. “Yeah, well, sometimes I break my promises. Just ask your Mom.” She ignored Jolene when the girl’s gaze turned cold, looking at Miss Martian instead. “Thank you for watching them, M’gann.”

“Oh, no, thank you!” M’gann stood, a charming, tone-deaf smile on her face. “Your offspring are wonderful, Mrs. Isley.”

“Quinzel. Ms. Quinzel,” Harley corrected, a bit harshly.

The teen’s smile immediately dropped. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for the error.” Unlike Ivy, whose skin blushed a darker shade of green, M’gann’s showed up red, her cheek’s now looking unnatural against the verdant background of her typical complexion. “I was told that spouses on this planet often times take each other’s family names after marriage.”

“Often times, yes.” Harley softened slightly, putting her hand on Jolene’s shoulder to lead her in the right direction. “I appreciate the compliment to my…offspring, though.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” M’gann nodded emphatically. “I do not like to lie, and it would be a shame of me not to mention how much I enjoyed their company.”

“Mama likes to lie…” Jo mumbled, “she does it all the time.”

“Car. Now.” Harley pointed towards the door.

Jo wrinkled her nose as she passed, stomping her feet all the way to her destination. Anthony wasn’t much better, although he did offer M’gann a shy smile as he followed his sister.

“M’gann was just being nice, Ma.” Anthony huffed, once they were all sitting in the back of the car Bruce had ordered for them. “And why would you make us miss school and drag us onto a plane just to not let us see her?”

“Excuse me,” Harley leaned forward, speaking to the driver and ignoring Anthony for a moment. “Is there like a…I don’t know, a Nordstrom around here or something?”

“Yes, Ma’am, about 15 minutes in this traffic.” He told her.

“Fantastic,” Harley sighed, her delivery not quite matching up with her diction.

Anthony looked appalled beside her. “You didn’t let us see Mom because you wanted to go shopping?”

“You know what, guys? I owe you an apology.” Harley’s tone was clip. “Here I’ve been living the last 12 years of my life thinking I was the parent and you were the kids. Clearly, I made a grave error. You guys probably know best.”

Jolene looked like she was going to pat herself on the back for a moment before a quick glance at her older brother communicated the proper reaction: scowling.

“Ugh…I’m sorry,” Harley dragged her hands over her face, pressing her heels of her palms into her eyes. “It’s…something happened to Mom. Something has been happening, I guess, for a while now, but now it’s here and it’s new and stressful and I don’t know how to deal with it for myself, let alone for you guys.” Harley crossed her fingers that they would allow her to leave it at that because the reality of what had happened was Pam had asked about her plant babies, not her actual children, and although her reasoning made sense, that might not be so easy for a 12-year-old and a 7-year-old to understand.

“What’s the matter with er’?” Jo asked, her voice shaky.

“Well…” Harleen cleared her throat, straightening herself up. You’re the one that wanted kids even though you knew things could get weird. Nut up, Buttercup. “Mom’s powers have been…expanded. She…can do more cool stuff now, so…that’s what she looks like.”

“Expanded?” Jo furrowed her brow. “Did Mom get fat?”

Harley laughed, but Jo continued, taking this very seriously.

“Is that why we’re going shopping? Cuz Mom grew out of all her clothes?”

“No, Jo.” Harley shook her head. “That’s not the problem. But she does need new clothes.”

Pam did have a lot of clothes…a lot of blouses and skirts and tank tops and dresses…all of which would now be rendered useless for concealing her identity in the civilian world.

“She needs long sleeves…and pants…and sweaters and jackets,” Harley told them.

/

Ivy sat in the corner of her cell—no, her room. She wasn’t being held here. She’d asked them to keep her here. This wasn’t Arkham. These people were on her side, as difficult as that was to believe.

Superman had just left, though calling him “Clark” would have been more appropriate as he’d come dressed in a checkered shirt tucked into some jeans. Pam didn’t think she’d ever feel comfortable seeing these heroes dressed as regular humans…just as she’d had a hard time looking like one herself for a significant stretch of time. Now that was even more difficult—and not for psychological reasons. She couldn’t affect her pigment anymore. Well…not yet, anyway. With the voices and the skin issue, Pamela essentially possessed the same control over her powers as her son had at 4 years old. And, yes, that was shameful. For the moment, though, Pamela was working hard to employ the strategy Clark had taught her for selective hearing, and some way, somehow, it was proving effective (again, just for the moment).

She’d seen her reflection; she knew there was nothing subtle about this change. There would be no hiding it from her family. She’d have to embrace it in the public sphere as well, there was no way around that.

She knew she should be angry at Harleen for something, but for the life of her, she could not remember what that was. Her short-term memory was still a bit convoluted.

Bruce said that was likely a stress response, and after she truly mastered her new powers, things would begin to clear up. Her mind wouldn’t feel so foggy.

It was as if she was right back in that hospital room after the coma. Confused, overwhelmed, out of control…But this time, she wasn’t alone. Bruce hadn’t returned to Gotham since she’d been quarantined, she knew Barry had been attentive as well…and Clark, Kara, and Jessica had all paid her a visit, even if she hadn’t seen them, she’d felt them in the next room, and that was better than anything she got back then.

And…Harleen was back for a second visit now. Ivy could feel her looking. Feel her eyes wandering over her body, studying how it had changed.

Pamela hung her head, pulling her knees to her chest because, although she’d adjusted to the artificial tropical climate of the room, she simply didn’t feel like finding the pants she’d discarded was worth it. Poison Ivy wasn’t modest with her “assets” by any stretch of the imagination, but this form? It would take some getting used to. And, at the moment, she certainly didn’t feel beautiful.

The door unlatching startled Pam, and because her body barely felt like her own anymore, her physical reaction was greater than her mental one and she was just barely able to stop a vine from shooting forward out of her wrist. Which she supposed was an improvement, actually.

She was biting down on the side of her cheek to mute her groan of pain when a figure in a hazmat suit entered the room, the door latching shut once more behind them.

Pam knew it was Harley as soon as she took a step; from her stature, yes, but also from her gait.

The blonde didn’t speak at first, just walked toward her, and that frightened Pamela. Harley always talked. Talked in bed (whether awake or asleep), talked as soon as the sun had risen or set, talked while doing the dishes or getting the kids ready for school. Talked when she was happy or anxious, when she was sad or angry…the only times she didn’t talk was when she was forcing herself into silence because she knew speaking in that moment would mean wrenching her foot out of her mouth later on.

Pamela averted her gaze to stare down at her bare feet rather than watch her cautiously approach.

The first words out of Harley’s mouth were, “I’m sorry,” and they came out of the suit’s internal microphone somewhat garbled.

“Your condolences are appreciated,” Pamela mumbled.

Harley stopped a few feet in front of her, just out of reach. “No, I mean about saying the thing again. But about the rest of it too, sure.”

And then it came back to her. Barry’s voice over the microphone, saying what only Harley knew. That bitch.

Vines ripped from her forearms before she had a chance to calm her anger, and all of the sudden they had Harley hanging upside down, the panicked look on the blonde’s face on full display through her helmet.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Ivy yelled in frustration, mourning the loss of the patches of skin she’d just sacrificed. Pam almost laughed for how intensely she had once hated the pain of growing a leotard. That absolutely paled in comparison to what this felt like.

The door began to unlatch once more but Harley called out for whoever was coming to stop. “It’s alright. We’re fine. Marriage, am I right?” She delivered the line like the opening act at a comedy show and Pam rolled her eyes in response.

Normal reaction…that’s good… “We had a deal.” Pam growled.

“I was just probing some phenomena, Pam. I just needed to see what we were dealing with here, that’s all. And that’s the thing that gets you pissed the quickest…followed by grammatical errors, industrialists, and men.” That all fell out of Harley rather quickly. “In my head, I put an Oxford comma in there just for you.”

Ivy scowled at her, not making any move to get her down just yet. She hoped that this display would come off as powerful because her moods had been rather unpredictable and she knew she’d be crying in no time at all. Either that or killing her wife, and really, neither was what she wanted.

“Come on, Red. Put me down,” Harley’s tone was calm despite her predicament. “I just wanna talk, OK? That’s sorta hard to do when all the blood’s rushing to my head.”

Ivy turned away from her rather than obliging her.

“We missed you at home…” Harley ventured. “Me and the kids…they’re here, ya know. In the lobby.”

“They can’t see me!” Ivy was insisted as she spun around. “Not like this—they—they can’t.”

Harleen was clearly trying to nod, but the suit and her positioning was making it exceedingly difficult. “It’s only me in here right now, Babe. Just…let me down so I can give you a hug, please. Preferably a kiss too.”

“You don’t want that,” Ivy decided. “I’m hideous.” But her mind was clearly working against her as the vines lowered the woman back to the ground, planting her on her feet before retracting.

Harleen took another moment to look at her. Her eyes wandering unapologetically, covering every square inch of exposed skin (which was a lot at this point). “Oh, fuck it,” She mumbled, pulling off her helmet and unzipping her suit.

“No, Harley, don’t! I’m—“

“Oh, hush now.” The blonde threw her gloves to the ground. “The readout in there says this is breathable oxygen and i'm immune to your bullshit.” And with that, she crossed the space between them and pulled her wife into a strong hug, her arms lacing around her back.

Ivy was startled—clearly. Her hands remained out like she’d intended to block the other woman, but, little by little…the warmth of a human being against her began to feel comfortable and she forced herself to hug her back, burying her nose in Harley’s clean hair.

“You are so not hideous,” Harley whispered. “In fact, if we didn’t have an audience, I’d take you right now, I swear to God.”

Pam wanted to laugh, but of course she cried instead. Gripping Harley tighter and dampening the soft cotton of her t-shirt. At least her tears were still human.

“Shhhh….” Harleen’s warm breath was soothing against her skin. “You’re upset, it’s upsetting, it’s totally unfair. It’s like life has given you lemon after lemon, but not a single fucking knife or pitcher or tablespoon of goddamn sugar. This life has been absolutely, categorically, undeniably shitty to you.”

Pamela couldn’t remember the last time she’d sobbed, or, if she ever really had, actually. In her entire 88 years on the planet, had she ever just…cried?

Not with Woodrue, not while she was on the table…no…those tears were feverish, frightened…and then afterwards in the hospital, those were confused, angry…and then after that, she hadn’t wanted to cry. She hadn’t wanted to give him that. The satisfaction of her sadness…so she got angry instead. And she had been angry for a long time, oscillating between an intense, unabated fury and the overwhelming isolation that lends itself to emptiness.

“I missed you,” Pam gasped, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, Babe…” Harley chuckled, “It was only four days.”

“But I didn’t think I would be the same,” Pam sniffed, separating to look her in the eye. “I didn’t know if this would still feel like home or if I…I started to forget the small things, Harleen, and I thought maybe I’d lost them, and then I was imagining the rest of my existence without what you’ve given me, and—“

“It was scary?” Harley fed her the words.

Pam just nodded, biting her lip now in embarrassment for her emotional outburst.

Harley smiled kindly, brushing Pam’s red hair out of her face by pushing it straight back off her forehead, raking her fingers through it like Pam would if she were thinking (or upset, or stressed, or just…Pam). “You’re not ugly, Pam…Pamela…Poison Ivy. You are powerful...and this?” Harley’s eyes followed her finger as she traced an embedded tendril just below Ivy’s collarbone. “This we can handle. Together. You remember our wedding vows, right? To have and to hold, through thick and thin, in health and in plant mutation, til death do us part.”

“It doesn’t seem like you were paying attention,” Pam let a small smile slip as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

Harley grinned. “Can I kiss you now, or will that kill me? Not a bad way to go out, but I think I’d like to avoid the afterlife for just a bit longer.”

To answer, Pam draped her arms over the blonde’s shoulders and gently brought their lips together, shivering as Harley ran her left hand down a vine that curled from beneath Ivy’s breast to her upper thigh. Harley smiled against her lips.

“You know…” Harley separated to lean her forehead against the other woman’s. “Maybe these things could be fun…”

“Knock it off, Harleen.” Pam pushed away, but the blonde was still smiling.

“No, really, I don’t mind em’.” She assured her. “I would like to know what sorta fashion statement you’re making with that shirt, though. And you’ve got a great ass, Babe, but I feel like something that can't be plucked off might be a welcome addition down there. Just…ya know, when we go outside.”

“Oh, I’m not—I’m not ready to go outside,” Ivy was suddenly defensive.

Harley nodded in understanding. “How can I help?”

“I—,” Pam looked at the ground. “Will you come back?”

Harley smiled. “Everyday.”

/

Bruce grabbed Harley and wrapped her in a tarp as soon as she re-entered the control room, he then pulled her down the hall in the direction of the decontamination showers.

“Get her a flowering plant, get her the haircare products from her greenhouse at home, and continue to stimulate her mind. You’re fucked if she gets bored. I’m serious.” Harleen’s instructions came fast. “Ask her for help on a problem, give her the updated emissions numbers, show her some fucking graphs, it really doesn’t matter. Just make her feel important and capable, alright? That’s the key to placating Poison Ivy. Tell her she’s important, capable, pretty and loved. Make her prove to you that she is. She likes games. Play a game she can just barely win.”

Bruce turned the water on for her. “Is that Dr. Quinzel’s foolproof strategy for how to pretend like Poison Ivy is sane?”

“She is sane, Bruce.” Harley stripped off her clothes and stepped underneath the spray. “Just as sane as you or I. Her mental afflictions are all treatable, I’ve been treating her for the last 23 years, and rather successfully, I might add. But when you tell a person they’re wrong, bad and crazy from the moment they’re born, chances are they might start to believe it. This is like a…rebirth for her. She’s not familiar with this stimulus she’s receiving, either mental or physical. She hasn’t learned to combat or utilize this degree of authority, which means…”

“We have the chance to do it right this time.” Bruce nearly let a smile slip.

“Yep!” Harley confirmed with a grin. “And it starts with loving her unconditionally, and not calling her crazy.”

Chapter Text

"She's just been talking to that plant for an hour," Barry reported as Harleen entered the control room, setting a large shopping bag down on the chair Bruce wasn't occupying as he leaned against the wall talking into his cellphone.

"Well when did you give it to her?" Harley asked.

"When I got here this morning."

"And she's only been talking to it for an hour?" Something resembling concern passed over Harley's face.

"Only?" Barry turned to her so he could fully comprehend his levels of 'wtf', but then Bruce was moving forward and tapping Harley on the shoulder.

"She wants to talk to you."

Harley took the phone without further explanation and stepped out into the hallway.

"Who was that?" Barry asked.

"My wife," was Bruce's answer as he stared at Ivy through the glass.

OK, Barry was expected to deal with Sexy Swamp Thing, he got that. But this? "Wait, what? You're married?"

"No," Batman replied, nonchalantly.

"So what's the deal?" Selina asked without first saying hello. "She ugly now or what?"

Harley sighed. "No, Selina. Her face is unchanged."

"Tits?" Selina prompted.

"Same."

" Ass?"

"Present and accounted for." Harley assured.

"We're excellent friends to her," Selina decided, seemingly convincing herself. "I hope she realizes that."

"Yes, well…you clearly have her best interests in mind." Harley chided.

" I was going to ask if her head was alright next, but don't even try to pretend she wouldn't be worried about the other stuff."

"Fine. But why do you care? I mean…my stake in it is pretty clear, why do you care that she's still hot?"

Selina scoffed on the other end of the line. "Everyone's a little gay for Poison Ivy, Harley. Don't think you've got that cornered just because you're married to her."

"What?"

"She was my desktop background for like two years, dude." Selina was clearly distracted as she put the phone on speaker. "Anyway, when's she coming home?"

"Soon, hopefully." Harley scuffed her Chuck Taylor on the linoleum. "We're working on it."

" The kids there with you?"

"Yeah…figured I'd let them stay til the end of the week if she's not ready, then I'd send them to Barbara's."

"Or how about mine?" Selina suggested.

"You don't like kids," Harley reminded her.

" When have I ever said that? I like your kids just fine. Jo is my goddamn soul sister and Anthony's like my parent."

"I—," Harley sighed. "Fine. Just…I doubt it will be necessary, but thank you for the offer."

"Mwah. Later dayz." And with that (appropriately odd send-off), Selina hung up.

Harley chuckled and shook her head, taking a deep breath before re-entering the room where Bruce and Barry were listening to Ivy hum to her flower as she watered it.

"Alright," Harley handed Bruce his phone. "So I think I'm going no hazmat at the beginning…it was romantic last time, but now I want not wearing it at all to mean that I trust her. She is in charge of the environment, no?"

"Yeah," Barry nodded. "That's on her."

"Perfect," Harley smiled. "So let's cross our fingers she's got her shit under control. Speaking of which…does she have her shit under control?"

"Well she hasn't just randomly screamed yet today," Barry granted. "Before she'd do that in response to what she was hearing in her head…so it seems like she's doing a better job of regulating the auditory information she's receiving."

"Awesome. No screaming is good." Harley took the shopping bags from the chair. "Any other updates?"

"Umm…I gave her a rubik's cube to play with because you told me to keep her busy…and she couldn't figure it out so she smashed it against the wall." Barry reported. "Then Bruce ran a little science trivia contest between us and she called me an idiot after she won and said my doctorate should be rescinded."

"So…normal Pam stuff, then." Harley grinned. "That's fantastic. Good job, team." She gave Barry an enthusiastic high five.

"What's the plan for today?" Bruce asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Well it would be pretty sweet if I could get her to reaffirm her commitment to her humanity," Harley confessed. "If we want to keep her on our team we have to remind her why it's worth it, otherwise…what's her incentive?"

Bruce set his mug down with a shrug. "Show us how it's done."

Ivy's fist clenched as soon as she opened the door, but no vine shot out, which Harley took as an example of her improved control.

"Good morning, Dr. Isley," Harleen greeted as she walked towards her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Pam mumbled, not moving her attention from her flower.

"You know…Miss Martian called me 'Mrs. Isley' the other day," Harley giggled.

"Harleen Isley sounds like hot garbage," Pam told her.

"Accurate." Harley reached down into the shopping bag she was carrying and pulled out the garment on top, tossing it to Pam who finally looked up at her, a questioning look on her face.

"What's this?" She held the dress up in front of her.

"A prom dress," Harley informed. "It's to cry into next time you don't feel pretty. Sort of a time honored tradition."

"Is that what these are for?" The tone Pamela used was almost humorous. "And here I thought they were just something your Mother forced you into so you could be groped by the neighbor boy who was all set to inherit the family business."

"Mmm…" Harley narrowed her eyes. "That was oddly specific…so I'm gonna go ahead and guess that's what happened to you?"

Pam glared down at the fabric in her hands and Harley sat down next to her. "I didn't get asked to prom," Harley admitted. "But…I got asked to dance when I got there."

"I'm sure that story ends wonderfully," Pam assured.

"Uhh…yeah, no. He just thought I'd put out," Harley lamented. "He didn't grope me, though."

"How considerate of him."

"Well…he tried." Harley divulged. "But he was too drunk, so he missed."

"Like I said…" Pam folded the dress back up. "Wonderful. But I thank you for the overpriced tissue."

"You're very welcome," Harley grinned, leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

That made Pam smile, even if she didn't acknowledge it. "I fixed my shirt," was what she said instead.

Harley studied her closer to find Pam had, in fact, slightly changed the way she was wearing her shirt…she'd unrolled the sleeves. Pam giggled when she saw Harley roll her eyes.

"Oh, I see how it is," Harley laughed. "Are you trolling me, Pamela Isley?"

"I assume you don't mean in the context of the mythological creature…"

"No, that's definitely not how I meant it," Harley chuckled, grabbing what was left out of the bag. She placed a folded pair of jeans and yellow cashmere sweater on Pam's lap. "The kids picked this outfit for you. I told them you might need a new wardrobe."

Pam brushed her fingers gently atop the sweater's soft material, employing the same reverence as she would if she were holding one of her flowers. "Why yellow?"

Harley shrugged. "Anthony said yellow for redheads is very in right now."

Pam stopped, staring down at the clothing for a moment as she bit her lip. Suddenly, she brought her gaze to meet Harley's. "You don't think Anthony is gay, do you?"

"I—what?" The blonde laughed. "Because he's interested in fashion?"

"Well—I—just…he seems to be passionate about that…and what with his music…besides, he has yet to express interest in a girl…" Pam was stumbling, which was somehow adorable despite the fact that she now looked like the type of supervillain that horny adolescent nightmares were made of.

"Alright, ya lesbian." Harley crossed her arms. "Time to turn in your stash of baseball caps and flannels."

Pam looked downright offended. "Me? In a baseball cap?"

"Well, yeah!" Harley went right along with her wife's literal interpretation. "How the heck else are ya supposed to keep the sun out of your eyes when you're—I don't know—walking the dogs or…loading your softball equipment into our Subaru."

"We don't—Oh," Pam suddenly looked relieved. "You're—you're chastising me for being stereotypical."

"You got me," Harley smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Pam's ear. "I see you washed your hair…did that feel good?"

"Yes, I'm not a child." Pam huffed, running a hand through her hair herself now. "Just because I acted that way yesterday doesn't mean-,"

"Wait," Harley's brow was furrowed when she interrupted her. "You think…Babe, being vulnerable doesn't make you childish, it makes you human."

"As if that's so much better," Pam scoffed.

"Do you…" Harley cleared her throat. "Do you still feel human?"

Pam took a beat before answering, and when she did, she kept her eyes downcast. "Would you still love me if I wasn't?"

Twice now, Harleen had been surprised by Pamela's display of vulnerability during this transition. This time, though, she'd asked a yes or no question, and thinking it over, Harley realized it could harm Pam's recovery regardless of the answer she provided. If she were to say no, Pam could grow angry with Harley as she'd been promised unconditional love, but, it could also motivate her to want to hold onto her humanity. The distinction there relied on just how much this physiological change had altered her thought process and how important Harley really was to her. On the other hand, Pam had once told her that Harley was the reason she even wanted to be a human at all…so agreeing to love her even if she were to let go of her humanity could mean condoning Ivy's slip back into singlemindedness—a trait that hadn't exactly done her too many favors over the years as it was mainly a coping mechanism to distract from the various traumas she'd experienced.

Harleen watched Pam for some indication of what she wanted the answer to be…but the redhead just starred at the ground, flexing her bare toes in the dirt Bruce had brought in.

Harley eventually decided that the best course of action was to take herself out of the equation completely. Make this Pam's choice.

"Would you still love me if you weren't?" Harley asked. "Is that an emotion you think you could be capable of without your humanity?"

"Perhaps…" Pam wisted.

"Perhaps not." Harley played the (very biased) devil's advocate before reaching out and taking her wife's hands. "It's important, Pamela, to really know what you want. Now more than ever. To know if you still want me…or still want you, even. If you still want Pamela."

"Lillian Isley," Pam amended, bringing a smile to Harley's face as she corrected her omission. "Doctor."

"Doctor. Yeah, Poison Ivy has a lot of responsibility to shoulder. Your plants need you, absolutely. And I know you can hear them. I know they're louder now. But Pamela has some responsibilities too." Harley interlaced their fingers. "Like me…and Anthony…and—,"

"Jo." Pam finished.

"And Jo," Harley nodded. "And I mean, like, I know we're not the entire ecosystem or anything…and I know it'll be even harder than before, but I think if anyone could balance the two, it would be you."

"No, I can do it," Pam said (like it was her idea), suddenly resolute. "I can be both like before—I, don't worry," she removed her hands from Harley's and went to cup her face instead. "I'll be there for you. Always. I—I love you so much."

"I know that," Harley smiled, don't cry, don't cry. You always cry.

"No, I don't think you do," Pam professed, almost like it pained her. "There's only one thing I love more than plants, Harleen."

"Is it Selina?" Harley blurted out, her body just spitting out a joke because she couldn't fully accept Pam's confession. The way all her attention was focused on her. After 23 years of marriage…in a Justice League quarantine room…after an alien substance decided to throw yet another complication at her…Pamela was still the same woman who'd kissed her outside the police station that day, who'd switched sides for her, who'd invited her to move in after she was paralyzed, who tried to give her a romantic proposal (even if Harley had ruined it), who'd beamed as Harley wheeled herself up the aisle, who'd given her their children and stitched up every cut…soothed every bruise…

Pamela—Ivy was human. Absolutely. She always had been, even when she fought it, even when she despised it…

"No, Harley," Pam chuckled. "It's you. It's my family."

Pfft, as if you fucking deserve her, Harley… "Buuut…"

"No buts," Pam looked into her eyes with every ounce of sincerity she possessed. "It's true. I can be both. I just need—I need you to trust me."

"I trust you, I trust you," Harley promised as she surged forward into a kiss, her arms wrapping tightly around Pam's neck.

Barry couldn't even look at her when Harley reentered the control room, her movements a bit timid after remembering these guys had just watched her have a full on make out session with her wife. "So…" he ventured, glancing uncomfortably over at Bruce. "I guess…mission accomplished?"

"I'll say," Harley scoffed.

"Is that just—is that just the way she is?" Barry questioned. "Do you guys just live in the last 10 minutes of a romance movie like 24/7?"

"No…but she's pretty fucking great," Harley acknowledged.

Bruce, who had remained silent up until this point, cleared his throat. "Do you think she's ready to go home?"

"Well I'm definitely ready for her to come home…"

"Tomorrow." Bruce decided. "I'll call Clark in, get him to do one more session, and if things are still looking this good, I'll release her back into your supervision by the afternoon."

"Thank you," Harley breathed. "Both of you. For all you've done for her."

"I've learned the hard way to give Poison Ivy what she wants," Barry smiled. "And what she wants is you."

Chapter Text

Pam smoothed her hands down her thighs in a nervous, repetitive motion, feeling the ridges of the vines beneath the fabric of her jeans. Harleen had assured her they weren’t visible, but how could that be the case when she could feel them pulsing below her skin?

Bruce cleared his throat, reminding Pam that she wasn’t the only person in the elevator. “You’ll send me your report on the pigmentation issue?” His tone was professional; like she was still a lawyer working for Wayne Enterprises.

“As soon as there is something to report—yes.” Ivy told him.

Bruce nodded, slowly turning back to face front, looking at their reflections in the shiny metal of the elevator door.

And Pamela looked too. She was all the same above the neck, the mutation hadn’t affected her facial features. Harleen said it would be up to her how she wanted to explain the rest of it to the children, how much she wanted to reveal.

Her eyes flitted to Bruce. Nearing 60 now, he wasn’t attempting to hide his age by dyeing his hair. Gray flecks were scattered about, and although he was aging rather well (as men who took care of themselves typically did), Pamela could see in his eyes that he was getting older. He kept himself in good shape, although he wasn’t donning his cape all that frequently anymore…with his connection to Talia, Pamela had always assumed he’d find a way to escape ageing with grace, but…no, he was, indeed, allowing himself to grow older. She respected him for that, although why, she wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it was rooted in some degree of jealousy that when his time was up, it would be up. He wouldn’t have to force himself to continue with this ‘purpose’ for the rest of Earth’s existence.

“Do you consider me a friend, Pamela?” Bruce asked, suddenly.

Surprised, Ivy almost laughed. “I’m sorry?”

“After all this time…all these battles, against each other, side by side…what are we?” He didn’t turn to her, but continued to stare at her reflection.

While it was true Batman had never truly been her enemy, more just a nuisance, and Bruce Wayne hadn’t ever been the sort of industrialist to encourage clear cutting or any of the other vile practices Ivy despised so thoroughly. At this point, though, even now that they were working toward a common goal, she’d never presumed them to be anything more meaningful than colleagues.

Ivy didn’t have any friends…save Selina, Barbara and Harleen, although the latter hardly counted. And what was a friend, truly? Pamela hadn’t had many either in her time, so as elementary as it sounded, that was a valid question to ask. Harleen would say a friend is someone you can trust. Someone who has your best interests in mind and is there for you when you need it.

“I suppose.” Pam offered. “If we’re judging by the clinical definition.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a clinical definition of friendship,” he smirked.

Pam pursed her lips. “Although I resent your cocky disposition, I’m not too proud to express gratitude when it’s been earned.”

“So…?”

“Thank you.”

Bruce smiled. A real smile, which anyone who truly knew him would tell you was an altogether rare occurrence. “You would have done the same for me.”

“No I wouldn’t of.”

“I know,” Bruce chuckled. “But I’d like to think that you would answer the call…if I ever made one.”

Pamela didn’t answer, as that was the moment the doors slid open. Instead, she stepped into the main hall, looking across the marble expanse for—

“Mom!” Jolene’s girlish voice echoed in the cavernous room.

Pam’s face split into a wide smile as she watched Jo drop Harleen’s hand and start at a sprint towards her. The redhead braced for impact, kneeling down and opening her arms just before Jo reached her, the girl throwing her arms around her neck and relentlessly kissing her cheeks. Pam had to use all her abdominal strength to keep them upright.

When Jo finally allowed for a bit of room, Pam found the girl’s face was soaked with tears.

Jo placed her hand gently on her Mother’s cheek, looking into her eyes, her bottom lip quivering. “You’re OK.”

“I’m OK,” Pam confirmed, covering the hand on her cheek.

And then Jo was sobbing. “Mama said you were gonna die!” she buried her face in Pam’s neck as Harleen and Anthony approached.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Harley assured her.

Pam shook her head, stroking Jolene’s hair gently as the girl clung to her. She’d been apprehensive about seeing her children, worried they’d notice something was different about her, worried they wouldn’t look at her the same way…but in that moment, holding her daughter in her arms…all of those feelings and worries washed away, replaced by a deep appreciation for all she had been blessed with. Harleen was wrong when she said life had only handed her lemons. These powers were a gift, regardless of how she came about them. She was handed the means to single handedly inspire a new relationship between humans and nature. And this…her family…

Pam thought back to the day after she left the hospital the first time. How different that experience was from this. How no one had been there when she was released. How she’d hailed a cab and was dropped off at her parent’s house where she promised she would give them one last chance. Even at her most unhinged, when her mind was still sick and convoluted. When it was all she could do to walk straight, let alone control her emotions. How even then she had given them one last chance, and they’d failed—again.

“You have to be taught not to love your Mother,” Pam had told Harley, 23 years ago on the lawn of a different hospital…these kids, though. The ones that were hers—that were theirs—they hadn’t been taught that lesson. They loved her, Pamela realized. Really, truly loved her. Feared for her safety, wanted to know she was OK…and not because they were afraid of her or desperate to impress her (although maybe that was mixed in there, relationships can be complicated) no, they didn’t crave her affection—they knew they already had it. They loved her because they were loved. And that felt…important, somehow.

A knot twisted in her stomach as Pam realized this was what unconditional love felt like. She was familiar with the concept, but had never truly had the opportunity to experience it in a human relationship. But then she glanced at Harleen, who was holding Anthony’s hand as he stared down at his sneakers, and saw the smile on her face—how warm it was, how kind. And Pamela finally understood what it was to be human. Why it was worth it.

She reached her hand out to Anthony, and he took it with his free one without first looking up.

“I’m really sorry.” He murmured.

“For what?” Pam asked as Jo pulled back.

“For saying you didn’t want to be our Mom,” he told her, finally looking at her, his blue eyes glistening.

Pam released Jo after planting a kiss on her forehead, and then stood up, taking Anthony’s other hand from Harley and looking at him with a sigh. He was nearly her height at this point, and so…handsome. It made her proud to look at him, to see the young man he was becoming. “I will never stop being your Mother, Anthony. I just want—,”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” He cut her off, pulling her into a hug. “You’re not dead, that’s more important.”

“She good?” Harleen directed her question at Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with a smile on his face. “Does she have all her shots or do we need to stop at the vet on the way home?”

“Really, Harl?” Pam scolded as Anthony let her go. “I don’t get even a moment of sentimentality?”

“You’ve had plenty,” Harley asserted.

“Yes,” Bruce acknowledged, answering the blonde’s question. “She’s good to go.”

“Thank you for making my Mom better, Mr. Wayne.” Jo said, sticking her hand out to be shaken. “And don’t worry,” she assured. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh?” Bruce’s eyes sparkled with mirth and he reached to shake her hand. “And what secret might that be?”

“That you’re Batman, stupid.” Jo laughed. “Just like I figured out Aunty Barbara is Batgirl.”

“Well, aren’t you a smart girl.” He retracted his hand and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, I’m a genius.” Jo informed him, matter-of-factly.

Bruce spoke to Ivy: “I see you’re raising her in your image.”

“We encourage a realistic sense of self,” Pam assured him.

The man smirked and leaned down to speak to Jo once more. “And are you a gymnast too?”

“Pfft, yeah.” Jo said like this was a fact that should have been obvious. “They moved me up two age groups at the gym.”

“Good.” Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Call me when you’re ready.”

Chapter Text

“Happy birthday dear Harley, happy birthday to you!”

Harley grinned as the singing devolved into cheers and claps.

“Make a wish, Ma!” Jolene urged excitedly.

Make a wish, Harley sighed, Ok…umm…life? Please stop being a bitch to Pam. And—uh—it would be sweet if the kids would stay healthy…and me too, I guess. So—cheers? And with that thought, she blew out all 50 meticulously lighted candles, giving a little bow to everyone as the clapping resumed.  

“Happy birthday,” Pam whispered, kissing her cheek before making the first cut of the cake.

“Alright, kids first,” Selina dictated. “You can eat it in the living room, but if you spill on my couch I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Damian,” Pam offered him the first piece.

“I’m not a kid,” the boy huffed.

Pam raised an eyebrow. “Can you drive?”

“Well—no.”

“Purchase alcohol?”

“No.”

“Cigarettes?”

“No.”

“Can you legally get married without your parent’s consent? Can you get into an R rated movie?”

Damian snatched the slice of cake away from her rather than answer, sulking into the living room with his shoulders slumped.

Harley chuckled at Pam’s self-satisfied expression.

“I want a big piece,” Jo instructed.

“How big?” Pam asked

“As big as my head.” Was the girl’s response.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Harley took the knife from her wife. “You ever seen Beetlejuice, Jo?”

The girl frowned, “Yeah? You showed it to us, ‘member?”

“I do remember…” Harley nodded, cutting Jo a normal sized slice.

“Hey! That’s way smaller than my head.” Jo complained.

“Right,” Harley acknowledged. “But if you were Pinhead, it would be perfect.” She handed it to the girl and gently pushed her into the direction of the living room.

Anthony just smiled, silently taking his piece from the table and following his sister. “Happy birthday, Ma.” He told her as he left.

Now was the time. They were alone. Just Pam, Bruce, Selina, Barbara and Dick. Harley cleared her throat, “OK, so—listen—,”

“Cake first, then announcements.” Dick pleaded, holding his hands out in hopes a slice would find its way to him.

“Fine,” Harley conceded, having Pam pass him one. “Anyone else?”

Everyone raised a hand, Selina the most hesitantly, but her intentions were still clear.

With a sigh, Harley served the rest of them, and then herself. “How about now? You ready to listen.”

Dick responded by smiling, his mouth full of cake. Barbara offered a thumbs up while Bruce and Selina simply sat down at the table expectantly, watching Harley as they ate.             

“Great,” the blonde exhaled, taking their attention as a good sign. “So, look, guys…I’m—,”

“An asshole?” Selina guessed.

“Pregnant?” was Dick’s.

“Not hungry?” Barbara raised an eyebrow at Harley’s untouched slice of cake.

“Let her speak,” Bruce intoned.

“Pregnant was the worst guess,” Pam let everyone know, sitting down at the table as well.

“Pam! Don’t encourage them.” Harley scolded, taking another deep breath and putting her hands on her hips. “I’m retiring. I’m really fucking old and I’m retiring.”

“Huh…” Selina sat back in her chair. “Funny. My next guess was going to be ‘really fucking old’.”

“You’re older than me,” Harley reminded her, and not exactly kindly.

The brunette’s immediate response was to flip Harley off, but Bruce wrestled her hand down. “In what capacity are you retiring, Harley?” He asked.

The blonde was grateful for an actual question. “I’m turning in my cowl.” She told him. “I’m just—look, I was absolutely blessed to be able to be a part of this family…but, it’s just—it’s just time. I have total faith in Barbara, total faith in Dick…I’ll help with recruiting moving forward, if you’d like. Or whatever else you want to use me for, really. Except for sex. Sorry, guys. Pam and I have been exclusive for like 4 months now. Going strong, Babe!”

“Harley, Jesus…” Pam pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, alright. Sorry, sorry,” Harley apologized, getting back on track. “I just can’t be Batwoman anymore. I think it’s time for Barbara to take up the mantle. Even with all the performance enhancing bullshit Pam pumps into me, I’m slower, I’m weaker, I bruise easier, it takes longer for me to recover…It’s time for me to be done.”

Bruce was nodding slowly, Dick starring at his hands in his lap, and Barbara’s cheek’s reddening as she looked from Harley to Bruce.

“I understand,” Bruce said, finally. “I’m…sad,” he admitted, rather awkwardly. “But I understand.”

“I’m sure Barbara’s transition will be seamless,” Pam assured him. “She’s been ready for this for quite some time.”

Harley nodded in agreement.

Dick moved his hand to where Barbara’s was placed atop the table and held it, a smile growing on his face. Barbara was blushing, and that made Harley smile as well. Here was a person, 36 years old at this point, finally able to graduate from a ‘girl’ to a ‘woman’. She had been 11 years old when Pam first met her, and from that moment, for whatever reason, she was seared into Pam’s memory. Something about the girl had just stuck, and thank God it did, as Barbara was one of the most wonderful human beings Harley had ever had the pleasure of knowing in her 50 years on this planet. Passing the torch to her felt safe, and Harley was grateful for the opportunity.

“To Barbara” Harley raised her piece of cake in a toast. “For your hard work, for your dedication, I believe in you, Babs. Always have. The new matriarch of the Bat-Family.”

The rest of the table all raised their plates. “And to Harleen,” Dick piggybacked. “As someone who has worked for Bruce just a little longer than you, let me just say that 25 years in this world feels like no joke. I find the ones in costumes with medical degrees tend to be on the other side of the fence…so…thanks for being here.”

Harley quickly glanced at Pam, who was choosing to ignore that, evidently. With a smile, she thanked Dick for his words and sat down with a plop at the head of the table next to Pam. The redhead rubbed reassuring circles on her back as she took her first bite of cake. Selina had procured it from some upscale bakery…the kind of shop Harley would normally roll her eyes at the mention of, but holy shit this was good cake.

It was 9:30 on a school night before Pam had the kids in the car. Selina had already left, as she’d forgotten to get Harley a birthday present and felt the need to remedy that immediately. Dick and Barbara were both assigned to patrol that night—and for Barbara it would be her first time in the field without another woman as her senior. Harley’s Batwoman suit would be retired to the cave and a new one would have to be made before the torch could truly be passed, but tonight was still meaningful, even without the proper uniform.

Harley had been sent back inside in search of Jolene’s coat when Bruce stopped her.

“Harleen…” He said, leaning against the counter in the kitchen, forcing her to divert her attention away from the task at hand.

“Bruce,” the blonde sighed. Not impatiently, just…in acknowledgment.

Silently, he crossed the room, and in one motion pulled her into a firm hug. Harley didn’t get hugged by men all that often these days, being that she was married to a woman and her son was 12 and not quite sure if hugging his Mom was cool anymore.

In the 25 years she’d known Bruce, Harley couldn’t recall ever being hugged by him…not even in the hospital after the Joker incident. But this was not unwelcome in any sense. She liked Bruce. No, actually, she loved him. Like a brother or sometimes even a father. He’d seen something in her that day they met at Arkham. He said it was something about her compassion for her patients. She remembered the night he’d offered her the position—offered her a chance to be a hero, truly, not just for the villains of the city, but for the people as well. She remembered the pride that she felt that night. How good it was to be desired. A lot had changed since then. She’d changed, as had he, maybe…although she doubted it. There was something about Bruce that was just unwavering. But Selina’s journey to sobriety—that had changed him. Harley had seen it, how he’d taken in and understood Selina’s suffering. It bonded them, it allowed them to somehow mean more to each other.

“Thank you,” Bruce was saying, his voice muffled into her hair. She wasn’t really aware of just how tightly he was holding her before.

“No, Bruce.” Harley said. “Thank you.”

His expression was somber when they separated. Not sad, exactly, but certainly earnest.

“You’ll need another Batgirl before you can have Jo,” Harley smiled, although it was a bit forced. “Let me help you find her.”

“I think I already have,” Bruce told her. “But she’ll need a psych eval before I put her in the suit.”

Harley nodded, a much more genuine expression overtaking her features now. “Put me in, Coach.”

/

Pam sent the kids to bed as soon as they got home, knowing both had homework to do. They went without much protest as Harley had made it clear their cooperation was one of her birthday wishes.

Harley herself seemed to be in some sort of daze. A glazed-over, wistful smile had been painted onto her face the entire ride home. Pam supposed 50 years old would be an important mile stone for a (full) human. A half a century of life was not insignificant. Besides that, Harley had been working with Bruce for a long time. Half her life, as a matter of fact. The job had fulfilled Harley, kept her grounded, kept her feeling…relevant. Pam realized it would be a significant change for her, but just as Harley had helped Pam through all of her changes, she was determined to return the favor.

A vine reached out from the potted plant in the corner and helped Harley out of her jacket, hanging it up on the hook. At the same time, a vine from the kitchen window box put the teakettle on the stove and readied the ingredients for hot chocolate.

“Did you enjoy your party?” Pam asked, attempting to mask the hope in her voice.

Harley blinked, clearing her eyes as she gave Pam her full attention. “Yeah, yeah I did.” Harley slipped her arms around Pam’s waist. “Did you take your pigment shot today?”

“Nope,” Pam said, proudly. “What do you think?” She held up her hand for Harley to examine. The tone was even, although its pale coloring made her look a bit too much like a doll for Pam’s liking. There was no difference in tone between she and Harley’s complexions now.

“Impressive. Most impressive.” Harley smiled back, after affecting what Pam could now identify as Harley’s Darth Vader impression.

“One marshmallow or two?” Pam asked.

“The more the merrier, of course,” Harley laughed, clapping excitedly when a vine delivered her a mug of hot cocoa stuffed to the brim with marshmallows. “So is this my present?” she asked after taking her first sip.

“No,” Pam grinned, taking Harley’s free hand and leading her into her office. She could tell Harley was about to make some smartass remark beginning with ‘awe, you shouldn’t have’ in reference to her desktop computer or the printer, so Pam proactively silenced her by placing a gentle finger on her lips.

Turning away from the other woman, the redhead opened the closet behind her, revealing Harley’s Batwoman outfit in a glass case, displayed the same way the others were in the Batcave.

Harley looked surprised, and then confused. With her brow furrowed she asked, “I don’t get it. Pam, is that my suit?”

“Well…not exactly.” Pam admitted. “It’s actually just an incredibly expensive replica.

The blonde turned to her. “Why?”

“For brooding, of course,” Pam told her like it was obvious. “In case you ever need to dramatically stand in front of some representation of your former self and question what you stand for. All heroes do it. I see it every day at The Watchtower.”

“Pam, that’s—oh my God,” Harley laughed. “Pam, this is amazing! But how did you—I mean—this thing looks pretty much perfect. Where did you even find it?”

“The internet,” was Pam’s answer. “Overall, it’s a truly frightening place, but after I got through all the fetish sites, I was able to find some rather dedicated fans of yours, and…anyway, I paid for it. That’s what’s important here.”

With a wide smile on her face, Harley turned back to face the costume, putting her hands on her hips as she did. They stood there, both silently examining it behind the glass for a moment before Harley spoke. “I looked pretty good in that thing, huh?”

“You did,” Pam agreed.

“It’s a shame we never got to—well you never got to…appreciate that.” Harley lamented.

Pam nodded slowly. “Yes, a shame…certainly.”

“No touching in costume, no kissing in costume…certainly no fucking in costume,” Harley recounted their rules aloud, rocking back on her heels.

“Mm,” Pam nodded once more, letting another silence descend between them. “So, do you want to—?”

“Oh, God yes,” Harley quickly pulled the case open.

Chapter Text

“Jo,” Harleen whispered in the girl’s ear as she slept cuddled close to her stuffed unicorn. “Jo, it’s time for school.”

“No, Mama…” she moaned, her voice gravely with sleep, eyes still tightly shut. “It’s not time for school.”

Harley sighed, sitting down on the bed now. “It is, and you need to get up.”

“But I don’t wanna…” the girl argued, unmoving.

“I don’t want to do a lot of things, but sometimes you just have to.” Harley pat her on the shoulder. “Those are the facts of life, Kid.”

“Go away,” Jo grumbled.

Harleen was about to remind her that if she left, Jo would go back to sleep again and they’d have to start this entire process over when her phone rang. Jesus, 6:45? And a number she didn’t recognize… “Yeah?” She answered.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the line. “I’m looking for a Dr. Harleen Quinzel.”

“Well you got her.” Harley stood up. She could hear Jo let out a contented celebratory sigh as she headed for the door. Pam was coming down the hallway, though, so Jo was in for a world of hurt.

“How can I help you?” Harley asked the woman on the phone before rolling her eyes at her wife. “What are you doing?” She silently mouthed to Pam, gesturing to her shirt: a button down she was wearing in the same style as she had in her cell, buttoned just twice below her bosom.

“What?” Pam mouthed back.

“Your—,” Harley gave up, saying “One moment,” into the phone before pressing it into her shoulder. “Are all your shirts broken? What are you doing?” She hissed.

Pam looked confusedly at her before turning her gaze down to her shirt. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s comfortable.”

“And pants? Couldn’t be bothered to put those on either?” Harley questioned, referring to her panty-clad lower body.

Pam looked down at herself once more and shrugged. “It feels like I am wearing them.”

Harley sighed, moving forward with the phone still resting on her shoulder to button the other woman’s shirt the rest of the way. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” she grumbled. Then, when she’d finished, “Can you finish waking Jo up?”

Pam groaned, but pushed passed her towards Jo’s room anyway.

“Just remember she’s 50% you!” Harley called after her. When she’d disappeared into the bedroom, Harley turned and continued down the hall, putting the phone back on her ear. “I’m so sorry. My wife was having a fashion emergency.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the woman said. “And I wasn’t aware you were married to a woman.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a lot like being married to a man, just it was illegal for a while,” then Harley caught herself. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“I’m Vicki Vale. From S.T.L.I. Publishing House?”

I knew I should have saved that number. “Right! Yes, of course. Hi, Sorry—and sorry again, for apologizing too much,” Harleen laughed nervously.

Vicki chuckled too. “You’re fine. I’m just checking in on that contract we sent you last month.”

Fuck. “You’re still waiting on my pitch, aren’t you.” Harley said it like she was disappointed with herself.

“I—I am, yes.” Harley could hear the woman’s smile through the phone.

“Alright,” Harley sighed, closing herself into her bedroom. “I’m just going to level with you here, Vicki: I don’t have one. And I also don’t understand why you guys are even interested in my book, you’re not exactly known for your works of academia. Don’t you guys do like true crime and self-help books?”

“Well, yes…” Vicki admitted. “But see, you’re an interesting case on your own, Dr. Quinzel. Former collegiate athlete turned one of the top psychiatrists in the country, worked for 15 years with Arkham Asylum’s most dangerous patients…”

“And?” Harley prompted, knowing what would come next.

Vicki gave a little laugh. “And your work with Poison Ivy. Am I really that transparent?”

“No, it’s alright,” Harley sat down on the bed. “I’m just used to it at this point. And I understand, Poison Ivy is a fascinating case…”

“And you are still her doctor, correct? Her treatment is ongoing?” Vicki asked.

Harley cleared her throat. “That’s a bit…complicated, but yeah. Regardless, I’m not sure it’s a topic I feel comfortable writing about, especially seeing as she’s still officially my patient.”

“Well if you’re worried about the legality of it, all it takes is a simple signature for her to allow you to speak on your sessions together.” Vicki reminded her.

“Look—Ivy is…she’s fragile.” Harley said, not sure how else she could explain it. “And she’s a very private person. I just don’t see her going for it.”

“Dr. Quinzel,” Vicki began, her tone a bit more meaningful than before. “When people hear your name, they think of Poison Ivy. It was a major success, and that’s what defines you now, for better or worse. People want to read about her, but they also want to read about this magical woman who somehow got one of the world’s most infamous Eco terrorists to suddenly start fighting the good fight.”

Goddamn it. “So what are you saying?”

She could hear Vicki’s chair creak. “I’m saying you don’t need a pitch because I just pitched you.”

/

No, don’t worry, Honey, she’d said. I’ll water them. You just relax.

You idiot, Harley.

She had volunteered hoping that her helpfulness would put Pam in an amicable mood. One that allowed for some discussion…

See, Harley had made a mistake. Not a huge one, exactly…well, OK, maybe a huge one. A significant one, at least. Or it felt significant. The issue was that the decision didn’t exactly belong to her…yet she’d still made it. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, if her life hadn’t worked out so well (or so uniquely), perhaps then she would have had more say in this.

Harleen felt bad about it. Terrible, even. She didn’t enjoy feeling like a villain, believe it or not. Actually, it was pretty shitty. But—she’d gotten excited. She’d been given an opportunity and she’d taken it. In the moment, she knew it was a mistake, but she also hoped that—maybe—just maybe, Pam would understand (eventually).

“Uh, hey, Red?” Harleen called out over the sound of the running hose to where Pam was sunbathing on the back deck. She didn’t answer, which likely meant she either couldn’t hear her or had fallen asleep, so Harley cleared her throat and tried again. “Pam-a-lam?”

…

“Babe?”

…

“Sweety? Sweetheart?”

…

“Pumpkin-Pie?”

…

“Bitch, wake up!” Harley yelled.

Pam slowly raised the brim of her sunhat and pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, but maybe you could help yourself!” Harley was passed exasperated at this point. Sweaty, overheating—she hated gardening, except for when it was a euphemism, which in this case it wasn’t. “You have way too many plants! This is insane! I’ve literally been watering for an hour straight! You’re a hoarder is what you are, Pamela Isley.”

The redhead was either uninterested or unimpressed, Harley couldn’t tell which, because she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose and laid her head back once more. “They are my children, Harleen. You can’t hoard children.”

“Oh, you most certainly can!” Harley challenged. “Just look at Bruce! There’s a reason we stopped at two.”

Pam sighed. “Would you like me to take over?”

“No,” the blonde huffed. “I started it, I’m gonna finish it.”

“Will you continue to complain as you do?” Pam inquired, her tone nonchalant. “My brave martyr, so selfless. My knight in shining armor, come to deliver me, a poor, helpless maiden, from the—,”

Her sentence ended with a scream when Harley turned the hose on her.  The blonde was doubled over with laugher at the look of complete fury on her wife’s face. But soon after, a grunt of pain came from Pam and Harley looked up immediately to find the redhead squeezing her arms between her legs, her jaw clenched, her sunglasses clattering to the ground for how quickly she’d sat at attention.

“Fuck,” Harley groaned, dropping the hose and grabbing onto the slats of the fence, yanking herself up, over the railing and onto the porch. “Hey, hey, hey, hey…” Harley knelt down in front of the other woman, placing her hands gently on her knees.

Pam’s eyes were screwed shut. “I hate being so angry,” she mumbled, her pronunciation poor as her jaw remained clenched.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Harley chuckled, peppering kisses up the other woman’s legs, lingering in the places where the vines bulged and pulsed beneath her skin. “You hate that you can’t just be angry. That it’s this every time now.”

Pam grumbled something incoherent, and when she opened her eyes, her pupils consisted of only the faintest outlines of black, her sclera taken over completely by the green that should have belonged solely to her irises.

Yeah, that will never not be creepy. Harley smiled as warmly as she could manage and kissed her on the cheek. “You gotta separate the physical from the emotional, Babe. I know it’s a thought process thing now, but every time I get pissed I don’t reach my arm out and punch somebody. This,” she tapped her fingers gently on the vines in Pam’s arms. “Can’t be autonomic. But blah blah blah, you already know all that shit,” Harley mocked herself. “You wanna play golf today?”

“What?” Pam’s eyes were beginning to fade back to normal. “Golf? Why?”

“Well…we’re old.” Harley answered, simply, moving to sit at the foot of Pam’s lounge chair. Fun, pleasant small talk. She hoped that would do the trick. “And retired. That’s what old retired people do, right? They golf?”

“Or garden.”

“I already did.” Harley grinned, wiping at some of the water that had splashed onto Pam’s chest.

The redhead rolled her eyes and released her arms, getting up and walking down the steps towards the hose Harley had abandoned.

“Ugh, you’re no fun.” Harley pouted, haughtily crossing her arms.

“This needs to get finished one way or another,” Pam told her.

“Oh my God,” Harley laughed after watching her for a moment (seeing an opening). “I just realized something.”

“Congratulations?” Pam offered.

Harley took a big gulp from Pam’s water glass and jumped back down off the porch. “We were—like—crazy busy people.”

“Yes…” Pam agreed, unsure where this was going.

“And now we’re…just…we’re not anymore, really. I mean, you still work, but we just went from four jobs between us to one.”

“You are correct.” Pam splashed a bit of water on Harley’s leg in what the blonde perceived as a purposeful offense.

Harley grinned and grabbed the other woman around the waist, lifting her off of her feet.

“Harleen! Put me down!”

The blonde was giggling. “We’re gonna get so sick of each other.” She hugged her close, like a giant teddybear Jo might beg them to buy her from Costco.

“Plants prefer to be rooted, Harley.” Pam complained, kicking until her wife returned her to her feet.

“I’m so excited!” Harley clapped before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “We’re gonna be old and bickery and it’s gonna be awesome.”

Pam finally allowed herself to laugh. “You’re so strange.”

“Oh yeah,” Harley agreed, nodding ardently. “And you get to deal with all of this jazz 24/7.”

“Lucky me,” Pam smirked. She then turned the hose on the other woman without further warning.

“Hey! No, stop!” Harley was laughing, her hands up in hopes of defending herself against the spray. “That’s not fair!”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fair.” Pam shrugged, attempting to maintain an austere expression, even if she was failing miserably.

“OK, you have to promise not to get mad,” Harley warned. But before Pam could answer, the blonde was tackling her to the ground like Jo would in a flag football game.

“Ow!” Pam complained.

“Bullshit,” Harley laughed, straddling her waist and leaning over to pin her studded arms above her head. “With all the crazy stuff that rips out of your skin, you think I’m really gonna believe that hurt?”

Pam rolled her eyes. “You know I could get you off of me in a heartbeat, right?”

“I do…” Harley bent down and ghosted her lips across the other woman’s. “But I don’t think you will.”

“You’re getting me all wet,” Pam complained, avoiding her wife’s assertion, as it was clearly true.

Harley giggled. “You bet I am.” She added an overzealous wink for good measure. “I picked out a favorite flower today.”

“Oh?” Pam raised a curious eyebrow.

“Mhm,” Harley nodded. “It’s real pretty…”

“Is it the Blue Bell Tunicate?” Pam asked, noticeable excitement in her voice. “I just got it in from—wait a minute,” she squinted up at the woman on top of her. “You’re going to say it’s me, aren’t you?”

Harley bit her lip guiltily. “Maybe…”

Pam sighed. “This is why Selina hates us, you know.”

Harley scoffed. “Selina’s just jealous. She told me she had a big ole’ fat crush on you, ya know.”

The redhead’s previously critical expression soon morphed into a smile that wasn’t even attempting to be sly. “I knew it.” She said.

“What?” Harley laughed.

“Ha!” Pam exclaimed. “I fucking knew it.”

“Umm…you know what’s not a great thing to do when your wife is on top of you?” Harley asked, facetiously, climbing off to come lay beside Pam in the grass. “Celebrate your hot friend being into you.”

Pam just chuckled, looking up at the clouds with that shit-eating grin still plastered on her face. “Sorry…the confession has just been a long time coming.”

There was a lull in their conversation as Harley too turned her gaze upward. “Hey…” she ventured, after a moment. “Who do you think has aged better? Me or Selina?”

“Well, as I’m administering you both identical dosages of serum on the same treatment schedule, as well as supplying you with the same skin care regimen…I sincerely hope you’ve aged at the same rate.” Pam answered, truthfully.

Harley was affronted, turning onto her side and propping her head up on her elbow to get a better angle on the redhead. “That could not have been an easier question. I literally just handed you some wife points on a silver platter, and you pissed on them.”

“I did what?” Now it was Pam’s turn to be offended.

“Come on, Pam!” Harley complained. “That’s marriage 101! If your wife asks if she’s the hottest chick in the room, you tell her she’s the hottest chick in the room.”

Pam sighed, turning to face her with an overly-patient expression. “You are superior to Selina in every regard, Daffodil.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that,” Harley giggled, bashfully, playfully punching the other woman in the shoulder.

Pam rolled her eyes. “You’re very lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Harley grinned, moving forward to kiss her. “But seriously, Pam-a-lam, what the heck are we gonna do with ourselves? We can’t just garden and have sex all the time. It’s repetitive.” She tried to press the point casually. It had come up somewhat naturally, after all

“Well what about that book?” Pam reminded her. “You never told me if the deal with the publisher went through.”

Oh, thank God. “I don’t have a pitch!” the blonde lied. “Turns out publishers don’t pay you advances just because you’re a doctor.”

“You don’t say,” Pam mocked, before receiving another punch in the arm. She chuckled. “You need to write something academic…a unique avenue of psychology with your voice. Use it as an opportunity to educate the public.”

“Mmm…” Harley furrowed her brow, pretending to think. “And on what subject do you feel the public needs to be educated on?”

Pam shrugged. “Your specialty is in abnormal psychology, right? How about you write something thoughtful on the subject? Something that does more than just label us ‘psycho killers’.”

“Huh…well…I’d need a specific example of a case I worked on…insight into a truly abnormal psychology,” the blonde slowly walked her fingers over the grass between them, inching them up Ivy’s green arms, along the patterns etched into her skin. “One that I know—intimately.”

“No,” Ivy said, firmly, pushing her hand away.

Damn it. Ya whiffed it, Harl. “Oh, come on!” Harley pleaded. “Psycho Killers and The Women That Love Them Too Much,” she pitched the title, humor in her voice…Pam evidently wasn’t in the joking mood anymore, though.  

“No, Harleen. Absolutely not.” Pam sat up. “I will not have you exploit my mental illness to remedy your boredom.”

“You’re the one that suggested it!” Harley argued (so grateful that was at least somewhat accurate, as it gave her a leg to stand on), sitting up now too.

“I suggested you write a book, not a book on me.”

“Red,” Harley moved onto her knees, an excitement in her eyes as she took Pam’s hands. “This could be good for us! Give us both something to do. I could play therapist again, just like old times.”

 “Why would you want to go back there, Harleen?” Pam questioned. “Why would you want to go backwards? We finally made it somewhere. We’re happy, we’re out of the woods.”

“Oh, stop.” Harley had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “We always happen to find ourselves new woods, Pam. It’s just our nature.” Ignore the pun, Harley. Ignore the pun. “We could get through it again. I’d help you.”

“No!” Pam shouted. “I’m done asking for help! I’m done being angry, Harleen!” she got up from her place on the grass, standing over Harley now. “I want this this to stop being so complicated. I’m done with you having to walk on eggshells around me. It makes me feel absolutely disgusting, like I’m your abuser or something. I’m maybe the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, and even now I can barely control my temper.”

“Pam…” Harley sighed, pulling herself to her feet as well. “I’m not afraid of you. I never have been. I know you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Well good for you,” The redhead let out a humorless laugh. “Because I don’t. I can’t know that for sure. And yet you sit there, asking that I allow myself to be dragged back into that shit? That’s what you want to do with the time we have left? Take a fucking time machine to back before I knew I could be an asshole?”

Yeah, she was not in the right mood for this. Miscalculated that one, Harls. “Honey, no…” Harley reached out to take her hands again, but Pam ripped hers backwards preemptively.

“Don’t ‘Honey’ me.” Pam spat.

“OK, fine.” Harley huffed. “Look—just—fine. If you don’t want to participate in new sessions, that—fine. But could I at least use what I know already?”

“W—,” Pam seemed to be at a momentary loss for words. “What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Those rights can be waived, if the patient so chooses,” Harley informed her, careful to keep her tone even. See…Pam was sometimes so worried she wouldn’t be able to control her temper that she rarely allowed herself to get angry at all anymore, swallowing all her rage down even when it was warranted. It wasn’t exactly helpful, therapeutically speaking, but it did aide Harley in situations like this. Yeah, she felt a little guilty, but she also didn’t want to die, so…

Pam’s eyes were screwed shut once more, her hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that Harley knew was meant to lull her back off the ledge. “No,” she gritted.

Harley sighed, wishing very much that she hadn’t signed that contract already. What had she said about big life decisions, again? Yikes, six years seemed like such a long time ago. She sort of regretted being such a bitch to Pam back then…now that she was faced with a similar backlash. “Just think about it, OK?” Harley offered, her voice soft, kind. “Your answer doesn’t have to be yes,” but it would be—eventually. “But, hey, I don’t think the public getting to know the real you would be such a bad thing. Maybe they’ll start to understand your—early career choice.”

Pam’s eyes shot open, blazing green once more, tears falling from them down her cheeks. Harley knew this wasn’t a response to hurt or sadness so much as a physical response to pain. It took a lot out of her to control her mutated reactions.

And…Harley felt like shit. She was expected to, but not to this degree. Is this why you don’t marry your patients? Fuck.

Harley was honestly surprised Ivy hadn’t stormed off yet. To her, that meant she didn’t want to go. She needed something from Harley, some reassurance.

Finally making a decision, Harley cleared her throat. “Come here, Pam.”

The meta human just shook her head angrily.

Harley sighed and decided to move towards her instead, holding her hands out ahead of her so Pam could see her coming well in advance. Pam’s head shaking became subtler as the blonde approached, until Harley was gently ghosting her fingers down Pam’s arms, watching her eyes to determine when it would be OK to make her next move. Eventually, the redhead seemed to calm down and Harley felt comfortable wrapping her into a tight hug. Placing a kiss in her hair, she whispered, “All I want is for you to think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

Pam nodded against her, and Harley blessed her lucky stars she hadn’t procured the ability to read minds during her recent mutation.

/

Pamela hated when she looked at her like that…her eyes wide, nervous…like a deer caught in the headlights, or caught by a hunter, more accurately.

Harleen was chewing on her bottom lip in the leather armchair by the fireplace. It was late, the clock having struck midnight some time ago…Harley had (impressively) maintained her silence, allowing Pam to just watch her. Take her in.

After a while, Pam tapped the tip of her pen on her notepad and stood up, looking away from Harley’s alluring blue eyes and getting back to the task at hand.

This was the least she could do for her, really. For all that Harley had given her, was this really such significant kindness? Pamela’s mind for Harleen’s unconditional love. A fair trade, yes? Pamela liked feeling fulfilled, having a support system of people she could trust around her. Going to bed every night with the woman she loved snuggled against her…she didn’t want to give that up. She—she needed it, at this point. It was as pertinent as water or sunlight; it was the fuel that allowed her to thrive in this environment.

After a week of consideration. A week full of anger and denial and what felt almost like betrayal—she’d decided this was all trivial. She was part of a family now, and to succeed, families had to function like ecosystems: each entity aiding one another to common and individual goals. This was Harleen’s goal. She wanted to write a book, she wanted to help people, just as she always did.

The night before, as they’d watched their children load their dinner plates into the dishwasher, Harleen had told her that, if Pam would allow it, she would write an entire section just on Pamela’s childhood. She told her she would speak directly to the parents of gifted children. Children like Pamela, ones whose passion and curiosity made them difficult to handle sometimes. The ones labeled with ‘behavior problems’ just because they were too intelligent for their own benefit.

Pamela liked the idea of helping to spare children like her from a childhood like the one she’d experienced. It felt good, and noble and important and relevant and so…

Pam cleared her throat, reading from the notebook in her hands. “You will give each chapter to me immediately after finishing it so I can look it over. I reserve the right to edit and censor as I see fit.”

“Alright,” Harley was nodding. “That’s reasonable.”

“And Woodrue—about Woodrue, I don’t want that in the book. What he did. I don’t want people to know.” Although Pam was trying to come off firm, she knew her voice was shaking.

“Pam…” Harley sighed. “So much of your psychology can be traced back to that situation. It was a major moment for you. It was when Poison Ivy was born.”

“You can talk about the experiments,” Pam muttered. “But not about the rape. That’s not yours to share.”

“I—,” Harley began to protest, but stopped after Pam glared at her harshly. “OK, you’re right.” She acquiesced. “It’s not mine to share and it’s not my place to pressure you.”

Pam began to pace back and forth across the wool rug, her toes digging in whenever they could “I’m having a hard time trusting you,” she admitted, finally. When Harley looked up at her in surprise, Pam pressed on, worried she would lose her edge for some reason. She was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to her wife these days. “I told you about him…about what he said, when we were in the hospital after Joker—,”

“Yeah, I remember.” Harley helped her out.

“I’d never told anyone before. Not anyone.” Pam reiterated. “I mean, I’m sure those who saw the police report understood what happened…but I—I told you, and you said I could trust you, lean on you…and then you didn’t use it to help me, you used it to hurt. And then again, just a few months ago. So, you’ll excuse me if this subject is a difficult one to broach with you.”

The blonde rubbed her eyes, fighting the sleep that threatened to overtake her. Pam could tell she wanted to be present, but it was late… “Red,” she exhaled. “Look, I know I don’t exactly have the best track record on this, but I promise I don’t like hurting you any more than you like hurting me. I’ll stay away from it, alright? Now let’s—can we go to bed?”

They were both tired. Pam would have honestly rather just gone to sleep, but Harleen initiated, so…It was careful and gentle and a bit awkward, if Pam was being honest. After almost a quarter of a century together, it shouldn’t have really been awkward anymore. That part of their lives was still healthy and frequent, but on this night it was uncomfortable. Harley was trying too hard to give…and yet she was timid, checking with Pam every step of the way, which was something she typically welcomed, but it was too measured this time around. And Harley didn’t allow herself any attention, either. She felt guilty about something, Pam could tell.

Afterwards, Pam let Harley be the big spoon, the blonde’s strong arms wrapping around her middle…Pam liked that. It felt safe and nice, and she thought back to their earlier conversation. How could she not trust this woman? Everyone makes mistakes, she’d apologized…this time would be different.

Pam smiled then, happy to have found someone who loved her for everything that she was. Who challenged her to be better every day. Who had her best interests in mind.

“I love you, Harleen.” Pam whispered. To no one in particular, really, as she was fairly certain her wife was asleep. She just wanted the universe to know that it got something right, finally.

But Harley was awake, because she nuzzled into her neck and whispered, “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Pam’s gonna kill me, Harley thought as she stood starring at the pre-packaged tollhouse cookie dough. “Sustainable, sustainable, sustainable…” she reminded herself. “Oh, fuck it. I’ll just tell her they’re from scratch.”

She grabbed one of the tubes and tossed it into her cart.

Harley was nervous, although she didn’t really know why. Ms. Vale was coming to her house to discuss the book, and yes, there were a lot of possible landmines, she hadn’t wanted the meeting to be at her house, but unfortunately, there was no going back now.

Ms. Vale probably didn’t even eat cookies, but that’s what good hosts do, right? They offer people baked goods? Harley didn’t even know anymore. It had been a long time since they’d had anyone over who wasn’t a member of the Bat-family.

Needless to say, Harley was a little stressed out. It had taken them just over a year to get something on the page that felt “final”. There was a lot of handholding required. Many a hard night…it had been a trying process for Pam, reading about herself from this perspective…but little by little, day by day, Harley had pushed her—or—nudged her in the right direction. It was important for Pamela to know that Harley was proud of her. To hear that she was brave and that she loved her and that Pam was helping. That she was integral, imperative and essential to this process. And so Harley told her that, every chance she got…even when they weren’t discussing the book. It made Pam feel good, most of it was true, and it always motivated a more open dialogue. Win, win, win.

It was a little awkward getting the front door open while carrying two bags of groceries, she wasn’t exactly used to doing that either, as she’d spent the last 25 years of her life either paralyzed or pretending to be. But she managed, kicking it shut behind her and heading for the kitchen.

Pam was there, sitting at the table with Jo as the girl laughed at a stack of photos they were flipping through.

“What are you ladies up to?” Harley inquired, setting the paper bags down with a thud on the counter.

Pam looked up, a smile gracing her fair features. “I brought out those photos you asked for. Jo seems to think the fashions of the time were some sort of joke.”

“Oh God, Honey, just wait til you see what I was rocking in the 80s.” Harley chuckled. “Mom had it easy.” She leaned back against the counter. “You gonna call Selina?”

Nonplussed, Pam furrowed her brow. “Was I supposed to?”

“Well you can’t be here when Vicki comes,” Harley told her, crossing her arms. “I thought Selina could help you pass the time in case you don’t get called in today.”

Pam scoffed. “You act as if I need a babysitter.”

“Fine,” Harley gave a half shrug, leaning down to kiss her wife on the head. “If you want to be anti-social, I’m not going to stop you. Wherever you’re going, you need to take Jo with you, though. I don’t trust her not to tell Ms. Vale our life’s story.”

“Hey!” Jo protested. “I can keep a secret just fine, thank you very much.”

“Sure ya can, Sweety.” Harley pat her daughter on the shoulder with discernable condescension. “But you and Mom are gonna have some special time today. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Jo narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze to Pam now. “Where are ya gonna take me?”

“Well I wasn’t aware that—,”

“To the park.” Harley answered for her. “And then to get ice cream or something.”

“Harleen, it’s 40 degrees outside.” Pam pointed out the window at the windy, overcast November day.

“Hot chocolate, then.” Harley corrected. “Whatever it is, you guys have to go.”

“Yeah, alright.” Jo grumbled, sitting back in her chair.

“No, I mean now.” Harley said, rousingly. “Get out. I love you both, but you have to leave.”

Pam rolled her eyes, letting out a barely audible groan. But she did what she was told, Jo following suit. Harley understood, they didn’t want to leave the respite of the warm house…but it was nonnegotiable.

Harleen escorted them both to the door, grabbing Pam’s down jacket off the hook and helping her into it to speed up the process.  Jo zipped hers herself.

“Wallet? Keys?” Harley questioned.

Pam turned around and picked up her purse from the table as an answer, showing it to Harley for proof.

“Awesome.” Harley nodded. “Jo? You need a hat.”

“No I don’t!” the girl protested. “I’m not even cold.”

“That’s because you’re inside,” Pam reminded her. “Go get your hat, please.”

Jolene set her jaw, pointedly glowering at both her parents before stalking up the stairs towards her room.

Pam waited until she was gone to speak. “Why is it I can’t be present for this meeting?”

“Babe,” Harley chuckled, cupping the other woman’s face in her hands. “You know I love you, but your disguise is horrible. Like…Clark Kent level awful.”

That comment succeeded in vexing Pam thoroughly enough that she moved away from the other woman’s touch, scowling. “I look a lot better in—,”

“Glasses than that overgrown boy scout?” Harleen guessed with a grin.  “And in tights too, right? I get it, Pam. You’re better than everyone, especially Superman.” With that, she took Pam’s purse and fished out her glasses, handing them to her so that Pam could put them on before repossessing the bag.

The redhead did so begrudgingly, pushing them onto her nose and then adjusting her turtleneck, making sure it was doing its part to obscure her identity.

“My God…” Harley fanned herself. “How about you show me the adult section of your feminist book store?”

Pam raised an eyebrow, amused, but then Jo was galloping back down the stairs, beanie cap pulled tightly over her ears.

Harley kissed them both goodbye, shuffling them out the door and closing it quickly behind them. She glanced at her watch. Vicki was supposed to be here in 40 minutes. How long did cookies take? She supposed the package would tell her.

“Anthony!” She yelled up the stairs.

“Yeah?” He called back.

“Can I get your help down here?” Harley asked.

The boy appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later…shirtless.

“Oh, sorry, Dude,” Harleen apologized. “Were you getting in the shower?”

“Nope,” Anthony replied casually, starting down the stairs. “I was taking selfies.”

Harley’s expression quickly turned incredulous and her hands migrated to her hips. “That so?”

“That is so,” he confirmed. “My teacher let me into the music room before class, and I was playing Elvis, and I don’t know—evidently girls like that.”

Harleen regarded him critically, “What song.”

“Love Me Tender. I covered it like a ballad. His voice was able to extend over two octaves and a third, see.” Anthony explained. “Mine is obviously a bit limited at the moment, but I was experimenting with the lower vocal registers, and—anyway—some girl recorded it and sent it to her sister, and so she texted me, and—,”

“The girl or the sister?” Harley wanted to know.

“The sister. She’s a senior so I hadn’t had a chance to meet her previously. She’s pretty hot, though.” Anthony assured her.

“OK, hey, whoa.” Harley stopped him. “First up, you literally just turned 14. I wasn’t prepared for you to be an actual teenager yet. This time last year you were blushing your balls off because Miss Martian gave you a second look, now you’re sending shirtless selfies to Seniors?”

Anthony started to laugh, “Blushing my—what?”

“Just—don’t worry about it,” Harley exhaled. “Cool your jets. I’m passing the sex talk off to Mom, so please put off further conversations with this girl until she can put together a powerpoint or something.”

Anthony looked horrified all of a sudden. “Se—No! That’s not—I’m not—,”

A wave of relief washed over Harley as she watched her son stammer before her, his paled skin blushing beet red. “OK, awesome.” Harley took a comforted breath. “Stay a child forever, please and thank you. In the meantime, I need you to help me de-Pamify the house. My editor’s coming over and we need to pretend like I’m not married to the subject of my book.”

Anthony’s expression morphed back into that now familiar look of something nearing disgust. “You’re a terrible role model.”

“Yeah, well, clearly Mom isn’t much better.” She indicated the boy’s bare chest. “Let’s go. Chop chop. Family photos…reduce the number of plants to something more appropriate…you know the drill.”

He let his discontentment be known with an especially disappointed look, but complied despite his protest, heading for the living room.

Harleen smiled after him before refocusing on the task at hand. “Cookies,” she said aloud, making her announcement to the universe so that she couldn’t take it back. She quickly popped back into the kitchen, pulling the tube of cookie dough out of the bag first thing. She had to squint to read the package, and actually—fuck.

“Anthony, have you seen my glasses?” Harley raised her voice to ensure she could be heard from the living room.

“On the table, Ma.” He called back.

“Dining room or kitchen?”

“How about you look?” He suggested.

Harley decided to let that one slide, as a panty-dropping Mama’s boy was basically her ideal child and it was exactly what the lord had delivered. And by “the lord” she of course meant the meta-human she was married to. In any case, the answer was the kitchen table.

With the prescription lenses in front of her eyes, she gave reading the tollhouse package another go. 375…she preheated the oven.

Alright…umm…I guess I could change? Harley looked down at her jeans and plaid shirt. Or I could not. Was the alternate suggestion.

Ultimately, she went with option B and began slicing the cookie dough onto a sheet.

“Is Mom home?” Anthony asked, puzzled by the smell of the baking cookies when he entered the kitchen a few minutes later.

“You know what, Anthony? I find that offensive.” Harley crossed her arms haughtily.

“Why?” The boy tried to force the smile off his face. “So Mom’s a better cook, who cares? There are plenty of things you can do that she can’t. Like…you’re a doctor, for example. And she’s just a—oh, just a PhD, I guess.”

“Young man, you are moving further and further away from access to these cookies with every word out of your mouth.” Harleen warned in a tone that said she meant business.

Anthony chuckled when he noticed the empty packaging on the counter. “Oh, come on, Ma. You at least have to try to hide the evidence.”

She sized him up for a moment, imaging there should be a western score in the background. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll stop pretending I can cook if you stop pretending you earned that body.”

His gaze dropped down to his muscular chest for a moment before a sly smile overtook his features. “You know; girls don’t really seem to care where I got it.” And with a shrug, he added: “they just want to touch my abs.”

“Right,” Harley nodded. “Just like, at the end of the day, you’re gonna eat these cookies whether they came from the store or I made them from scratch.”

Anthony considered that thoughtfully for a moment. “Alright, but yours gets you in trouble with Mom.”

“Oh, and yours doesn’t?” Harley laughed. “Because we all know how much Mom loves playboys, and when women or girls are referred to as a collective. I might get a lecture on sustainable food sourcing, but you’re gonna get phrases like “toxic masculinity” thrown at you, and that stink sticks.”

Harleen watched as green began to seep up through Anthony’s skin, his blue eyes wide with fear. And that is how you freak out a male feminist. Harley grinned, pretending to clap flour off her hands.

She would have reveled in her victory for a bit longer if the doorbell hadn’t rung. “Evidence,” she said, pointing to the wrapper. Anthony quickly grabbed it off the counter and buried it deep in the trash can.

With a satisfied smile, Harleen headed for the door, performing a visual sweep around the living room to make sure Anthony had done his job. Then, satisfied, she continued on, opening the front door to find Vicki Vale standing on her porch, looking very professional in her heels and blazer.

OK, so maybe I should have changed.

“Ms. Vale, hello!” Harley beamed. “Welcome. So sorry I’m underdressed.”

The older woman waved her off. “It’s perfectly alright. We’re in your home, after all, I want you to feel comfortable.”

“Well comfortable I am, clearly.” Harleen chuckled. “Come on in.”

The woman had just stepped inside when Anthony exited the kitchen, his hands full with four of the twelve cookies the package had produced.

Vicki seemed thoroughly confused. See…Anthony looked a bit older than his age, his musculature and facial features better and further developed than most other strictly human boys in his class. Harley could understand why this might look a bit off.

Yep, still not wearing a shirt. This is going splendidly already, Harleen. “Vicki, this is Julian, our pool boy.”

Anthony’s face spelled “Really?” so clearly that Harley could have sworn he’d said the word out loud.

“O—oh?” was Vicki’s response. Clearly perplexed as to why they would require a pool boy in November.

“I’m sorry, I’m kidding,” Harley let them both off the hook, and really wishing she hadn’t attempted a joke in the first place. Selina probably would have laughed. “This is my son, Anthony. Anthony, meet Ms. Vale, she’s my editor over at S.T.L.I. Publishing.”

The boy transferred all the cookies over to his left hand so that he could use his right to shake. “Pleasure, Ma’am.”

“Oh,” Vicki looked relieved, “Good to meet you.”

“Anthony is a classical pianist who recently discovered girls like it a lot better when you play Elvis,” Harley told her.

“And we can attribute his state of undress to whoever is on the other end of that message?” Vicki guessed, referencing the cellphone lighting up in the front pocket of his sweatpants.

“I respect her a great deal,” Anthony assured, quickly—almost desperately, actually. “The other end of this message, I mean. The girl on the other end. And you as well, Ma’am. I also respect you a great deal.”

Harleen laughed at that. “You can go now.”

“Oh, thank God,” Anhony exhaled, giving Vicki one more polite nod before heading up the stairs.

“Anyway…” Harley turned back to the other woman with a smile. “As you can see, I made cookies, if you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“You know, I really don’t, but I’ve got a soft spot for home-baked goods,” Vicki’s tone was easy and good natured and it succeeded in putting Harley at ease.

She retrieved the plate, burning herself on the cookie sheet only once (personal record) before returning to the living room and setting the cookies in between them on the coffee table, Harley sitting on the couch while Vicki chose the arm chair.

“I owe you an apology,” was the first thing out of Vicki’s mouth. “I met you and your wife some time ago at a gala thrown by Wayne Enterprises.”

“And were you rude?” Harley laughed, chewing on a cookie. “What’s the apology for?”

“When I first called you last year, I remarked that I wasn’t aware you were married to a woman. But you’re Paula Irving’s wife, right? I once did a profile on her for the Gazette.”

Goddamn it, Pam. “Oh…” Harleen pursed her lips. “Paula was my first wife, yes. She passed about 8 years ago, unfortunately.”

Vicki’s expression was instantly sympathetic. “I’m—wow, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s fine,” Harley said, clearing her throat like this was hard for her. “The children were still young. I remarried soon after. We all have our own ways of coping,” she smiled sadly.

“And now your wife is—?”

“Retired.” Harley said. “Formerly a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs.”

“Oh, and how’d you two meet?” Vicki smiled warmly, clearly trying to shift the conversation into more pleasant terrain.

“Mutual friend,” Harley told her, mimicking her expression. “Lillian looks a lot like Paula, if I’m being honest. It’s all been rather…easy. And she keeps me young, so I can’t exactly complain.”

“I thought you said she was retired,” Vicki questioned.

“She is,” Harley confirmed. “She wasn’t bonding with the children like she wanted to, she thought dedicating some more time to them might help. Anthony was 5 when we got married, and he is biologically Paula’s, so obviously there was some necessary adjustment time.”

“Of course,” Vicki granted, reaching for a cookie.

“But you didn’t come here to talk about me,” Harley rerouted the conversation as skillfully as she could.

“Right,” Vicki nodded. “We absolutely loved the manuscript you sent. How you managed to make the more academic portions at all interesting is beyond me, but I’m certainly grateful. Made my job a lot easier.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harley’s smile came complete with a blush in her cheeks. “So then we’re…good? We’re done?”

“Actually…” Vicki reached into her purse for a note pad and pen. “I had some questions for you…Just some extra stuff, all information that I’m sure could be found in the text if someone were to look, but that could maybe help us out during the book tour.”

“Book tour?” Harley was intrigued.

“Obviously,” Vicki chuckled. “Or press appearances at the very least. A few joint ones, preferably. With Poison Ivy, I mean. Do you think—could you give me her contact information? Or would you mind—,”

“We can figure that out,” Harleen assured her. “Let’s hear your questions.”

Vicki decided to jump right in: “What drew you in, with Ivy. What made you want to work with her? I mean, it’s been 25 years, right? I’m not a psychiatrist, but that seems like a long time to work with one patient.”

“It is, yeah.” Harleen acknowledged. “She just—she challenged me. The truth is, I came to Arkham hoping to get a chance to work with Joker. He was all the rage back then in abnormal psychology community. And yeah—I met him. Didn’t turn out to be all that impressive or interesting, really. He was just another asshole without empathy. Another villain trying to create chaos just for the sake of it.

“And Ivy was different,” Vicki recognized.

“Ivy was misunderstood. Is misunderstood.” Harley expressed her sincerity by sitting forward. “That’s something I hope people learn from this book. If nothing else, I want people to realize that they don’t know Poison Ivy.”

Vicki nodded as she scribbled, easily slipping back into the role of a reporter. “So 25 years, there’s still new material?”

“Well therapy is never truly finished,” Harley told her. “It’s always an ongoing process. Every day presents an opportunity to learn something new about ourselves. And so every day offers a chance for healing. Old wounds, new wounds…sometimes therapy isn’t retrospective at all, sometimes it’s preventative. These heroes are under constant stress, sometimes I’m just a person that Ivy can talk to. Everyone needs one of those.”

“A friend?” Vicki questioned.

Harley chuckled. “Preferably one with a medical degree.”

“Right,” Vicki smiled, finishing what she was writing.

“And it’s not just the public that doesn’t understand her, it was her doctors too, for a while.” Harleen divulged. “She was incorrectly diagnosed as Bipolar for like 15 years. And believe me when I say ignoring her PTSD, just letting it fester…it was damaging, to say the least. A lot of our early work had to do mostly with tearing down her walls, unlearning her coping mechanisms.”

“PTSD…right…” Vicki nodded. “Excuse my ignorance, but isn’t that what soldiers have?”

“It’s—ha,” This happened to be a personal pet-peeve of Harley’s. “PTSD is a response to trauma. The source of that trauma is irrelevant. Yes, it’s popular among soldiers, but it’s also extremely popular in victims of sexual violence, or domestic abuse, or—,”

“So which is Ivy?” Vicki asked.

Harley stopped. “That’s—like I said, the source of the trauma is irrelevant. It differs from patient to patient, and the torture Pamela was subjected to as a young woman certainly qualifies as a traumatic experience, I would think.”

Vicki raised an eyebrow a bit at the sharpening of her tone, but simply nodded once more, offering a cordial “of course” before clearing her throat. “If you could describe your relationship to Poison Ivy in one word, what would it be?”

It took Harleen a moment to separate the two sides of the person she’d spent the last 25 years of her life dedicated to. Poison Ivy. “Admiration.” Harley finally decided. “I admire her a great deal. She’s the only Arkham patient I worked with who was willing to change. To better herself, even if that’s not exactly how she saw it or why she was doing it. She sacrificed an identity she’d grown accustomed to because she was able to see bigger than herself, able to understand the world on a larger scale. Understand the need for compromise. That’s rare for a person in Pamela’s situation, with the psychology she developed…”

Vicki was still writing when she asked: “You don’t think she was born with any of it?”

“These are all really nurture disorders,” Harley took another cookie. “By all accounts, Pamela Isley was meant to be a perfect human being. Beautiful, intelligent, empathetic, wealthy…but she was born to the wrong parents in the wrong time period, and so nurture overrode her nature in many respects. And nurture can be extended to the birth of Poison Ivy as well. Ivy was born out of sickness, and so that became her nature. Perhaps if she’d been provided with the proper mental health care sooner, you wouldn’t have to debate your boss on which photo cover makes the former eco-terrorist look more sympathetic.”

“Mm,” Vicki considered that. “So what is it you believe made Dr. Isley more susceptible to change?”

“She’s a woman,” Harleen answered truthfully. “And women tend to listen a little better, in my experience. They’re more open to suggestion…especially from other women. They don’t have to worry about that nagging ‘I know better because I have a penis’ narrative when speaking with a female doctor. At the time we met, Pamela had been taught to distrust men. It was a survival mechanism. She was able to drop some of her defenses around me because I made her feel more comfortable than the male doctors she’d dealt with. I can guarantee you that if I were a man we wouldn’t be sitting here today.” She waited a moment for Vicki to catch up before continuing, as this next part was important. “No two patients are the same. You can have two patients—identical twins even, with the exact same mental illness or disorder, and their symptoms could still present differently. Mental health is not a cookie cutter science. It’s not like mathematics where there’s always a right answer. It’s full of gray area and dead ends, wrong turns and educated guesses…and if no two patients are the same, then no two treatments should be either, and no two doctors, for that matter. We need to learn to use our imaginations, especially in abnormal psychology. Mine is a field full of complex, atypical problems that sometimes require complex, atypical solutions. It’s up to us—the doctors, the professionals—to troubleshoot, to problem solve with our patients. That’s how we make progress. By taking stock, by taking the time to understand our patients, to know them as human beings, and then by attacking the problem at its core.”

“And what’s Poison Ivy’s problem?” Vicki asked. “At her core, I mean.”

“Love.” Harley stated, plainly. “Wanted it, craved it…had a lot to give, but was never given any.”

“That’s it?” Vicki almost laughed. “That seems awfully…simplistic, don’t you think?”

Harleen smiled placidly. “Oh, Ms. Vale, I don’t think there’s anything simplistic about love.”

/

“She’ll have a hot chocolate—,”

“With extra chocolate and even more extra whipped cream,” Jolene insisted. “Oh, and chocolate syrup on top.”

Pamela was reminded once again of just how grateful she was not to have to deal with the possible onset of diabetes in her children (or her wife). “Yes, that.” The redhead confirmed. “And I’ll have a green tea, but only if it’s organic.”

The barista calculated the absolutely ridiculous total (all of Jo’s extras costing an additional $2.00), and Pamela had half a mind to take a stand, to say ‘no’ to the ridiculous capitalist enterprise that was the coffee industry…but the look of pure joy on Jo’s face when her drink was slid in front of her made Pam reconsider (just this once).

They elected to take their drinks outside and brave the cold, despite both their physiologies favoring a warmer climate.

Jo had her scarf pulled tight around her, her rosey cheeks and bright green eyes peeking out from between the material on her neck and the beanie cap pulled tight over her ears.

“Did you know there’s a gym in Ohio that wants to take me away?” Jo asked as she skipped from cobblestone to cobblestone on the path through Robinson Park, her drink splashing onto the sleeve of her coat with each leap.

“Yes, I did know that.” Pam acknowledge, her tone slightly clip as she resisted the urge to snatch the drink away from the girl’s hand.

“Would you let me go?” Jo wondered, taking a big gulp from her cup and seemingly severely burning her tongue.

“Well I would miss you,” Pam admitted. “But if it’s what you truly wanted, and you told me all the reasons why, and you promised me you’d work hard…yes, I’d let you go.” She paused for a moment, thankful for the warm beverage that was keeping her hand functional as she clutched to it. “Would you like to go?”

Jo shrugged. “I just want to win a gold medal, is all.”

Pam sighed, knowing that was impossible. Knowing she’d be disqualified as soon as they ran her blood. But Jolene was still speaking.

“Because Mom never won one, ya know? And that’s sad, I think.” Jo’s tone was somber.

“Darling, if you want a gold medal, you should want it for you, not her.” Pam said (against her better judgment). “You need to set your own goals. Have your own dreams.”

“Oh, I do.” Jo assured her. “I want a gold medal because I’m the best at what I do. Best in the country. ‘Member that website? That’s what it said, that I was the best in the whole country.”

Pam was about to tell her that yes, she did remember that, but then she heard her name being shouted from somewhere behind her.

“Lillian!” Sounded an excited female voice.

Pam and Jo both spun around to find—Supergirl—err—Kara. She was dressed just like Jo, wrapped in a scarf, a colorful down jacket making her stand out in the gray of the November day. Beside her was a woman dressed in an expensive, expertly tailored black trench coat, her delicate hands covered by leather gloves and her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“Lillian, hi! It’s me, Kara!” the blonde called out, as if they she hadn’t recognized her the first time.

Pam glanced around quickly. While it was true Kara had used the proper name for the setting, it was still a bit frowned upon to act so friendly with each other out in public. But the coast was clear, the weather having kept most of the normal park-goers indoors. Pam turned her look of discomfort into a friendly smile as the young woman approached, meeting them in the middle, the woman she was with following behind her at a slower pace. “Ms. Danvers, what a pleasant surprise. What are the chances?”

“I know, in this whole big city.” Kara grinned. “I just had to see what Poison Ivy had done with the place.”

Pam’s lips remained upturned while her eyes flitted questioningly to the raven haired woman beside her. Pam could have sworn she’d seen her before…She looked so familiar…

“Oh!” Kara realized she was being rude. “This is my—uh—Lena. She’s on business so I’m on business—not on business, I mean, just also here—because she’s here.”

Jo began to laugh at the woman’s awkward bumbling. “You’re her girlfriend, ain’t’cha?” She directed the question at Lena who seemed to be taken aback by the directness.

“Aren’t you.” Pam corrected, quickly.

“Well, I…” Lena started.

“It’s OK,” Jo’s grin was wide and toothy. “I’ve got two moms; I know all about girlfriends.”

It only took a moment’s further inspection before Pam realized that Lena was Lena Luthor, younger sister of famed supervillain Lex Luthor, arch enemy of Superman. Well if that wasn’t one of the more bizarre couples she’d seen…But then Pam reminded herself that she’d married her psychiatrist and Batman’s live-in girlfriend was the city’s most notorious thief. Even so, this revelation was a bit jarring. Kara had always seemed so…perfectly girl-next-door.

“Ms. Luthor,” Pam finally found her voice, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you. Dr. Lillian Rose,” she introduced herself. “I have been so incredibly impressed with the sustainable innovations you’ve made to Lex Corp since taking over as CEO.”

“Well, it’s L-Corp now,” Lena smiled, her green eyes twinkling having evidently found her footing as well. “But I thank you.”

“Lillian is a botanist at S.T.A.R. Labs,” Kara told her, seemingly trying to explain away Pam’s interest in the environment in a way that didn’t raise suspicion.  

Lena chuckled. “A botanist named ‘Lillian Rose’? How appropriate.”

“Either my parents had a wicked sense of humor or I did,” Pam remarked, earning her another chuckle from the raven-haired woman.

“And who is this darling LGBT activist?” Lena asked, looking to Jo now.

“Oh, of course.” Pam was just so used to Jo being assertive…now she felt a bit silly. “This is my daughter, Jolene. Jo, this is a friend of mine from National City, she interviewed me for an article some time ago.”

Jo could tell something was up, that was obvious in the conspiratorial nature of her nod. “Alright…” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you,” Kara grinned. “And you are very pretty, just like your Mom. Or…” she furrowed her brow. “Just like your Mom…”

“She’s biologically Harleen’s,” Pam informed, her heartrate rising ever so slightly.

“The Missus, I assume?” Lena raised a dark eyebrow. “Could have fooled me…unless your wife has your same eyes.”

“No,” Pam smiled. “Just a carefully chosen sperm donor.”

“I’m sorry…” Lena seemed to suddenly realize this conversation might be inappropriate. “This probably isn’t—,”

“No, I love science.” Jo grinned. “And I know I’m the prettiest science experiment around.”

“Oh, definitely.” Kara nodded in ardent agreement.

Jo giggled at the blonde. “You’re like me but a grownup.”

Chapter Text

Harleen watched the minutes on the treadmill slowly tick down. Although, were they ticking down? How the fuck did she still have 20 minutes left?

Her pace was a brisk jog, which wouldn’t have been a problem if she hadn’t just worked legs for an hour and a half…

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” she panted to no one in particular. Selina was doing some yoga bullshit in the corner, and anyway, Harley tended to mumble to herself, so Selina had learned to employ selective hearing in her presence.

Harley tripped when her phone rang, but was able to keep herself upright after a few feet of stumbling. “Yeah?” She answered, hoping her labored breathing wasn’t too obvious.

“Would you accept a collect call from Arkham Aslum?” An automated voice asked.

“Yes,” Harley accepted, without thinking twice. Although, she realized maybe she should of. This was her private number, and the only person at the asylum who should know it was Joan, and she’d call from her personal line…

“Hello, Dr. Quinzel,” Jonathan Crane’s voice came over the line.

“Dr. Crane!” Harley was surprised for a number of reasons, namely that he was pushing 70 and still calling from Arkham.

“I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?” He asked.

Harley had to chuckle at that. Always nice when mad scientists care. “No, I’m just—physical therapy.”  

“Oh yes, that’s right.” He sounded pleased. “I heard you were back on your feet.”

Harleen probably would’ve smiled if she weren’t so exhausted. “And you’re back in Arkham…”

“Some things can’t be avoided.” Harley assumed he was shrugging. “But I do miss our stimulating discourse…” he paused so Harley could agree, she assumed. “In any case, I won’t take more of your time than is necessary. I just wanted to tell you I read your book.”

“O—oh?” Harley quickly slowed the treadmill down. “How did you—?”

“It’s 300 pages of preposterous detritus.” He interrupted her question, his tone matter-of-fact. “That anyone would write a book on Poison Ivy’s psychology and leave out her history of sexual abuse is absolutely ludicrous. Even I wouldn’t, and lord knows I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that woman—her depiction or her past traumas. But what you’ve done is simply disrespectful to the study of human psychology.”

“I’m—,” Harleen was at a loss for words. “Excuse me?” She stopped the machine all together.

“With all due respect,” Crane began. “This reads like a money grab by a pop psychologist. You skirt around everything, broad-stroking the most basic information. And the sexual abuse omission is ridiculous. It’s far and away the most interesting thing about her. Clearly your editor doesn’t have a background in this field.”

“Dr. Crane, how did you even get this number?” She tried to mask the hurt in her voice. “And how did you get a copy of the book?”

“It was a special request. And a waste of one,” he humphed.

“Well I’m…very sorry you feel that way.” Harley’s tone was controlled.

“As am I.” and with that, he hung up, leaving Harley a bit stunned.

“Who the hell pissed in his cornflakes?” She asked, exasperated.  

“If that was Bruce, tell him Damian had it coming.” Selina piped up from her standing bow pose.

“No, it wasn’t Bruce.” Harley muttered distractedly, hopping off the treadmill and heading towards the showers.

“Hey, you weren’t done!” Selina pointed out. “And where are you going? You’re old, you have to stretch.”

“I’ll…do it when I get home,” Harley lied, and rather obviously.

All Crane’s phone call had done was confirm what Harley already knew: that detail of Poison Ivy’s life was important. It was vital to her story, and Pam had squandered it. It was just…the whole thing read disingenuous, and that was frustrating for Harley as it was her name on the cover.

Selina narrowed her eyes. “Who was on the phone?”

Fuck…is this about to be a thing? “Just…” Harley sighed. “A former colleague. They were…less than impressed with my book.”

“Oh, good.” Selina almost smiled. “Shouldn’t have written a book on your wife’s psychology anyway. Although it’s almost impressive you found a way to somehow be less ethical than before.”

It’s a thing. Harleen scoffed. “Are you serious, Catwoman?” she emphasized the alias. “Are you really about to lecture me on morals—AGAIN?”

The brunette didn’t back down. “More on the conflict of interest.”

“Ha!” Harley snorted. “You realize how insane that is, right? Coming from you?”

“Whatever,” Selina waved her off, moving into downward dog and then fluidly transitioning into a cobra pose. “I’m not reading it.”

Ugh, why did Selina have to look for a fight right now? “I didn’t ask you to,” Harley mumbled. “But you know what? I’m pretty done with that narrative of yours. How dare I make your friend a better person. How dare I repurpose her powers for a good cause. How dare I force her to actually fucking contribute to society. God, how unethical.”

OK…Harley had to level with herself. So maybe not all of this is actually directed at Selina.

“Harl...” Selina was clearly unimpressed. “You need to chill out. And by the way, if that was all you’d done, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you know it.”

She’s right, Harleen. “God…don’t, alright? It’s clear you’ve been building ammunition for this for a while, but I’m late to pick up my genetically modified plant children…you know, the ones I had so my wife could feel included in our family. Yeah, Selina, I’m the goddamn devil incarnate.”

“Oh, yes. How noble.” The brunette laughed. “Giving your children Pamela Isley’s DNA, way to take that bullet. What a horrible curse they’ve had thrust upon them. The horror! They could cut themselves on their cheekbones!”

Harley chose not to respond, grabbing her gym bag instead and heading for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bright and early, right?” Selina turned, hands on her hips, to watch her go.

Harleen was confused for a moment…before she remembered she was being interviewed on a morning show the next day…about her book. Fuck. “You’ll be watching?”

“Oh, yes.” Selina smiled. “Recording it too. So if you fuck up, it will be forever memorialized on Batman’s DVR. Just remember that.”

That’s the least of my problems. Harley left without saying goodbye. It’s way too late to fix the goddamn book.

/

“Pam—I—I need you to talk to Anthony about sex.”

The redhead uncovered herself, wearing her best “WTF” expression as she detached her mouth, wiping it with the back of her hand. “What?”

“He’s a teenager now,” Harley’s chest was beaded with sweat, rising and falling with each labored breath she took. It had taken Pam a while to get Harley to this point. A long while. “He’s interested, and I want to make sure he’s got all the right information. Especially since he’s so…unique.”

“No, yeah, I get that,” Pam unwrapped her arms from around the other woman’s thighs. “But my tongue was…that’s what you were thinking about when…are you serious?”

“Hmm?” Harley’s eyes looked out of focus. “Oh, no, you’re fantastic, Babe.” She distractedly assured her. “Top notch, really.”

“D—,” Pam began, bewildered, almost at a loss for words. “Do you know who I am?”

“Sure!” Harley adjusted her nightshirt. “Oral technician extraordinaire.”

“But you—you didn’t finish.” Pam realized, mystified as to what was going on. “I didn’t—I was getting somewhere, why would you—.”

“Oh, you got there, Hon.” Harley guaranteed her, offering a double thumbs up. “Seriously, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Appre—what?” Pam sat back onto her heels. “I wasn’t—this wasn’t me doing you a favor. You appreciate it when I do the dishes or make the bed, not when I—are you OK? Is something wrong?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” Harley let the smile she’d painted on fall away. “Just stressed. The first batch of preliminary reviews came in today for the book. I sent it to one of my old psychology professors at Gotham State, and wouldn’t you know it, his first question was why you fixated so heavily on weaponizing your sexuality...and I’ve got that morning show appearance tomorrow…” She sighed. “Anyway, that’s not your problem…it just means I have to figure out some way to explain it without mentioning the—you know.”

“Right, of course, ‘you know’.” Pam said scornfully, getting off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

“Hey—oh, no, don’t go!” Harley lamented.

Pam scanned the sink quickly before opening the cupboard, coming up empty in both locations. “Harleen, where did you put the mouthwash?”

“Oops,” Harley apologized. “Used the last of it this morning. Sorry.”

Pam slammed the cupboard shut. “Goddamn it.”

“Yeesh, well excuse me for tasting so awful.” The blonde huffed

“Typically you don’t,” Pam acknowledged, closing the bathroom door behind her as she reentered the bedroom. “But this is the taste of failure and disappointment. Simply a reminder of my inability to—,”

“Jesus,” Harley rolled her eyes. “You wanna get me there? Fine.” She unceremoniously spread her legs. “Have at it.”

“Mmm…how romantic.” Pam sneered, switching the lamp on her bedside table off, casting the room into darkness before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over her shoulders, facing away from her wife.

Harley sighed audibly, allowing a pregnant pause before turning to wrap her arm around Pam’s waist. “I’m sorry…” she murmured. “It’s really not you, I promise. I just have a lot on my plate right now. Not enough brain space to focus. Thanks for trying, though?” she offered.

“Anytime,” Pam mumbled.

Harley gave her one last squeeze. “I’m gonna take a shower.” She kissed her on the cheek and slid out of the covers, closing the bathroom door behind her.

Pam pulled her knees to her chest when she heard the water turn on. Woodrue…ruined my life, now he’s ruining my sex life. You can’t satisfy your wife because you’re a coward, Pamela. A coward who is still letting that asshole dictate your life.

She heard the shower door creak slightly, and the sound of the water change, landing on Harley now rather than pounding on the tiles.

Imagine having to misrepresent scientific findings, Pamela. Having to lie through your teeth in a published work of academia. You wouldn’t. You never would, and you wouldn’t if she asked you to, either.

Pam tightened the grip on her knees, slamming her eyes shut.

/

Christ, that was painful.

Look, I’m not an asshole, OK? I’m not…unethical. Why Harley felt the need to convince herself at this point she wasn’t sure. She was Pamela’s wife, yes, but she was also Poison Ivy’s doctor. There were decisions that had to be made, and sometimes that required the blurring of lines. Harleen had to employ every weapon at her disposal. Or…maybe not “weapon”, that might be a bit harsh. Method? Sure, method.

But Harley was so sensitive at this point watching the cartoon Robin Hood could have done it for her (there was just something about that pants-less fox…).

She’d been edging for like an hour straight, and God, it was horrible. She’d had to close her eyes for most of it, as the sight of Poison Ivy between her legs was usually enough to get her at least halfway there. And she just fucking knew Pam was giving it her all. Her wife was nothing if not talented in that department.

The only way she’d made it without giving Pam the satisfaction was imagining their kids walking in on them…or imagining Pam explaining sex to Anthony. There was nothing less relaxing than that image, and it managed to do the trick.

Harley felt bad, of course. She appreciated that her wife still put effort into these moments. Pamela Isley was not one to phone it in. Like…ever. It was inspiring, actually, how much pride she took in her abilities. But that was just it. See…Pam was a giver. She liked to show off. She gleaned satisfaction from the knowledge that she could satisfy Harley. She craved it, that feeling of power she got hearing Harley’s sated sighs as they basked in the afterglow.

Pamela wouldn’t get that tonight, and Harley had told her why as plainly as she could while attempting to avoid heavy handedness. There was a direct cause and effect now between Pam disappointing Harley sexually and letting her fear discredit her psychology. Harleen had abandoned their bed to give Pam space to think on that. To reflect on her choices surrounding a certain omittance of information.

Harleen wasn’t trying to be vindictive…This wasn’t for her, after all. It was for Pam. It would be good for her to get that all out in the open. Harleen knew it would be, and she was a mental health professional, after all. Pam might not think it, and Selina might not agree, but Harley knew what was best for her. This secret had dictated Pamela’s reality for far too long, and she would never be able to fully heal until she stopped holding her cards so unbearably close to her chest. It was too late to get it in the book…but maybe at a press conference, if Poison Ivy herself told the world in her own words what he’d done to her, then maybe—finally—she’d get the sympathy she deserved.

Harley closed her eyes as the warm water cascaded over her. Poison Ivy was wearing that cocky smirk…slowly, she got up from the reclining chair, sashaying towards her in her Arkham uniform. Grabbing a hold of Harleen’s tie and tugging her forward, their lips met. Strong vines slithered around Harleen’s  wrists, pulling them back behind the chair, leaving her helpless and exposed. Long, green fingers traced teasingly downwards, threading through the buttons of her blouse before it was ripped roughly open…

And…yeah, it didn’t take much.

Harley braced herself against the wall of the shower, her nostrils flaring as she gulped down chestfulls of air.

She washed quickly, not bothering to shampoo her hair as it was already clean. There had been a purpose to this shower and she’d achieved it, so…the rest was just for show. I’m not an asshole, though. She repeated over and over again as she climbed back into bed, smiling as and snaking an arm around Pam’s waist, pulling her flush against her.

“I’ll do that interview with you tomorrow,” Pam mumbled.

Yessss… “Oh, Babe…you don’t have to.” Harley’s voice was muffled slightly by Pam’s hair.  

“I don’t want anything to be misrepresented,” Pam told her, gruffly. “And I’m proud of you, so I want to be there.”

Harley grinned, nuzzling her face under the layers of curls in order to place a few gentle kisses on her wife’s neck. “Well if you insist…”

Chapter Text

“Ugh—I’m sweating.” Harleen nervously fanned herself. “Am I shiny? I’m shiny. And I hate this stupid shirt.”

“Well…” Pamela cleared her throat, her voice even as she crossed one leg over the other. “Perhaps you should have listened to me when I suggested you wear the blue.”

Harley furrowed her brow in confusion. “When did you suggest that?”

Pamela was watching the door to the soundstage, waiting for the hosts. She was anxious, even if she felt silly admitting it to herself. “You asked if you should wear the blue or the red. I said the blue, you chose the red.” She coolly reminded her. “And seeing as how that was no more than an hour ago, I’m legitimately concerned your memory is beginning to fail you. Is there a history of Alzheimer’s or dementia in your family?”

Harleen narrowed her eyes, regarding the other woman critically. After a moment she decided: “I think I might hate you.”

“Mmm…I’ve got a wedding ring and two kids at home that would beg to differ,” Pam said as the hosts entered the room, all fake smiles and impeccable hair.

“Dr. Quinzel! Hello!” The woman said. “I’m Summer Gleeson, this is Snapper Carr…but I’m sure you already know that.”

Harleen was clearly a bit startled at all the energy that had blasted through the door at 6am, but she’d never had trouble painting on feigned enthusiasm, so that’s exactly what she did when she grinned and said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. This is Poison Ivy—,”

“But I’m sure you already know that.” Ivy assured her, pointedly not reaching out to shake their hands.

“Ooh, passive aggression! That’s fun.” Snapper smiled, plopping down in the chair across from Ivy in the crescent arrangement.

“Allow me to apologize for her,” Harley offered. “She’s not much of a morning person.”

“Well, hey, I wasn’t either.” Summer chuckled. “But then I turned 50, and off to the morning show I went. It’s sort of like journalist purgatory!” She delivered her entire line with an eerily wide smile on her face, and Pam glanced at the cameras momentarily to make sure they hadn’t started rolling already.

They hadn’t.

“So…is it alright if we call you Pamela? Pam?” Snapper asked, watching her expectantly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Absolutely not.” Was Ivy’s quick reply.

“Alright,” Snapper clapped. “Ivy it is, then.”

“How about ‘Dr. Isley’, actually.” Pamela suggested. “My degree is every bit as legitimate as Dr. Quinzel’s, after all.”

“Fantastic…” Summer was nodding at the cue cards, so Ivy wasn’t quite sure what she was approving, but she sat back in her seat anyway, resigning herself to whatever would come next.

“You’re not gonna kill us, are you?” Snapper asked. “I mean; you’re taking the necessary medication?”

The vine in Ivy’s wrist pulsed as the stage manager began to count down.

“And we’re live in three…two…” he pointed to Summer, who was somehow able to broaden her smile.

“Good morning, Gotham!” She greeted excitedly. “And man-oh-man, what a lovely day it’s shaping up to be.”

“Almost makes this job bearable, huh, Summer?” Snapper asked.

“Almost.” She smiled. “Well we hope everyone has at least one cup of coffee down the hatch. It’s been two already for me.” She laughed at her own joke.

“Oh, three for me.” Snapper chuckled. “But I put some bourbon in that last one.”

Harleen was unable to hide the surprise on her face at that comment, but Snapper quickly waved it off. “I’m just jiving; the drinking starts after the camera cuts.” He winked right into the lens.

“But wide awake or sleepy, hungover or still drunk, you are not going to want to miss our chat with this morning’s guests: renowned psychiatrist and author of the new book Pretty Poison,” Summer held up a copy of the book. “And the subject herself, right here, in the flesh: former eco-terrorist and current member of the Justice League— Poison Ivy. And can I just say,” Summer turned to the redhead. “You are absolutely stunning, even more so in person.” She delivered her next line to the camera. “I swear, people, even with the vines and whatnot, it is like staring into the sun.”

“If that was to placate my narcissism, I thank you, but it was unnecessary.” Ivy intoned.

“Doesn’t make it not true,” Snapper toasted with his coffee mug.

“Well, in any case,” Summer re-routed the conversation. “This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She has been Ivy’s therapist for the last—what is it, 25 years? 26?”

“They all start to blur together after a while,” Harley answered charmingly. “But we met on my first day at my first job after medical school, and the rest is history.”

“It almost sounds like a love story,” Summer remarked.

“Ah, but we don’t have any secrets,” Harleen pointed out. “And aren’t those what make relationships interesting?”

“You are married, though, right?” Snapper asked.

Pamela had to force herself not to roll her eyes. “Is that a question you would ask one of your male guests?”

“Well, this book isn’t just about you,” Snapper pointed out. “It’s a personal story for you too, right?” That question he directed at Harley. “There’s a passage in here where you say it was your conversations with Dr. Isley here that helped you realize you were attracted to women.”

Harleen’s laugh came out a bit nervous. “I honestly didn’t think you’d read it, but I’m impressed. Yes, I am married, and yes, the open and honest conversations I had with Dr. Isley as a young woman were certainly illuminating. Everyone needs female friends, Snapper. Even bisexual women.”

“Friends. Is that how you think of each other?” Summer prompted. “Isn’t that a bit of a conflict of interest?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Harleen assured. “Dr. Isley and I understand our relationship, we’re aware of its boundaries. But I don’t believe it’s possible to work with someone for as long as we have and not develop some degree of bond slightly outside the typical purview of the doctor-patient relationship. By which I mean, I don’t invite her to dinner with my children, but it’s also not uncommon for me to enter one of our sessions without my notepad.”

“Right…” Snapper nodded. “You say in the book that it was important to approach your sessions with Ivy like conversations. So is that the secret to reforming serial killers? Buy ‘em lunch? Tell them you understand?”

“All the people I killed deserved to die, of that I can assure you.” Ivy gritted.

“Is that so?” Snapper chuckled. “You heard it here first, folks. Poison Ivy is a capital judge!”

He’s beneath you. He’s not worth it. Ivy reminded herself.

“So, is this a true crime book?” Summer asked Harleen. “Self-help, biography…what’s the genre? I couldn’t tell.”

“Well…I think it’s all those things in one,” Harleen admitted. “Poison Ivy is a figure that a lot of people know, but few understand. The goal here was to write something accessible that could lead to a better understanding of what most would call the abnormal psychology she presents.”

Snapper was already chuckling by the time Harley concluded her sentence. “In other words, normalizing a serial killer because she’s the kind of psycho teenaged boys could busy themselves with. Or is this book for the feminists who seem to have no problem celebrating a misandrist. It’s OK for women to hate men, just not the other way around, right?”

“I’m here as a curtesy, Snapper.” Ivy calmly told him, her grip tight on the armrest of her chair. Beneath you, beneath you, beneath you. “And in the eyes of the law I have absolved myself of what you would call my “crimes”. So while I respect my psychiatrist and understand the importance of my support for this project, if the snide or outwardly rude comments continue I will have to remove myself from the studio, as enduring your abuse is not why I am here today.” 

“Then why are you here?” Snapper asked. “For some softball questions? So you come off tolerable enough to sell a few of these books?”

“No, I’m—,” Why am I here? Pam’s eyes flitted quickly to Harleen, who seemed to be watching the exchange with interest, but showed no indication that she would jump in anytime soon. She wants you to stick up for yourself. “I’m here as a scientist and an environmental activist, a feminist—but most of all I’m here as—,” she cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m here as a woman who has endured probably more than her fair share of hardships, and who didn’t handle any of them especially well. I—,” you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to do this. They’ll call you weak. You’ll lose your power, your influence. It’s not worth it. “I was a sheltered young woman who put my trust in a man that I considered an inspiration—my college professor.” Again, her gaze traveled quickly to Harleen, who was watching her expectantly, her bottom lip held nervously between her teeth. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for her.

“He held me in a basement at the university,” Ivy admitted. “He—he raped me, brutally and often, and he experimented on me. He robbed me of my life, my career and my humanity, and I hated him for it. I hated all men for it. But while my assault resulted in me gaining supernatural abilities, I’m very aware that other victims of the phenomena are left with a feeling of overwhelming helplessness. Powerlessness. So yes, I murdered people. I murdered men who raped women and men and women who raped the environment. That’s how I took my power back.”

Summer looked like she was ready to interrupt, but Pamela continued, as she wanted to get it all out before she lost her edge and realized the damage she was causing to the persona she’d cultivated.

“I was absolved, I am “reformed”,” Ivy provided the air quotes herself. “And I try my hardest to be a role model, for girl’s especially. I encourage them to go into STEM fields of study, and to learn about how they can aid me in keeping Earth inhabitable for humans. I encourage them to demand attention, demand to be heard, to be taken seriously. And now I’m going to encourage victims of sexual assault not to suffer in silence, and never to back down in the face of misogynist, victim-blaming rhetoric. Don’t give your attacker more power than they’re worth. In fact—don’t give them any at all.”

Ivy stood up from her chair, starting the process of removing the microphone they’d attached to her suit. “So though I may be reformed, I will not now, nor will I ever apologize for the actions I took against men and men like him. I’m not sorry my attacker was decapitated, but I am sorry that I didn’t get to do it myself, and I’m sure a significant majority of those one in five women who will be assaulted in their lifetime share that sentiment. And actually, to those women—or, “people” I should say, I am aware there are some men who shoulder this burden as well—the justice system is rotten in regards to this issue. Unapologetically, inarguably broken. And so to those who did speak out and were still cast aside like it was their fault, like they should have known better or were asking for it, like they were less than human…let me just tell you that in 1966, I stayed too late in my lab one night. He wouldn’t let me leave. He pressured me when I said no. When I resisted him verbally and physically, he implied that I owed him because he gave me a promotion, so I forfeited. But that night was no different than the nights that proceeded it, when he had me strapped to a table with a dirty rag in my mouth. It was rape, it was always rape, and it wasn’t my fault.” With that, she set the microphone down on the chair she’d abandoned and stepped off of the sound stage. “And this isn’t me being immature,” she called back. “It’s me removing myself from a possibly harmful situation because, unfortunately, I do still have a temper.”

/

“Wh—no!” Selina shot up from the couch. “Bruce, are you listening to this shit?!” She twisted around to observe him collectedly setting his newspaper aside.

“Good for her,” he offered.

“Good for—,” Selina paused the TV. “Are you fucking serious right now? Good for her? There’s no way she wanted to share that shit! It’s private, she’s the most private person I know. On live TV?”

Bruce rose from the table, taking his coffee mug with him for a refill. “It’s clearly been hanging over her for a long time. Seems like she’s finally working through it. When left to fester, secrets can be a death sentence.”

“What sort of poetic bullshit is that?” Selina followed him into the kitchen. “And you’re literally the most secretive motherfucker on the planet.”

“Yes…” he acknowledged, pouring himself another cup. “And every secret I keep eats away at me daily. You act like I’m some prime example of mental health.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Selina scoffed. “You’re a drama king, is what you are. No disrespect, but we’re all orphans, Bruce. I am, Clark is, Barry is…throw a rock at the Justice League and you’ll hit the ghosts of at least 15 dead parents.”

Bruce was able to somehow make his sigh sound both aggressive and exhausted. “Is there a point to this?”

“Umm…yeah, Ivy just forfeited like 80% of her persona on live television.”

Bruce pursed his lips, leaning back against the counter. “Firstly: I’d say she shut down Snapper’s rhetoric pretty effectively, all while plugging her causes. Secondly: Can she still control any and all plant-life on a whim? Can she still filter contaminated air using her anatomy?”

Selina crossed her arms. “I don’t see why not.”

“Well,” Bruce took a sip of his coffee. “That’s really all that matters to us. Yes, Pamela’s powers of seduction were effective, but 9 times out of 10 her employment of them would lead to a murder. Seems like every day Dr. Quinzel is in her life, she moves further from Poison Ivy and closer to Pamela Isley, and the latter is a lot easier to handle.”

“Bruce!” Selina ripped the mug out of his hand and slammed it down on the counter, thoroughly startling him. “Pam is married to Dr. Quinzel! That’s her fucking wife! It’s not healthy, the relationship cannot be healthy! There is an inherent imbalance of power there, don’t you see?”

Bruce shrugged. “You were my thief, I was your jailer, how is that any different? Pamela is a grown woman. You really think Poison Ivy is going to resign herself to some sort of beta role?”

“No,” Selina really wasn’t sure why this was riling her up so extensively, it wasn’t any of her business, really, but this conversation had been a long time coming. “Pamela is an emotionally stunted genius who understands little about human interaction in the first place. She’s a teenager in love for the first time, and she’s too busy making fucking heart eyes at her wife to see that Harleen lacks any integrity whatsoever. You know what she told me a few years back? She said that Harley repeated what Woodrue had said while he was raping her, and she did it while they were having sex.”

Bruce was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. “Harleen’s methods may be unorthodox, but you can’t argue with the results.”

Selina took a step forward. “She told me Harleen had apologized profusely. Said she’d never do it again. Said she was drunk and that she didn’t mean it…Pamela said she knew it would be different this time. And if that’s not the most cliché line an abused woman could use—,”

“Selina, stop it.” Bruce snapped. “Harleen is my colleague, my protégé, and my partner and I cannot think of a happier marriage than she and Pam’s, honestly. I’m sorry that your friend was raped 60 years ago, but why you feel the need to villainize Harleen because she finally got Pam to start discussing that trauma is beyond me. She’s just doing her job.”

“I’m—I’m not villainizing Harleen!” Selina was aghast. “She’s doing that to herself! You can’t write a book on your wife’s psychology then parade her around in costume like she condones this shit. I know she doesn’t. I’m not stupid, I know my friend.”

“Oh, your friend who you sold out to Joker?” Bruce challenged. “That got Harleen paralyzed, Selina. We can blame Ivy for losing her tempter all day, but really, they wouldn’t have even been in that situation if you’d—“

“What?” Selina raised an eyebrow. “Bit the bullet? Fucking died? Been dissolved in the vat of acid he had me hanging over?”

“You didn’t have to tell him the real address, and he pushed you into the acid anyway. Result would have been the same.” Bruce  concluded. “But you were angry. Admit it, you were angry at Ivy for getting you into that situation in the first place.”

“That was 25 years ago!” Selina shouted. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Harley can walk just fine now.”

“You’re right it has been a while, and Harleen has stuck by Ivy for every single one of those years since She has dedicated her life and her career to that woman, and we’re all better for it.” Bruce grabbed the mug off the counter and tossed it roughly into the sink.

“Jesus,” Selina’s face scrunched up in disgust. “What do you have a hard-on for their relationship or something? I’m sorry I don’t get off on some twisted nuclear family fantasy like Pam does.”

“Why is it twisted?” Bruce asked. “Married, two kids, a house, a fucking garden—does that really sound so horrible? I don’t see the problem with striving for normalcy.”

“Ha!” Selina exclaimed. “Normal is a setting on a washing machine. We’re not normal, you’ve never wanted to be, you’ve never even really tried to be. And Pam and Harley? They’re not normal either. That—,” she pointed to the frozen image on the television of Ivy stalking out of frame. “Is not normal.”

“Fine,” Bruce exited the kitchen, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair he’d risen from earlier. “Give Harleen an earful. See if that helps. Just make sure Pam isn’t around when you do because given the choice between the two of you, she’d be renewing her wedding vows and you wouldn’t be invited quicker than you could say she deserved better.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “I would give you a kiss and tell you to have a nice day, but I wouldn’t want you to cream your jeans at the domesticity of it all.”

“Slacks,” Bruce mumbled, heading for the door. “I’m not wearing jeans.”

“I’ll have supper on the table by 5!” Selina called after him. “A pot roast, yum!”

Chapter Text

Harleen connected her phone to the Bluetooth as she pulled out of the studio parking lot. She drummed her thumb on the steering wheel as it rang and rang, until…

“You’ve reached Dr. Lillian Rose. Unfortunately, I am indisposed at the moment—,”

“Ha!” Harley heard her voice in the background of the recording. “That rhymes!”

“Harleen, honestly…”

She remembered how Pam had pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“I’ll return your call at my earliest convenience.”

And then came the beep.

“Hey, Bay-bee!” Harley greeted. “I’m sure you went up to The Watchtower. I totally get why you left, but oh my God, I’m so flippin’ proud of you! Like, I was this close to standing up and being all “that’s my wife!” but…you know…cooler heads. Anywho…” she stopped at a light. “You want to take the kids out to eat tonight? Or maybe I could try to cook—ooh! I could eat a vegetable! And I don’t mean that as an innuendo—although, I’m totally game—I mean like I’d eat some broccoli if you wanted me to, you know, as a show of good faith. I don’t know,” Harleen laughed at herself. “I’m just—I’m so proud of you and now I’m gonna cry because you’re so brave, and ugh, just delete this message, alright? I sound insane. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—or, not that I’m not, but—whatever, I love you, that’s what I’m trying to say, so…yeah. Umm…we’ll talk tonight, or…? Yeah, OK, love you, bye.” She hung up quickly after that, giddily tapping her fingers on the wheel the whole way home.

It was odd, but it felt like…in that moment after you stick the final skill of your floor routine. That moment right after the crowd erupts into applause, and your heart just soars. It felt like a victory, and Harleen didn’t quite know why.

She supposed she was happy for Pam. Yeah, that’s right, good for her! That’s who all of this was for anyway. Pam. It was a big moment for her, she finally owned all that she was, all the hardships she’d faced…there were no more secrets to Poison Ivy, and that was—healthy. It was Pamela’s victory Harleen was celebrating, she just got to share it because she was her therapist and her wife and—yeah, this was about Pam. Harleen had helped her, yet again. This would be good for them, and it would be good for her.

Harleen pulled her car into the garage, shutting the door behind her and heading into the main house.

“It’s peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly,” She sang as she entered the kitchen, setting her purse down on the counter when she realized she’d missed breakfast. “It’s peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat. It’s—,” she stopped short, startled, when she realized she wasn’t alone.

Pam was slumped against the wall in the hallway, her knees pulled to her chest and her face wet with tears, still wearing her retired Justice League uniform (since her mutation, she’d reverted back to a variation on her old leotard).

“Pam!” Harley couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice. “I thought you were—shouldn’t you be up at The Watchtower?”

The redhead sniffed and wiped fruitlessly at her eyes with her gloved hand. “I couldn’t go.”

“Well—Babe,” Harley made her way over, coming to kneel down in front of her. “Isn’t it sort of a requirement?”

“I couldn’t go!” Pamela shouted, suddenly angry. “I know the way they’ll look at me, Harleen. The men. With pity, like I’m broken. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stomach it.” New tears fell down her cheeks.

Harleen sighed, Goddamn it. She sunk until she was sitting on the hardwood floor and reached her hands out to cup her wife’s face. “Pamela…Honey…” she wiped the tears away with her thumbs. “After all these years, you deserve some pity. Or, actually, how about we call it sympathy? Empathy, even. One in five, that means there are a lot of women out there who know exactly how you feel. OK, well maybe not exactly,” the blonde chuckled. “Exactly how you feel—sans superpowers.”

Pam didn’t respond or laugh, she just stared resolutely ahead…although she didn’t remove Harley’s hands either.

This is getting so redundant. Harleen had to take a moment to reassess, as she wasn’t exactly prepared for this right now. She thought she’d have all day to come up with some strategies for how to deal with the fallout of Ivy’s confession. How many different ways can I tell her this bullshit doesn’t have to define her? How many ways can I call her brave and strong and beautiful? I’m out of fucking synonyms.

“You are broken, Pam.” It’s worth a shot, right? “Look at you. You’re a 90-year-old woman, crying on the floor and hiding from your friends because you were attacked 60 years ago and you’re afraid now that they know, your buddies won’t think you’re some all-powerful, celestial asshole anymore. Knock it off!” Alright, hey, that’s a bit much. Try again. “Follow your own example, Pamela. Enough is enough! Take your fucking power back!”

Harleen would have continued had Pamela not surged forward then. Had she not captured her in a desperate kiss, her lips hungry and her tears pressing against Harley’s face, leaving her skin moist as well. It wasn’t the reaction Harley was expecting as a result of her admonishing pep talk, but the fact that it was the one Pam provided made Harley very sad for some reason.

“Pamela,” Harley tried to break away. “Pam—Ivy,” but she was being pressed onto her back now, the redhead crawling over her, kissing like she was a teenager rather than a senior citizen—all tongue and teeth and soft whimpers. She cried all the while, even as she left Harley’s lips and began a sloppy trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck

“Pamela, stop.” Harleen tried again, wrapping her left arm around her wife’s back and placing the other hand on the back of the woman’s head, steadily applying pressure until Pam stopped moving, resigning herself to resting all her weight atop Harley, her sobs now muffled into Harley’s chest. “Shhh…” Harley soothed, gently carding her fingers through her hair. “It’ll be OK, Pammy.”

The redhead tensed then, Harley could feel her trying to pull away, but she just gripped her tighter.

“No…” Harley cooed. “That’s mine now. That’s ours. He can’t have it anymore. He can’t have anything anymore.” She placed a gentle kiss in the woman’s hair. “I love you, Pammy. You are loved. It wasn’t your fault. You were never his. You are mine and you are yours. That’s it.”

As Harleen lay there on the hardwood floor, all 130lbs of her wife’s lean form collapsed on top of her, shaking with her sobs that eventually turned to sniffles and then just tremors from the exertion of it all, she was finally able to answer her question from the car. She hadn’t done this for Pam. Not the book, not the interview…none of it had been for Pam’s benefit, really. Harleen was still playing the game they’d started 26 years ago, only Pam was done, having run out of steam that day on the grass in front of the hospital when Harley told her she needed her…when she said she loved her for the first time. This wasn’t a game to Pam. This was the first relationship she’d ever had. This meant everything to her.

…and of course Harleen knew that. She’d known it for some time. She’d known it even back then. It’s why she’d said those things in the first place, it’s how she knew they’d work.

The blonde stared up at the ceiling, imagining elaborate images in the textured paint as her wife was overtaken by exhaustion, eventually falling into the kind of deep slumber only a trauma victim would ever experience.  

“I’m not an asshole,” Harley mumbled as her eyes began to fill up with tears. “We’re just not as similar as I thought.”

/

Anthony glanced up at the clock. If he left now, he could be at his civics classroom in 5 minutes. Less foot traffic…and he’d be a comfortable 10 minutes early.

…But Carrie was still talking.

“So then he goes, ‘hey, you should get your brother to try out for water polo’, and I’m like ‘my brother? I don’t have a biological brother’.” She was laughing now. “Long story short, he thought you were my brother, I think he was more into you than he was me, and he thinks you should try out for the water polo team.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes, sizing up his friend, taking in the way her green eyes sparkled with mirth, magnified by her thick rimmed glasses. “You look like the lesbian version of me.”

Carrie’s giggle turned into a snort. “I am not a lesbian! And the lesbian version of you is just your Mom, dumbass.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Anthony got up from the table, ruffling her short hair.

“Rude!” She complained. “Do you have any idea how long it takes for me to put this look together?”

Anthony cocked his head in thought. “Throw on an ironic t-shirt, maybe a bowtie, Justin Beiber your hair a bit…I wouldn’t exactly call your look sophisticated.”

The glare he received in return was intense. “And I wouldn’t exactly be taking pride in the fact that you take longer to pamper yourself than I do.” Carrie intoned.

Anthony shrugged, shouldering his backpack. “Action expresses priorities.”

“Yeah, Gandhi was a pedo, you know!” Carrie yelled after him as he exited the cafeteria.

“A racist, too!” He called back over his shoulder before beginning his jog across campus.

He slowed his pace as he approached the classroom, the door was closed, which was a bit unusual… “Ms. Kane?” He knocked, opening the door a crack to see her sitting at her desk watching a video on her computer.

She didn’t hear him, or at least didn’t acknowledge him. She seemed rapt by—“And so to those who did speak out and were still cast aside like it was their fault, like they should have known better or were asking for it, like they were less than human—”

Anthony’s ears pricked up. Mom? He stepped further into the room, watching over his teacher’s shoulder. The interview…

“—let me just tell you that in 1966, I stayed too late in my lab one night. He wouldn’t let me leave. He pressured me when I said no. When I resisted him verbally and physically, he implied that I owed him because he gave me a promotion, so I forfeited. But that night was no different than the nights that proceeded it, when he had me strapped to a table with a dirty rag in my mouth. It was rape, it was always rape, and it wasn’t my fault.”

Anthony was frozen in place, his heart thrumming in his ears. Mom…why?

He watched as she stormed out of view of the camera, his other Ma remaining in her chair next to the hosts.

The video ended then, but Ms. Kane didn’t turn around. Instead, she continued to stare at the now blank screen, and her voice was thick with emotion when she said, “She has PTSD, you know.”

“Y—yes, I—I know,” Anthony acknowledged.

Tuesday and Thursday were Mom’s days for pickups, as Ma tended to train later with Selina. But today, when the window of Pam’s Audi rolled down, it was Harley in the driver’s seat.

Mr. Wayne enjoyed gifting Anthony’s Mom fancy electric cars. This one, a charcoal gray Audi R8 e-tron, was just the latest model, but Anthony’s personal favorite, as it was one of the few his parents had ever owned that had any leg room. This wasn’t a problem for them, of course, as Harley—the taller of the two—was only 5’7”, but Anthony was quickly closing in on 6’0”, and as a result, riding as a passenger in sports cars wasn’t one of his favorite activities.

Mr. Wayne was working on developing self-driving cars at his company, although it was clear the mass production of fully functional units wouldn’t be a reality for some time. Anthony may have preferred this car be self-driving, though, as he didn’t consider Harleen the safest driver on the planet, and there really weren’t many material objects that Pam was attached to. This car just happened to be one of them. If Harleen hadn’t grown up to be a doctor, Anthony could have seen her becoming a stunt car driver (or a getaway driver, maybe).

“Where’s Mom?” Was the first thing he asked as he slid into the passenger seat, giving a wave to Carrie before shutting the door.

“Nice to see you too,” Harley scoffed.

“She take Jo to gymnastics?”

“No…”

“She at work?”

“No, Anthony, she’s sleeping.” Harley exhaled. “She had a big day.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Anthony sulked. “But you’ll be happy to know that in the locker room game of ‘Justice League: Marry, Fuck, Kill’ at PE today, Mom moved from ‘kill’ to ‘fuck’. Easier to degrade her now that they know she’s a victim, I guess.”

“Aww, good for her. Movin’ on up.” Harley chuckled. “Who were the other options?”

“Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl—but does it really matter?” Anthony turned to her, a bit offended.

“I’m assuming they killed Kendra?” Harley guessed. “I don’t know…I think they might be better off trying to get with her than Wondy. Amazons are intimidating. Can’t imagine Diana would show any of those boys a good time.”

“Jesus, Ma,” Anthony groaned, closing his eyes and slamming his head back against the headrest. “Can you just be appropriate for two seconds?”

“I’m sorry,” she snickered, patting his knee. “Anybody ever tell you laughter is the best medicine?”

“You’re a doctor,” he reminded her. “You know that’s not true.”

“Well fine…if we’re going to be all literal about everything…” she grumbled, flipping off the school bus she was stuck behind.

“Did you know she was gonna do it?” Anthony asked after a long moment of silence as they picked their way through the residential streets of Gotham City. “Was that the plan or did she just let a rant get out of hand?”

“I—I had an inkling she might discuss it,” Harley confessed. “In fact, I encouraged her to. I’m sorry it’s put you in a more difficult situation at school, but I need you to do me a favor and tread lightly around the subject in front of her for a while. I’m just gonna level with you here—she’s having a really hard time.”

“Yeah, I’m not planning on victim blaming my own Mom,” He ridiculed. “It just seems like so much all at once…and she was so secretive and protective about that. I can’t believe she just—told everyone. I mean, everyone.”

“It’s not for us to judge,” Harleen told him. “She made a choice, she did what she needed to do…so, we support her. That’s all there is to it.”

Anthony didn’t respond until they’d pulled into their driveway and Harley shut the car off. They sat there in drawn out silence until he finally ventured: “My civics teacher bought your book.”

“Oh?” Harleen raised an eyebrow.

“Mhm…” Anthony nodded slowly. “She used to be a Marine…and she—she said it was important for people with PTSD to have someone to look up to. Someone strong who can also be vulnerable. Who isn’t ashamed of transparency. She said she’s happy Poison Ivy is a hero, and she wanted me to thank you for the way you speak frankly about these issues, especially your sexuality.”

Harley cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. “Is she gay?”

“I guess it’s why she was discharged,” Anthony told her, a slight shrug in his shoulders. “That felt good. To hear, I mean. To hear you really have made a difference.” He had to shift his gaze out the window. “So—I just wanted to say—I’m glad Mom has you in her corner because I guess Mom helps a lot of people, and I don’t think she could do it without you.”

Chapter Text

Pamela’s face was swollen when she woke up. It was dark now, but even so the air stung her eyes when she blinked them open.

The only light in the room was coming from the bathroom, which was confusing until Pam glanced at the alarm clock, seeing that it was past midnight.

“Oh, hey.”

Pam heard Harley before she saw her, the blonde pushing the bathroom door open and forcing Pam’s eyes shut once more to avoid the sudden onslaught of light.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Harley chuckled as she sat down on the bed and leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Solid nap?”

“The kids…” Pam mumbled. “I didn’t—,”

“I took care of it,” Harley assured her with a smile, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Pam’s back.

“And the plants—I didn’t water the plants.” Pam hurriedly tried to sit up, but the sudden movement gave her a headache.

“Oh my God, I’m not an imbecile,” Harley teased. “You really think I couldn’t handle picking up the kids and watering the plants? I put pants on today too, aren’t you proud?”

Pam’s voice was still thick with sleep and raspy from crying. “All of them? You watered them all?”

“Well…almost. I missed one.” the blonde admitted with a sigh. “But we’re gonna remedy that right now.” She slipped her arm beneath Pam’s knees and used to other to support her back.

Pam let herself be lifted out of bed, wrapping her arms around Harley’s neck so she wasn’t just dead weight. But even still she mumbled a weak protest: “I don’t want to take a shower.”

“Good thing it’s a bath, then.” Harley set her down on the bathroom sink, and for the first time, Pam realized she was already naked.

She peaked over Harley’s shoulder to see her suit laying discarded on the floor. “Bruce wants that back.”

“Hm?” Harley turned around to follow her gaze. “Ah, yeah. I’ll fold it.” She winked, shutting both faucets off. “You know…I think I owe this house an apology. Remember when I used to trash talk the separate bath and shower?”

Pam nodded slowly, her attention traveling to the warm water that awaited her.

“Well I take it all back,” Harley told her matter-of-factly. “And I really hope we don’t ever have to move again because I simply refuse to go back to the barbaric ways of my past.”

Pam cracked a small smile, mostly because she knew Harley was trying. That seemed to satisfy the blonde as she grinned, and helped her down off the counter, steadying her as she stepped one leg at a time into the bathtub.

The water was warmer than expected; scalding, even. But Pam pushed any thought of discomfort aside, as she recognized the bath’s necessity. She ached all over, feeling generally lethargic and sore…she was dehydrated, and her unique hybrid physiology required both percutaneous absorption and oral consumption of water to restore homeostasis.

Harley leaned back against the counter to watch her, smoothing her hands over her wrinkled t-shirt in a show of nervous energy.

Pam didn’t know what she wanted, exactly, nor did she know how to communicate it…so she just moved forward in the tub, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head on her forearms.

Harleen drummed her fingers on the counter for a moment before exhaling and lifting her shirt over her head, slipping her underwear off and stepping into the water.

She sat in the back of the tub, not pulling Pam close like she’d hoped she would, but instead dipping her hand into the water and lifting a wet finger to draw designs on the green skin of Pam’s back.

“What are you drawing?” She asked, twisting her head to try and see.

“Nuh-uh…” Harley used Pam’s chin to turn her gaze forward once more. “You have to guess. That’s the game.”

Pam sighed, closing her eyes and trying to visualize the shape as Harley repeated it over and over again. “It’s a heart.” She guessed.

“That was just a warm-up. Too easy,” Harley wiped her back off like one would a dry erase board—which Pam found endearing, for some reason—“Alright…” the blonde started her next shape.

True to her word, this one was more difficult, but it made Pam smile when she finally realized what it was. “An elementary attempt at an anatomically correct heart?”

“Elementary?” Harley scoffed, though Pam could feel the smile on her lips when she pressed a kiss to her ‘canvas’. “I’d like to see you do better.”

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either as Harley reverently traced the vines in Pam’s shoulders (a source of endless fascination for her). The silence felt weighted, and Pam felt the need to apologize for the vulnerability she’d shown…but then Harley was gently urging her backwards and Pam obliged, leaning her weight against Harley’s chest.

The blonde was tracing the vines on Pam’s chest and down her sides now, watching the path her fingers took. Pam eventually surrendered herself to the soothing patterns, her eyes slipping closed and the world beginning to melt away.

“Hey…” Harley’s whisper pulled her back. “Be honest with me…you think you could take Batman?”

Pam would have furrowed her brow if she hadn’t been so exhausted. “He knows my weaknesses and would exploit them.” She murmured.

“Well, yeah…” Harley conceded. “But let’s say one-on-one. Mono y mono. Say…say he did something awful—like killed me—and you just went full on cruel Mother Nature on ‘im. You think you could beat him?”

“Yes, of course.” Pam assured her. “Why? Is Bruce planning on murdering you?”

“No,” Harley chuckled. “But—what about Flash? Is he immune to your pheromones?”

“…not that I know of,” Pam answered cautiously, not sure where this was headed.

“Hal?”

“I’ve taken down a Lantern before.”

“Alright…” Harley seemed to be thinking. “Well what about Superman? What if you laced your special lipstick with kryptonite or something?”

“It would take some engineering…but I don’t see why that wouldn’t work.” Pam vouched as she craned her neck to look up at her wife. “Why?”

Harley shrugged, brushing Pam’s damp hair away from her face. “I was just thinking it’s sort of funny how, in torturing you, Woodrue guaranteed he would be the last man to ever touch you.” A wistful smile played on her lips as she continued. “Funny that a man who targeted you for your vulnerability made you almost completely invulnerable. That a man who prayed on women created one of the most empowered, outspoken feminist heroes the world has ever seen. That in subjecting you to his brutality, he insured that more girls would be able to spot predatory behavior early—since you’re talking about it now and all. Poetic justice, I’d say.”

As Pam listened, her heart began to beat a little faster, wishing they weren’t descending back down this rabbit hole. “Yes, I can see the irony.”

Harley cleared her throat. “That coach I had the affair with—,”

“The married 38-year-old man who you couldn’t legally consent to?” Pam attempted to clarify, her disgust with the situation evident in her tone.

“The very same…” Harley moved Pam’s hair aside to kiss her neck. “I think I was 10 when I met him…and I’m sure all the warning signs were there even then. I’m sure he started grooming me the second I stepped into the gym that first day—in my sparkly leotard with those silly pigtails and the Wonder Woman backpack I stole…” She chuckled, but Pam heard very little humor in the sound. “I wonder—if there was someone like you out there when I was a kid, talking about these issues…I don’t know,” she sighed. “I’m just thinking about Jo and how she’s entering into a very similar environment and how she’s so much better equipped than I was—how much she likes herself, how much she trusts herself and believes in her abilities—and I…if we can do that for our daughter, inspire that in her…maybe you could do that for other kids too.”

The thought of her daughter having to navigate the same cruel world she and Harley had been made Pam’s skin crawl. “That’s a lot to think about.”

“Yeah, well…I didn’t have anything better to do today,” her breath was warm against Pam’s ear. “And I realized that my legacy—any imprint I’ll leave on this planet—is yours and mine together. My kids are half yours, people can’t talk about my career without mentioning Poison Ivy—the only contribution that is mine alone is Batwoman, and that’s more of a thankless, suffer in silence type gig.”

Pam tried her best not to sound hurt. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve monopolized your life…”  

“That’s not what I said…” Harley exhaled, wrapping a lock of red hair around her finger. “But I’d love to leave this world knowing I helped more people than just you, and that I was more than just someone’s wife.”

Almost panicked, Pam spun around in the tub, sloshing water onto the floor as she ended up on her knees in front of the other woman. “Harleen, you are so much more than that. You are a mother to—,” she realized that didn’t sound much better and attempted to backtrack. “I’m not some husband—,”

“Obviously,” Harley interrupted to nod her head in the direction of Pam’s bare breasts.

“That’s obviously not what I meant,” Pam huffed as she took Harley’s hands in hers. “We’re not my parents, Harleen. I don’t regard you as simply attractive set dressing. We’re partners.”

“I know that,” Harleen acknowledged with a smile, using Pam’s grip on her hands to pull her onto her lap. “I’m your last secret, Pamela…” she dropped Pam’s hands to encircle her waist. “And the only platform I have is the one I share with you.” She leaned forward to kiss her softly. “Don’t let your fear fuck up this opportunity. Even the strongest people can be victims, Babe, and you said it yourself: it’s not your fault. I’m not saying don’t feel angry. I’m not saying don’t feel sad or hurt…I’m saying don’t let this keep you from the world anymore. There are people out there who need you. Who have been waiting for you. And every person you help, every battle you win is vindication for me—a testament to your progress and to my life’s work.”

Pamela took in the full image of her wife: the small wrinkles around her eyes, the smile lines, the way her hair curled in the humidity…

This was a call to action. Like so many times in her life, Pamela was being given another purpose, another responsibility…but the way Harleen asked her, how she pleaded with those still childish blue eyes…she knew she could never say no—to a responsibility or to Harleen Quinzel. Pamela would let her back break under the weight of it all before she denied this woman.

And that’s what love is.

/

“I’m sorry, that’s…never happened before.”

“Actually, it’s the third time this month,” Selina reminded him with a sigh, smoothing the covers over her chest.

“Just—give me a minute, alright?” Bruce was defensive as he turned away from her.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Bruce, really…it’s fine. Although I honestly don’t understand your reluctance about getting a Viagra prescription.”

“I don’t need it,” he growled his response, preoccupied by a fruitless endeavor.

“Sure, Big Guy.” She pat him on the shoulder. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, really. Evidently it’s a problem for like 18 million American men. And—you know—we’re old, so…I think we deserve a round of applause for even trying anymore.”

“I’m not getting a Viagra prescription,” Bruce grumbled, giving up and begrudgingly pulling his boxers back on.

“OK, fine.” Selina propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. “It’s embarrassing, I get it. Hurts your bat-pride and all that. But hey! Lucky us, we happen to be good friends with a pretty decent chemist. If Pam can help her dwife stop hearing voices, she can definitely get you a boner.”

Bruce lolled his head to face her, an eyebrow raised. “Dwife?”

“Doctor-wife,” she told him like it was obvious.

“You want me to ask Poison Ivy to manufacture erectile dysfunction medication for me? Are you serious?” Bruce was incredulous.

Selina shrugged. “Or we could see if she could help you out the old fashioned way—because clearly I can’t anymore.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the problem.” Bruce scoffed. “I was thinking of the woman in bed with me rather than the happily married lesbian I watched transform into a plant monster.”

Selina stifled a laugh. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Bruce smirked, reaching to brush a piece of dyed black hair away from her eye. “Did you end up talking to Harleen today?”

“No, the bitch canceled our gym date,” Selina grumbled. “Sent me a text that said she was letting herself go.”

“Ivy didn’t report to The Watchtower today either,” Bruce remarked.

“Saw that one coming…” Selina muttered.

“Did Barbara tell you she and Dick are getting married?” Bruce changed the subject, clearly wanting to avoid a rehashing of that morning’s argument.

“Oh?” Selina laughed. “Well I’m really glad they made sure they liked each other first.”

“We’ve been sleeping together for way longer than they have, and last I checked you weren’t Selina Wayne.” Bruce reminded her.

She was laughing again. “Oh, come now, Darling. There’s more than one way to make a family.”

Bruce turned to her fully now, mirroring her by propping himself on his elbow. “Would you like to marry me?”

“Oh—no, not really.” Selina chuckled, placing her hand on his cheek and giving him a firm kiss. “Not because I don’t love you, and not because I plan to spend the rest of my time on this earth with anybody else…but it just seems stupid at this point. Unless you’re planning on kicking me out, in which case ‘yes, yes! A million times yes!’”

“Alright, well…fine.” Bruce rolled over in defeat, opening the drawer of his bedside table. “But I know you like shiny things, so…” he tossed her a black velvet box.

There was no masking the surprise on her face. “You…you bought me a ring?”

“Well, no…I didn’t buy it.” Bruce admitted, picking up the box off of the comforter and opening the lid, revealing the engagement ring Selina immediately recognized from all the Wayne family photos. “Sorry, it was my Mother’s, so you can’t sell it.”

Selina’s throat went dry, and when she spoke, it came out a choked whisper. “But your Mother—she means so much to you.”

“I’m sorry if I ever gave off the impression that you don’t.” He shut the box and was starting to return it to the drawer when she stopped him.

“No! I—can I say no to the marriage and yes to the ring?”  

Chapter Text

“And that brought some things up for you,” Harleen guessed.

“Well, yeah!” Carrie sniffed, her eyes red rimmed. “I mean…here’s this kid, no older than 8 years old, starving on the street. You can see his ribs through his tattered shirt—so of course I bring him home. I have to, right? He couldn’t even remember where he lived, but I figured it out, and then when we get there…nothing. His mom answers the door high as a fricken kite with a kid on her hip and another one screaming somewhere behind her.” Carrie was slowly getting more animated. “The dad’s there too, totally zonked out of his mind on the couch—apartment’s a total crap hole—and the mom’s first reaction is surprise. And not because I was in costume, either. No, that didn’t faze her for a second. She was surprised because she didn’t even realize her kid was gone.”

Harleen just nodded. When she had everything written down, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sat back, giving her patient her full attention once more. “Did that remind you of your childhood?”

Carrie scoffed, pulling her sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders. “The only difference being I was an only child.” She laughed, mirthlessly. “My parents couldn’t even keep track of one kid.”

The redhead was looking through her now, rather than at her, so Harleen cleared her throat. “So what did you do?”

Carrie quickly abandoned whatever train of silent thought she’d boarded. “Huh?”

“With the boy,” Harleen clarified.

“Oh,” Carrie looked relieved. “I called Child Protective Services, obviously. That place was straight up uninhabitable. And those kids just weren’t cut out for the street.”

“But you were?” Harleen raised an eyebrow, pen poised.           

“Well I met you and Mr. Wayne pretty early on, Dr. Q.” Carrie smiled charmingly. “It felt good—having a purpose. Still does.”

“It always does,” Harleen returned the girl’s good-natured expression with a kind smile of her own. “How are classes treating you?”

“They’re awesome,” Carrie told her. “Even worth the lecture I get from Anthony on a daily basis on how film school is just a giant waste of Mr. Wayne’s money. You gotta tell that kid to live a little. Or—you know—let the rest of us live, at least.”

Harleen’s answering chuckle ended with a sigh. “He gets that from his Mother, unfortunately. Not sure it’s something we can fix this late in the game. So…maybe you won’t get his approval, but would mine mean anything to you?” she took Carrie’s shy smile as an affirmative. “I think it’s awesome that you found something you enjoy outside of all this.” Harleen closed her notebook and got up from her chair. “Not only is it possible to do both, you should do both. It’s this single-mindedness that gets people in trouble. Have a life and live it—and not just for the cape.”

“Copy that.” Carrie quickly rose from her seat to salute her.

Harleen started for the door, implying Carrie should follow—it was a few steps before the girl caught on. “You’re taking over for Tim at midnight, right?”

“Yup,” Carrie confirmed, bounding a step or two head so she could open the door for them.

Harley continued through the door and out onto the metal bridge that led from Harleen’s office down to the Batcave’s main computer (where Barbara sat performing a scan of the city). “Alright, well—without trying some ‘tough girl’ act—are you ready to get back out there or do you need to take a day? You know the drill. No shame in taking a step back.”

“No, I think my head’s been sufficiently shrunk.” Carrie winked. “Tell the Missus I said ‘what’s up’.”

“Yeah, I’ll use that exact phrasing. We’ll see what she thinks.” Harleen laughed after her.

Once it was just she and Barbara alone in the cave, Harleen descended the stairs, taking a seat at the smaller monitor next to the one Barbara was using for her scan.

“All good?” Barbara questioned, without looking up.

“Yeah…” Harleen fired up the image scanner and uploaded her notes page by page into the file labeled ‘Carrie Kelley’. “I think it would be better for her to work with Cass tonight, though. I know she and Damian are close, but I want her to be able to put her head down for a bit.”

Barbara nodded and opened up the team schedules. “Cass is going east tonight.”

“Yeah, better.” Harley decided. “Okay,” she exhaled. “I’m going home. How’s your evening shaping up?”

“Well it’s—uhh—,’ Barbara fiddled with her glasses. “It’s date night, so…I’m just waiting for Bruce to get back.”

“Aww, I remember date nights,” Harley ruffled Barbara’s hair. “You guys…makin’ it work. That’s what I like to hear.”

/

“MOM!” Jolene screeched at a pitch only dogs should have been able to hear as she slammed the greenhouse door behind her.

Bruce shot up from his seat and Pamela had to steady herself to avoid keeling over. “Jolene! You’re going to give poor Bruce a heart attack.” She scolded.

Bruce shot a hard look back Pam’s way as he returned to his seat. “I’m fine.” He intoned. “Good afternoon, Jolene.”

“Hey, Uncle Bruce.” The girl grinned, skipping over, her ponytail bouncing, to plant a kiss on his cheek. “What’cha doin here?”

“Well, Darling…When a man loves a woman very much…” Pam began, distractedly, as she applied a tourniquet to his upper arm. “Or—sometimes—when he doesn’t love her at all but feels the need to satiate his more animalistic impulses—,”

“Which doesn’t apply in this context,” Bruce cut her off.

“Ohhhh, I see what this is,” Jo snickered. “You’re refilling your boner meds.”

“That’s Harleen’s daughter,” Pam mumbled an apology as Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’re going to feel a slight pinch.” She warned him, readying the syringe.

“I’m Batman,” he deadpanned. “I think I can handle a little—hey!”

“Oops,” Pam smiled, cheekily. “Missed the vein.”

Jo laughed at that as she plopped down on the bench. “Congrats on keeping your woman satisfied, Mr. Wayne. But Mom, I need you to pay attention to me right now, please and thank you.”

“I’m afraid my attention will need to remain divided…” Pam murmured as she placed a drop of Bruce’s blood on a microscope slide and gently maneuvered it under the lens for examination.

Jolene groaned. “OK, fine. Buuuutttt,” she slapped an opened envelope down on the counter. “Guess who just got an invite the Olympic trials? I’ll give you a hint: she’s got two thumbs, two moms and she’s like, really, super adorable.”

Pam stopped immediately, ripping her focus away from the eyepiece to look at her daughter. “You…you…”

“Oh my God, Mom! Great guess! You’re so smart,” Jo laughed. “Yeah, look. Read ‘em and weep.” She tore the letter out of the envelope and held it up so Pam could get a closer look. “Says right there: Jolene Quinzel. That’s me!” She giggled, getting up from her seat to throw her arms around Pam’s neck.

“That’s…fantastic,” was all Pam could muster. “Have you…”

“Told Ma?” Jo guessed, allowing Pam some breathing room. “No, not yet.” her grin stretched from ear to ear. “I wanted to do like a big surprise thing or something. I mean…she’s gonna freak, right?” Jo was giddy at the idea. “Like, go all Aunt Sue on us or something.”

Pam pursed her lips. “Well perhaps you should wait…just until tonight. When we’re all in one place.”

Jo thought it over for a moment before nodding, that wide smile still stretching her lips. “Yeah, alright. Sounds like a plan. I gotta start mapping my routine anyway.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed at Pam as soon as Jo left, but Pam averted her gaze quickly, returning to her work. “I take it blood flow has been satisfactory?”

“The Olympics are for humans, Pamela.”

“What about endurance? Are you still able to ejaculate?”

“Pamela,” Bruce tried again, his expression austere. “Does she know she’s cheating?”

The redhead cleared her throat lightly, shutting the light on her microscope off and removing the slide from the stage. “She does not understand the extent to which her physiology enhances her athletic performance, no.” Pam admitted, still refusing eye contact.

“When were you planning to tell her?” Bruce wanted to know. “She’s 15, Pam. She’s been competing since she was 7. Her Mom was a collegiate gymnast…did you really not know this was likely her goal?”

“No, I knew.” Pam untied the tourniquet. “I’m just assuming Harley will talk to her. She went through the same disappointment, after all.”

Bruce’s phone vibrated on the counter, but he ignored it. “Have you talked to Harleen about that?”

“Oh, well…no.” Pam left his side to move deeper into the greenhouse. “But that’s the only feasible plan of action. Why in the world would she think it was a good idea for me to talk to her? Harleen is a psychiatrist. She went to medical school in preparation for moments like this.”

Bruce angrily snatched at his phone when it lit up with another text message, and he only seemed to get angrier from there.

Pam ignored him, continuing with the task at hand. “Because of your advanced age, I’d highly recommend we go with the oral tablets again. I worry about collapse with intravenous.”

“They graffitied your billboard again,” Bruce growled at his phone.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Please tell me they at least came up with something more original than ‘slut’ or ‘whore’. Honestly, it’s like these people have never owned a thesaurus. ‘Harlot’ would convey their message, as would ‘floozy’, ‘tramp’, ‘trollop’, ‘fille de joie’, ‘bimbo’, ‘hussy’, ‘Jezebel’, ‘wench’, ‘doxie’, ‘minx’, ‘chippie’, ‘street walker’, ‘ho’, ‘tart’, ‘strumpet’—or, if they’d rather—‘cum rag’, ‘cum dumpster’, ‘c—,”

“Ivy!” Bruce had to shout to stop her.

“Hm?” Pam turned to him, puzzled at the interruption. “I only mean the English language provides us with an impressive variety of ways to express ourselves. It’s the redundancy that I find most offensive, at this point. Next time you want to call a woman a ‘whore’, Bruce, try ‘trollop’ instead. You might just make her day.”

“They didn’t write anything…” Bruce mumbled. “They just drew a…in your…”

“Oh, in my mouth?” Pam laughed. “Are they so illiterate that they aren’t aware my saliva is toxic to any human with a last name other than Quinzel?”

“I just sent a cleaning crew,” Bruce was saying, although Pam wasn’t listening.

“How terrifying it must be to feel the ground shifting beneath you,” Pam laughed. “Perhaps the white man is not as dominant as he once was. Perhaps, for the first time in 6,000 years, the rest of us have cleared enough space so that we can breathe—finally. They can’t oppress or hate or violate so openly anymore because somewhere down the line, the rest of us realized we were allowed to take offense to the actions or words of an oppressor that imply we are unequal in some regard. Weak or stupid or useless or sick or wrong or inhuman, even. And all of that—every last drop of that abuse comes out of their fear, and that phallus they felt the need to spray paint into my mouth is very much the same animal. Because, Bruce, when you’re accustomed to privilege, even the implication of equality feels like oppression.”

Both greenhouse occupants turned, startled, when a slow clap emanated from the doorway.

“That was a good one, Babe.” Harley complimented, smirking as she pushed off of the doorway. “I wanna go march on Washington now or something.”

Pam just sighed, kissing her quickly before opening a cupboard and tossing Bruce a nondescript pill bottle. “You’re welcome.” She reminded him. “And that goes for Selina as well. Make sure she’s aware it wasn’t my goal in life to provide this service.”

“Thank you,” he granted. “And I’m sorry about the graffiti situation. I’ll tighten our roof-access security at night.”

“Well…no means yes, right?” Pam let a ray of depression slip by her sarcastic smile.

“Right,” Bruce said with a similar exhaustion. “Good luck with your parenting responsibilities.” He left after a wave, shutting the door behind him.

With another long, drawn out sigh, Pamela began to clean up her workspace.

“Shit day?” Harley wanted to know.

“Actually, all was going fine until very recently.” Pam told her.

“Ooh, well I know what’s sure to fix that,” Harley looped her arm around the other woman’s. “A big ole’ cup of green tea. Or, you know, hot chocolate if you’re sane.”

Pam allowed herself to be pulled along back to the main house. Jo was sitting at the kitchen table when they entered.

“Hey, Ma!” she greeted animatedly, her excitement a stark contrast to Pam’s glowering. “Everything running smoothly down at the super-secret place we’re not allowed to talk about?”

“As a matter of fact…” Harley chuckled, filling the tea kettle and lighting the stove. “Oh—hey,” she turned back around once the kettle was heating. “Have you guys ever wondered if Anthony and Carrie might ever…you know…or is that like incest or something?”

“Well on a purely biological level—,” Pam started to answer, but was cut off when Jo, brow furrowed, said: “I thought Carrie was gay.”

Harley crossed her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Is she? I thought that was just how all people that went to film school looked—gay or straight.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular aesthetic,” Pam admitted. “But to answer your initial question, Harleen: no, that’s never crossed my mind.”

“Well alright,” the blonde shrugged. “What about you, Jo?”

Pam felt uncomfortable the moment the subject was broached.

“Me and Carrie?” Jo asked. “I mean…maybe. But, she’s sort’a too similar to me and too similar-looking to Anthony for it not to be creepy, right?”

Harley laughed. “No, I just meant dating in general…but you seem to have put some thought into that one.”

“Oh,” Jo giggled. “Well, some senior did want to give me a ride on his motorcycle the other day.”

Pam hoped her face didn’t look as hot as it felt. “Had you—had you ever met him before?”

“Sure, yeah.” Jo reassured her. “He’s sort of a dickhead, but—actually—,” she laughed. “It’s funny cuz he sort’a looks like Babs’ Dick. Except this guy thinks he’s some kind’a badass. But anyway, I didn’t accept. I was late to the gym...and he didn’t have an extra helmet.”

Pam could tell Jo had added that last bit just for her.

“You sound so smitten,” Harley mocked, playfully.

“Nah,” Jo smiled. “I’ve only got room for one special someone in my life, and right now that’s gymnastics. Speaking of which...” she slid out of her chair, throwing a wink Pam’s way.

Harley raised an eyebrow. “Are you…sending us on a cruise or something? I hope you had Mom marked as my daughter on the…” she trailed off when Jo held out the envelope to her.

Pam panicked internally, realizing they’d neglected the conversation that was supposed to serve as a precursor. She’d asked Jo to wait for a reason, and that reason was so they could avoid this exact situation.

A smile spread over Harley’s face when she saw the return address, and it grew as she read the letterhead, becoming practically face-splitting by the time she was through with the text on the paper. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at her daughter, and Pam had to avert her gaze from the scene altogether for how it racked her with guilt.

“Jo!” Harley exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. “Oh my God, I…it feels like just the other day you were kicking Mom in the face on Christmas,” she laughed, but it came out an odd mixture of that and a happy sob. “I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

Pam was a bit lost on Harley’s strategy here. It seemed like she was building her up pretty high just to tell her she wouldn’t be allowed to compete, but she wasn’t about to doubt her wife’s skills in this area. Harley had been explaining difficult concepts to their children for the last 21 years.

“Pam, can you believe it?” Harley asked as she separated from the girl, wiping her eyes. “This one,” she indicated Jo. “The littlest one. The girl one. She’s—Jo, you got there! After all your hard work—this is it!”

And it occurred to Pam then, as Harleen stood there bursting with pride, that her wife had no idea they would have to crush their daughter’s dreams.   

Chapter Text

Harleen sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. “OK…” she tried to keep herself calm. “For future reference—you know—when your next wife wants kids—maybe you should explain all this shit up front.”

“Oh, would you stop with that ‘next wife’ garbage?” Pam groaned. “I assumed this particular wrinkle was implied.”

“Implied…” Harley repeated, slowly, rubbing her temples, her gaze fixed on her wife’s bare feet. “Pamela…”

The redhead was nervously flexing her toes into the rug. “You—Harleen, you have to stop that.”

Harley let her hands fall away, turning her gaze upwards. “Stop what? You don’t think I’m entitled to a little processing time?”

“No, with your skin,” Pam clarified. “It doesn’t have the elasticity it once did, and your aggressive ministrations—,”

“Pamela!” Harley’s jaw dropped in angry astonishment. “Read the room! You really think this is the time to discuss the elasticity of my fucking skin?” To Harley’s surprise, Pamela quieted then rather than defend herself.

Harley got up to pace, and Pam sat down gingerly in the space she’d abandoned on the bed. “I don’t understand,” Harley said, finally. “This is such an insane oversight.”

“And I don’t understand how you don’t understand!” Pam shot back, sounding more frustrated than angry. “I mean—Gaia, have you seen our son?” she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, unlocking it and thrusting it forward so that Harley could see the background image of Anthony in a Stanford t-shirt giving Jo a piggy-back and smiling cheesily at the camera. “He looks like a G.I. Joe.”

“Yeah, I’m—aww!” Harley’s tone changed quickly, her face melting into stupid grin at the picture. “When did you take that?”

“Oh, umm…last summer,” Pam had to bite her lip to keep a smile of her own contained. “It was the last day before he went back to school, remember? At the beach?”

“Right, right, right,” Harley acknowledged before pulling herself back on track. “Hey, nuh-uh, don’t distract me. This is a huge deal, Pam.”

“I know it is!” the redhead snatched her phone away. “The reason I left it to you in the first place is because I knew I’d find a way to say the wrong thing or upset her. I thought you were just waiting for the right time to talk to her!”

“The right—,” Harleen was honestly surprised at what she was hearing. “The right time, Pamela? I’ve been encouraging this in her since the day she could walk. You really think I would have let it go this far if I’d known?”

“G.I. Joe.” Pam repeated. “You know what I am, you know what they are. Don’t play dumb, Harleen.”   

“Yeah,” Harley let out a strangled laugh. “They’re too human to be super, and too super to be human. How is that supposed to make sense to her, Pam? She went to practice every day, just like the normal girls, before school and after school. She bled and sweat and cried along with all the rest of them—and you want to sit here and tell me it’s not fair to them? No, it’s not fair to her.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “This isn’t about fairness, Harleen. This is about her not being able to pass a blood test. They’ll check for performance-enhancing substances and what they’ll find is that she isn’t even fully human. Do you really want our daughter to be the figurehead of the ‘should meta-humans be allowed to compete alongside mortals’ debate? Because it’s a fight we’re sure to lose, and one I don’t even think we should win. Let the humans have their petty competitions.”

Harley opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut, aiming to stop any flow of vitriol. Dis bitch… “Petty?” she asked, her jaw tight.

Pam seemed to realize her mistake…but it was too late. Far too late. “No! I mean—not for you. It was a worthwhile aspiration for you…”

“Oh, because I’m one of those stupid humans, right?” Harleen spat.

“Harl…you know that’s not what I meant.” Pam sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“How come I always have to give you the benefit of the doubt when you say shitty stuff, but then when I’m a bitch you take everything personally?” Harley demanded.

“Can we keep this about Jo, please?” Pam calmly requested.  

Harley scoffed. “How classic that you would leave this to me. Why do you keep bad-copping me? I’m a terrible bad cop.”

“I’m not—bad-copping you,” Pam scrunched her face at the phrase. “I’m inherently the bad cop in this scenario, seeing as I donated the genetic material that disqualified her. You’re simply the messenger.”

“Sure, and do you know what happens to the messenger?” Harley prompted. “They get shot. That’s what.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “You’re being overly dramatic. Of course she’ll be upset, she has every right to be, but you sound almost afraid of her wrath. We’re the adults here. We’ll take responsibility and then we’ll move on.”

“Pamela…” Harley sat down next to her on the bed, taking her hands and looking her intently in the eye. “Do you—by any chance—remember my reaction to this particular set back? Do you recall me handling it well?”

“There were mitigating factors in your situation,” Pam reminded her. “This is a much simpler case. And Jo isn’t you, despite the physical similarities.”

Harleen groaned, getting up and snatching her car keys off of the dresser.

“Where are you going?” Pam asked, watching her apprehensively.

“To get ice cream,” duh. “She’s gonna need it.”

/

“OK…” Jolene narrowed her eyes at her paper. “So maybe that’s a little ambitious for a second pass…” But…I’ve done it before…but only in practice…BUT if there was ever a time to go big or go home…

Her ears pricked up at the sound of the stairs creaking. “Yeesh, took ya long enough.” Jo scolded without looking, knowing it was her parents. “What were you guys doing up there? Making out?”  

Harley was first down the stairs, moving at a pretty quick pace, actually. Jo raised her head and then and eyebrow along with it. “No? Nothing hot and heavy?”

Pam was following after her, a look of worry on her face as she watched Harley pull on her jacket. Her words, when she finally did speak, sounded distracted. “When you talk about your parents in a sexual context, it makes future sexual occurrences less enjoyable for your parents.”

“Sexual occurrences?” Jo laughed. “You make it sound like it happens on accident.”

“I’ll be back,” Harley mumbled, clearly not listening to the conversation going on around her. She shut the door loudly behind her when she left.

Jo furrowed her brow at the closed door before she allowed her gaze to drift to Pam, who stood, shifting uneasily three stairs up. “I guess menopause is rough?”

“Be nice,” Pam warned, sternly.

Jo just smiled and shrugged. “Hey—how come Anthony is allowed to make menopause jokes but I’m not?”

“Because we like him better,” Pam deadpanned, moving to sit across from Jo at the table.

Jo watched panic flash across the woman’s eyes when she didn’t respond right away. “That was in jest. You know we love you equally, right?”

Jo laughed, shaking her head and returning her attention to her paper. Sometimes she wondered if it was even possible for parents to love their kids equally. Sure, they could say they did, but didn’t everyone secretly have a preference about everything? Sometimes Jo wondered why is was so important for Pam that she and Anthony knew they were on equal footing. On cop shows, usually the most defensive person was the one who murdered their mistress because she was pregnant or something. BUT, it was also sometimes the jealous landlord with a peephole. And he would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dumb dog. But like, if he can talk, how is he dumb? And he always finds the monster, even though his mental processing is obviously regularly impaired by illicit substances. Wait, what?

Jo shook her head to save herself from her own thought process. “You don’t look like a ‘Pamela’,” she said, suddenly—maybe a bit too loudly—startling her Mom. “But you look even less like a ‘Pam’.”

“It was a very fashionable name at the time,” she was assured.

Weird conversation starter, Jo. “And you never thought about changing it?” Jo asked, setting her pen down. You doing this cuz you’re uncomfortable, or…what’s your deal?

“Well, I have.” Pam reminded her. “I was Paula, and now I’m Lillian.”

“Nah, you’re still Pam.” Jo decided. “Ma still calls you Pam, Aunt Selina still calls you Pam, Babs…Bruce…you’re still Pam.”

Her Mother shrugged. “It’s the name my Mother gave me, and I would prefer you didn’t change your name, so…what kind of example would it set if I did?”

Jo held in a snicker. “’Pam’ makes you sound like an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat.”

Pam rapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I am an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat.”

Jo narrowed her eyes, mulling that over. “Yeah, alright. Touché. But’cha don’t look like one.”

“Fine.” Pam was amused, judging by her smile. “What do I look like, then?”

“Well, ‘Sasha Fierce’, obviously.”

Pam laughed—a genuine laugh that seemed to surprise her. “You think I should legally change my name ‘Sasha Fierce’?”

“It’s the obvious choice,” Jo reiterated. “Or, I don’t know—something sexy. Like ‘Selina’ is way sexier than ‘Pam’. So is ‘Harley’.”

“Mmm…” Pam sighed, wistfully, biting her lip. “I suppose I’ll just have to continue subsisting on my feminine wiles, then.”

It took a moment before Jo realized what was happening. “OH MY GOD, is that how you flirt? You cruel, evil seductress. Is that how you got Ma in the sack?”

Pam sat back with a laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“No—I wouldn’t,” Jo tied to look stern, but it was hard when her Mom was being playful like this. She could be funny if she wanted to. She just…sometimes didn’t want to, but Jo always appreciated it when she did.

Pam’s laugh faded into a smile. “Did you—did we ever tell you why we named you ‘Jolene’?”

Jo shrugged. “Because you’re from the south or something?”

“No, I’m from Seattle, Jo. You know that.”

“Oh, right.” The girl acknowledged.

“My Mother was, though. From the South.” Pam told her, clearing her throat. “My father was from Seattle, but he attended the University of Virginia—law school. My maternal Great Grandfather founded one of the most respected firms in Charlottesville, which my grandfather took over when he died. My father wanted a job there out of law school so he began courting my Mother in hopes of marrying into the family.” She looked almost relieved when she was through.

“Then how did they get back to Seattle?” Jo wondered.

“Oh, I don’t know. My father likely felt emasculated knowing that his new bride was the only reason he got a job, he didn’t exactly graduate top of his class, you see.” Pam divulged, looking a bit uncomfortable. “So he took his prize and moved back home.”

“He sounds like a real…butthead.” Jo decided.

“He was a real butthead,” Pam agreed with a chuckle.

“Did you…” Jo sat forward slightly. Her Mom didn’t talk about her parents all that often, and when she did it was usually to tell some sad story about her Mother not letting her outside or something. “Did you hate him?”

“Oh, yes.” Pam nodded ardently, recognizing Jo’s interest. “He cared so little about me it was almost humorous. Until I was about…mmm…” she squinted, searching for the memory. “15, maybe. And then he started bringing me to meetings with potential clients and parties and galas…”

Jo was almost afraid to ask. “Why?”

“I was good for business,” Pam answered, plainly.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. “You’re tellin’ me he pimped out his own underage daughter?”

“Well pimped is a strong word.” Pam corrected. “I was only required to be charming, gracious, and to humor them…my father was the first man I ever killed, but he certainly wasn’t the first man I thought about killing.”

Jo nervously cleared her throat. “That’s—heavy, Mom.” Jo recently had it pointed out to her that she tended to discuss murder a bit too casually, so she decided it would be a good start to keep her Mom accountable to the same issue.

“Yes, I know…” Pam looked apologetic. “But according to your Mother, the way they raised me wasn’t their only disservice. Naming me ‘Pamela’ wasn’t great either. But her reasoning was because I look like the woman that singer describes in the song, and she was worried you’d grow up looking like me and we’d miss another opportunity, so…you’re Jolene.” She smiled.

“Solid segue.” Jo tried to make a joke in hopes of lightening the mood…but her Mom’s eyes were glazed over slightly, her gaze wistful…and it occurred to Jo (as it sometimes did) that her Mother was an old woman. Older than some of her peers’ grandparents. She grew up during the depression, how weird is that?! She was like a human time capsule, and there were so many questions to ask, so many Pam could answer…but these times, the just the two of them times were rare, and sometimes Jo’s questions put Pam in a bad mood, and she didn’t want to ruin anything…but she couldn’t resist. “Do you think pretending to seduce those guys was what taught you to be Poison Ivy?” she ventured, bravely.

Pam blinked at the question, as it seemed to catch her off guard. Jo was just about to rephrase when Pam finally decided to answer. “I think...my mother taught me to hate myself, my father to hate men, and Woodrue to hate humanity. Between them they provided me the method, means and motivation for what I became.”

Jo sat back to think on that for a moment, but Pam (evidently) had more to say.

“Trust me when I say I understand all too well the profound effect a parent can have on their child. And I—,” Pam cleared her throat. “I want you to know that I have done my very best to inspire and support you, and I am truly sorry for what is out of my control.”

A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Jolene’s mouth. “Are you…worried about getting murdered?”

Pam ran a hand through her hair, swallowing as she did. “No,” she said with a slight smile. “Although I’d love to see you try.

Jo giggled, turning her attention to the door as the knob twisted and Harleen pushed it open. Her eyes fell quickly to the plastic bag the woman was holding, and to the unmistakable silhouette of an ice cream carton within.

“Hey, what gives?!” Jo shouted, affronted by the purchase. “You guys are just gonna have an ice cream party without me?”

“No…” Harleen sighed, setting the bag down on the counter and freeing the ice cream from its plastic confines.

“And Rocky Road, too?!” Jo shot up from her chair. “That’s just plain vindictive. You know I’m on my prep diet.”

Silently, Harley got a bowl down from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer, opening the carton and scooping until the bowl was nearly overflowing with ice cream. With a sigh, she turned around and slid the bowl over to Jo. “Sit down, Honey.”

Jo glanced at the ice cream, and then at Harley’s face. She looked…weary. “OK…” Jo lowered herself back into her chair. “Did…did somebody die?”

“No,” Harley said again, taking a seat next to Pam at the table. “Eat your ice cream.”

Uhhh… “Ma, I don’t want it.” Jo was just plain confused at this point.

“Fine,” Harley grabbed the bowl from her, taking a quick bite before sliding it back.

Pam reached over to place a supportive hand over Harley’s on the table, and that evidently helped Harley gather the courage to say: “Jo…we need to talk…”

“Alright…” the girl repeated, sitting back and crossing her arms, regarding her parents critically. “I’m all ears, I guess.”

Harley rubbed her eyes briefly before setting her gaze hard on nondescript spot on the table. “Jolene, you aren’t human. You are a plant-human hybrid, and that will disqualify you from the Olympic trials.”

Come again? “W—wait, what?” Jo laughed…until she realized Harley still wouldn’t meet her gaze and Pam just looked sad. “What do you mean?”

Harley bit her lip rather than answering, and Pam picked up the slack when she noticed. “Your genetic markers and physiology are unique, and the drug tests the Olympic committee performs search for anomalies. You are an anomaly.”

“Wha—no, I—I’m not like you,” Jo sat forward. “I don’t have any powers or anything. I can’t even hear the plants like Anthony can. I just have those dreams sometimes is all. And look! I mean, I don’t even have the skin thing.” She held up her naturally pale wrist.

“We know,” Harley murmured. “But the fact that you present as normal doesn’t change your DNA.”

“But, but I’ve been competing against normal kids my whole life! No one ever knew the difference.” Jo sputtered.

“And they wouldn’t,” Pam granted. “Until they ran your blood.”

“Ha! No, that’s bullshit. Total bullshit,” Jo stood up, what the hell is this shit? “I earned my spot! You saw, I’m the best kid out there, who the hell cares if I’ve got some plant in me. Survival of the fittest, right? I’m the fittest.”

“Jolene, the Olympics aren’t some fight to the death. It’s not about survival, it’s a game.” Pam reminded her, calmly. “And according to the rules, you’re cheating.”

CHEATING? “Cheating? How am I cheating?” the girl demanded. “It’s not my fault my mom’s a superhero. I’m not a superhero. I’m just a kid who happens to have a little plant in me.”

“Just—sit down,” Harley quietly pleaded.  

How about you go fuck yourself instead? Jo obliged, slamming herself back into her chair.

Harley waited patiently, then said: “You are ‘super’, Jolene.”

“Well, you’re elevated.” Pam corrected. “Your metabolism is accelerated due to how your body processes solar energy. You also heal a bit faster than a typical human, your skin won’t be able to permanently scar…”

“Oh, fantastic.” Jo scoffed. “So my superpowers are: I can’t get fat, don’t need Band-Aids and if I Two-Face myself, no biggie?” some consolation prize.

“You’re also naturally more agile, a bit stronger and faster too.” Pam assured her.

“That is—this is—no.” Jo shook her head. “No, I’d rather be totally human and get to compete.”

“I am truly sorry for what is out of my control,” Pam recycled her line from earlier.

Jo’s jaw went slack as realization dawned. You mother— “Wait, so…basically…that entire conversation we just had was so, when you told me this, I’d realize that, hey! So my parents curb-stomped my life goals, but at least my Mom’s not a total cunt all the time?” Jo felt a twitch of satisfaction when both women flinched at her word choice. “Or—damn—so even though I deserve to represent my country on the world stage, I should appreciate I don’t have a dad that treats me like an escort so it’s all OK? No.” she decided. “Fuck that and fuck you.”

“Jolene,” Pam started, obvious hurt marring her fair features. “I don’t expect you to understand—,”

“—No, you know what?” Jo interrupted, roughly snatching the ice cream bowl from the table and shoving her chair backwards to stand. “I don’t have to listen to this shit. You’re not a philosopher. Stick to plants, asshole. And by that, I don’t mean me.”

/

Pam watched Jo storm up the stairs, ice cream in hand. That went downhill quickly…

And she continued to watch, even after they heard Jo’s bedroom door slam.

“I guess that went about as well as it could…” Harleen mumbled.

Pam silently rose from the table, moving to the counter to return the lid to the ice cream. Harley’s phone vibrated in her pocket while Pam was placing the carton in the freezer.

The blonde had to put her glasses on to read the text message. “It’s Jo,” she said, waiting for Pam’s undivided attention, which she was soon granted. “She says ‘testing is less stringent at the trials. Coach will vouch for me. I just wanna know I could make it’.”

Pam leaned back against the counter with a sigh as the phone vibrated once more. “What does it say?” she prompted after Harley had been silent for a moment.

The blonde cleared her throat. “It says… ‘Mom’s not invited.’”

“Well at least she didn’t shoot the fucking messenger,” Pam muttered.

Chapter Text

“Name?”

“Quinzel.”

“Jolene?” the woman asked.

“That’s me."

She nodded, scribbling something down on the paper in front of her. “Third party or on-site drug testing?”

“Third party. It’s—uh—my gym should have sent it over already. Gotham Gymnastics Academy?”

“Mmm…” the woman narrowed her eyes at the computer screen in front of her, and typed a few quick letters, all of which was contributing significantly to Jo’s growing anxiety. “Ah, here it is.” She said, finally. “Jolene I. Quinzel…just the initial?”

“Just the initial,” Jo smiled.

“OK…” she made a note. “Is that your Mother?” she asked, referring to Harleen who was standing off to the side.

“That she is,” Jo acknowledged. “Ma, they’ve got some medical waivers for you to sign or something, I’m gonna check out the venue if that’s—is that cool?”

The woman nodded, so Jo picked up her duffle bag, mumbling “later” as she passed by Harley in search of the locker rooms. Wasn’t too hard to locate once she found the “ATHLETE” signs pointing her in the right direction.

Yeesh, quit yellin’ at me, Jo thought as she followed the last sigh around a corner to find a man sitting at a table in front of what she presumed to be the locker room.

“Name?” the man asked.

Jo sighed internally. “Quinzel, Jolene.”

“No. Way.” A shrill female voice said behind her. “Jolene Quinzel?”

OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME SAY MY NAME AGAIN. “Yes,” Jo turned around with a broad smile. “How about I say it louder for the people in the back? MY NAME IS JOLENE QUINZEL!”

The girl—who was blonde, very small and someone who Jo vaguely recognized as a gymnast from the Central City gym—was laughing. “I know, right? Why do they act like somebody would want to impersonate us? Don’t they know how much this hair hurts? I’m Courtney—but I’m not gonna yell it, if that’s OK?”

“Oh, uh—yeah, that’s perfectly fine,” well now Jo felt a little embarrassed. “I’m Jo—but I guess we already established that.”

“We did,” Courtney giggled. “Sorry, I don’t want to distract you or anything, I just—umm…” she set her bag down and unzipped it, shuffling around inside until she pulled out a roll of athletic tape and a sharpie. “Will you sign my tape?” she asked, biting her lip nervously.

“Will I—what?” Jo laughed. “You want me to sign your tape?”

“Well…yeah,” Courtney blushed. “I’m probably not gonna make it, if I’m being honest with myself, and—uh—I’m pretty sure they’ve already printed up your posters because you’re like a given, so…well now I feel stupid,” she laughed. “I’m just a fan and if we’re not gonna be teammates, I want people to at least know I was good enough to be in the same room as you.”

“Hey, you never know,” Jo grinned, searching through her mental gif library for the best ‘internally screaming’ option. “Anything could happen. But yeah, I’ll totally sign your tape.” She held out her hands and the girl excitedly deposited both items.

Courtney stared down at her feet as Jo scribbled her name. “You’re really pretty—I mean!” her head shot up in alarm. “Your makeup! Is really pretty. I meant your makeup.”

Jo just smiled at the bright pink of the girl’s cheeks as she handed the autographed tape back to her. “Can’t both be true?”

/

Selina opened the door before Pam even had a chance to knock, wearing a ‘USA’ t-shirt and sporting a smile that communicated her pity.

Alfred died roughly 7 years prior, and Selina had taken up the door answering duties since then because Bruce simply didn’t have the heart to hire a new butler. Alfred did get to see Selina wearing the engagement ring before he passed, though, which seemed to be a great comfort to Bruce. Evidently, Alfred had wanted him to settle down for some time, so even though the ring was purely symbolic, it had meant something to Alfred.

Selina was wearing the ring now, along with a wedding band that she—again—swore she only accepted due to the quality and craftsmanship of the item.

“Hey…” Selina exhaled.

“No makeup today?” Pam asked, referring to the brunette’s pale complexion. She just couldn’t deal with Selina’s sympathetic tone.

Selina shrugged. “I didn’t see the point. It’s just us.”

Pam acknowledged her with a nod, starting into the doorway, trying to slide past her…but Selina stopped her by placing two hands firmly on her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “What the hell are you doing?” Pam demanded.

“Hugging you. What the fuck does it look like?” Selina asked, not relinquishing her grip in the slightest

“Well stop, please.” Pamela requested, frankly alarmed by this show of affection. “We’re going to miss the thing. Are Barbara and Dick already here?”

“They are,” Selina confirmed. “But how about we don’t refer to the Olympic trials as ‘the thing’ ever again.”

“Fine, apologies.” Pam waited for Selina to release her, and made a b-line for the living room as soon as she did, finding that Babs and Dick were, indeed, there, sitting on one of the couches wearing similar nationally branded attire.

“Hey!” Dick greeted happily. “Check it out, Pam.” He twisted in his seat so that she could see the name “Quinzel” printed on the back of his shirt.

“You all realize this isn’t the actual Olympics, right? It’s just the audition.” Pam attempted to set them straight, as they were clearly confused.

“First off, it’s not an audition, dumbass.” Selina pushed past her to take a seat in the largest empty, leather chair. “It’s a try-out.” She curled her legs up under her body. “And it’s the closest Jo’s gonna get to the actual thing. This is her Olympics and we’re going to treat it as such.”

Pam felt a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Bruce standing there, holding out a shirt to her that seemed to be identical to Dick’s. “She’ll be happy to know you’re watching.”

“Thank you,” was the best response Pam could muster as she took the shirt from him, sitting down in the chair next to Selina’s.

“They’ve been talking about her for like a half hour straight,” Barbara reported. “I’m honestly not sure if they’re aware other girls showed up.”

“Why?” Pam asked, remaining on the edge of her seat. “I mean, she’s wonderful, obviously, and is clearly talented…but I don’t quite understand what makes her so much better than the other girls. It seems like every competition she participates in; she’s just expected to win. Why?”

Selina laughed. “Harley never explained this to you?”

“Well…no…but to be fair, I never asked.” Pam admitted.

“It’s because of her start value,” Dick told her. “The judges evaluate each routine for its difficulty score, and Jolene’s routines are so difficult that she automatically starts like a point ahead.”

“Hypothetically, a girl could execute her routine to absolute perfection, just be flawless, and Jo could make a mistake and still beat her,” Barbara explained.

“So, really…” Pam was trying to understand. “It’s a completely individual sport. She’s competing against herself, and even more so because of the…” she attempted to recall the phrase. “Start value of her routine.”

“Exactly,” Selina agreed. “And Jo’s routines have the highest difficulty scores in the world right now—for a woman, anyway—which is a victory in itself. She’ll change the sport, Pam, especially since they don’t know they’re competing against a meta-human.”

Pam sighed, “and that’s why her routines can be so difficult.”

“Well sure,” Selina conceded. “But also—OK—look.” She pointed at the screen where the athletes could be seen warming up. “Watch the way her body moves once it leaves the ground.”

Pam waited until it was Jo’s turn on the vault, and watched as she sprinted down the runway, launching off the apparatus into a series of flips and twists before landing solidly on two feet.

“See?” Selina prompted.

Pam didn’t see…she’d watched Jolene perform stunts like that countless times…but she nodded like she did, as Selina coming off somehow intellectually superior was a nightmare that had plagued her for some time.

Selina chuckled, obviously recognizing her bluff. “She understands her body in space, and the physics of each movement. Like, just there, she came off the table a little sideways, but was able to make an adjustment because she understood her velocity and trajectory. She’s smart,” Selina smiled. “A smarter gymnast than Harley was—and unless your plant DNA added some IQ points, that’s all her.”

Pam sat in silence for a moment, watching Jo conversing amicably with another girl, wearing her typical sunny smile—something Pam hadn’t seen for over a month now. “She didn’t want me there today.” Pam murmured.

Selina cleared her throat as the rest of the living room occupants shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, we know. But hey, jokes on her! This is the best seat. We get to rewind, fast-forward through commercials…”

“And the camera angles,” Dick added. “We get to see everything from all different camera angles.”

“Hey, it’s Harley!” Barbara changed the subject by pointing to the screen where it showed the blonde sitting alone in the stands. “Turn it up.”

Bruce obliged.

“Little known fact,” the female commentator was saying. “Jolene’s mother, Harleen, was a pretty accomplished gymnast herself, won a collegiate national championship all-around in 1991.”

“Well talent clearly runs in the family,” the male commentator chuckled. “It seems Mr. Quinzel couldn’t make it today, but—“

Pam grabbed what was nearest to her and rifled it at the television, and the others jumped to their feet as the object bounced off the screen and clattered to the floor. 

“Pamela!” Bruce shouted. “Do you have any idea what this television cost?”

“I’m more concerned with where she found a Rubik’s cube,” Selina leaned over to pick it up off the ground.

“Did they do absolutely zero research?” Pam demanded. “This pervasive heteronormativity—,”

“OK,” Selina gabbed her around the waist, pulling her down so that they now shared the large chair. “We’re only 10 minutes in. How about you sit on that rant for a bit?”

“If I was there—,”

“They’d probably call you Harley’s friend,” Bruce cut her off. “Would that have been more or less offensive?”

“I just—I demand to know why our standards are so low.” Pam rebuked. “How, after 31 years of marriage, is my relationship still less legitimate than yours or yours?” she posed the same question to both couples. If Pam was being honest with herself, she was just using this as a distraction from the fact that her daughter really hadn’t spoken to her since that fated conversation around the kitchen table.

“Because people are assholes, Pam. You spent a career preaching that,” Selina reminded her.

“No—,” Bruce started to intervene, before Pam shot back with: “If you whip out your ‘men are still good’ speech I’m going to use that Ficus to strangle you, I swear.”

Bruce just quietly closed his mouth, lightly clearing his throat as he leaned back into the couch cushions.

Pam fixed him there with a warning look before turning her attention to the television once more, which was—luckily—unharmed by the Rubik’s cube assault. She couldn’t help feeling melancholy. This was the biggest day of her daughter’s life, and here Pam was…sitting in Bruce Wayne’s living room next to Selina rather than next to her wife at the venue.

Jo was entitled to her frustration—absolutely. Pam wouldn’t wish to take that away from her in a million years, but she’d hoped that after a month, she’d be able to put some of this aside for just one day, to allow Pam to witness her daughter’s greatest joy in life. Maybe Pam would never be able to fully understand it. Maybe it would always be a bit easier for her to get along with Anthony being that he shared so many of her interests…but Jo would always be her little girl, and her triumphs and failures would always feel like Pam’s burden to share. She didn’t know how to apologize for the very thing that bound them together. What made Jo hers was now the wedge driving them apart.

Pam knew that this likely could have been avoided had she ignored her fear of a negative reflection and told Jo the truth when she was just a child—before her goal came within reach. But what good did that do her now? Regret, guilt, shame…what was the point of it all? She couldn’t go backwards. She’d already apologized—profusely—for the choices she’d made, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Harleen told her to just wait until after the trails, after Jo was through with this period of her life and ready to move on. But Pam was afraid, frankly. What if moving through this period took Jo years? What if she held onto this forever just as Pam had everything her mother ever did?

“16 flat, at least, come on, baby…” Selina was crossing her fingers following Jo’s floor routine. “16.2! no fucking way!”

Pam watched Jo graciously accept congratulations from the other athletes, her smile still wide and bright…but the hurt behind her eyes was easy to see.

By the time it was all over and they were ready to announce the team, Jo had only been deducted a cumulative four-tenths, which (according to Selina) meant she’d been nearly perfect on all of her routines. Harleen looked sad too—or apologetic, maybe—when they showed her in the stands. The commentators said it looked like it was all just too much to process, but Pam knew the truth: it was an empty victory.

/

Jolene smiled when they called her name. She happily waved to the crowd as she stepped onto the floor wearing her new, official USA sweat-suit, and gave an excited high-five to the other four girls whose names were called…though she wasn’t really paying attention until they called the first alternate: Courtney Whitmore.

Her being first alternate meant that she would take over Jo’s forfeited spot, and that knowledge provided Jo with maybe her first genuine smile all night, bittersweet as it was.

Afterwards, once Harley had informed the coach Jo would be pulling out, she caught up to Courtney in the hallway.

“Hey!” she called after her.

Courtney turned around immediately, her eyes wide. “Jolene, congra—,”

“Yeah, no, I’m not going.” Jo panted, tired from the event and the fact that she’d just about had to sprint to catch up with her. “I can’t go.”

Courtey looked stunned. “You’re—but—what do you mean?”

“It, umm…it turns out I didn’t earn it.” Jo had to fight hard to keep the tears at bay. “So, really, it’s you who’s deserving of congratulations, and I’ll be watching—so don’t fuck up.” She’d meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding sincere and thick with emotion. “I hope it’s as awesome as it looks on TV.”

Courtney seemed to be at a loss for words, so Jo just started back down the hallway to where Harleen was patiently waiting.

You know what…

She quickly spun back around. “Oh, and just for the record, it’s totally OK to think girls are pretty for reasons besides their makeup,” and with that she grabbed the girl’s face and pulled her into a kiss that probably didn’t need to last as long as it did, but the shade of pink in Courtney’s cheeks when they separated communicated her appreciation.

Harley looked thoroughly bewildered when Jo jogged to rejoin her.

“Did you just—,”

“Make her day?” Jo asked. “Yeah, I did.”

Chapter Text

The best part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They didn’t even have to talk most of the time (although Harley liked to), they just understood what the other person was thinking…feeling…it was comfortable.

The worst part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They could understand what the other was thinking, feeling…when they weren’t sleeping...

When they weren’t sleeping.

Hint, hint, Pam. When they weren’t sleeping.

Harley was attempting to telepathically communicate to her wife that she needed to shut her fricken eyes and quit shifting around.

By the 4^th passive aggressive sigh in as many minutes, Harley was fed up. “Pamela!” she hissed. “Will you knock it off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pam murmured. “Did I wake you?”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Sort of hard to wake me up when I haven’t gone to sleep,” she exhaled, rolling onto her other side to observe Pam on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“She hates me, doesn’t she?” Pam murmured.

“If the ‘she’ in this scenario is a feeble old woman named ‘Harleen’, then yeah, ‘she’ hates you.”

Her wife was clearly unamused, so Harley sighed, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “She’s 15 years old and she had something really important taken away from her. Yes, she hates you. She hates the whole situation. Probably the whole world right now, honestly. But it will blow over. I promise, alright?”

Pam’s jaw was set, her mouth a hard line. “Harleen, it’s been a week. She still hasn’t left her room.”

“Well…part of that is strategic,” Harley reminded her. “Remember? She ran into that reporter and didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Right,” Pam turned to her, speaking in earnest now. “Have we decided on a disease yet, by the way? Now that she’s committed herself to having one?”

Harley groaned as she moved onto her back, shifting her gaze from Pam to the single chip in the ceiling’s paint. “Huntington’s, maybe? Neuropathy? Lambert-Eaton? I’m not sure she’s got the acting chops required for Parkinson’s or ALS. I don’t know, but I’m leaning autoimmune.”

“Not neuropathy,” Pam decided. “There’s no way we’re selling Type 2 Diabetes and she probably would have required a pump by now if she had Type 1. Huntington’s is just too degenerative, I think, besides juvenile onset is so rare we might be under tougher scrutiny. And I don’t mind the LEMS idea, aside from the fact it’s usually indicative of another underlying disease, so…are we prepared to give our daughter a fabricated cancer diagnosis on top of a fabricated autoimmune disease diagnosis?”

Harley was almost physically fighting off sleep at this point. “I don’t know—but we’ve got all my chairs and ramps, the van…so…if she needs to pretend to be paralyzed, she’s in the right family.”

“Except for it’s recently been brought to my attention that Jolene is somehow the highest scoring gymnast in the world right now, and as such, her suddenly forfeiting her spot on the Olympic team is reasonably suspicious. Announcing she has some rare disease won’t help her disappear quietly. Doctors from all over the country will volunteer their services.” Pam, by comparison, didn’t sound the least bit fatigued.

Ugh, she’s right, Harley had to mentally regroup. “And even if we go with something more common she’ll still be required to give an inspiring speech at the ESPYs.” She realized.

They lay there in silence for a moment before Pam asked: “What did you tell the coach when she withdrew?”

“Personal issues.” Harley turned the phrase over in her mind. “She could be pregnant?”

“Absolutely not,” was Pam’s immediate response.

“Well, fuck, Pam!” Harley threw the blankets off of her upper body, exasperated as she sat up. “We can’t win. It’s obviously impossible.”

Pam shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. “OK,” she said, finally. “How about Leukemia, and we have someone over at S.T.A.R. Labs say they’re treating it. We just announce that up front to deter anyone from volunteering.”

“Alright, fine.” Harley agreed. “What stage is it in? When did we find out?”

“We caught it early,” Pam proposed. “And found out just before she received the invitation. After her diagnosis, she decided the trials would be her final showcase.”

 Harley squinted, running a few scenarios in her head… “Yeah, good.” She decided.

“Great,” Pam smiled as she pushed the blankets away and began to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Harley questioned.

“To run it by Jo,” Pam informed. “I want her to feel like she has some power in this decision.”

“Hey—umm—no,” Harley grabbed her hand, pulling her back down. “It’s 2 o’clock in the morning and didn’t you kill an alien today? Why aren’t you tired?”

“Well, just one,” Pam reasoned. “And he fell, I didn’t kill him.”

Harley raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Did you push him?”

Pam cleared her throat as she reluctantly settled back into bed. “I wasn’t aware that particular species couldn’t fly.”

“Mhm, likely story,” Harley snickered, scooching down off her pillow and placing her hand under Pamela’s lower back, coaxing her upwards. Though blatantly puzzled, Pam obliged her, allowing Harley to strip off her underwear and toss them to the side of the bed.

She sat up once more to peer over the edge at where they’d landed. “Now look what you did,” Pam complained. “They’re face down and I’ll have to find a clean pair before…” she trailed off as Harley pushed her down into the pillows.

“Sorry,” Harley kissed her. “Is there a panty drought I’m not aware of?”

“Well no, but—,”

“—nuh-uh-uh, no buts,” Harley silenced her with another kiss, this one considerably less chaste than the last. “Please,” she moved down, planting kisses as she went. “You’re gonna lay there, I’m gonna help you out, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. Deal?”

Pam looked at her with some reservation, like maybe she had something to say but was holding back? But she did eventually lean her head back and close her eyes. “Deal,” she mumbled, folding her hands neatly over her stomach.

Aside from a quiet sigh when Harley first made contact, Pam was basically completely silent…and motionless, too, aside from her breathing. In fact, she was so unresponsive that Harley just assumed she’d fallen asleep.

…until Pamela suddenly sat bolt-upright to ask: “Why don’t you ever want to be with me anymore?”

Harley had to check and make sure she wasn’t currently in between her wife’s legs and…yup. “What are you talking about?” she ended up sounding more critical than she’d meant to.

“I’m just…” Pam sighed, maneuvering herself onto her knees. “I’m aware that there are far more pressing issues to deal with, and maybe…you’re still unhappy with me too? Or is it that you…” she had to laugh preemptively at the notion. “Do you no longer find me attractive? Because we used to do things that required two engaged participants.”

Oh… “No, Babe—that’s not—look, I’m—I’m 60 years old.”

“Yes…” Pam acknowledged like it was an odd thing to bring up. “And I’m 98. What’s your point?”

“Pam…” Harley sat up as well. “Can you just, for a minute, try to understand what it’s like to be with someone who literally has not aged a day since you met them? I have a lot of really awesome memories of us, and—I don’t know, the point of growing old together is that you both start getting saggy at the same time. And then who cares? You’re both old so it’s all kosher. But now I just feel gross,” shouldn’t have said that… “and it’s a lot easier to forget when we’re just looking at parts instead of—you know, the whole damn puzzle.”

Pam sat there, silently listening until she was finished. And even after, it was clearly taking some time to make sense of what had just been said, or maybe she was trying to find a way forward. Regardless, she was quiet for long enough that it made Harley uncomfortable.

“I have memories of us together too,” was how Pam finally broke the silence. “And in them, my skin is smooth rather than teaming with…” she trailed off to run her fingers down the vines in her thigh. “I have memories of us in my bed when that first house was just mine…and, umm, up against the wall in your apartment…in your chair, on the counter, in the car, in our bed, in our bed trying to be quiet so the kids could sleep, or—you know—pointedly not trying to be quiet that summer we sent them to Space Camp.”

“Holy shit that was expensive,” Harley remembered.

Pam had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “So expensive,” she agreed. “But, you know what all those moments made me realize?”

Something annoyingly sweet that’s gonna make me want to make-out with you? “What?”

The redhead leaned forward until their lips were nearly touching to say: “I don’t really need sex.”

Uh—Whh… “33 years of having sex with me made you realize you don’t like sex?” Oh, yeah, that’s not the most offensive fucking thing I’ve ever heard or anything.

“Yeah,” Pam smiled, continuing her advance until Harley’s head was laying at the foot of the bed, Pam over her. Her smile broadened after a languid roll of her hips. “But I like sex with you.”

OK, well…yeah, OK, fine. Harley had to admit she found that enticing.

“And every time you speak negatively on your appearance, it admonishes my scientific achievement,” Pam reminded her.

“Oh, so I’m a scientific achievement now, is that right?” Harley chuckled, running her fingers through Pam’s hair until they trailed down her back.

“Well…only some parts,” the redhead conceded, leaning down to rest her lips gently at the hollow of Harley’s neck. “I have sex to be with you, not because I need it. I’m more plant than animal now, after all.” She said more seriously. “But I do need you. So if you want to be with me, fantastic, but don’t just do me a favor.”

How this woman was ever a supervillain, Harley would never understand…OK, actually, she totally did understand, that’s sorta the question Harley had spent most of her life answering at this point. But, uh, God, she loved her.

“OK,” Harley whispered.

/

Jo lolled her head to the side, grabbing for her phone on the nightstand. 4:26am.

Damn it.

Without thinking of the time (or without caring), she opened up a blank message and typed quickly: U up?

The fact that there was a reply at all surprised her, let alone one that came so quickly.

-You spell?

Jo smiled at that. Sometimes. but y did they make words that sound like single letters if they didn’t want us to write them that way?

-Yeah, Jo. I’m sure that’s what the forefathers of the English language were thinking about when they conceived an entire lexicon: how to make texting easier in the future.

-Or foremothers. U don’t know, ya sexist pig.

-Mom? That you?

Jo had to snicker at that.

Anthony followed up soon after with: Weird how you follow capitalization and grammatical rules but can’t be bothered to spell out “you” or “why”. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose or something.

Nonsense! Jo grinned as she sent the message. When he didn’t reply, she asked: Why are you still awake? I thought you couldn’t come home this summer cuz u were working on your PhD or whatever

-“Or whatever”, pfft. You’re just pissed because you know I’m gonna make you call me “Dr. Quinzel”

“He better not,” Jo mumbled as she typed. We already got one of those in the family. How about you figure out how to be an individual?

-You know that The Rock eye roll gif? OK, imagine I’m doing that

Jo had to take a moment to look that up…and it was definitely worth it. Impressive eyeball dexterity. Seriously, tho, y r u awake?

-…that was so dumb I’m almost embarrassed for you. But if you must know, I’m at some girl’s apartment that I would really rather not be at, so…if anyone asks…you’re really sick

Jo followed in The Rock’s example and rolled her eyes hard. She cute?

-No, not really. And I can’t exactly get drunk, so it’s all so visceral

“What an asshole,” Jo laughed. Need a call?

-Nah, I’ll handle it. Be a man, and all.

-aka, bite the bullet?

-We’ll see ;)

“Uh—bleh!” Jo spat. No winky faces

-Fine ;)

She received another message before she could type one herself.

-Are you feeling better about everything?

Jo sighed, she was sort of hoping to avoid this conversation. They’d talked just after the trials and he’d sounded so sorry for her it bummed her out even worse. Oh, yeah. It’s been a whole week. Totally over my crushed dreams and ready to move forward in life without a purpose.

-Do you need a call?

No. Jo sent that one quickly. I’m going to bed <3

-OK. If you’re sure. <3

Jo tossed her phone back onto the nightstand, hearing it clatter on the wooden surface.

It was a pleasant night. Gotham summers were usually pretty decent aside from the occasional and super crappy humid heatwaves. Tonight wasn’t so bad though…68 degrees, she probably wouldn’t even need a jacket.

Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed the pair of jeans she’d tossed on the floor the day before and yanked them on over her boy shorts before tying her hair up into a ponytail and exiting out the window. She stood on the roof for a second before climbing down the lattice into the backyard where she jumped a fence to get her off her parent’s property.

Jo wasn’t quite sure where she was headed, but she decided most anywhere was better than staying in bed for another minute.

Before she knew it, she was on a bus (using the loose change she’d found in her pocket), and then she was in South Gotham, starring at her gym from the parking lot.

Yeah, real fucking subtle, subconscious.

The sun was beginning to rise now, and she was sure her parents would be pissed regardless, so…fuck ‘em. Let ‘em worry.

She plopped down on the curb to watch the sunrise over the building she usually spent around 8 hours a day in…but now had no reason to enter.

“Hey,” a male voice shattered the tranquility of the moment. “I know you.”

Jo jumped up and spun around to find…ugh, this dickhead?

“You’re the girl who doesn’t want a ride on my bike.”

He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, his red t-shirt tight on his muscular chest and his dark hair styled like he was pretending not to care.  

“And you’re the douche who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.” She hoped her tone communicated his need to fuck off.

“Yeah,” the boy smiled. “Jason.”

“I was told to stay away from boys with that name. Pleasure to meet you, though.” Jo pushed passed him in the direction of the bus stop.

“Hey, hold up now,” he jogged to catch her. “We were just getting acquainted!”

“Actually…no, we weren’t.” Jo snipped, tapping her foot impatiently where she stood hoping the bus would come soon.

“Alright,” Jason chuckled. “I’ll try the old fashioned way…nice thighs, I bet they’d look even better with—“

“Your head in between them?” Jo guessed.

“I was gonna say ‘my dick’, but sure.” He laughed. “I’m not opposed to that first.”

“Charming,” Jo rolled her eyes. “You know—I didn’t actually come here to be sexually harassed, so…”

“Alright, sorry, sorry,” he sighed. “A little early for that, I get it. So why did you come here, then?”

Good question. “It’s…my gym.” Was her mumbled response.

“Ah, a gymnast, I should have known.” He smirked.

“What about you?” She asked…not that she was actually curious or anything, but it was better than being creepily leered at. “You don’t exactly strike me as a morning person.”

“Mmm…well…gotta make money somehow.” He casually leaned against the bus stop.

“So you’re, what? Prostituting yourself?” Jo guessed.

Jason laughed. “I’m a mechanic, but I don’t mind a girl with a sense of humor.”

“Noted,” Jo nodded, cordially.

“Do your parents know you’re out here?” he asked after a minute or so of silence.

“Do yours?” She shot back.

“Don’t have any,” he admitted. “But I’ve seen yours pick you up from school, and in some nice cars, too.” When Jo didn’t answer, he asked. “You need a ride home? It’ll be quicker than the bus.”

“Oh, umm…let me think. Should I get on a motorcycle with a strange boy who mentioned his dick 30 seconds into our first conversation? Yeah, sorry, Bud. I think I’m gonna wait it out.” Jo sneered.

Jason just shrugged. “Suit yourself, I guess. It would make me late anyway, so…how about this…I’ll leave you alone if you tell me your name. Or would you rather I keep calling you ‘Legs’?”

Jo looked up to the sky, hoping for the rapture, but exhaled “Jolene” when it didn’t come.

“See?” Jason crossed his arms, that smirk still playing on his lips. “Not so hard, huh?”

Chapter Text

Coffee…coffee…why does she put coffee in the fridge?

Harley shook her head as she grabbed the bag and shut the refrigerator door, shoveling four big scoops into the coffee maker…she was probably the only one who was going to drink it now that Anthony was gone, but she hadn’t relearned how to brew for one yet. Although, shit, it had been…what? 4 years now? Going on 5? She should probably get on that.

He’d be home soon, though…so…maybe she should hold off…but he won’t want to move back in with his parents once he returned to Gotham. Why would he? That’s just weird, Harley.

And he won’t be home soon. Just because it only took him 3 years to get his undergrad doesn’t mean he’ll be able to speed through a PhD too.

“Good morning…” Pam wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, placing a lingering kiss just below her ear.

“Mornin’,” Harley smiled, watching the coffee fill the pot drip by drip.

“So…” she could tell Pam was smiling too. “That wasn’t so terrible last night, was it?”

“Actually,” Harley sighed as she turned around in her arms, leaning back against the counter as Pam moved her hands forward to bracket her hips. “Yeah, OK, it was pretty fun.”

“Fun?” Pam raised an impeccably groomed eyebrow.

“Dynamo,” Harley corrected with a giggle. “Pamela Isley: sexual dynamo.”

The redhead rolled her eyes. “You make things gross so quickly.”

Harley shrugged, a broad grin on her face. “What can I say? It’s my superpower.”

“That’s…unfortunate,” Pam hoisted her up onto the counter.

“Pam! What are you—Jo’s home!” Harley exclaimed, nervously glancing up the stairs.

“Jo’s asleep,” her wife reminded her, muffling any further protests with a kiss.

“Mm—Pmm—Pam,” Harley pulled away, panting. “What’s gotten into you?” she laughed. “Did you poison yourself with your own sex pollen?”

“No…” Pam pulled the tie off of Harley’s robe. “I’m just unfulfilled in other areas of my life…” she said it so salaciously that Harley was pretty sure she’d need to change her panties.

But—hey, wait! That wasn’t sexy!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harley placed a hand on Pam’s chest to stop her. “I think we should probably unpack that.”

Pam took ‘no’ for an answer, backing up slightly and watching her expectantly.

“I feel like I’m getting some mixed signals here,” Harley began. “Because…last night you prefaced us having sex by saying you didn’t like sex, and now it’s 8am and you started to initiate kitchen sex like I was 35 again and we didn’t have a teenager sleeping upstairs, so…what gives? Cuz, sure, it’s hot and everything, but it’s also super confusing?”

Pam cocked her head. “Is that a question or a statement?”

“Uhh—a statement.” Harley decided.

OK…Harley thought, Jo’s not talking to her so she’s—actually, ya know what? Let’s try it this way: “Usually I would do this stuff in my head,” Harley admitted. “But maybe you could help me out with this one. You’re feeling sad about the thing with Jo…you’re feeling…disconnected, maybe. One of our kids is out of the house, the other won’t talk to you, so…you’re seeking comfort from me because you feel like I’m the only member of this family that hasn’t abandoned you?”

“I—Anthony—Anthony didn’t abandon me!” Pam stammered, lifting her hands away from the counter, her body language turning defensive.

“Oh, yeah, sure. I know that,” Harley acknowledged. “Your rational mind knows that, but emotionally you’re feeling a bit cut off. I get it.” She shrugged. “And intimacy is comforting. It reaffirms I’m yours, that I’m not leaving, so…do you actually want to have sex right now or do you just want a hug? Because, honestly, I’m down for either, but if you don’t actually want sex I don’t want you to try and compensate with it, especially given your history with sexual abuse. I don’t want to cross any wires.”

Pam seemed to be at a relative loss for words. “W—,”

At that moment, Jo walked in through the kitchen door—fully dressed in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt, her cheeks rosy like she’d been walking at a brisk pace. “Hey,” she mumbled, heading straight for the stairs.

Huh? “Umm…no, excuse me!” Harley stopped her. “Why weren’t you in bed?”

“Because the sun is up,” Jo pointed to the window. “Why is your robe untied? Why didn’t Pamela ask me your first question?”

“You’re familiar with human anatomy,” Harley huffed, cinching her robe tightly closed.

“Eh, not really,” Jo shrugged. “I’d probably have to be human to like, totally ‘get it’.”

Someone seemed to have switched Pam back on because she moved her focus from Harley to Jo and asked: “Where were you?”

“I went on a run,” Was Jo’s answer.

Harley put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “In jeans?”

“Thought I’d switch it up,” Jo informed them, continuing past them now towards the stairs.

“When did you leave?” Pam asked, following her to the foot of the stairs. “How far did you run? Because I was up at 5:30 and never saw you.”

Jo turned back around with sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you guys.”

“Well the truth would be awesome,” Harley came to join Pam at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorta what we were asking for in the first place.”

Jo seemed to be at somewhat of a choice point. Harley could see some trepidation on her face before she crossed her arms, leaning a shoulder against the stairs to say: “I was meeting someone.”

“I’m sorry?” Pam looked surprised.

“Yeah,” Jo decided, nodding. “Yeah, I was meeting a boy—a guy.”

“A friend?” Harley tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Jo laughed at that notion. “No. Just some guy I’ve been seeing.”

“Seeing?” Pam repeated the word, seemingly horrified. “What happened to gymnastics being the only relationship in your life?”

“Umm…ya fucking ripped it out of my chest like my still beating heart.”

Harley wasn’t sure if Pam meant to roll her eyes, but she definitely did…and it definitely didn’t help.

“Who is he?” Harley asked, trying to find a way to calm the situation before Jo blew her top.

“You don’t know ‘im.” Jo spat.

“OK, well…how about a fucking name, then?” Harley demanded, losing her patience. 

“Oh, ya know, ironically…” Jo laughed with noticeable cruelty. “It’s also the name of Mom’s first boyfriend.”

Pam looked confused…but Harley knew where she was going with this.

“It’s ‘Jason’,” the girl said. “Aww, Mom! We finally have something in common!”

Harley wasn’t sure what she was expecting Pam’s reaction to be…straight to anger, maybe?…and it was clear Pam herself didn’t quite know how to react either because she just looked legitimately shocked. And then, for a moment, she seemed like she might cry, her green eyes wide as they stared up at her daughter, her bottom lip trembling slightly.  

“J—,” Pam began, but was unable to finish. “Y—,”

Harley was surprised Jo was still standing there. She’d expected her to mic-drop and leave…but no…she was still watching Pam intently, her nearly identical green eyes betraying something Harley recognized as concern.

“Y—you’ve seen what he did to me, from my perspective, you’ve—s—seen it.” Now Pam was blatantly holding back tears, her shaky voice betraying her emotions. “And you st—you still? You must be very angry with me…”

“Pam…” Harley started to reach out a hand, but the redhead moved further away, nodding as she did.

“No, it’s alright,” she wiped her eyes, although her tears had yet to actually fall. “Perhaps you could be a psychiatrist, Jolene. You,” she cleared her throat. “You knew just what to say. I’m sure you must be very proud, Harleen.”

“Pamela, stop. She’s just angry,” Harley soothed. “She’s just lashing out.”

“Yes, I understand.” Pam painted on a forced smile. “And I can—I can take it because I’m the adult. I’m the parent and I am well-adjusted. I am a hero.”

“Mom…” Jo descended a step, her shoulders heavy and her eyes watery, ‘I’m sorry’ written all over her face.

But Pam just shook her head, backing up a few more feet until she bumped into a wall. Her reaction to that (unlike to Jo’s comment) was instantaneous. She turned and punched through it, leaving a fist-sized hole in the drywall.

“Pam!” Harley shouted, honestly not sure if she should be angry about the wall, afraid of her violent reaction or worried about her hand.

The redhead laughed as she yanked her arm out of the hole. “I think I broke this.” She held her hand out in front of her.

“Jolene, go to your room,” Harley said quickly.

“But, Ma,” Jo was crying now. “Ma, I didn’t mean it.”

“I said go to your room!” Harley yelled, pointing up the stairs until Jo ran that direction, disappearing from sight and slamming her bedroom door.

“Shoddy craftsmanship,” Pam was mumbling, examining the hole in the wall.

/

“The goal, as John McCarthy so eloquently put it, is to create machines that behave in ways that would be intelligent if a human were so behaving, or to make them perform tasks that would require intelligence if done by men. That’s the basis of an AI—the bare minimum. In order to pass the Turing test, your AI must not just present as being capable of intelligence, but as being capable of human intelligence. Here we’ll be looking at how the microcosms of human expression contribute to the perceptions of humanity. Reactionary—yes,” Dr. Beecher interrupted herself. “Mr. Quinzel, go ahead.”

“I’ve always found humanity to be a bit overrated, honestly.” Anthony lowered his hand. “In a world with all knowing extraterrestrials, animal or plant hybrids with PhDs, and fully functioning human cyborgs, who cares about the microcosms of human expression? Why do we want to create robots in our image? Why do we want them to pass as human? To help us feel comfortable? Because—I don’t know if any of you have seen Ex Machina—but there was nothing comfortable about that experience.”

That comment drew a few snickers and Dr. Beecher sighed. “What’s your point, Mr. Quinzel?”

“My point is that we waste a lot time trying to get robots to smile. Time that could be better spent incorporating alien intelligence, or drawing from other species’ technological or intellectual advancements. Of course, that would mean accepting humans might have something to learn. That maybe there are some areas—a lot of areas, actually—where we’re inferior.” Anthony finished.

Dr. Beecher rolled her eyes. “This isn’t AI Ethics, Mr. Quinzel. This is Appearance Engineering, and if you’re so concerned with wasting time, why do you waste yours here?”

“I come for the view,” he grinned.

“And to interrupt lectures with lectures?” She raised an eyebrow.

“That too.”

“Yeah, I get paid for mine, you know.” The doctor shook her head, drawing a few more snickers as she smirked and turned back to her digital model.

Anthony made his way down the steps towards her after she’d released the class, slinging his book bag over his shoulder as he went.

“Didn’t your Mommy ever teach you that’s not a nice way to get a lady’s attention?” Dr. Beecher asked, rhetorically, shutting down the simulator.

“She sure did,” he smiled. “And that’s why I came down to apologize. I shouldn’t have drawn attention to your looks, it wasn’t my intention to undermine your authority or intelligence in front of your class.”

“Oh…” she furrowed her brow at what Anthony assumed was a wholly original pick-up line. “I thought you were going to hit on me again.”

“Well, sure, that was next. But I needed to get that other bit out of the way first,” he admitted, biting his lip in what he hoped would come off as bashfulness. After running a quick hand through his hair and then pursing his lips, he realized he’d burned through his entire arsenal in the span of about 8 seconds. Way to go, dude. “Can we start over? Like…maybe over dinner?”

Dr. Beecher looked like she was attempting to starve off a smile, but forfeited in the end, smirking as she said: “I don’t date students.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not your student, then,” Anthony smiled, leaning against the display table. “I really do just come to listen to you.”

“And look?” she wondered.

His smile took on a slyer quality. “And look.”

It took her a moment to calculate, but she narrowed her eyes at him then. “You’ve been sitting in the last 4 weeks. You seriously want to tell me you wasted 16 hours of your time listening to me drone on about this stuff just to be in my presence?”

“Well, my Mama taught me only to waste time on things that were worth my while.” Anthony told her. “Because…if you’re enjoying yourself, where’s the waste?”

“Is that right?” she chuckled, crossing her arms. “So then what did your daddy teach you? Entitlement? Because, in my experience, the only kids that can afford to mess around in a class they’re not taking are the ones whose daddy’s are paying their way.”

“Ah—see, I don’t have one of those, so…it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Beecher, I’m the exception,” Anthony offered his hand.

“Karen,” she amended, shaking it.

“Karen,” he repeated, smiling. “I’m Anthony.” It felt good to finally be on a first name basis. “So what do you say? Dinner?”

“Won’t that interfere with…” she gave him a thorough look over, “Crew practice or something?”

“Ah, come on now, no need to resort to ugly stereotypes,” he smirked.

“Ugh,” Karen sighed, looking like she thought she should know better. “Alright—look, I’m—,” she cleared her throat, shifting to a more confident stance. “I’m recently divorced and I’m really not looking to get into anything right now…”

“But? I’m sensing a but.” Anthony tried not to come across too hopeful.

“But…you’re cute and look like you could slam me against a wall and help me forget that I’m 32 and already divorced for an hour or two,” she decided. “So, sure. Take me to dinner, just don’t come to my class anymore.”

Anthony stepped off of campus in a relative daze, having been entrenched in deep throught since he left Dr. Beecher’s—Karen’s—classroom. When he’d made it a safe distance, he plopped down rather unceremoniously on a wooden bench. And after sitting in reflective silence for a moment, pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis and quickly dialed a number, sitting back as he switched it to a video call.

He smiled, relieved, when she answered on the 4^th ring. “Hey, Mom…”

Pam was in her greenhouse, naturally, her arm preoccupied off camera and her body oddly close to the phone. “Anthony, hi,” she greeted quickly. “I’m sorry, I know the point of this is to mimic a face to face conversation, I was just a bit preoccupied before you called. Just give me a moment to readjust.”

His Mother’s awkwardness reminded him of home…and that helped to alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders.

He waited patiently as Pam fumbled with the phone, finally finding a place to set it where she could fit into frame, but when she finally settled somewhere, Anthony squinted at the full image. “What are you doing?” He asked, referring to her right arm which was submerged in what Anthony recognized as her transparent incubation tank, the one she used to speed the growth of aquatic plant organisms.

“I’ve set the bones in my hand, I am now attempting to repair them,” she replied, nonchalantly, copying some readout from the digital display into the notebook that sat on her left.

“Did you break it?” He asked, confused. “How?”

“I redirected my anger at your sister into the wall,” she informed him, calmly. “Because I was in pain I decided to prioritize this over the necessary construction. I suppose I’ll need to call a contractor…”

“Wait—you punched through a wall?” Anthony tried to pull her back in before she got distracted. “What did Jo do?”

Pam just shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You look upset.” She rerouted the conversation. “Why are you calling at noon on a Wednesday?”

“Oh, umm…it doesn’t matter, really. Doesn’t seem all that important anymore.” Anthony was apologetic. “I just talked to Jo last night and she seemed—I mean—she seemed sad, but—,”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now,” Pam snapped, before quickly softening. “Please, Darling, I’m so happy you called. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.

Pam wasn’t sold. “You don’t look fine, you look lost.”

Ugh, maybe this was a mistake. “There’s this girl…”

“Is she under the age of 18?” Pam asked, an eyebrow raised in judgment.

“God, no, she’s like 12 years older than me.”

“Then she is a woman,” Pam corrected. “Anyway, go on.”

“Well, I…” Anthony swallowed. “I think she’s pretty great. She’s smart and pretty just really passionate about her work…”

“She sounds fantastic,” Pam offered, not seeing the problem. “Have you asked her out?”

“I did.”

“And…she said no?” Pam guessed.

“No, she said yes…but then she made it sound like she just wanted to use me for sex. Like she was only interested in me because I looked like I could ‘slam her against a wall and help her forget about her ex-husband’.”

Pam looked confused for a moment before her eyes lit up with a smile that she contained by biting her lip. “There’s someone who wants to use you for sex because you’re pretty?”

“Well, ye—,” Oh, goddamn it. “Will I be receiving a ‘honorary woman card’ in the mail?” he sighed as realization dawned.

“No,” she attempted to rein in her grin. “Anthony, Darling…I’m truly sorry she doesn’t find you as interesting as you do her. And really, that’s a ridiculous notion because you’re fantastic. But although you are deserving of any woman on this planet, you are not entitled to any of them—their bodies or their hearts.”

“So…” Anthony prompted, hoping there was more to this “pep talk”.

“So take her out,” Pam told him. “Be the wonderful, kind, charming man I know you are. Make your case to her, and if you are still uncomfortable with the arrangement she proposed, then say no and walk away.”

“You make it sound so easy…” Anthony mumbled.

Her smile was kinder this time. “Much easier for a man to say ‘no’ than for a woman. She was clear in her intentions; you need to be clear in yours as well. And…if she’s still not interested in anything more: consolation prize--You get to continue living as a white male.”

“A handsome, healthy, wealthy white male,” he amended, feeling an almost painful pang of homesickness as he stared at his Mother through a phone screen, very much wishing he could break the divide to give her a hug.

“Lucky you,” she smirked, shutting the machine off and pulling her arm out of the gelatinous, green liquid.

Anthony knew it was silly to worry about an immortal meta-human, but how could he not? She was his Mom; he’d always worry about her. “OK, I showed you mine…now do you want to tell me what happened with Jo?”

“She’s your Mother’s daughter, that’s all you need to know,” she told him, curtly, grabbing a towel to wipe her arm off. “I’d very much like to chat longer, and I absolutely love hearing from you whenever you can spare a moment, you know that…but unfortunately, I’m late for work at this point.”

“You all good there?” He questioned.

Pam held up her right hand, wiggling her fingers to illustrate. “Just like new.”

/

Harley watched Pam exit the backyard through the gate, and then moved to the living room to watch her get into her car, leaving for The Watchtower without saying goodbye.

That’s fine, nothing wrong with needing space…Harley reminded herself, and then, with a long, drawn-out sigh, she started up the stairs. Someday one of these kids is gonna get pissed at me and Pam will have to console ‘em. It was odd how that thought excited her.

Harley didn’t even knock before opening Jo’s door. Consider your personal space invaded.

“Fuck off,” Jo murmured, laying sprawled out and face down on her floor.

“No,” Harley said, matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and standing her ground. “We obviously need to talk.”

“I’m sorry, OK!” Jo turned and sat up, her face stained with tears. “I didn’t know she’d get so mad!”

“Yes you did. Yes, you absolutely did.” Harley countered. “That’s why you said it.”

“It’s just a name!” Jo exclaimed.

Harley rolled her eyes. “You know that’s not what made her angry. You called him her boyfriend, Jolene.”

The girl ignored her, climbing up onto her bed to curl up with a pillow.

“How long have you been laying on the floor?” Harley asked.

“None’a’ya business,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by a blanket she’d pulled up to her nose. “Just ground me for sneaking out or whatever and then leave me alone.”

Ground her? How does that even work? “No,” Harley decided after a moment’s deliberation. “No, get up, you’re coming with me.”

Chapter Text

Jo slammed the car door shut once she’d climbed angrily into the passenger seat.

That stupid Jason guy had turned her already not great mood worse, and then her Mom, pfft, she didn’t care that she was having a hard time, or maybe she did, but Jo could tell she didn’t respect her reasoning. Pam with her stupid eye rolls and her—and her stupid face! Her stupid perfect-for-eternity face. Of course she didn’t care, of course she didn’t understand…why would she?! She’d have three billion do-overs while Jo only had the one, and she’d wasted like 10 years of it going nowhere fast.

Harley got in too, turning the car on and pulling quickly out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” Jo murmured.

“You gotta quit being a bitch to your Mom,” Harley said, either not having heard the question or not caring. “It’s alright to be pissed or not want to talk to her, that’s understandable, but don’t drag that shit into it, please. It’s a privilege you even get to know.”

“Why?” Jo asked, distracting herself by looking out the window. “It’s not exactly a secret after your book, can’t turn on the TV without seeing one of her ‘no means no’ PSAs.”

“Jo—I can’t get into this with you right now. If you had any idea how much work went into getting her to talk about that experience—Jesus—years, Jolene, years.” Harley shook her head. “Look, I get it. It makes you feel powerful, being able to cut her down to size with just a word or a phrase. I’ve fallen into the same trap, more than once, actually, but we’re supposed to improve in the next generation, so…do better than me, please, God…do better than me.”

Jo didn’t respond, just crossed her arms over her chest and mulled that over. “Maybe you should be a psychiatrist, Jolene,” Pam had said. “You must be so proud, Harleen.” Jo narrowed her eyes at the passing houses. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her parents fight, not really anyway. They snipped at each other sometimes, sure…but Jo had never even considered that they might have actual problems…aside from the fact that one of them was aging while the other one was staying put.

“You want to know why I wasn’t an Olympic gymnast?” Harleen asked, interrupting the silence as Jo had yet to speak on her last point. “It’s because I fucked my coach and got booted by the ethics committee,” she turned up a familiar road. “So…at the very least, you get to live the rest of your life knowing that while it was unfair, there’s nothing you could have done differently. There’s nothing for you to lament or kick yourself over. You have been given the golden opportunity to blame Mom for the rest of your life, if you want, or me too—I guess—for not telling you there was a problem. But, lucky you, you don’t have to hate yourself.”

Jo was confused, both by what Harley was saying and the fact that they were about to pull up to the gate at Wayne Manor. She decided to prioritize the former. “What do you mean you…wait, your coach? How old was he?”

“Twice my age and married,” was Harleys curt response. “He was a piece of shit and a total pig, and I blamed only myself for a long time until I met your Mom and she reminded me the importance of the power dynamics in a statutory rape case, even if the minor considers themselves a willing participant—they are not and I was not. But anyway…” she sighed. “Years later, back when I was still your Mom’s doctor, I tracked him down and bashed his head in with a hammer. So…all’s well that ends well,” she shrugged, rolling down her window.

Whh—ahh—sh—huh?

“Hey, what’s good, Dr. Q?” Jo heard Carrie Kelley’s voice blast out of the intercom.

“Is Selina upstairs?” Harley asked.

“Yeah.”

“And Bruce?” was Harley’s next question.

“He’s at that ribbon cutting ceremony downtown,” Carrie reminded her. “Should be back around 5.”

Harley sighed, a bit put-out, evidently. “Alright, that’s fine. Can you buzz us in and page Selina? We’re going downstairs.”

“Who’s we?” Carrie questioned.

“It’s bring your daughter to work day.”

Wait, does that mean what I think it means? Wait, Ma murdered someone too?

There was a lot to process as the gate opened and Harley pulled through, turning a quick left rather than continuing up to the manor as usual.

“So after the hearing, I was banned from Olympic competition in the future, while my coach was promoted—but that’s another story for another time,” Harley continued on like she’d never been interrupted. “Of course, I went on to compete at the collegiate level, which really isn’t an option for you, unfortunately, but even then I just felt really lost. Like you, I’d spent a lot of my life hyper-focused on a certain goal only to have it taken away from just as I was about to cross the finish line…and I was so fricken pissed and rudderless that I started sleeping around a lot…not that there’s anything wrong with that, you do you, I sure as shit did me…but I obviously wasn’t in a great place.”

They came around the bend to a pond, and instead of rerouting, Harley sped straight ahead, aiming straight for the water!

Jo covered her eyes and braced for impact, pretty sure Harley was in the middle of a mental breakdown at this point

…but there was no impact, just a slight change in terrain, and when Jo opened her eyes once more she found they were descending into darkness, lights flickering on up ahead, illuminating the tunnel.

“So I went to med school, and that kept me pretty preoccupied. Graduated near the top of my class...” Harley picked up where she’d left off. “It’s stupid to talk about it in comparison to your Mom, but just for the record, I’ve got a genius IQ too. I just apply it differently or don’t apply it at all sometimes because, you know what? Sometimes it’s a lot easier to be stupid. There’s a lesson you can take to the bank. Your Mom never figured out how to do that, and so she’s turned on all the time, and when you’re always awake and demand to see everything, you’re bound to be unhappy because this world can really fucking suck sometimes. Ignorance truly is bliss.”

The hallway opened up into a…well, a cave would be the only way to describe it. It was cavernous, the walls made of stone but the furnishings metal.

“Holy shit,” Jo breathed. “Ma, this is the…this is the…”

“After medical school I started to feel lost again,” Harley screeched to a halt on a platform lit with a spotlight…right next to the Batmobile! “And that’s when I found your Mom, and that’s when I found Bruce…and thank God I did,” she shut the car off. “Because there are other versions of me out there who evidently didn’t fare quite as well.”

“Other—wait, other versions?” Jo was long passed perplexed at this point.

“Sure,” Harleen smiled. “Harley Quinn, please ta meet’cha.” She used a Gotham accent and stuck out her hand in an exaggerated, almost childish movement.

“H—y—you mean like from that cartoon I used to watch?” Jo questioned, ignoring her outstretched hand. “You’re Harley Quinn?”

“No,” Harley laughed. “I’m thankful every day for that. Met one once—think she may have been a shittier girlfriend than I am a wife, which—you know—props.” She got out of the car, implying Jo should do the same, so the girl scurried out after her.

“See, round these parts,” Harleen started at a brisk pace down the stairs off the platform to where Selina was standing, waiting expectantly. “I’m Batwoman. Well…the retired Batwoman.”

“W—wait, what do you mean?” Jo descended the steps after her, jumping the last three to speed the process. “I mean I know you’re like the team psychiatrist, but—,”

“She’s also the matriarch,” Selina informed, her arms crossed, her gaze cold. “What’s up, Jo? Heard you were a bit of a bitch to your Mom.”

“Ma, you told her?!” Jo had no idea why she felt so violated…maybe it had something to do with the fact that Selina’s eyes were so intense she was expecting lasers to shoot out of them or something.

“She sure did,” Selina’s smirk was a bit cruel. “And see…in my book…I’m the only one that gets to be a bitch to Pam, so, do you see where we’re at odds here?”

“I, umm—I do, yes,” Jo stared down at her feet.

“This family gave me a purpose when I had none,” Harley told her. “And right now you’re flailing, I can see that. You need an outlet. So here it is,” she spread her arms wide. “Welcome to the team, Batgirl.”

“I’m going to get you some training clothes,” Selina piggy-backed, “and then Carrie’s going to punch you in the face until Pam’s the mommy you want to run to.” How she could be 65 years old and still intimidating, Jo had no idea. “Sound good?”

/

“Uhh—I don’t know about this, Dr. Q,” Carrie said, looking Jo over uneasily. “Usually Mr. Wayne puts us on the bags for a couple of sessions before we actually spar…”

“Mr. Wayne isn’t here right now,” Harley reminded her. “And Jo knows what she’s doing. No need to take it easy on her.”

“Well, alright, I guess.” Carrie still sounded rather unsure as she stripped off her sweatshirt, leaving her in a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. “You ready to go, Jo?”

Jo maintained her giddy smile as she nodded. “Definitely.”

Carrie moved quickly after that, sprinting towards her and then dropping to the ground at the last moment to slide through her legs, popping up at Jo’s back and grabbing her around the back of the neck, using momentum to twist her down to the ground. Carrie may have been the weakest Robin, but what she lacked in size and strength she made up for in intelligence and energy. Girl had a motor that just wouldn’t quit.

Jo lay face down on the mat for a moment, clearly trying to figure out where to go from there when Carrie had her arms pinned behind her back. She bent her leg at the knee, kicking Carrie just below the shoulder blade with her heel. The redhead winced and Jo was able to use that moment’s weakness to wrench her hands free and roll over so Carrie was straddling her waist rather than the small of her back.

But that exposed her, and just like Selina promised, Carrie punched her in the face.

“Oww…fuck…” Jo groaned, holding her nose.

Harley’s heart began to beat faster. Is she OK? Is this too much? Is she too young? “Do you need a break, Jo?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as worried as she felt.

“No, uh—,” Jo flexed at her hips, lifting her legs and clamping them in a vice grip around Carrie’s neck before thrusting them back down, bringing Carrie with them.

“Hey, that’s one of my moves!” Selina clapped happily.

But as Jo smiled proudly, Carrie kicked with both of her legs, landing them squarely in the center of Jo’s chest and shoving her a good two feet backwards.

Jo wheezed, fighting for the wind that had been knocked out of her, and Harley sighed. This is going to be a long day.

/

Pamela had been sitting in the driveway for a while at this point, starring at dark house.

Harley was likely still at the Batcave, or maybe she went to pick up dinner…either way, Jo’s light was off too meaning she was probably out as well.

Pam had spent a lot of time in her life coming home to empty houses…and she’d preferred it that way. Enjoyed her solidarity. All she required was her plants, and they’d always been there for her, waiting to be watered or repotted…

But now seeing those darkened windows made her feel empty, lonely…she knew they’d be back, but maybe Harley was right, maybe she was feeling a bit abandoned lately.

She was familiar with Empty Nest Syndrome, she’d read up on it before Anthony left for Stanford, but although she missed him terribly and got nervous when he didn’t give them an update on his wellbeing, she’d still had Jo and Harley. And she still had them now! She hadn’t lost them…Jo was just—she was just being a teenager. Acting like a typical, expressive adolescent. The fact that she felt comfortable enough to be angry with Pam was a compliment to her parenting. She couldn’t even conceive of a world in which she would be able to raise her voice at her parents, and look at how that turned out. She’d bottled everything up so tight inside that she eventually just burst and took joy in watching the life drain from their eyes. OK, maybe not joy, but amusement, certainly. She and Jo’s relationship was different, it was open and affectionate, typically.

Pam thought back to the days when Jo would run out of the house to greet her in the evenings, a million questions on her mind that only Pam could answer. Maybe she wasn’t that little girl anymore. Maybe her grievances were real now, her problems legitimate…but at the end of the day she’d always be the baby Pam couldn’t rock to sleep at night. She’d cry and fight and kick, but she’d eventually tire herself out, wouldn’t she?

And even when Jo left Pam would still have Harley…for a little while, anyway.

She was still lost in her thoughts when a pair of headlights bobbed up the driveway behind her, the car coming to a stop next to her.

Jo pulled herself out of the passenger seat, noticeably wincing as she did, and limped up the driveway to the front steps.

Pam watched her as she went, but made no move to follow, so Harley came around and knocked on her window, which she rolled down.

“Hey,” Harley said, the traces of a smile on her face. “Did you just get home?”

“No,” Pam replied, watching Jo open the front door and disappear inside.

“…then what are you doing out here?”

Pam just shrugged, turning to give her wife a chaste kiss before rolling the window back up and opening the door. “How was your day?” she asked as she locked the car.

“Well…” Harley took a deep breath and interlaced their fingers, stopping Pam’s forward momentum. “It was sort of—significant.”

“Significant,” Pam repeated the word slower, trying to understand its meaning. “How so?”

Harley bit the inside of her cheek, evidently gathering some courage before saying: “I got Jo outfitted for her Batgirl suit.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I took her to the Batcave…she had her first training session…and her suit should be ready by next week,” Harley reiterated. “She, umm…she chose green.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well every Batgirl has sort of had their own color,” she explained. “Mine was blue, Babs’ was gold, Steph’s was purple, Cass’ is black and…now Jo’s will be green.”

“You turned our daughter into a vigilante without consulting me first?” Pam asked.

Harley sighed. “Yes, Pam, I did. It will give her some purpose and direction and hopefully fill in that life’s-passion sized hole we left in her.”

“So…” Pam furrowed her brow. “You thought that warranted turning our 15-year-old daughter loose on the streets of Gotham City in hopes that she can help lower the astronomical crime rate?”

“Hey!” Harley protested, looking offended. “I worked my ass off to get that thing down. Gotham’s safer now than ever before.”

“Well congratulations,” Pam offered. “But Jolene is a child, and she’s not invincible, and not immortal. One stray bullet, one mistimed jump and our daughter is dead. Is that what you want? Is that worth her momentary unhappiness?”

“Pamela,” Harley rolled her eyes, tearing her hand away. “She was born into this. It’s inevitable. She’s been waiting for this day since she was like 3 years old. If you want to get back in her good graces, you’re going to have to support her here. She’s excited and she chose that fucking color as a way of reaching out to you. Don’t smack down an olive branch.”

“I’m not—Harleen, this has nothing to do with Jo,” Pam retorted. “I am upset with you. You just—did all this without consulting me? Not even a fucking phone call?”

“Goddamn it, Pam, I did what I did! It’s done now.” Harley shot back. “You knew this was coming, and she is ready, whether or not you are is another question entirely that’s honestly a lot less important.”

/

Jolene discarded her sweaty sports bra, tossing it to the side of the tub before stripping off her spandex as well and gingerly easing herself into the warm water.

“Fuck…” she exhaled, leaning her head back.

She was used to getting beat up by gymnastics, but it turned out actually getting beat up by a human being hurt a bit worse.

Her phone vibrated on the counter and she stretched for all she was worth to grab it, feeling like she’d scored a major victory when it was finally in her grasp.

Carrie: Im so sorry! just wanna make that clear. only did it cuz your mom and cat were on my case

Jo smiled. Don’t worry about it. Is your ankle ok btw? Think I mighta over did it in that last round. I just wanted to get you on your back

Carrie: is that what he said or what she said?

Jo snickered as she typed her response. Let’s go with “they” ;)

Winky face a bit much?

She was waiting for Carrie’s reply when she heard a somewhat timid knock on the door. “I’m in the bath,” Jo called out. “Give me a minute.”

…but they didn’t, they just pushed open the door anyway.

And *sigh* it was Pam.

“Mom! What the hell, dude? I’m naked.”

“And I created you in a lab,” Pam reminded her. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She set a bottle of clear liquid down on the edge of the tub. “That will help with your muscle fatigue and lactic acid buildup.”

Jo narrowed her eyes. “How about you just call it ‘soreness’.”

“How about you don’t dictate my vocabulary.” Pam countered with a suggestion of her own.

“Well…thanks,” Jo mumbled, grabbing the bottle and dumping it in its entirety into the bathwater.

“You only needed about a tablespoon.”

“I guess that’s why warning labels were invented,” Jo shrugged. “Is it gonna kill me?”

“No.”

“Good.” Jo cleared her throat. “How’s your hand?”

Pam glanced down and flexed her fingers. “Some la—some soreness,” she admitted. “But it’s functional.”

Jo nodded solemnly. “That’s good…so, I guess Ma told you?”

Pam smoothed her hands down her sides in a show of discomfort. “She did…I—I understand you chose green as your highlight color. That’s—,”

“It brings out my eyes,” Jo quickly interrupted. “It the best color on me.” No, I did it for you.

“O—oh,” Pam deflated slightly in disappointment. “Yes, well, it certainly does look lovely on you, but then again I think you look lovely in just about anything.”

“You’re my Mom,” Jo reminded her. “You have to say that. It’s hardwired.”

“Right,” Pam painted on a smile. “Well, that doesn’t make it not true.”

Jo shifted in the tub, covering herself a little lazier now. “Is it weird that your kid is gonna be Batgirl? You know, since you used to be a Batman villain and all.”

“No,” Pam shook her head. “I made my peace with that long ago. My concern is for your wellbeing.” Then she cleared her throat, pulling something out of her back pocket and coming to sit on the side of the tub.

It was a photo, one of Jo at what she guessed was maybe 4 or 5? Standing by the Christmas tree in the greenhouse wearing that old Batgirl leotard.

“I have a copy of this in my locker up at The Watchtower,” Pam told her. “It’s to remind me why I’m a hero now. What I fight for—girls who believe they can be anything and my family. You happen to be both,” she smiled, leaning over to kiss her on the forehead. “I am honored to have raised such an empowered young woman.”

Jo blushed, turning away in the hope that her Mom wouldn’t notice. “Are you—uh—are you still mad at me about this morning?”

“Absolutely livid,” Pam assured her, patting her on the head as she got up. “But you apologized, and I’m going to choose to believe you were sincere. When you’re done up here, come out to the greenhouse and I’ll help you get rid of that black eye.”

Jo smiled despite herself. “Alright.”

“Oh,” Pam stopped in the doorway. “And you have leukemia, by the way. I’ll compose a statement for you to send out on your twitter account tonight.”

Chapter Text

Anthony adjusted his tie one last time before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

I got this.

“Hey…” he smiled when Karen opened the door, trailing off when he got a more complete look at her short, yellow dress. “You look fantastic…Summer personified.” He amended.

She smirked, arching an eyebrow. “Those for me?”

“Oh—yes,” he suddenly remembered the potted lilies he was holding and offered them to her.

She took them, studying them closely as she did. “You know…I think usually guys just get like a bouquet or something.”

“Well sure, but then what?” Anthony prompted. “You just throw them out after a few days? As long as you water them, these guys will keep you company for a while.” He smiled.

“Why lilies?” She asked.

He shrugged, “they just spoke to me.”

“Alright,” Karen chuckled. “Um—do you want to come in for a bit?”

Yes.

No.

Anthony glanced down at his watch. “I think we should probably get going. I’d rather not miss our reservation.”

“Reservation?” Karen asked, looking mildly impressed. “I sort of thought it would be a food cart kind of evening.”

He gave her a pointed look over, grinning as he did. “A bit over-dressed for tacos, now aren’t you?” and then, before she could feel self-conscious he continued with: “I certainly am,” he gestured down to his steel blue three-piece suit.

“Yeah, Jesus, I was about to ask if you were hot,” Karen looked worried for a moment.

“Mmm…I usually let women decide that for themselves,” he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Karen snorted at that, calling out “That was cheap!” as she quickly disappeared inside to set the flowers down on the counter before rejoining him in the hallway. “And I think I can make it to the elevator just fine on my own, thanks.”

/

“Holy shit!” Jo spun around, admiring herself. “I look so fricken hot!”

“OK,” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “But you understand that’s not the point of it, yes?”

“Well sure,” Jo giggled. “But…it’s definitely a perk!” She jumped up into the air to kick and then landed in a pirouette. “What’cha think, Ma?”

Harley sighed. “I think you look…older.”

“Yeah, but do I look like a badass?” Jo wanted to know, watching Harley expectantly through the slits of her cowl.”

Harley jutted her jaw to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly and tilting her head. “Mmm...yeah, total badass,” her smile was wide and proud.

“The technology is similar to what I came up with for Ivy’s first suit, before her mutation. These,” Bruce indicated the glowing green panels that ran from Jolene’s wrist, down the underside of her arms and sides, joining around the waist and then continuing down her thighs until they tapered off at the knee. “—contain patented solar technology. While you don’t actually have any control over plant life, I’ve been informed that sunlight does aid your body’s naturally accelerated healing mechanisms. This suit will help amplify those abilities.”

“Ha! Respawn!” Jo exclaimed excitedly. “You really went above and beyond, Uncle Bruce. Seriously. This thing is awesome.”

“Well we’ll see if it holds up tonight,” He said. “It’s been more difficult to budget our manpower since Barbara left, but I’d like you with Damian for your first outing.”

“You got it, boss,” Jo saluted him.

/

“Please don’t tell me you bought that suit just for me,” Karen said once they were seated at their table.

“What?” Anthony chuckled. “A man can’t own a nice suit?”

“Well, now I’m curious,” she sat back, amused. “The clothes, and the restaurant, and the car you drove us over here in…what do your parents do? Or are they dead and you’re living off the inheritance?”

“Actually…” he took a sip of his water, wishing with every fiber of his being he didn’t have to spin this BS cover story again. “Only one of them is dead, so, I guess that counts?” He paused when he saw the waiter approaching, catching a glimpse of Karen’s deeply apologetic expression.

“Good evening,” the man smiled. “Have you had a chance to look over our wine list yet?”

“We’ll take a bottle of whatever the lady would like,” Anthony informed him.

After a moment’s deliberation, Karen looked up at the waiter to say, simply: “Something red,” before smiling politely at him, implying in the kindest way possible that he should leave them alone for a bit. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea…” She turned her attention back to Anthony once the waiter was out of earshot. “When you said you didn’t have a father I just assumed—,”

“Oh, no, I never had one of those,” He assured her.  “My parents are gay—well, OK, my Ma is bi and my biological Mother was gay—I think—if we want to get technical, as is my stepmother.” Karen’s brow was furrowed in confusion and Anthony could tell he was talking a bit fast. Fuck. “I was raised by two women, is my point. Sorry for the run around.”

“Got it,” Karen nodded slowly, “Sounds a bit…complicated.”

“Not really, no. I was only 6 when Mom died, Ma remarried quickly…but you don’t care about all that, I’m just here to help you forget about your ex-husband.” Anthony reminded her.

“Well you’re buying me dinner, you dressed up…” Karen cleared her throat, her gaze moving to her lap. “Thought I’d at least get the basics down.”

Anthony shifted in his chair, his stomach turning at the realization that he’d made her uncomfortable. “Ma is a psychiatrist and best-selling author,” he offered up the information as consolation. “And my step-mother has her PhD in botanical engineering. Both are retired now, but yes—my PhD is paid for.”

“Oh,” Karen sounded a bit more interested now, once again smiling politely at the waiter as he filled her glass with wine and then exited the scene. “They sound fascinating,” she took a sip before setting her glass down and clearing her throat. “OK, I’m just going to level with you here—I haven’t been on a date since my divorce and my ex-husband and I met in High School, so…to say I’m rusty is an insane understatement.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” Anthony laughed, relieved he wasn’t the only one that felt they could improve here. “What was he like?”

“Who?”

“Your ex-husband.”

“Oh, right,” Karen took another sip of wine. “Mal is…a man of principal.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “That all?”

“All I want to share right now, yeah.” She answered, curtly.

/

“So we just…what? Drive around until we spot trouble?”

Damian rolled his eyes beneath his cowl. “This isn’t the Mystery Gang, Jolene. We patrol while Carrie sits at the monitor back at the cave.”

“Got it,” Jo nodded ardently. “So, if Carrie spots trouble, she points us in the right direction.”

“Will you stop saying ‘spots trouble’? It sounds ridiculous.”

“Sorta like dressing up like a bat and jumping off buildings, huh?” Jo snickered.

“I’m sorry, are you blind?” he pulled down the visor in front of her and poked his finger into the bat-symbol on her chest.

“Yeesh, alright, you’re sensitive, I get it,” she pushed his hand away. “Want to make daddy proud and whatnot.”

“I don’t do this for Bruce!” he caviled.

“Bleh,” Jo spat in mock-disgust. “Keep your daddy issues on your side of the car, please and thank you. But hey, quick question—since you’re like B-man’s clone or whatever, does that mean your dicks are the same size or do you still have to measure them?”

“You’re pushing it, Kid,” Damian said through clenched teeth. “There’s a reason I work alone.”

“Because your people skills are pretty weak?” Jo guessed.

Damian suddenly wrenched the wheel towards her, causing Jo’s head to smack against her window thanks to the abrupt change in direction.

“Hey!” Jo complained.

Damian smirked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

/

“You’re kidding,” Karen laughed. “Not one?”

“No, I swear!” Anthony stabbed at his salad. “The only teams I was on were the mathletes and the debate team.”

“Then what are you, into CrossFit or something?” she cut into her steak. “Or, Parkour, maybe? A trampoline-er?”

Anthony laughed. “Is that a thing?”

“Oh, it’s totally a thing,” Karen assured him. “You must not be a California boy.”

He finished chewing quickly. “No, I’m from Gotham, actually. Born and raised. But I was lucky enough to be exempt from the accent.”

“I was gonna say…” she smiled, focusing on her food once more. “I was a cheerleader in high school,” she divulged. “Captain of the squad, actually.”

“You serious?” he was genuinely surprised. “I never would have pegged you.”

“Pegged me for what?” she questioned, a slight challenge to her tone as she raised an eyebrow. “Because I sure as hell hope you weren’t about to tell me cheerleading isn’t a sport.”

“Well…” Anthony adjusted himself, proceeding with slight caution as he tried to keep a smile at bay. “See, my Ma and sister were gymnasts, so…”

“Wait a minute,” he seemed to have distracted her, “—your sister isn’t Jolene Quinzel, is she?”

“Uh—yeah,” Anthony smiled. “That’s her.”

“Anthony, oh my god!” Karen reached across the table to hold his hand, her eyes full of pity. “I thought I recognized the last name, but I had no idea! I was so sorry to hear about her diagnosis…”

Diag—fucking…goddamn it, Jo! I didn’t need a pity fuck! “She’s a fighter,” Anthony assured her. “We’re feeling optimistic.”

/

“Seriously, who even robs banks anymore?” Jo whispered. “I mean—way more efficient to hack something, right? In this day and age?”

“Shut up,” Damian intoned, watching through his night-vision binoculars as the would-be criminals placed a charge on the wall.

“You think they’re going for the safety deposit boxes?” Jo wondered. “Cuz they won’t even be able to pay off the property damage with what’s behind the counter. And do banks even have safes anymore?”

Damian’s jaw was clenched in annoyance. “If you continue to irritate or vex me, I will have you sent back to the cave for monitor duty.”

“Ooh, but see, I’ve been known to be quite—,”

“Drop, now.”

Jo did as she was told, dropping from her perch on the side of the building and landing in a roll before popping back up to her feet. “Hi, boys!”

The thief closest to her turned around, startled, while the one who was setting the charge sneered: “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“Well, I’ve got boobs and a bat-symbol, so…you wanna take a guess?”

“Batwoman…” the first one growled.

“Holy shit!” Jo nearly doubled over with laughter. “There were only two options and you still got it wrong! You must be a special kinda stupid.” she wiped a tear from her eye. “Nah, Batwoman is my Mama’s name. Call me Batgirl,” she grinned.

“Alright, ya little smartass,” the second guy pulled out a gun, aiming it for her head. “You got one’a these in that utility belt?”

“No,” she sighed sadly, “But I’ve got a one of these…”

Damian swung into view then, kicking the gun out of his hand and pulling the other man’s shirt over his eyes before punching him in the stomach a swift three times.

Jo sprinted for the gun, sliding on the ground to pick it up and then turning around, still wearing that wide grin on her face. “Now I got one’a these and one’a those! What more could a girl ask for?” she pointed the gun at the second man, freezing him in his tracks and setting Damian up for the knockout blow, which he delivered to the man’s temple.

“Night,” Jo giggled excitedly, rushing over to handcuff them both. “OK,” she turned to Damian. “Next time you talk and I’ll punch.”

/

Anthony walked Karen to her door, his jacket draped over her shoulders, but she’d rather blatantly (although non-verbally) declined to hold hands, so…it was a toss-up.

She stopped just outside, looking at her feet first before glancing up at him. “I—I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would.”

“Wow, is that Shakespeare? Such poetry...” Anthony’s words were teasing but his eyes were soft, his smile kind.

“Yeah, uh, Sonnet 18, right?”

“Hmm…” Anthony tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, thou art more lovely and more temperate. I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would…yeah,” he decided. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Karen shook her head with something Anthony was hoping approached affection as she unlocked the door. She seemed confused when she pushed it open and he took a step back. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Well, Mom told me to be clear in my intentions… “If you insist,” he smiled, moving past her into the apartment.

Karen shut the door behind them, setting her keys down on the counter and flicking on a light switch, illuminating what Anthony thought was better described as a ‘loft’ than an apartment.

“Wow…” he whistled, walking towards the large picture window that overlooked the San Francisco bay. “That’s…quite the view.”

“Mhm…” she acknowledged, and he could hear the smile on her lips. “Makes the 40-minute commute worth it. You want a drink?”

Alcohol doesn’t really affect me. “No, I think I’m good. You go ahead, though.” He turned around to watch her, but she headed for the couch rather than the kitchen, stripping his jacket off and setting it down beside her.

“The wine was plenty for me,” she told him.

He nodded, his eyes drifting from her momentarily before landing on a piano that he’d missed while he was distracted by the view. Clutch! “Is that a piano?” he asked, nodding towards it.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she chuckled.

He smirked, approaching it. “You mind if I…”

“Nope, be my guest.” She sighed, sitting back into the couch cushions, crossing one leg over the other. “You play?”

“I dabble,” he said nonchalantly, sitting down on the bench. “Do you?”

“No, not really.” She answered. “That was already here when I moved in and nobody came to pick it up, so…I thought maybe I’d learn someday.”

“Mmm…” Anthony smiled to himself, cracking his knuckles before spreading his fingers out on the keys. He elected to start with a personal favorite: Chopin- Nocturne op. 9 no. 2. Beautiful, romantic—haunting, even…but also approachable.

He’d only been playing for about 20 seconds when he heard Karen laugh behind him. “Just dabble, huh?”

Anthony craned his neck to look at her, but continued to play, shrugging as he said “I do my best.”

“Uh huh…” she was unconvinced. “So that’s your big move? You hope the girl has a piano so you can exceed her wildest expectations with some Chopin? What happens if she doesn’t have a piano?”

Anthony laughed, turning his focus back to the keys. “I sing—but it’s always nicer when the two go together.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Karen got up, coming around to stand on the other side of the instrument so that they were speaking face-to-face. “So what’s your go-to?” she asked. “What’s your song? With those suits and that golden boy smile it’s probably something classic, right? Wow them with a little depth? Sinatra? Elvis, maybe?”

Am I that transparent? The look on her face was telling him he most definitely was. Fine, we’ll go the other route. He quickly changed the key, moving on to a new song.

“What are you doing?” she asked, likely beginning to recognize what he was playing.

“Well…if you’re not going to take me seriously, I’m not going to take myself seriously either.” He decided, and then began to sing: “Close your eyes, make a wish / and blow out the candlelight…”

Karen arched her brow. “You’re kidding.”

Anthony just shook his head, trying his very best to keep a straight face. “For tonight is just your night / we’re gonna celebrate, all through the night…”

“Oh my God,” she covered her eyes. “This isn’t happening.”

“Pour the wine, light the fire / girl your wish is my command…”

“Stop it,” she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“I submit to your demands / I will do anything, girl you need only ask,”

“You are not about to—,”

“I’ll make love to you!” Anthony stood up from the bench. “Like you want me to! And I’ll hold you tight! Baby, all through the night—,”

Karen couldn’t even look at him she was laughing so hard.

“I’ll make love to you! Like you want me to! And I will not let go til’ you tell me to…”

“God…” she buried her face in her hands.

“What?” Anthony laughed, quieting his playing. “Too much?”

Karen was trying to pull herself together. “Well, having a white boy serenade me with Boyz II Men certainly wasn’t something on my bucket list…”

“Oh, alright, alright,” he stopped, grinning. “Point taken. I’ll—uh, I’ll try something a little whiter.” He sat back down on the bench and tried again, performing a short riff before beginning. “I feel like I’ve been locked up tight for a century of lonely nights…”

“No,” Karen shook her head, clearly in denial. “No.”

“Waiting for someone…to release me,” he continued despite her protests, rolling his upper body and winking. “You’re lickin’ your lips and blowing kisses my way / but that don’t mean I’m gonna give it away / baby baby baby…”

“Why?!”

“Ooh, my body’s saying let’s go / ooh, but my heart is saying no!”

“Why are there piano chords to this?!”

“If you wanna be with me, baby there’s a price to pay / I’m a genie in a bottle / you gotta rub me the right way—,”

“And why do you know them?” Karen demanded. “That’s the more important question here.”

Anthony chuckled, banging out one final note. “Remember that whole bit about growing up in a house full of women? Yeah, I wasn’t kidding.”

Karen covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Pretty sure Christina Aguilera identifies as Latina.”

“Well, fine,” Anthony sighed, taking his hands away from the keys and standing up. “But if I go any whiter I think it’ll have to be acapella.”

“S—should I be afraid?” Karen wanted to know.

“I don’t know,” Anthony shrugged, unbuttoning his vest. “We’ll see if you can handle it.”

“Why does it seem like I’m more embarrassed then—,”

“If I was your boyfriend I’d never let you go…”

“My God…”

“--Imma take you places you ain’t never been before…”

“Please—,’

“—Baby take a chance or you’ll never ever know / I’ve got money in my hand that I’d really like to blow—,”

“I know you’re not about to say ‘swag’.” Karen assured herself.

“Swag, swag, swag, on you—,”

“What does that even mean?”

“Chillin’ by the fire while we’re eatin’ fondue—,”

“That’s not sexy.”

“I don’t know about me, but I know about you/so say hello to falsetto in three, two…I’d like to be, everything you want—,”

“Jesus, no!” Karen grabbed desperately for his shirt, pulling him towards her. “Just shut up and kiss me—please!”  

Anthony grinned before complying, hoisting her legs up around his waist as he walked them towards the couch.

/

“How was she?” Bruce asked once both Damian and Jolene had climbed out of the Batmobile.

“Terrible,” Damian answered, pulling his cowl off. “She’s a little brat and a total pain in the ass.”

“Sounds familiar…” Bruce mumbled. “But I don’t care about her temperament. Was she effective?”

“She’s fine,” Damian snapped, descending quickly down the platform steps. “Just don’t put her with me anymore. I work better alone.”

Jolene waved after him as he quickly exited the cave. “See ya later, Alligator!”

He flipped her off without looking back, which seemed to amuse her. “Can I be honest with you, Uncle Bruce?” she asked, turning her attention to him.

Bruce cleared his throat and nodded.

“Your son? He’s sort of a punk-ass bitch.” She informed him.

“Oh?” He leaned back against the railing, crossing his arms. “I heard there are times when you aren’t much better.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “I already apologized for that whole thing.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bruce granted. “I’m just saying throwing rocks might be ill-advised.”

The sun was coming up now, her shift was over, Ma was waiting to bring her back home…but Jo would have given almost anything for just one more moment in her Batsuit.

“Tomorrow,” she reminded herself as she pulled on her civilian clothes and closed the glass case on her suit, giving it a quick wave goodbye (which she wished she could take back as it made her feel incredibly stupid).

She unlocked her phone as she headed for the exit, checking for any notifications she missed while they were separated…there were a few emails from colleges, a bunch of ‘get well’ tweets aimed at her, and a facebook message from…you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Jason Todd: You’re an incredibly easy girl to track down, you know that?

Chapter Text

“Did you—,”

Bzzt

“Did you see—,”

Bzzt

“Jolene!” Pam shouted. “Will you put that thing away? Who in the world are you talking to that’s so important they can’t wait for 30 minutes while we eat dinner?”

Jo snatched her phone off the table. “They’re tweets from all the people that think I have cancer. Have a little sensitivity.”

“For your fictional cancer diagnosis?”

Harley just continued with her meal. First off, she liked burgers, and for once in her life she hadn’t turned them into hockey pucks. These ones could conceivably be eaten without a gallon of water, and the fact that no one was appreciating it was sort of pissing her off. But secondly, she’d learned that it was best to only intervene in Pam and Jo’s arguments when it was absolutely necessary. She’d decided to wait a bit on this one.

Currently, Jo was texting and Pam was glaring, so…things were calming back down. “Did I see what?” Harley prompted.

Pam slowly turned her attention back her way. “Did you see Barbara’s press conference today?”

“Oh,” Harley smiled, saying: “Yeah. She looked pretty cute—,” at the same time Pam was saying: “She sounded competent.”

“Hotter than her Dad and a more engaging speaker,” Jo was the tie breaker. “There. We all win. Plus, having a Police Chief who used to be a vigilante is sort of the best case scenario. For us, anyway.”

Pam cleared her throat as she picked at her salad. “How has it been? Working with Damian.”

“Mmm…how would you describe his friendship with Anthony?” Jo asked.

“Flimsy.” was Harley’s answer.

“Oh, good.” Jo grinned. “Because, at the rate we’re going, I doubt the Wayne-Quinzel relationship will survive this generation…. unless this is his baby I’m carrying.”

Harley laughed, but Pam was a little harder to please.

“Ooh, teen pregnancy jokes, those are fun,” she said, facetiously, as she popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

“Humor is subjective,” Jo sneered.

“So they say…” Pam sighed as she got up from the table to put her plate in the sink. With her back turned, so asked: “Are you still seeing that Jason boy?”

Harley slowly sat at attention. This was one of the subjects that she put herself on alert for, and she was ready to step in if it got too heated, like, if anyone decided to punch a wall or anything.

Jolene’s gaze was even and cold, her expression a bit haughty. “When I can. Been sorta busy this last month.”

Although Harley couldn’t see her face, she did see Pam’s shoulders visibly relax. “Well, I’m…glad to hear you’re learning to efficiently budget your time.” She said as she turned the faucet on to clean her plate.

Jo pushed away from the table. “Yeah, you bet. Good talk, guys.”

“Plate, Jolene.” Pam reminded her as she headed for the stairs.

“No, I got it,” Harley said, hoping to avoid Jo storming down the stairs and then leaving again in an angry huff.

“Thanks!” she shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Pam’s sigh was long, and loud, so much so that Harley would describe it as ‘straight up aggressive’ rather than passive aggressive. “I really don’t think it’s too much to ask that she brings her plate to the sink. She doesn’t do any housework, she doesn’t help me in the garden…she has literally one chore and it’s that. We don’t even ask that she washes it, just that she sets it on the sink. Is that really so hard?”

Harley stacked her plate on top of Jo’s and brought them both over, planting a kiss on Pam’s cheek when she arrived. “No, it’s not hard.”

“Then why do we demand so little of her?” Pam asked in a tone that made the question sound not at all rhetorical.

“Because it’s easier?” Harley laughed. “And according to JFK, that’s the best way to go about parenting.”

Pam furrowed her brow in confusion.

“You know, not because they’re hard, but because they’re easy.” Harley clarified.

Now Pam’s eyes were narrowed critically. “OK,” she began, calmly. “Firstly, you’ve got the quote backwards, he was encouraging taking on what seemed impossible. And secondly, it was about space travel, not parenting. But it’s good to know you paid such excellent attention in school.”

Harley snickered as she leaned forward to give her a proper kiss. “Thank goodness you’re here to educate me, then.”

Pam rolled her eyes as she kissed her: “I know you only say things like that to stroke my ego.”

“Hey, 32 years, I must be doing something right,” Harley winked.

“I’m serious,” Pam said, wrapping her arms around Harley’s waist to pull her closer. “And I love that she seems relatively fulfilled by her new position and her inclusion into that world, but it seems like the only thing her being Batgirl didn’t fix was our relationship. She seems perfectly chipper around just about anyone else, you included.”

Harley wished there was a quick fix. She really did. She could see how much Pam was hurting…and there were a million strategies she could employ, if she thought about it. Ways to convince Pam to see the situation in a different light or perhaps convince her to adjust how she was handling it…but Harley felt a bit tired, quite frankly. She liked games, she always would…but at this point, it didn’t seem worth the toll it took on Pam, not when she was already getting so much shit from Jo.

And…OK, like…this is going to sound stupid, probably, but sometimes Pam wore her glasses. That’s not—ugh—it was difficult for Harley to explain. But—see, Ivy’s superpowers gave her 20/20 vision. Without them or before them she wore glasses, and when she paled her skin her vision tended to lose its sharpness, so while they were part of her human disguise, they were also largely necessary. And now, sometimes, when Pam got home from the Watchtower in the evenings, she would come inside and keep her glasses on…keep her skin paled…and honestly Harley wasn’t sure if she did it on purpose or what, but she liked the idea that Pam felt comfortable like that. Relating to her family as human, it was…well it was just really cute and sweet and tended to remind Harley that while, yes, she was married to an immortal meta-human, Pam was still a human being—was now, had been…and that human that came before was like…wonderful.

Harley knew their connection wouldn’t have been as instantaneous if she’d met Pamela rather than Poison Ivy. And of course the fact that Ivy needed fixing was a big draw for her, for better or worse (worse, probably for worse). And yeah, so it had taken some time for Harley to fall completely in love with Pamela rather than just be excited by Ivy or excited by the challenge and danger of being with Ivy…but, in any case, long story short, yeesh, was that a tangent, Harls…occasionally Pamela was comfortable just being Pamela now at the end of the day and that made it extremely difficult to see her sad or hurt, especially when it came at the hands of she or Jo. Pam just had such an incredible idea of female comradery…it was like the last hope she held on to, the one subject she wasn’t completely jaded about…so anyway, it broke Harley’s heart seeing Pam realize that perhaps she had (and would always have) a stronger and easier connection with her son than with her daughter.

Pam was looking at her oddly now, her head cocked to the side, and it was only then that Harley realized her eyes had welled up with tears thanks to her internal monologue. Great…

“I didn’t mean it to sound like I blamed you,” Pam said, softly, likely thinking that was what the tears were about as she moved her sleeve to wipe them away from Harley’s cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s OK,” Harley whispered, suddenly wrapping her up in a tight hug. “I’m sorry about Jo. I don’t…I don’t really know how to fix it.”

Pam seemed a bit surprised by how tight Harley was now gripping her, so her voice was slightly higher than usual when she said: “It’s not your fault.”

Harley loosened her grip slightly when she felt Pam’s hand begin to slowly trail soothingly up and down her spine. “She’s just—she’s different from me where it counts,” Harley told her. “She’s angrier, and she holds onto it a whole lot better.”

Pam sighed as they separated. “Your highs and my lows,” her smile was tinged with sadness. “How charming.”

/

9…that’s when he said he’d be here.

8:58…that’s what time it was.

But Jo couldn’t make her legs move.

No! she wasn’t scared, pfft. He was just a stupid boy, one she didn’t even really like.

I mean…he’s enjoyable to look at, and sometimes he says things that could be interpreted as charming…

Honestly, this was the first time she’d see him face to face since their chance encounter, but they’d been messaging a lot—like, a lot—and talking on the phone too…but no, she wasn’t scared. There was nothing to be scared about.

She straightened her hair in front of the mirror, zipped up her jacket and slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then descended the stairs quickly. 9 would mean they’d have…what? 3 hours before she had to report to the Batcave? That should be enough time.

Enough time? Enough time for what, you perv?

Fuck it. She’d figure it out.

Her parents were sitting on one of the couches in the living room, Pam reading a book with Harley asleep on her lap.

“Where are you off to?” Pam asked, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

“Oh, umm—Carrie’s.” Jo lied, taking on a similar volume as clutched the doorknob in her hand. “We’re gonna watch—Carol.”

Pam didn’t look terribly convinced. “Carol…”

“Yeah,” Jo affirmed, nodding. “Carrie wants to explain the weird-ass cinematography to me because I found it super distracting but evidently it’s art, according to her anyway.” She shrugged. “Then she’ll drive us both to the cave.”

“Fine,” Pam waved her off. “Have fun and be safe tonight, please.”

“Will do,” Jo opened the door. Carol? Fucking Carol? Selling it a little hard there, aren’t’cha, Jolene?

“I love you!” Pam said as Jo stepped onto the porch.

Mmm… “I know,” Jo called behind her, closing the door and starting off down the street.

Jason was waiting on his motorcycle on the corner, his hair tousled and his…yeah, he’s hot, OK? “Hey,” he said, offering her a helmet.

“I think you’re supposed to zip up the jacket when you ride,” she said, nodding to the t-shirt that was visible through the open zipper of his leather jacket. “I think that’s sorta the point of it. To protect you.”

“Thanks for the safety tip, Officer.” He nudged the helmet into her hand. “This is for you.”

“I got it.” Jo grabbed it from him. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this takeout spot by my place, thought we could go there.” He told her.

“T—to the takeout place?” Jo knew what he meant, but her insecurity was showing.

“Nah, the foods already at home. Let’s go.” He gestured for her to get on behind him.

Yeah, Jo, let’s go. Just hop on the back of that motorcycle with a boy who you’ve had like three face-to-face conversations with and who’s made his intentions super-duper clear. Just…go ahead and do that.

All in one quick motion—before she could think better of it or chicken out—she pulled the helmet onto her head and fastened the strap below her chin, getting on and tentatively wrapping her arms around his ribs. OK, so yeah, he’s muscular. But he wasn’t like the Anthony-underwear-model archetype, and not like any of the male gymnasts she knew—not like Damian. Like a mechanic, he was muscular like a mechanic and what the fuck, Jo? Quit being a perv!

The ride was quick and somewhat painless…he only ran one red light and, really, Jo couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same, so…no harm no foul, she supposed. And who was she to talk? She went out at night and assaulted people—criminals, but still. She’d felt a little guiltier about breaking laws since her Godmother became police chief, though.

Jason didn’t help her off when they arrived outside his building, but whatever, she didn’t need help anyway. Jo was totally capable of getting off the bike by herself. In fact, yeah, thank you, Jason, for not patronizing me. Mom would like him.

…or, would she?

Who cares? Fuck Mom.

No, don’t fuck Mom.

Like, fuck you, Mom!

Yeah, OK. Good.

Jo was nodding to herself as Jason opened the front door to his building and lead her inside. “You good?” He asked.

“Who, me? Never better.” Was Jo’s (hopefully convincing) answer.

“I hope you like phad thai because it’s all I ordered.” Jason told her as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter in his sparsely decorated, ground level, one-bedroom apartment.

“This is—uh—nice,” Jo offered as he shut the door behind her. “It’s…umm…who’s your decorator? I’ll have to give them a call.”

“Ha, good one.” His word’s dripped with sarcasm. “I know it’s lame. But it’s got a TV and a fridge and a bed, and that’s really all I need.” He said, plopping down on said couch. “Besides, it’s a whole lot better than the shithole I grew up in.”

Well that…sounded mildly interesting. “Oh?” Jo prompted.

“Yeah,” he didn’t elaborate, but pointed to the plastic bag on the counter near where Jo was standing. “Wanna hand me one of those?”

“S—sure,” Jo turned, grabbing the two to-go containers out of the bag. “Umm…utensils?”

“Should be chopsticks in there.”

There were. Good. She grabbed them too, carrying everything to the couch and handing Jason one of the containers.

“So…” Jo began as she sat next to him and opened her food. “How long have you been living alone?”

“Since I was 12,” he told her, after he’d swallowed his first bite. “Well, for a year, anyway. Then the foster care system got a hold of me and I got out like two years later.”

“Oh, were you adopted?” Jo asked.

“No,” he laughed. “No, I ran away. Got a job…the rest is history.”

Jo sat back into the cushions just a bit, feeling slightly more comfortable now that she knew a bit more about him. “What—umm—what happened at 12? Why did you need to go into foster care?”

“Shit’s a little heavy…”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Jo assured him. “I’ve seen my fair share of ‘heavy shit’.”

“That right?” he mumbled, looking like he needed to convince himself. “Well my Mom OD’d, and left me to fend for myself for a bit. Ended up stealing some hubcaps off of Oswald Cobblepot’s car—,”

“Penguin?”

“Yeah, that’s him. They caught me…thought they were gonna kill me, to be honest, but instead they said I owed em’ a debt. So when I broke out of the foster care system, that’s where I went.”

“But he’s like a mobster,” Jo reminded him once his story was finished.

“Yeah,” Jason chuckled humorlessly. “I didn’t care. They took me in when I had nobody and employed me until I could stand on my own two feet.”

“Oh…” Jo looked down at her lap. OK, so yes, he was sort of an asshole…but he’d also endured a lot of fucked up shit. Ma always said there’s a reason for the way everyone turned out…the fact that he’s even halfway decent after what happened to him…that’s almost impressive, right?

“Whatever,” he was shrugging. “It is what it is, we all have our little tragedies. Nobody cares.”

I don’t—no, I care! “Don’t say that,” Jo implored, leaning forward to grasp his hand and look at him meaningfully. “Don’t sweep that shit under the rug.”

“Yeah, I don’t really tell anybody about that,” he mumbled.

The realization that he’d trusted her enough to share it, even though it may have made him feel vulnerable, gave Jo a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Without much thought or foresight, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She was a bit embarrassed by the fact that she was now blushing a lot harder than he was, but her mind quickly became occupied with other thoughts when he reached for her food, setting it down on the stack of magazines he used for a coffee table along with his own food, and moved toward her…so close that she could feel his breath on her lips and hear her heart pounding in her ears.

…and then his lips were pressed against hers.

Jo had been kissed before…she’d kissed other people too, boys and girls, she honestly didn’t have much of a preference. But none of those had ever felt this—real? It was all cursory, or just a game, or on a dare…but this time it felt like it meant something. Probably because they were alone in his apartment and like…he’d already sent her a dick pic…she knew what she was getting into, she knew it from the beginning.

But he wasn’t a bad kisser, that was something she could comment on definitively. And she…was attracted to him…otherwise why did she come here? Certainly not to eat sub-par Thai food.

Jason was pressing her down into the couch now, his weight on top of her…that didn’t exactly feel bad either, but things did feel like they were moving a bit fast, she’d only had one bite of her noodles and she was actually a bit hungry. Maybe she could finish them after. After what, Jo?

“You good here or do you wanna move to the bedroom?” He asked, separating for a moment but keeping his hand under her shirt.

Am I good here? Do I want to lose my virginity on a couch? Oh God, is that what I’m about to do?

“No, let’s—bedroom,” hey, at 15 Ma was sleeping with her grown-ass gymnastics coach. This is a huge improvement.

Jason got up, helping her this time, which she did happen to like. He led the way, her hand in his into one of the apartment’s two internal doors. This one wasn’t the bathroom, although it was so small it almost could have been. There was a bed, though, and it was made, which she found oddly endearing.

Jason was kissing her again and walking her backwards towards the bed, but as she went she caught sight of a poster on the wall over his shoulder and ripped her mouth away immediately.

“What the fuck is that?” She asked, pointing.

He stopped, although his annoyance was clear, and turned to look. “It’s a pinup. Aren’t you bi or whatever? What do you care?”

“No—it’s—she—no,” Jolene was starring her Mother straight in the face. It was one of those stupid “I Want You!...to recycle” posters she’d posed for during one of her first ad campaigns.

“Not a Poison Ivy fan?” That seemed to surprise him. “She’s a feminist, right? Thought you’d be into that.”

“She’s—it’s gotta come down.” Jo said. “Just for a bit, just while we…take it down.”

“Why?”

BECAUSE I DON’T WANT MY MOM WATCHING ME HAVE SEX. “I just—uhh—inadequacies and beauty standards and—look, buddy, do you wanna fuck me or not?”

“Alright, damn…” he pushed past her and took the tacs out of the poster, rolling it up and setting it on the floor. “Happy?”

Jo scanned the room, and shook her head once more when her eyes landed on a plant. “That guy too. He’s gotta go.”

“Who? My plant?”

“Yep, your plant.” Jo nodded fiercely. That motherfucker will tattle on me so quick…

Jason huffed at that, but ultimately caved, picking up the plant by its pot and setting it outside the bedroom door. “Better?”

“Um—,” Jo cleared her throat, smoothing her hands nervously down her legs. “Yeah.”

———

Jo walked as quickly as she could down to the Batcave, pressing her thumb to the keypad that opened the main entrance. She was about 20 minutes early, which was perfect as she knew that getting into her suit would help some of the current discomfort she was experiencing go away. She sincerely hoped her accelerated healing applied to soreness as well—it usually did, after all, but this feeling was new.

Damian was sitting at the monitor next to Carrie, looking over some area statistics, but he looked up when she entered, his expression portraying something Jo thought almost looked like…pity? “You have a visitor,” he intoned.

“A vi—,” but Jo couldn’t even get out a full word before: “JOLENE QUINZEL,” echoed through the Batcave.

Chapter Text

“Oh…fuck…”

Pamela stood against the railing as she watched the words pass through her daughter’s lips on the ground below her. “Come here. Now.” She told her, her voice still carrying with a slight echo.

“Uhh—,” Jo’s body language made it clear she wanted to run screaming from the room. “No—I—uhh, I think I’m good down here, thanks.”

Her skin hot and tingling with rage, Pam said, as calmly as she could possibly manage: “That wasn’t a suggestion. I don’t want to do this in front of your friends.”

Carrie’s eyes immediately fell to her lap, her cheek’s turning bright red, Cass busied herself with dusting off her suit—the one that spent its days in a glass case—and Bruce went to get himself another cup of coffee. Damian was the only one who continued to watch the situation unfold.

“Jolene,” Pam said again, and this time it got her moving.

Jo trudged up the stairs, her eyes at her feet, a few beads of sweat visible on her brow. She stopped about a yard in front of Pam and slowly raised her gaze. She looked guilty, her shoulders slouched, her eye-contact shaky, a slight blush in her cheeks.

Pam pointed to Harley’s office and Jo led the way, going in and sitting on the couch. Pam followed, closing the door behind them.

“You lied to me,” her tone was icy as she crossed her arms, standing above her daughter. “Right to my face, you lied.”

“…how did you…”

“Know you weren’t with Carrie?” Pam guessed. “You mean aside from the fact that you never even briefed her on what you were actually doing?”

“She told you I wasn’t with her?”

“No, she had no idea where you were. No one did, Jolene. What if he was violent? What if he’d hurt you?” Pam asked. “There’s nothing anyone could have done about it.”

“…except for you.” Jo sighed. “Did the cactus tell you?”

“Jolene—,” Pam rubbed her eyes quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. “When I say I’m a goddess, or the physical embodiment of Mother Nature, or even a fucking superhero—what do you think? Do you think I’m lying? Do you think I just say those things to sound cool or to boast, or maybe to frighten you? No, Jolene, I can hear everything. I can see everything. And I could see and hear you in that shitty apartment in South Gotham.”

Jo’s face drained of all color. “You didn’t—Mom, you didn’t—,”

“Of course I didn—who the fuck do you think I am?!” Pam demanded. “Honestly, Jolene, I know we haven’t exactly been getting along lately, but in what world would I—I know how to shut it off!”

Jo seemed to relax at that news…well, slightly, as much as one could while they were still being actively yelled at.

“Do you know how old he is?” Pam asked.

“Umm…” Jo shifted uncomfortably under the question. “Older than me?”

“Seven years older than you,” Pam spat. “He is a 22-year-old MAN and you are a child. He’s older than your brother! You know—the one with the college degree.”

“No, that’s not…no.” Jo shook her head. “No, he was at my High School.”

“Yes, taking college extension courses.” Pam swiftly crossed over to Harley’s desk and grabbed the papers sitting there, dropping them down onto Jo’s lap. “His transcripts, if you’re curious. No surprise he’s an idiot.”

“Where did you get these?” Jo asked as she flipped through them.

“The Batcave is equipped with one of the most advanced computers in the world,” Pam told her. “Some cursory background research wasn’t difficult. I’m surprised you didn’t feel it was necessary to do any before sleeping with him. Don’t you care who you’re sharing that part of yourself with?”

“Y—yes, of course I do!” Jo shot up, throwing the papers aside. “And I—I like him, so—what does it matter?!”

“It doesn’t matter if you like him! He’s 22 years old!” Pam yelled, in utter disbelief that she was having to explain this. “You are a 15-year-old who was just statutorily raped! You understand that, don’t you? Have you never listened to a word your Mother has said? Surely she explained this issue to you, I know I certainly have.”

“It’s not the same as it was for her!” Jo shot back. “Jason doesn’t get anything from being with me, and neither do I! It’s not—Ma was blackmailed. This isn’t that.”

Pam shook her head, turning away from her. “Statutorily raped by a man named Jason...I suppose I should be impressed. I sincerely appreciate the equal representation.” She grabbed her jacket from the coatrack and headed towards the door.

“Hey!” Jo tried to stop her. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Pam opened the door.

“But you—you’re not gonna make me come with you?” Jo asked, bewildered.

“No,” Pam confirmed. “You have a job to do. And if you’re old enough to have sex with a gown man, and if you’re old enough to hate me—then you’re old enough to honor your professional responsibilities.”

“Mom…” Jo followed after her as Pam headed for the walkway. “Mom, look I’m—I’m sorry I lied.”

Pam suddenly spun around, grabbing her daughter by the front of her shirt and pulling her close enough to touch her lips to her ear. “If he hurts you…” a vine slowly slithered out of her wrist, wrapping itself loosely around Jo’s neck. “I will rape him with his own cock. Do you understand me?”

She felt Jo’s swallow below the vine as the girl’s pulse quickened. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Good,” Pam murmured, retracting the vine slowly and releasing her shirt. Her mouth was drawn into a hard line as she gave Jo one last look over. “It will be up to you to tell your Mother,” and with that, she turned and made her way down the stairs, mumbling “Bruce” as she passed him by.

/

Harley rolled over onto her other side, reaching to put her arm around Pam, but feeling a pillow there instead. Groggily, she opened her eyes, scanning the other side of the bed…which her wife was noticeably missing from.

“Pam,” she said aloud, her voice raspy with sleep. “Pam, I want to be cuddled.”

No answer.

Harley looked around the room, confused. It was…2am, according to her phone. Pam usually didn’t wake up until the sun came up or maybe just before.

Maybe she got called in, Harley thought as she yawned. But as she stretched and rolled onto her back, she noticed the window that faced the backyard was illuminated with light.

Pulling herself out of bed, she approached the window and looked down, seeing Pam sitting in her garden with her knees drawn to her chest.

“The fuck?” Harley wondered, grabbing her robe and starting out of the bedroom and down the stairs, out into the backyard.

Pam didn’t look up at the sound of the back door closing.

“What the hell are you doing? It’s 2am.” Harley told her, crossing the yard to stand next to her.

“These children are all so well behaved,” Pam chuckled, gently brushing the tips of their petals with her finger. “Sunlight, water…mulch when it gets cold, a few whispered words of encouragement every now and again…they’re perfect.”

Harley looked at her strangely. “You alright?”

“No, no not really,” Pam smiled up at her.

“Did…something happen with Jo?” Harley wondered, sitting down next to her. She had gone to sleep pretty early…

Pam didn’t answer, just wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, until Harley was resting her head on her shoulder.

Harley was confused…but also super tired, and the night was warm and Pam smelled good, so she let her eyes drift close.

“Remember with Anthony?” Pam asked. “When we first brought him home…and we had him all to ourselves…And it was just…peaceful? And he smiled and I held him and he was quiet and comforted because he knew that he was loved.”

“Yeah,” Harley mumbled.

“Does Jo know; do you think?” Pam asked.

“Yes,” Harley whispered. “She knows.”

/

 “This tea is garbage.” Pam mumbled as she sat down with her mug at the table, taking the newspaper that was sitting in front of Harleen and extracting the Home and Gardening section before returning the rest to her.

“No, it’s tea.” Harleen corrected.

Pam deemed it far too early for this particular brand of humor. “It tastes like garbage.”

 “Then maybe you should go to the store and get yourself something better.” Harley suggested, starring down at her phone.

“The grocery stores in this city represent the worst of corporate America.” Pam scowled at the taste of the liquid in her cup. “I would go if there was a farmer’s market.”

“They don’t sell tea at the farmer’s market, Pam.”

“Sure they do.” The redhead set her mug down and opened the paper.

Harleen rolled her eyes. “Is Jo up yet?”

“No.” Pam told her. “But she’s 16. If she can’t get to school on time at this point, then she deserves detention.”

Harley was preparing her response when her phone rang on the table. She snatched it up immediately, answering it and then setting it back down. “Anthony! What a fun surprise! Hold on one second, I’m going to put you on speaker. Mom’s here with me.”

“It wasn’t a surprise.” Pam casually set the record straight. “She’s been watching her phone for the last 15 minutes.”

Anthony laughed. “I could have guessed.”

“Anyway…” Harley began, shooting Pam a look across the table. “How is your week shaping up? You’re definitely coming home for Thanksgiving on Thursday, right? Selina’s making the turkey herself, so it should be terrible.”

Anthony laughed again. “I’ll be there. With a friend, actually. If that’s alright.”

“Ooh, did Tony finally find himself a girl?” Jolene asked, having silently crept into the kitchen.

“No coffee.” Pamela snapped at the girl preemptively.

Jo stopped mid-pour, setting the coffee pot back down. “Motherfucker…” she mumbled.

“Props for the pun.” Pam offered, flipping the page.

“Is that your next billboard slogan?” Jo sneered.

Pam looked across the table, offering her daughter a tone-deaf smile. “I’ll be sure to send an advanced copy to your boyfriend.” She didn’t wait for Jo’s reaction before focusing her attention back on her paper.

“Right…” Anthony said, trying to assert himself back into the conversation. “So in any case…”

“Is she cute?” Harleen asked. “Scale from Mom to Angela Merkel.”

“Umm…” He considered the parameters of the question. “Hillary Clinton at the 1996 Democratic National Convention.”

Harley and Jolene both furrowed their brows, trying to conjure a mental image.

“Hot enough to notice, hotter when you factor in her intellect.” Pam translated, her focus never wavering from the article she was reading.

“Ah,” Harleen and Jo said in unison.

/

Anthony ended the phone call with a smile, listening as the shower shut off.

Karen appeared a few moments later, a towel around her body and her hair perfectly dry.

“You found the shower caps?” Anthony prompted, propping himself up a bit by putting his arm beneath his head.

“I did,” she confirmed, heading for the closet. “Thank you.”

Anthony smiled as he watched her move his clothes to the side to access the corner he’d cleared out for her. She kept a couple outfits there as his apartment was considerably closer to campus than her loft was, and it was always good to be prepared.

“I’ve got a question.” Karen said, her attention still on the clothes.

“Well I hope I have an answer.” Anthony sat up, knowing that he had a question of his own to ask.

“Did you just, like, watch Crazy, Stupid, Love one time and go ‘I want that!’ about Ryan Gosling’s wardrobe?” Karen wondered. “Because it seriously looks like he threw up in here.”

Anthony snorted. “I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.” Her responding snicker made him shake his head, and quiet descended as she proceeded to get dressed. Just ask, dude. “Hey,” he piped up. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know,” she replied distractedly as she buttoned up her shirt. “Might do like a Friendsgiving thing since my parents seem to be taking Mal’s side in the divorce.”

Sweet—well, not sweet, but helpful for my purposes. “Oh, well…we could spend it together, if you wanted.” He casually suggested.

Karen shrugged, heading back to the bathroom to apply her make up. “Sure, why not. We’re not bad cooks, after all.”

“I actually go back to Gotham for Thanksgiving,” Anthony told her. “I’m flying out on Wednesday, if you’re interested.”

“Are you asking me to spend thanksgiving with your family?” she asked.

“That’s—yes, that’s what I’m asking.” Anthony admitted, getting out of bed and coming to stand in the doorway. “They said they’d love to have you.”

She stopped, setting down her mascara. “You already told them I was coming?”

“Well, no, I just asked if you could.” He assured her. “You don’t have to do anything, I’d just—I’d really like you to.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I like you,” he chuckled. “I like you a lot, and I’d like you to meet the other people in my life that are important to me.”

“No, I mean why would I want to meet your parents?” Karen clarified.

Anthony felt like the answer could easily be found in his previous statement. But either way, he sincerely wished he was wearing more than just boxer briefs for this conversation as he now felt a bit embarrassed and exposed. “Because they’re important to me,” he reiterated. “And I thought—maybe—after 5 months, that I was important to you too.”

“That’s sweet, Ant, but I think I’ll sit this one out,” she brushed him off. “Sorry, it’s just—parent meeting is exactly the kind of thing I told you I didn’t want to get into at the start.”

“Yes, but that was 5 months ago,” he repeated. “And you’re—I mean, you have your own toothbrush here, and clothes in my closet—,”

“Anthony,” Karen sighed, leaning against the sink. “You’re a good kid. And someday you’re going to make some lucky woman incredibly happy. I mean, shit, you’re perfect! Seriously. Gorgeous and funny and talented and brilliant and you fuck like a lesbian, which—I mean, gotta love the attention—but I am not that woman. I’ve already done the marriage thing, and it clearly wasn’t for me.”

“I’m not a kid,” Anthony tried to mask his hurt by sounding offended. “And I’m not asking you to marry me, I’m asking you to meet my family.”

“There’s a natural progression to these things, Kid,” she told him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before ducking under his arm and out of the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Ivy rolled her eyes as she watched Jo jump on the back of Jason’s motorcycle outside her school. “Ungrateful...little...f—heathen.” She mumbled, leaning back as far as she could in her chair, starring at the light directly above her.  

Ivy hated that boy—that man. With a fiery passion, she hated him. While it was true she’d never officially met him, she spent enough time watching him—enough time watching them—that she felt like she had a pretty good handle on the kind of person he was.

He had a chip on his shoulder, that was for sure. One many times the size of Jo’s. So much so that nothing Jo said would ever equate, no tragedy she’d suffered, no injustice she’d been party to…he was the victim, and he used that to his advantage. Jo felt sorry for him, and when he told her things, revealed things about himself, said no one else knew…Jo would smile, pity in her expression…and Pam would have to tune the rest out, as that was usually how their more intimate moments began.

Ivy was still staring up at the light when someone sat down next to her in a huff, sighing loudly as she did.

“How is it only Tuesday?” Bumblebee asked.

Ivy glanced at her, watching the younger woman as she stared out the window at the Earth below them. “Because yesterday was Monday,” Ivy exhaled.

“Everything moves slower during the Holidays,” Bumblebee grumbled.

“Mm,” Ivy grunted in agreement. “Pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, nodding downwards at the marvelous blue orb.

“Gorgeous,” the woman corrected, “but she’s sort of a 10 footer.”

Ivy furrowed her brow, sitting up. “I’m sorry?”

“Looks good from up here, but when you get too close…sorta loses the appeal.” Bumblebee explained.

Ivy didn’t answer, just smirked and continued to gaze downward, so it was Bumblebee who again broke the silence. “Do you ever just…hate yourself?”

Ivy narrowed her eyes, thinking on that for a moment, trying to decide if she really wanted to get into a deeper conversation with a junior-leaguer. Junior Justice? Justice Juniors? What was it? Something stupid, she knew that for certain. “No,” she answered, finally. “But I do occasionally regret things.”

“And what do you do about it?” the woman asked.

 Ivy sighed. She regretted so much not telling Jo earlier, truly believing that if she had, Jo would have just taken it in stride or at least been able to adjust without needing to fill this void so suddenly. “Regret is a pointless emotion.” Ivy began. “It’s reflective in nature, and that’s all it will ever be. It comes with guilt, and a mind crippled by guilt will only ever allow for horizontal growth, which, really isn’t growth at all, now is it?”

“No, no it’s not.” Bumblebee agreed.

“Fix what you can and leave the rest behind. There’s no point in dwelling on it.” Ivy told her. “In case you wanted advice from someone who continually fails to take it herself, there it is.” She sat back in her chair. “That’s where I would like this conversation to end.”

“Oh—I—al—,”

“You’re still talking.”

/

Harleen squealed when the black town car pulled up along the curb outside. “They’re here!”

“I’ll be right there!” she heard Pam call from the kitchen.

…but Harley was impatient, so she hurried over to the front door, opening it to see Anthony dragging his suitcase up the front walk.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite son,” she grinned.

“Hey, Ma.” He smiled, stepping up onto the porch so that she could pull him into a fierce hug (which she did immediately). “I like your sweater.”

Harley separated so that she could give him another look at the embroidered “Pour some gravy on me”. “I thought I’d treat myself,” she shrugged happily. “So where’s your—,”

“—Tony!!!” Harley was cut off by the sound of Jo’s voice echoing through the house behind her. They both waited, listening as Jo bounded down the stairs and sped through the living room, skidding to a stop in her socks in the doorway. “Welcome home!” she grinned. “Your room is exactly how you left it, except for it’s now where we store Mom’s vast dildo collection.” Jo paused for a moment, rolling her head in the direction of the kitchen, an expectant look on her face.

And, here we go…Harley sighed.

“I’m choosing not to engage!” Pam’s voice called back.

Jo snorted, returning her attention to the task at hand. “Anyway…” she got on her tippy-toes to look over Anthony’s shoulder. “Is your girlfriend wearing an invisibility cloak?”

“No, I—,” Anthony cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “It turns out I don’t have a girlfriend as much as a woman I sleep with rather frequently who has no interest in committing to me in any measurable capacity. Which—includes spending Thanksgiving with my family.”

Harley’s heart sunk as he stared down at his shoes. “Anthony…”

“No, it’s fine, really.” He assured them. “It’s my fault. I—I misinterpreted some things. Doesn’t really matter. Can I come inside?”

“Oh,” Harley and Jo glanced at each other, realizing they were blocking the doorway, and quickly stepped aside so he could drag his suitcase through.

“Smells good in here,” he smiled once he’d set his bag by the stairs.

“Yes, well…your sister finally decided to take a shower,” Pam appeared in front of him, wiping her hands on a towel before slinging it over her shoulder and moving in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Oh, it was fine,” he told her, a noticeable degree of depression in his tone. “A little turbulence, but I got a free first class upgrade and the flight attendant’s phone number,” he pulled a napkin out of his pocket. “So…it is what it is.”

Jo snatched it away from him. “This says ‘Keith’.” She pointed out.

Anthony shrugged. “I’m a physically fit, well-dressed man traveling home alone for Thanksgiving. I’d say his assumption was fair.”

“Yeah, alright, well…” Jo folded up the napkin and handed it back to him. “If you decide to experiment, you’re a top. Don’t let anybody tell you different.”

He took one look at his sister before turning to his parents. “I am so sorry I left you guys alone with her.”

Jo looked offended. “How dare you. I have cancer.”

“Well that doesn’t seem to be stopping you from running around in that Batgirl suit, now does it?” he posed the question with an arch in his brow. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t demand to be called ‘Batbitch’. Batgirl is so…basic.”

Jo’s jaw dropped open, and she turned swiftly to Harley. “Ma…”

“No.” Harley and Pam said simultaneously. “Absolutely not.”

/

Karen stood in the middle of the grocery aisle by the floral display, mumbling “this is so fucking stupid” to herself as she waited for an attendant.

“Excuse me?” she flagged down a woman in a red vest. “Hi.”

“Yes, Miss.” The woman smiled a little too broadly given the fact that she was working on Thanksgiving. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, um, I’m looking for a pot. Well, a potted plant, I should say.” She amended. “It’s—I’m sorry, this is so stupid. See, my b—my—ugh,” she groaned. You can do it! “My boyfriend likes flowers, but it depresses him when he has to throw them away, so…I need a potted one. One that won’t, uh, die.” Honestly, Karen, you’re a doctor.

“Right…” the woman was regarding her a bit strangely, “Well…all of our potted plants are over here,” she led her approximately 3 feet to the right and pointed.

I’m an idiot. “Thank you,” Karen said quickly, picking over the display.

“You’re welcome,” the woman smiled. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Karen patted her hair uncomfortably, trying conceive of the best way to phrase this. “What would you bring to a Thanksgiving you were invited to, but then you sort of ripped up the invitation and set it on fire, and then decided to come anyway because you’re trying to re-learn how to love yourself separate of some joint identity? And you’ll also be meeting your sort-of-boyfriend’s, sort-of-student’s family for the first time and they’re—for some reason—bizarrely aristocratic lesbians and their daughter is one of the most famous gymnasts in the world who was recently diagnosed with leukemia.” she took a deep (necessary breath). “What do you bring to that?”

“Uhh—cheese?”

---

Armed with—sigh—cheese (a wheel of brie, to be specific), Karen had her cab drop her off in front of what she hoped was the correct address.

The house was large, but not gratuitously so. It had a sort of Stepford aesthetic with its bright white paint and well-manicured lawn, but it was still charming. Its gardens and slightly overgrown ivy plant climbing up to the second story gave it personality.

It felt…safe, and Karen took a more relaxed breath when she stepped up onto the porch.

You’re 32 years old with a PhD, there’s absolutely no reason to be intimidated.

She set the flowers down at her feet and knocked a confident three times before picking them up again, placing them on her hip and gripping the cheese tighter.

…there was no answer.

Deflating, Karen began to panic slightly. What if this wasn’t his house? What if she had the wrong address? What if they’d already left because they were having dinner somewhere else? Or—oh, maybe I should have rung the doorbell.

She tried that, and sure enough, a few moments later footsteps could be heard moving closer to the door. And then, when the door opened, all the doubt Karen had about whether this was Anthony’s house washed away as there was a pretty redhead now standing in the doorway.

OK, not pretty, this woman was straight-up gorgeous, and she looked a whole hell of a lot like Anthony. An older sister, maybe? He hadn’t told her about any other siblings beside Jolene, but younger siblings tended to be easier to discuss. This woman looked about Karen’s age, a little younger maybe, and she wore thick-rimmed glasses that magnified her striking green eyes. So…at least she and Anthony differed in that regard. The eye color, not the glasses. He definitely had a pair of those.

“No,” the woman said immediately. “No, you’ll have to find someone else.”

Karen’s stomach turned. He must have told them… “I’m sorry, I’m—,”

The redhead laughed. “Is that Diana’s feeble attempt at bribery?”

“Who?” Karen asked, confused.

She nodded towards the plant, an eyebrow raised.

“No, these are for—,”

“Look, I’m sorry that you had to come all the way down here,” the woman did sound genuinely apologetic. “But I’m sure you can find someone without a family to cover for today. I made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t available.”

“I don’t—I’m not sure—,” what the hell is she talking about? Oh God, maybe this isn’t the right house after all!

But then Karen heard more footsteps approaching and a second female voice say: “Babe, stop bullying the Mormons.” before a blonde woman slid into view, looping her arm around the redhead’s waist.

This woman was older. 50, maybe. 55, with a broad, happy smile and sparkling blue eyes that quickly lit up with realization. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “You came!”

OK, so this was the right house, and both of these women looked awfully familiar, and not just because of their obvious resemblance to Anthony. The blonde was—umm—she was Poison Ivy’s psychiatrist! And the redhead was—oh, fuck.

“This is Karen,” Dr. Quinzel was explaining to…was explaining to Poison Ivy. “Anthony’s friend.”

“No,” Ivy disagreed. “This is Bumblebee, and Diana sent her to try to convince me to cover a shift today.”

“N—No,” Karen found her voice, although it was shaky. “I’m b—I’m both.” Her eyes fell to the arm Dr. Quinzel still had wrapped around Ivy’s waist, and their relaxed body language and their matching wedding bands and—Yeah, I didn’t sign up for this.

Karen started to slowly back away, and Ivy’s reaction was to roll her eyes before a vine shot out of her wrist and yanked Karen inside, Dr. Quinzel quickly shutting the door behind them.

“Again, my sincerest apologies, Darling,” Ivy said as green pigment began to seep into her complexion. “But I’m afraid we can’t let you leave now.”

Karen’s heart began to beat faster as she took off her glasses, and—yeah, that was Poison Ivy, alright. And of course she was Anthony’s Mom. Karen should have known better than to think a guy that perfect could be human.

And…think of the devil. “Karen?” Anthony asked from the foot of the stairs. Although this was a slightly different Anthony than the one she’d grown accustomed to. For one, it was 2pm and he was still wearing pajama pants, his hair was disheveled and his cotton t-shirt said “Feed me, Seymour”. The Anthony she knew was fully dressed, with his breakfast in one hand and his coffee in the other by the time the sun was up, his hair styled and…for the life of her, she couldn’t recall him ever having worn (or owned, even) a t-shirt with print on it. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m—,” Karen was having an exceedingly difficult time getting her words out in full, fluid sentences. “I had a speech I was going to—I brought these flowers, and—you’re a plant, aren’t you?”

“What? No, I’m not a—,” then he noticed Ivy down below him. “Oh, goddamn it, Mom! What are you trying to do?”

“We already know each other!” Ivy exclaimed, sounding frustrated. “She’s my colleague!”

“Wait,” a third female voice said from the top of the stairs, drawing everyone’s attention. “You mean Anthony’s screwing a superhero?” That was Jolene. Karen recognized her from—well, lots of places—but mainly from that Gatorade ad youtube wouldn’t let her skip. “Which one?”

“Bumblebee,” Ivy told her.

The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before a wide smile stretched her lips and she disappeared from sight, yelling: “this is too perfect!” over her shoulder.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re—,” but Anthony was cut off when something fell from the landing above them and he had to lunge to catch it.

It was an action figure. Karen’s Bumblebee action figure.

Jolene jumped down after it, somehow landing on her feet despite the fairly significant drop. “Alright,” she laughed. “So next time you guys wanna make fun of me because Jason jacks off to Mom, just remember that Anthony totally saved up all his allowance to collect his girlfriend.”

Chapter Text

“Dr. Isley,” Karen began, still feeling a bit shell-shocked. “I’ve read your reports on your work creating humanoid plant specimen…but I was under the impression they had a radically shortened lifespan and limited mental functioning. However, I’ve observed nothing atypical about Anthony’s presentation…”

“Hey!” Anthony piped up. “Do you think you could refrain from discussing me like I belong in a petri dish? I’m not a humanoid plant specimen, I’m a plant-human hybrid, and I don’t present as atypical because I’m not—aside from an increased metabolism and various other minor physiological abnormalities.”

“Yeah, like this one!” Jo grinned as she karate chopped him in the neck.

Anthony sputtered for air, and in his fight, lost control of his pigment, turning his natural shade of pale mint green.

Karen was watching the scene with a look of horror on her face, and Pam directed a plant to slither out of its pot behind them and smack Jo in the back of the head.

“Ouch!” Jo exclaimed, “What the hell was that for?”

Ignoring her, Harley moved on, bringing focus back to Karen’s question. “Anthony is mine and Pamela’s biological child, same with Jo. There’s nothing to be freaked out about, really…see?” she nodded over at her son, who had returned to a more typical skin tone.

“But—OK, I hate to point out the obvious here,” Karen rocked back in her chair. “But…you’re both women.” Then she narrowed her eyes, realizing maybe that was too simple a categorization. “You are both women, right?”

Pam sighed, “like many flowering plants, my plant DNA is unisex. Harleen provided the X chromosome, I provided the Y. Although it’s not quite as simple as that, it’s as thorough an explanation as is required for these circumstances.”

“You’re a flowering plant?” Was Karen’s next question.

Ivy rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, causing a crown of white daisies to spring up in its wake. Silently, she plucked one off and handed it to Karen. “I suppose I could attempt to pull a rabbit out of a hat next, if you’d like.”

“No, I—I think I’m good,” Karen mumbled as she stared down at the flower in her hands, absently twirling its stem between her fingers. “Why are you married to your psychiatrist?”

“Because I asked and she said yes,” Pam answered like it was obvious. “That’s typically how these things work.”

“So…you said you had a speech?” Anthony prompted, getting the conversation back on track before they descended too far down that rabbit hole.

“What?” Karen yanked herself back to the present moment.

“A speech,” Anthony repeated. “You said you had one.”

“Oh, right, yes…” Karen cleared her throat. Here goes nothing? “I was going to say that I’m sorry.” she nodded, decidedly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t take you seriously, but more importantly, I’m sorry that I didn’t give myself a chance to take you seriously.” She set the flower down. “I definitely wasn’t planning on telling you this in front of your parents, and definitely not in front of Poison Ivy—but it seems it’s all a package deal now, so…Look,” she adjusted her sitting position. “I met my husband my Sophomore year of High School, and…that was supposed to be it, you know? I loved him from the first moment our eyes met and maybe there’s a part of me that still loves him now—but the point is I gave that relationship—I gave him everything I had and everything I am and I ended up alone because—at the end of the day—Mal had a difficult time dealing with my ambition. I was too busy or too distracted or too—I don’t know, too similar to him, maybe…or too different, who knows? So that’s…that’s the lesson I learned from love. If you work too hard on yourself, or work too hard for yourself, there will be no room for anyone else.”

Anthony started to try and rescue her, but she cut him off.

“—But then I met you, Anthony, and you were so…supportive…so patient, and I thought ‘this is the kind of husband an ambitious woman deserves’, but I didn’t think I could be that woman because happiness, or complete fulfillment didn’t apply to me—or at least I thought it didn’t because I was afraid and hurt. I still am, actually. It’s sort of ridiculous, really, when you think about it…I go into battle every day—powerless, aside from my suit—I fight aliens and mass murderers and psychopaths, but the shit that keeps me up at night is the reality that I might get my heart broken again.” Karen took a shaky breath. “So, I—I know you can’t promise me you won’t, just like I can’t promise you I won’t break yours or that everything will work out—but I think—I think maybe I want to try. Or…you know, I did…before…you know,” she gestured to his family.

Harley was crying at this point, Pam was looking mildly impressed and Jo’s grin stretched from ear to ear.

“Well…” Anthony began, lightly clearing his throat as he got up from the other side of the table to circle around to her. “Firstly, let me just apologize for my appearance. I feel a bit silly dressed like this given the subject matter of this conversation…”

“Umm…apology accepted.” Karen offered, her heart thrumming in her ears (for no apparent reason).

Anthony smiled. “As for the rest of it…how about you come to dinner—since you’re already here—meet my extended family, and then decide whether or not my plant DNA disqualifies me. Fair?” He held out his hand to help her up.

/

“Anthony!” Carrie exclaimed, flying into his arms as soon as she flung the front door open.

“God…” Anthony laughed, twirling her around. “You’re still so short!”

“Yeah, I’m 22, Asshat.” She reminded him once her feet were back on the ground. “Not exactly holding out for a late growth spurt.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s with the nose ring?”

“I’m expressing myself! What’s it to ya?” Carrie moved on, “Jo-blow,” she grinned.

“Care Bear,” Jo acknowledged with a nod.

“Dr. Q, The Missus,” Carrie happily greeted Harley and Pam. “And…” she cocked her head at Karen. “One’a these kids is doing its own thing.”

“Sorry,” Anthony stepped in. “Carrie, this is Karen. Carrie is my—,”

“Cousin?” Karen guessed.

“No, my lesbian Bizarro.” Anthony informed.

“I’m not—I’m not a lesbian,” Carrie assured Karen as Anthony walked past her into the house…until she got a critical look from Pam and quickly corrected: “I mean, I wish! I wish I was a lesbian!”

Jo laughed, pulling Karen inside with her, Harley following with a smile. Pam was last, and she leaned in as she passed her, whispering, “I’d prefer not to be defined by my relationship, Caroline. How about we try ‘Pamela’?”

Carrie swallowed. “Y—yes, Ma’am.”

Smirking, Pam patted her fondly on the head before continuing into the first room, navigating the tedious floor lay-out in hopes of eventually arriving at the kitchen. When she did, Selina was leaning over the oven, wearing an apron with what appeared to be Catwoman’s body printed on it.

“Jesus, took you long enough,” Selina said when she noticed her. “Thought you guys were gonna flake for a second.”

“Yes, well…we had an unexpected visitor.” Pam told her.

“If Jo’s pregnant…”

Pam scoffed, coming to sit down at the long kitchen island. “Fortunately, her body treats foreign substances—such as sperm—as an invader, and combats it much like the typical human immune system would handle bacteria.”

That took a moment to sink in. “So…just to recap…” Selina began, “your kid is pissed at you because she feels like you’ve kept her from living a normal life…and now you’re telling me she can’t have kids either? When are you gonna drop that bomb on her?”

“Oh, no, she can have children,” Pam assured. “Just not by traditional means. She’ll need a fertilized embryo to be implanted by someone familiar with her unique physiology.”

Selina raised an eyebrow. “In other words: you?”

“Yes, correct.” Pam nodded. “If there were a science award for best parent, I think I’d be the clear front-runner.”

“That’s—you’re psychotic,” Selina realized.

“Mmm…that’s a three-syllable word for any thought too big for little minds,” Pam smiled. “Now, how inedible is your turkey?”

“What do you care? You don’t eat meat.” Selina reminded her.

Pam waited, her brow arched expectantly, watching Selina’s concentration.

Eventually, the brunette sighed, defeated. “I know there’s a gay joke in there somewhere. Just…imagine I made one, OK?”

“Fine,” Pam granted. “I’m offended. Now, are we ready to eat? I brought mashed potatoes and carrots and Karen brought…cheese.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Pam? Her name is Carrie. She’s your son’s best friend.”

“No, Karen is my son’s girlfriend and the unexpected visitor that delayed our arrival.” Pam informed her. “Now get that shit out of the oven. Perhaps my daughter will choke on it and we’ll all be better for it.”

Now it was Selina’s turn to wait, and the apology erupted out of Pam within five seconds: “I didn’t mean that! I love Jolene with all my heart and I don’t know what I’d do if—,”

“—Please leave this kitchen before you get your sap all over me.” Selina pointed to the door. “Ooh! There’s definitely a gay joke there…hold on…”

“Harley will appreciate the pun, at least.” Pam offered.

/

“So that’s…Batman.” Jo heard Karen whisper to Anthony.

“The former Batman,” Anthony corrected. “That ray of sunshine over there—his son…” he nodded at Damian. “Is the current Batman. Jo is Batgirl, they call Carrie ‘Oracle’, she’s the eye in the sky, basically has access to every camera in the city…that’s my Godmother, Barbara,” he nodded over at Babs, “former Batgirl and Batwoman, current Gotham City Chief of Police…and that’s her husband, Dick,” Karen’s eyes followed his nod. “Former Robin and Nightwing, now retired. And—uh—he scanned the table to see if he was missing anyone. “That’s Poison Ivy, but you already knew that…umm…Mom is the retired Batwoman, now she works as the team psychiatrist. I’m sure you can understand the need for one of those in this line of work…”

“And who’s that?” Karen asked, indicating Selina, who was nervously glancing at the turkey as Bruce carved it.

“Oh, that’s Catwoman.” Anthony chuckled. “Or, Aunt Selina, as we know her.”

Karen seemed confused. “The jewel thief?”

“Well…her skills are a bit more diverse, but yes.” Anthony acknowledged.

Karen frowned, still not totally getting it. “Why did the Bat-family invite a thief to dinner?…with the Chief of Police?”

“Because she’s married to Bruce,” Anthony quickly explained. “OK, well, not legally married, but they’ve been together in one form or another for the past—shit—hey Selina?” he raised his voice so that she could hear. “How old were you when you met Bruce?”

“Anthony Quinzel, where are your manners?” Selina demanded. “You never ask a woman’s age.”

“21.” Bruce answered for her. “And the answer to the question you didn’t ask that Selina’s already outraged about is ‘65’.”

Anthony did the math quickly, turning back to Karen. “So 44 years.”

Karen’s eyes were wide with disbelief, but Jo had to tune out the conversation when her phone buzzed in her pocket. “Idiot,” she mumbled as she typed a quick reply.

Jo cut into her turkey with gusto when it finally arrived, pouring a healthy portion of gravy over top. See, the thing about an accelerated metabolism is that you have to eat like all the time, and Jo decided she was hungry enough to brave a big bite of Selina’s turkey, which actually…wait a minute. “You gotta be kitten me right meow!” Jo exclaimed. “This is totally edible! No, good, actually!”

Selina broke out into a beaming grin. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jo smiled back, swallowing her first bite.

Damian silently nodded as he ate, but Jo thought she may have seen the corner of his lip curl up into a smirk for a moment when he caught sight of Selina’s flushed features.

This time, when Jo’s phone vibrated, her leg was pressed up against the wood of the table, so everyone heard it.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Jolene, don’t you think whoever that is can wait?”

“It’s Jason,” Jo murmured distractedly as she replied to the message.

“If he so desperately needed to speak with you, he should have been here.” Pam told her.

“Well…careful what you wish for,” Jo said, getting up and heading for the entrance. She opened the door to find Jason…clearly un-showered and still wearing his greasy work uniform under his leather jacket.

“What the fuck, Jay?” Jo hissed. “I told you to dress up.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” was his response…and she could smell liquor on his breath.

“Dude, are you fucking drunk right now?” Jo closed the door behind her, pushing him further back on the porch. “I told you this was important to me!”

“No,” he said, matter-of-factly, shoving her hand away from his chest. “I’m not drunk, I had a drink, and I didn’t dress up because I don’t really care.”

“Oh, you don’t care?” Jo laughed, mirthlessly. “Perfect. Do you care about me? Like—at all? Because you sure as shit sounded like you did last night.”

It took him a moment before the memories started coming back, evidently, but when they did, he looked apologetic. “Oh, yeah, sure I do, Baby…” he tried to wrap his arms around her waist, but she pushed them away, keeping him at arm’s length.

“Don’t even think about it, Jackass.” She warned. “I made one request, and it was that you show up presentable to meet my family for the first time. You’re better than this,” she reminded him before opening the door once more. “And this whole ‘me believing in you more than you believe in yourself’ bullshit is getting tiresome. I’m 16. It’s ridiculous that you’re asking me to be the adult here.”

“I’m not asking you to—,”

“—Yeah, that’s right, your behavior requires it.” She snapped. “And now I sound like my mother, so congratulations.”

“At least you have a mother…” he mumbled, starring down at his shoes.

Ugh! “Fine.” Jo rejoined. “If I, or if this relationship means anything to you—Actually, you know what? I’ll raise the stakes. If you ever want to see me naked again, you’re going to zip up your jacket, walk inside, and smile for my parents. Please.”

Jason rolled his eyes, complying with her request and zipping up his jacket. “Maybe I have a mom after all…”

Jo chose to ignore that comment, leading him inside and back to the dining room. She smiled once the table was in sight. “Guys…” she got everyone’s attention. “This is my not-boyfriend-for-legal-purposes, Jason. Jason…” she waited for him to catch up before taking his hand in hers. “This is my Aunt, my Uncle, my Brother, his might-be-girlfriend, my Godmother, my Godfather, my Mama, and—,”

Pam was studying Jason with a critical gaze. “Is he inebriated?”

So she noticed. Great. This is getting off to a great start. I’ve got a good idea! How about we make it worse?… “And that’s my older sister, umm, Penelope.” She indicated Pam. “And her husband, Damian.” Jo decided to punish him as well for the look of disgust on his face. “They’re extremely happily married. Like…can’t get enough of each other. Have lots of sex because Penelope is attracted to men. Obviously. Just…loves them. Their bodies and all their parts.”

Pam snatched her hand away from Harley’s, which she’d clearly been holding below the table, looking thoroughly pissed off.  

“She’s also a dolphin trainer at SeaWorld,” Jo added, just for good measure. “Go ahead, Penelope. Tell Jason about the dolphins.”

If Jason thought there was something weird going on, he didn’t let on, instead just pulled the empty chair away from the table and sat down, his eyes trained on Pam.

After glaring at Jo for another moment, Pam slowly turned her attention to Jason, and calmly began: “Their penises are retractable and have incredible dexterity. Picture…I don’t know…a monkey’s tail.”

Harley was clearly biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Male dolphins have been known to wrap them around the legs of human women and drag them to the bottom of their enclosure where they then forcibly—,”

“Alright!” Anthony said, a nervousness to his tone. “Enough about the dolphins, Penelope.”

Pam shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s a truly fascinating subject.”  

/

When Jo announced Jason would be leaving after dinner (news that seemed to surprise him), Selina’s first reaction was to wonder if he was fit to operate a motor vehicle. She thought maybe she should call him a cab, but ultimately decided not to on the grounds that she didn’t really care one way or the other. So she just waved goodbye when Jo walked him out.

Pam was glowering in the corner, likely wishing she could get drunk, Harley was well on her way there, and Karen was sitting next to Selina, watching the scene with a slightly anxious curiosity.

Anthony came up behind Pam and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, smiling as he said: “Cool your jets, Miss Piss. We already have our designated grumpy goose for the day.”

Slowly, a begrudging smile crept onto Pam’s lips. “You used to have the best grumpy face…” she told him.

“The best.” Harley seconded. “A pouty lip in my own image.”

Anthony laughed, walking a few big steps backwards and taking Pam with him, pulling her in from the outskirts of the conversation.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it,” Selina murmured.

“…John 1:5?” Karen asked.

“Mhm…” Selina nodded. “That’s Ivy, I think—if you’re sitting here trying to figure them out.” She told her. “She’s so angry and powerful, and there is a sickness in her, that’s for sure. A twistedness. But—as soon as a light is introduced, whether it be Harley or Anthony or even Jo holding it…it will always shine through.”

“And what about Anthony?” Karen wondered. “What’s his darkness?”

“Mmm…” Selina collected her thoughts on the subject. “I think…he just wants to be a good man. For her…” they watched him pull Pam down onto the couch next to Harley. “And for them…” Selina smiled. “And for you, and for me, and for Jo…there’s a lot of pressure on him—the first man that Poison Ivy ever loved…it’s a big responsibility.” She glanced over at Karen. “I don’t know anything about your relationship, but the fact that you asked me leads me to believe there’s some doubt…”

“So?” Karen prompted. “What’s the verdict?”

Selina shrugged. “I don’t see the woman—whomever she may be—who ultimately chooses him regretting it. So, if that happens to be Karen Beecher…then lucky you.”

/

“Alright…maybe you should slow down a bit on the wine,” Pam suggested. “Or—you know—stop altogether. Yeah, I think that’s what I’m going to suggest,” she leaned over to take the glass from Harley’s hand and set it on the coaster.

The blonde made a weak protest, but was spread out in such a fashion over Pam’s lap that she didn’t exactly have the best leverage. So, ultimately, she forfeited, watching as her wife took it away.

“I’m jus’ try’na get drunk enough for the both of us,” Harley defended herself. “Cuz Jo’s so meeeeaaannn! So mean to you, Pam-e-love.”

Pam bit her lip at the new nickname, hoping she wasn’t blushing.

“And it—it makes me so sad, ya know? Cuz she’s our baby and stuff and she’s got the best cheek that I jus wanna squish! And it makes me sooooo mad because I know that guy! That’s exactly the sorta guy that I’d be shakin’ up with…”

The redhead laughed. “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Harley doubled down. “’Member when she was a baby? She was such a happy baby…”

“No she wasn’t,” Pam laughed again, setting the record straight. “She was an awful baby. She cried all night, every night. You just weren’t there.”

This fact deeply saddened Harley. “I was jus’ too busy bein’ awesome, I guess.” Her Gotham accent was back in full force.

“Yes, that’s why…” Pam pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Stop it,” Harley giggled, pushing her face away. “You don’t wanna kiss me.”

Pam raised an eyebrow, amused. “And why’s that?”

Harley’s cheeks were bright red. “Cuz, you’re like…really sexy n’ stuff. Sexy like a sex machine.” She hid her face in her hands. “Why would you wanna kiss an old lady?”

“Mmm…because there’s this one old lady who I happen to really like,” Pam smiled, placing a kiss on the fingers that covered her wife’s forehead.

“Who?” Harley asked, her words coming out muffled.  

Pam bit down on her finger to stop herself from laughing again. “Well…she’s sitting on my lap…”

Harley ripped her hands away, affronted, her eyes furiously scanning the couch before they found her own legs. “Oh,” her smile was sheepish. “It’s me, huh?”

“Oh my God!” Selina sat up in her armchair. “How drunk are you? Seriously.”

“Oof,” Harley snuggled her face into the crook of Pam’s neck. “Super waster to the max. Hey!” she suddenly looked over at Selina. “You guys think I could pull off a late-life-crisis? It’s sorta like a mid-life-crisis but age appropriate for ladies like us. Cept for Pammy, she doesn’t get to join our knitting club, Kitty.”

“Ugh,” Selina observed her with something between disgust and amusement. “Is that what I used to sound like?”

“No,” Pam assured her. “You were infinitely more unpleasant. At least this is relatively endearing.”

“Bitch, I am hella endearing!” Harley caviled. “So, anyway…” she immediately calmed down. “I was thinkin’ maybe I’d dye my hair.”

“Please don’t,” Pam and Selina said in unison.

“Nah, come on! Half and half! It’ll look funky and cool,” Harley told them.

“’Funky’ and ‘cool’ haven’t been synonyms since 1979,” Selina informed her.

“Pfft, whatever, Kitty,” Harley snorted, waving her off. “You’re just a party pooper, is all. Love is supporting her choices,” she said. “And Pammy loves me, really.”

“Are you the ‘her’ in this scenario?” Pam wondered.

“How bout I just dye the tips?” Harley pleaded. “Red, white and blue. For America!”

Both Selina and Pam were laughing at this point. “That’s a terrible idea,” the brunette told her.

“Really?” Harley seemed legitimately surprised. “I think it’ll be real classy. The hate game in here is strong.”

/

Jo sat in the hallway, behind a suit of armor, watching Harley drunkenly ramble on about things there was no way she’d remember saying the next day.

“Stupid…” she mumbled, an odd mixture of guilt and jealously thrashing around in the pit of her stomach.

“Just a suggestion…” Jo jumped at the sound of Damian’s voice, hitting her head on the metal above her. “Don’t make decisions solely to piss off your parents,” he continued on like nothing had happened, handing her a slice of pumpkin pie. “Oh—and don’t bring that asshole into my house again.”

Chapter Text

“Well, I don’t really care,” Jo said as she stomped up the stairs, Pam hot on her trail. “It’s not up to you anymore. I’m 18, I’ve got a job—my life, my choice.”

“Well it’s a stupid fucking choice!” Pam yelled, following her into her bedroom, which was partly packed up in boxes.

“I don’t care!” Jo whipped around. “I don’t have to care about your opinions anymore. I’m sorry you don’t like him, but you screaming at me right now isn’t going to change my mind.”

“You don’t even like him!” Pam forcefully reminded her. “It’s one thing to want to attend a community college rather than a university—there, that was a choice that I respected, you laid out your reasoning with intelligence, and I understand: your life goals are different than mine or your Mother’s were, or Anthony’s are. But don’t try to act like this decision has anything to do with you and Jason.”

“Who the fuck else would it have to do with?” Jo demanded. “I’m moving in with him, Mom!”

“No, you’re moving away from me and into a situation that I have made very clear I disapprove of,” Pam corrected. “And why? Why is it you despise me so thoroughly? What could I have done differently? Because it feels to me like I checked all the fucking boxes. I encouraged you to set goals, we loved you every day, reaffirmed your intelligence, taught you to be a capable young woman, allowed you to be an individual, allowed you to push back and be angry with us when you needed to, gave you space when you asked for it, pulled you close when you required comforting…there are few children who have been given more opportunities in this life than you, Jolene, and yet, every olive branch I offer you spit and stomp on.”

“Ugh! Don’t you get it? This is exactly why!” Jo screamed, quickly approaching hysterics. “You don’t fucking listen! It’s not about me, it’s about you, it’s always about you, and so when I set a goal that I told you over and over again I wanted to achieve, you didn’t care! You didn’t care because it didn’t have anything to do with you! Instead, you fucking gaslighted me for 10 goddamn years and then nullified all my victories and accomplishments in one fell swoop! Just—ripped the fucking floor out from under me!” she grabbed one of her trophies off of her desk and snapped it in two over her knee. “Meaningless, all of it. But, hey, at least my cancer’s in remission now, right?” she tossed the broken plastic into her garbage bin in the corner.

“Pamela,” Harley’s voice was calm from the open doorway. “Let her go.”

“I’m not going to—no! I’m not going to let her go!” Pam couldn’t believe her wife was siding with their daughter on this. “This is a mistake; anyone can see that. Anyone whose head isn’t shoved up their ass, that is. Why would I just willingly let her make a mistake?”

Harley shrugged, moving into the room and beginning to pack Jo’s clothes away into one of the empty boxes. “Because she’s going to do it anyway. And maybe this way, when she realizes what a colossal, asinine mistake she’s made, maybe she’ll come back to us.” She shoved the box into Jo’s arms. “I’m trying my best not to burn bridges.”

Jo snatched the box and started back down the stairs, leaving Pam and Harley alone.

“Harleen—,” Pam’s tone was pleading. “We can’t—please, this isn’t right.”

Harley sighed, moving forward to brush Pam’s hair out of her face. “Babe, unless you want to lock her in the basement, we’re sort of out of options. She’s right, she’s 18…really not much we can do.”

“Why are you so fine with this?” Pam wanted to know.

“Oh, is that what it looks like?” Harley asked. “Yeah, no, I’m not fine. Like…not even a little bit. I’d like nothing more than just to go around smashing shit with a hammer right now…but it is what it is, and my mistakes led me to you, so…maybe she’ll get lucky.”

Pam buried her face in her hands, pressing her palms into her eye sockets. “Our daughter is an idiot,” she mumbled.

“Lord,” Harley flopped down on the bed. “You can say that again.”

/

Anthony looked up from his computer when a box was dropped in front of him.

“Happy anniversary,” Karen said, sitting down across from him at the table.

Anthony raised a suspicious eyebrow, “Bee, our anniversary was two months ago and you forgot it.”

“Fine, happy belated anniversary,” Karen corrected, grinning. “Now will you open it, please?”

Anthony could see that she was excited, giddy, even, which wasn’t exactly typical, so he studied the box carefully. Rectangular in shape, the box was white with a red ribbon tied around it. “You mean this?” he teased. “This is what you want me to open?”

“You’re gonna feel like a real dick when you figure out what it is,” Karen smirked, getting her phone out of her pocket and aiming the camera towards him. “Now come on, let’s see it.”

“Is it…my finished thesis?” He asked, pulling the ribbon off. “Because that would be ideal.”

Karen giggled. “No…”

“Why are you recording me?” he laughed.

“For your Mom, she asked me to,” she explained.

“Which one?”

“Ivy for Harley—it doesn’t matter! Just open the damn box!” Karen had crossed into anxious by this point.

“Alright, alright, damn,” he snickered, pulling the lid off the box…and then his smile immediately melted away. “Karen…?”

“Yeah?” she giggled, the camera shaking a bit in her hand.

“Are you…are you serious right now?” He asked, tears gathering in his eyes as he pulled the positive pregnancy test out of the box.

“Why would I joke about this?” she laughed. “That would be a pretty cruel, wouldn’t it?”

“Well yeah, but—,” he wiped his tears away. “I just—I didn’t know that I could, even…”

“Ivy’s been helping me,” Karen admitted. “She came up with a fertility medication because I figured, if I’m not going to marry you, we may as well get the rest of our lives on track.”

“You—a baby?” his language skills devolved as he stared down at the plus sign on the display.

“No, I’m not a baby,” she laughed. “We’re having a baby.”

“But…but Doom Patrol,” he reminded her with a stutter. “They need you! They need—you can’t be a pregnant superhero. What about your career? What about—are you sure this is what you want?”

“Hey, superheroes get maternity leave too,” Karen chided. “And yes, I’m sure.”

“Ha, I can’t believe this is really happening,” he ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling. “And, Mom!” he turned to the camera. “You asshole, you were in on it?”

“Hey, but Harley wasn’t, so no cussing on the video,” Karen scolded.

“The only person with a dirtier mouth than Ma is Jo,” Anthony laughed, getting up from the table and wrapping Karen up in his arms. “I really don’t think she’ll mind.”

“Fair enough,” Karen grinned as she shut the camera off, setting her phone down on the table so that she could hug him back. “I’m excited,” she whispered.

Anthony’s smile was euphoric as he turned his head to kiss her on the cheek. “I love you.”

/

“This your Mom’s or your sister’s?” Jason asked, kicking the wheel of the car as Jo pulled into the parking structure.

“It’s mine,” she said, getting out and slamming the driver’s door behind her. “A graduation present from my uncle. Something you would have known if you’d bothered to come.”

“That was like four months ago,” Jason reminded her. “You need to quit beating that dead horse. I told you something came up.”

“Something always come up,” Jo ridiculed, yanking the back door open and grabbing the first of maybe 6 boxes from inside.

Jason proceeded with caution. “Are you—uh—are you on your…you know…”

“Dude,” Jo wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream. “Are you 25 years old and incapable of uttering the word ‘period’?”

“Well I was gonna say ‘on the rag’, but I figured that might be insensitive, so…you’re welcome,” he told her.

“Yes, thank you, oh gracious Master Jason,” she bowed in front of him. “Such sensitivity you exhibit.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Alright, Yoda. You want any help?”

“Umm…yeah,” now she was laughing, but not exactly thanks to a humorous situation, it sounded much more panicked than someone who was actually enjoying themselves. “I assumed that was implied.”

It took 30 minutes for them to get everything inside, mostly because the walk from the parking structure to the Jason’s apartment building—to their apartment building wasn’t exactly brief. Actually, it was about four blocks. Jo had never bothered to ask what the deal was as she usually took the bus over or got a ride on Jason’s motorcycle, and he was able to park that out front.

“And just for the record,” Jolene started their previous conversation up again as she set down the last box on the table. “Women can be in a bad mood for reasons besides menstruating.”

“So what is all this stuff?” Jason asked, ignoring her and plopping down on the couch, pulling a box over and slicing open the lid with a knife he had in his pocket.

“I don’t know, my stuff,” Jo leaned against the counter. “Clothes and…stuff.” #SoEloquent. “Did you clear out some drawers for me?”

“Yeah, two.” He nodded towards the bedroom as he picked through a box filled entirely with gym clothes. “You sure do work out a lot…”

“Yes,” Jo acknowledged. “And you’re grateful for that.”

“And I’m grateful for that,” he repeated with a snicker, moving on to the next box. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting one of her gymnastics medals out and holding it up for her to identify. “This whole box is full of them.”

Jo turned to the sink to pour herself a glass of water, saying: “Just some shit I used to be a lot prouder of.”

He was silent behind her, but she could hear the sound of the metal and plastic clinking together. “You won all these?”

“That I did,” Jo exhaled before gulping down her water in its entirety (and making a mental note to buy a filter). She turned around to find Jason standing near the wall, the box at his feet. “Under the sink there’s a tool box, grab me the hammer, will ya?”

Jo complied, bending over to open the cabinet and digging through the tool box a moment, tossing aside various screw drivers, a wrench or two and a crowbar, before finally locating the hammer and walking it over to him. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna hang these up,” he answered like it was obvious.

“Why?” Jo repeated, nonplussed.

Jason shrugged. “Well I’ve never won anything…figured we should have something to brag about around here.”

/

Harleen grinned giddily down at her pasta, well aware that she likely looked ridiculous, but too excited to control herself.

“You’re scaring the pasta, Darling,” Pam intoned from across the table.

“Yeah, but—Pam,” she looked to where her wife was picking at her salad with notable melancholy. “But hey, Pam. Hey, but, Pam.”

The redhead slowly raised her gaze, likely realizing Harley wouldn’t stop until she was acknowledged. “Yes?”

“Two words: Interracial. Grandbaby.” Harley spelled it out for her. “I mean—it’s basically gay Christmas.”

That comment seemed to confuse Pam. “Do gays celebrate a different—,”

“I think it’ll be a boy,” Harley decided. “And he will be very cute and round.”

Pam’s frown deepened. “Why do you think it’ll be a boy?”

“Because girls are terrible and I hate them,” Harley answered quickly. “But then again, I did an awesome job raising you, so…”

“Knock it off.”

“My little Penelope,” Harley cooed, leaning across the table to squeeze Pam’s cheek. “All grown up.”

“Stop it,” Pam smacked her hand away. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Harley tried to stifle a giggle as the waiter returned.

“Good evening, Ladies,” he smiled. “How is the night treating you?”

“Oh, just fantastic,” Harley answered before Pam had a chance to shoo him away. “My daughter here is in town for a forensic pathologist’s conference and kindly invited me—her mother—out for a quick bite to eat. Speaking of which, young man, would you kindly bring us a dessert menu? Penelope here has a terrible sweet tooth, but when in Rome, right? Or—when in Gotham, I suppose.”

“Forensic pathologist, huh?” the waiter crossed his arms, smirking, and…yeah, Harley no longer existed. “Aren’t you a little too pretty to be smart? I mean—that’s just unfair.”

“Mmm…” Pam winced, shaking her head. “I hate that line.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect,” he chuckled, before his brow furrowed when he noticed Pam clenching and unclenching her fist. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“They’re just sore,” Pam’s smile was cloyingly sweet. “See, when a corpse comes into the morgue, typically the second step in an autopsy after performing the y-incision is to crack the ribs so that I can access the chest cavity. The instrument I use is not unlike a pair of bolt-cutters, or...say…gardening shears. And having to break each rib individually can be rather trying on my poor, delicate, feminine ligaments. Afterwards, of course, comes organ removal, each being extracted with surgical precision and then weighed individ—,”

“—I’m sorry, Ma’am,” the waiter interrupted, suddenly turning to Harley. “I’ll grab you that menu.”

Harley smiled after him as he scampered away from their table. “I think you might’a scared him off…”

“Ya don’t say,” Pam mocked. “And will you please stop introducing me as your daughter? It’s not a fun game.”

“Sure it is,” Harley laughed. “That poor boy…how old do you think he is? Anthony’s age?”

“This isn’t helping make the situation any less creepy.”

/

“Goddamn, you’re an ugly motherfucker, aren’t’cha?” Jo laughed at the—seriously, what the hell is that? She had to duck when the animal took a swipe at her. “An ugly motherfucker with claws, copy that. Uh—hey, guys?” She clicked on her communication device as she, again, dodged one of the animal’s paws, sprinting away and clearing the fence into the park, hoping it would follow.

And yeah, it definitely did.

“Guys?! Carrie?!”

She could feel the ground shake behind her with each of its steps, and it was quickly closing in, the stench of its breath somehow reaching her nostrils even at the speed she was moving.

Turning quickly, Jo whipped a batarang at it, and the animal yowled as the weapon sliced a gash in its shoulder.  

“Yeah, Batgirl, you’re coming through loud and clear,” Jo heard Carrie’s voice in her ear. “What’s up?”

“I’m heading into Robinson Park with a—shit—I don’t even know what! A fucking hyena in pursuit.” Jo said, sliding under a log into the creek basin and starting up the opposite bank. “He’s fast and big and I just thoroughly pissed him off.”

“I’ll send Damian your coordinates.”

“No need, I’ve already got them,” Damian’s voice sounded unduly calm.

“Then why aren’t you—ah!” Jo yelped at the feeling of sharp claws digging into her calf muscle. He got in deep enough to stop all of her forward momentum, and before she knew it, she was on the ground, her face in the mud.

Twisting, she slammed her heal down on his paw, forcing him to retract his claws and giving her enough time to throw another batarang. The position was awkward, but even side-arm, she was able to get enough velocity on it that it broke the animal’s skin, sinking into the center of its chest.

It yowled again, and Jo rolled away as it swiped wildly at her. By the time she was on her feet, the monster was on the ground, Damian standing over it, wrenching its arms behind its back and pressing the animal harder into the ground with his heel, forcing the batarang further into its chest.

Spitting the mud out of her teeth, Jo plucked the rope off of Damian’s utility belt and used it to bind the animal’s wrists (as she didn’t trust normal handcuffs could hold it).

As soon as Jo was done with that, she shot up and punched Damian in the chin (being that it was the only patch of bare skin she could find). “What the fuck, dude?! Really took your sweet-ass time getting over here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I late?” Damian asked, his tone pointed as he subtly adjusted his jaw. “Sounds familiar.”

“W—are you serious?” Jo couldn’t believe it. “Dude, I was 10 minutes late tonight and I fucking apologized! So you decided to punish me by letting me get chased down by whatever he fuck that abomination is?! What kind of a psychotic, Anal retentive motherfucker—,”

“Woof.” Damian intoned.

“I—I’m sorry?”

“That’s its name,” he explained. “He was a criminal whose DNA was spliced with that of a hyena.”

“That’s…I think that’s maybe the worst name I’ve ever heard,” she realized, glancing at the animal below their feet.

“Yes, well, the procedure seems to have significantly blunted his intelligence,” Damian informed her, grabbing the rope and yanking the animal up to its feet.

“OK, well—we’ll get back to you later,” she smacked Woof in the back of the head, following as Damian dragged it down the bank and through the stream. “You let your petty frustrations endanger my life, Batman. That’s not teamwork. In fact, it confirms my suspicions that you make a piss-poor team leader. You’re a selfish prick, you know that?”

“If you can’t take down a villain named ‘Woof’ by yourself then you don’t deserve to wear that symbol, Batgirl.” Damian told her. “And clearly you’re fine, so how about you demonstrate a little self-esteem and quit letting brutish imbeciles of inferior intelligence walk all over you.”  

“You know…I’m beginning to think this isn’t about Woof at all, or about me being late.” Jo realized. “This is about why I was late, isn’t it?”

“What you do on your own time is—,”

“—Oh, shut up. You just told me I’m not an idiot,” Jo reminded him. “So quit treating me like one. I’m fine. I can take care of myself. But, hey—maybe you and Ivy should get married. You’d have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m sorry—did you not just punch me in the face for not helping you when you asked for it?” Damian feigned confusion.

“’When I ask for it’ is the key phrase there, Batman. Don’t overstep.”

Chapter Text

Jason sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time—again.

He could still make it over to the gym to pick Jo up from work in time to catch the movie…he just wouldn’t have time to take a shower or change.

Or Jo could drive herself over to the theater and he could go home to take a shower instead, then meet her.

I’ll ask her, he thought, opening up a blank text message before reconsidering. No, just tell her.

He was beginning his message confirming he’d be there to pick her up when the door opened behind him and Paris Franz strode in.

“Jason, my man.”

And what Jason wouldn’t have given to punch that slimy smile off his face… “Franz,” he nodded with all the false respect he could muster.

“I’m a very busy man, Mr. Todd. You should know that,” he sat back on his desk, grabbing his stress ball and squeezing it in the palm of his hand. “So what can I do for you? Whatever it is, I hope it will be worth my while.”

“I need a job,” Jason said quickly, trying to be mindful of the time. “I can go back to bouncing, that’s fine, I just need to supplement my income a bit.”

Paris raised an eyebrow. “Found yourself a nasty habit?” He chuckled. “What is it? You into that new synthetic shit?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Jason straightened his jacket. “I’ve just got a girl living with me now and my place is a dump. I’m looking for an upgrade.”

“On the girl or the place?” Paris laughed. “I guess a little extra income could get you both.”

“Nah,” I think we’re at like maximum upgrade there. “You know that girl you always see Damian Wayne with on the gossip rags?”

“Mmm…” Paris narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Ginger?”

Strawberry blonde. “Yeah, that’s my girl.”

Paris laughed. “I’m gonna be honest with you here, Man: that’s fucking wack. She must be seriously fucked in the head. But, hey, you know what they say about the crazy ones…”

“Yeah, I need a job, Franz. That’s why I’m here.” Jason snapped. “You got something for me or what?”

“OK, OK, struck a nerve there,” Paris chuckled, putting his hands up to keep Jason at arm’s length should he choose to punch him. “Yeah, you can bounce, but we’ve adopted some new policies since you left.”

“Like…?” Jason prompted.

Paris circled around his desk, typing a code that opened the safe in the wall behind it. “Like these,” he said, tossing Jason what looked like a credit card sleeve. “Your quota is $2,500 a week. Athletes—high school and collegiate—are your main targets, but if you’re going to sell them at the club, do it out back. The goal is to keep this looking like a legitimate business.”

“What are they?” Jason asked, emptying the contents of the small package into his palm. “Nicotine patches?”

“We call them Slappers,” Paris told him, sitting back in his chair. “They’ll help you feel like a man again.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well…” Paris put his feet up on the desk and leaned back. “6 years ago you came in here and told Cobblepot you were done with this whole scene. Gave some ‘honest man’ speech, thanked us for our time, walked out…and yet, here you are…back in this office…” there was something cruel in his smile. “She must be incredible in the sack.”

Do people even say that anymore? “Your point?”

“You seem a little whipped, my friend, that’s all,” he shrugged. “Might do you some good to assert some dominance.”

God, he’s such a fucking prick. “Thanks for the relationship advice, Cosmo,” Jason gritted, standing up. “Just give me something to sign and I’ll start tomorrow.”

--

Jo was standing in the lobby of the gym discussing something of seemingly great importance when Jason pulled up.

She didn’t hear him, and he didn’t have a horn to honk, so he sighed, shutting off the bike and setting his helmet down before heading inside.

“—heat, ice, shoulder rotations,” Jo was saying to a girl Jason guessed was about 12. “Whatever you have to do to come in fresh tomorrow—make it happen. Practice makes perfect and you’re far from perfect on the bars.”

“It’s because my wrist still hurts!” the girl defended herself.

“That cast came off three months ago and I’ve been working with you on grip ever sense,” Jo told her, her tone stern. “You’re afraid your wrist will hurt, or you’re afraid you’ll get hurt again—look, I get it, it’s a totally rational fear, but visualizing that stuff, obsessing over it—that’s just going to increase the likelihood it happens again. You want to get back in rotation, right?”

“Well…yeah,” the girl mumbled, staring down at her sneakers.

“Alright, good,” Jo smiled. “We want to get you back in there too, but we can’t move forward until you have.”

“Hey,” Jason stepped in, haste in his tone, as that conversation seemed somewhat finished.

Jo nearly jumped out of her skin, but placed her hand over her heart when she saw it was him. “Jesus Christ, Jay,” she laughed. “You scared the crap outta me.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and the girl began to giggle.

“Coach, is that your boyfriend?”

“Darn it, you’ve picked up on our incredibly subtle clues,” Jo teased. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for bar warmups.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the girl grinned, waving her off. “Coach’s got a boyfriend, coach’s got a boyfriend.”

“Yes, it’s quite the scandal,” Jo acknowledged as the girl stole one more look at Jason before snickering and walking out the front door. “She’s cute,” Jo smiled, turning to him. “And 12, so if you’re looking to trade me in for a younger model…”

Jason sighed. “Should’a seen that one coming.”

“Here,” Jo handed him the duffle bag that was slung over her shoulder. “There’s a change of clothes in there for you, figured you might be late so I thought I’d cover all our bases.”

“What is it?” he asked, cautiously eyeing the bag as he took it from her.

“Jeans and a t-shirt. When have you ever worn anything else? Now hurry up and change,” she shooed him towards the restrooms. “The previews are my favorite part.”

--

Jason had been working for Franz a week when he first saw someone actually use a Slapper.

He was a big guy naturally, one of the other bouncers on Jason’s shift. The guy was tired, he’d been working since the sun went down and it was nearly sun-up at this point. So he reached into his pocket and pulled out his stash—the product he was supposed to sell—and slapped one of that patches onto his arm.

“Hey, Man,” Jason got his attention, “if you wanna piss Franz off, don’t do it around me. Getting shot in an alley isn’t how I’m planning to go out.”

“How am I supposed to recommend the product to my costumers of I can’t vouch for it myself?” the bouncer asked, wincing slightly as the veins in his forearm below the patch pulsed.

…In another two weeks, Jason tried one himself.

Franz had asked him to take a guy out back…and Jason just happened to know this guy had ties to a whore house down in Central Gotham…one that specialized in trafficked minors. Jason wasn’t super into that. And—for the record—he didn’t exactly know Jo was 15 when they first hooked up. She seemed older, looked older…he’d just assumed she was a senior. Sure, he probably should have shut it down when he got the full picture…but he liked her, and she acted relatively mature, so—fuck it, I don’t have to explain myself, she’s 18 now anyway. Get off my ass.

Anyway, Jason had seen how people changed when they had a Slapper on. They got stronger, faster…angrier, sometimes…not that Jason needed any help with that, but the truth was, he was tired too. Working from 8 until 5 every day, and then going back to work at night was killing him. But it would all be worth it, eventually. He could just picture Jo’s stupid, happy, impressed expression on the day that Jason would hand her the keys to their new house. Yeah, that’s right, a fucking house. And then her sister would stop calling every two seconds or shitting on him every time they were forced to be in the same room. God, he hated that bitch, she and her stupid, rich prick of a husband. Why Jo was pictured with Damian more than his wife was, Jason had no idea, he guessed dolphin training was a time consuming profession.

So Jason yanked the guy outside, throwing him onto the ground before reaching into his pocket. With a deep breath that he tried to keep as subtle as possible, he dipped into his supply.

It hurt, a bit, at the application site. The skin tingled and burned while his veins pulsed, drinking in whatever sort of poison was in that shit.

Jason had kicked somebody’s teeth in before, but he’d never literally curb-stomped a guy…that was a new and interesting experience…but Franz tipped him for the extra damage, so everything ended up working out alright.

That morning, after his shift, he somehow still had energy. In fact, he might have even classified his mood as “good”, so he dropped by the store on his way home and picked up a box of chocolates for Jo that he had to force himself not to eat while he waited for her to get back from her morning coaching session.

“Fuck, I am starving,” she said as she opened the front door. “I know I have to go shopping, but do we have—like—any food? Any at all?” she tossed her keys onto the counter and her bag onto the couch. “Did I mention I hate adulting?”

“Yeah, once or twice, maybe,” he held up the chocolates for her.

“Wha—are you shitting me right now?” she asked, taking the box from his hand. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to open this and just find a bunch of wrappers.” She shook it, and her face lit up with a happy grin. “Heart chocolates at 7am? What did I do to deserve you, my prince?”

He shrugged casually, “I don’t know—but…I know how you can repay me…” he pulled her down onto his lap.

“Fine, fine,” she nodded, leaning down to kiss him. “But can I eat the chocolates first? Or during, if I have to?”

“Can you just give me like 10 minutes?” Jason asked.

“So…what you’re saying is I get chocolate instead of an orgasm.” she looked disappointed.

“If you shut up and let me get started, you can have both.”

“Hooray!” Jo cheered.

--

Jo was funny. And not just ‘funny ha ha’, like…funny in the head, maybe. That’s something Jason learned about her after she moved in.

She was chaotic…but that fact seemed to stress her out. She didn’t like doing the dishes or cleaning the house, but when it wasn’t done, it made her uncomfortable. She’d glance at the mess and tap her foot nervously until she finally caved…but then she would still manage to half-ass it.

This is the type of shit Jason had never cared to notice before, but his diet of one Slapper per day was helping him see more. Funny what a little extra energy can do for you.

Jo texted with her brother a lot…he and his girlfriend were having a baby, evidently, and he sent a lot of pictures. Ultra sound photos, pictures of the crib or the clothes he was buying, or his girlfriend’s growing stomach…Jo loved those. She showed every one to Jason with a beaming smile on her face. Honestly, he could really care less, but he tried his best to humor her because when he didn’t, she got pissed.

It wasn’t that Jo was an unhappy or an angry person by default, no…her typical setting was happy. Sarcastic and bitter, sure, but she didn’t seem to hate herself or hate her life…and she certainly didn’t seem to hate Jason, which was always a relief for him. No, Jo just had thin skin. She could go 0 to 60 in a millisecond and could hold a grudge like nobody’s business. They were similar in that way. Jason wasn’t as quick to anger, but he could hold onto it longer. Hold it over her head if he needed to.

Jo also made a point to talk to her Mom at least twice a week. Sometimes in person, sometimes on the phone…the only member of her family that she didn’t seem to talk to regularly was her sister, who—at the beginning—tried to get in touch with her more than the rest of them combined, and that always managed to throw off Jo’s mood. Recently, though, the calls had been coming less frequently. Which was better, Jason decided. Better for him and better for Jo.

She’d come home with a plant pretty soon after moving in. He didn’t know what kind, but it had red flowers and it sat by their bed when she slept. She always put it in the closet when they had sex, and when her sister would call, she’d pluck a petal off of it and crinkle it in her fingers, studying her hands as she did.

Yeah…Jo was funny…and a total bitch, but she typically ended up on his side, so what did he care? Not like he was any better. Well, he was slightly better on Slappers, that was for sure. Maybe even a decent boyfriend, actually. He sort of…liked coming home at the end of the day knowing there would be someone there who cared about him, despite what her family thought…she loved him enough to choose him—sometimes over them…and yeah, he didn’t want to get all sappy about it, but he liked this. He liked their life, he liked himself. Well, this version of himself, anyway.

The problem Jason was running into was that—like with anything else—his body seemed to be building up an immunity to what he was taking, so after a month, he was forced to up his Slapper consumption to two a day, and then eventually to three at the same time. He was tired otherwise, lethargic…and worst of all, he couldn’t get—umm—excited. Not without a Slapper…and then not without two…and not without three…or four…

And the rage he felt because of it was something he didn’t know how to bottle up inside. He was 25 years old! This shouldn’t be a problem! Besides that, he was going into his stash so often now that he was going to come up short of this month’s quota.

His fuse was short, his anger intense, and though he did his best to hide it from Jo, it was becoming impossible. Every sound, every color, every word...he couldn’t stand any of it. It was like everyone and everything had an ice pick that they were using to burrow through his ear…into his head…and they were hammering from the inside now. All day and all night.

That morning, he needed 5 just to get out of bed.

/

“Hey!” Jo greeted when she heard the front door slam shut. She was on her knees, her head buried under the sink, but she felt pretty confident it was Jason, and if not…she could probably kick their ass. Besides, they didn’t have anything cool to steal, so she wasn’t sure why anyone would bother trying to rob them. “This sink won’t drain. Do we have any Drano or anything?”

“No,” yeah, that was Jason…and he didn’t sound super happy. Great. What else is new?

“OK,” Jo said, knocking on the pipe with the crowbar from the toolbox, trying her best to determine where it was clogging. “You think you could go out and get some before you head to work? I was gonna take a nap.”

“Don’t just fucking bang on it, you idiot,” Jason snarled.

“Well I’m sorry I’m not a licensed plumber, asshole,” Jo laughed, backing herself out and standing up, getting her first look at him since this morning. He seemed awfully…jittery, clenching and unclenching his fist, his jaw tight, his pupils dilated… “Are you alright?” she asked, somewhere between cautious and critical. “You look fucking insane right now.”

He moved suddenly, digging his fingers into her hips and shoving her against the sink, then moving in to kiss and bite her neck.

“Dude, what are you doing?” she laughed, attempting to push him away. “Look, Man, if you wanted to try again, that’s—ow! What are you, a fucking vampire?”

He grabbed her hands, forcing them down to her sides before pressing his body against hers and trying to plunge his hand down her jeans.

“Jay, knock it off!” she slapped him across the face. “Geez, I mean, I’m down for alotta shit, but buy a girl a drink first.”

His response was to grab her by the shoulders and slam her onto the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She’d never known him to be this strong, or this rough…or not to take a very clear ‘NO’ for an answer.

His breathing was labored and shallow, sweat had accumulated on his brow, and yeah, he did look insane, like a guy that belonged in a straitjacket up at Arkham Asylum.

“Jay! Jay, stop!” Jo was starting to panic at this point. It was like he couldn’t even hear her…and despite her training and her athleticism, she couldn’t get out of the hold he had her in either.

He grabbed her hands and yanked her arms above her head, pinning them to the ground so that he could rip the neck of her tank top down and expose her bra.

Anxious tears were gathering in Jo’s eyes as the attempted to free herself by thrashing her lower body. She couldn’t even see him anymore. He wasn’t even there. His gaze was crazed and blank and she had no idea what was going, but this was by far the most frightening experience of her life, even after 3 years of being Batgirl. “Get off of me!” she screamed.

Jason took one of his hands away from her arms to unbutton his pants, and despite his (currently) superior strength, her adrenaline helped her to wrench one of her arms free. Her hand closed around the only object she could reach, and she conked him on the head with it.

It was cold and metal and he grunted in pain when it made contact, so she swung again, connecting with his skull once more.

The second blow sent him into a daze, and in a moment, Jo had reversed their positions and swung 6 more times in rapid succession, each blow doing more damage.

She didn’t stop when she saw blood, or when it splashed onto her face, or when his eyeball began to come loose from its socket…It was when he stopped moving and twitching below her that her swings slowed before ultimately coming to a stop.

The only sound in the room was her breathing…and then the clanking of metal on the tile floor when Jo dropped the crowbar.

“What the fuck?” she whispered, hoarsely. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!” She scurried off of his body, backing herself into the corner of the room. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

She looked down at her bloodied hands and her breathing sped up again, tears spilling down her cheeks in her panic and confusion. When she blinked, her tears sprinkled her chest and she realized her shirt was still pulled below her bra. Sniffing, she yanked it up, almost vomiting when she braved another glance over at the body.

Her chest heaved as she sunk down to the floor, now unable to take her eyes off of the carnage splattered all over their kitchen, but her attention flew to the door when she heard it creak open.

“Jolene…”

Chapter Text

Pam quickly scanned the room, taking in her surroundings…the blood spatter on the cupboards…the body…and then Jolene, huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear.

“Jolene,” Pam spoke, her tone even, but soft. “It appears you made quite the mess.”

The girl scurried upwards to a standing position, and with tears streaming down her face said: “Mom, it’s not what it looks like!”

“Hm,” Pam squinted, giving the room another look over, slower this time. Noticing the bloodied crowbar and Jason’s sunken in skull, his absence of distinct facial features…Everything above his chin was now, essentially, an indistinguishable pile of human…mush. “It looks like you bashed your boyfriend’s head in with a crowbar.”

“Mom, I didn’t mean it,” Jo sobbed. “He—,”

“—attacked you.” Pam acknowledged. “Yes, I know. I saw. That’s…why I’m here, but it appears you did my work for me.”

“But I didn’t mean it!” Jo repeated, desperately, running forward and grabbing Pam by the lapels of her overcoat. “Mom, it was just like the dreams!” tears were still falling in a steady stream down her cheeks. “He was on top of me and I could feel him pressing into my stomach and I couldn’t move my arms and in the dreams I can never move—,” she buried her face in the soft fabric of Pam’s sweater. “I knew what he was gonna do, Mom,” her voice was muffled now, and Pam could already feel the salty liquid beginning to soak through onto her chest. “I’ve seen it happen a million times.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” Pam soothed, rubbing calming circles on Jo’s back as she held her.

“And I couldn’t stop,” Jo sniffed, her breathing becoming gradually more shallow until she was essentially hyperventilating. “My—heart—was—in—my—ears—and—I—was—so—scared,” she heaved.

“I know,” Pam reiterated, kindly, not letting her go. “I know exactly what that feels like.”

“Everything—was—fine—and—then—he—pushed—me—against—the—sink—,”

“Jo, Honey…how about you take a few deep breaths first.” Pam suggested, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead. “He’s not here anymore,” she murmured against her skin. “It’s just you and me.”

Jo took her Mother’s advice, even though it was clearly very difficult for her. Her rapid breaths were replaced by full body tremors and then shivers before she finally attempted to speak again. “He didn’t—he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t h—hurt me like that.”

“Well that’s a nice thought, Darling,” Pam granted. “But I find it’s difficult to trust a man who chooses to be with a 15-year-old girl.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jo sniffed. “He wasn’t like that. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t him.”

Pam wasn’t quite following, and Jo was likely in denial…but it felt so good to hold her again that Pam would have said almost anything to keep her in her arms. “Was he under the influence of an illicit substance?”

“No!” Jo rebuked separating slightly to look her in the eye. “No, he wouldn’t! His Mom overdosed right in front of him, he would never…”

And now she was contradicting herself. Pam sighed, using her sleeve to wipe the blood off of Jo’s cheek. “I think you should go home.”

“But—I am home,” Jo wiped the tears away from her eyes.

“Not anymore, Sweetpea,” Pam whispered, this time kissing her on the top of the head. “Go home and explain to your Mother what happened. I’m going to stay here and clean up.”

“You mean—like—Olivia Pope style?” Jo asked, her voice hoarse from crying.

“I have no idea who that is,” Pam told her. “Are you OK to drive?”

Jo nodded silently, wiping her nose. “I really didn’t mean to kill him.”

“I believe you,” Pam assured her, giving her daughter a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. “Now put that hoodie on and keep your head down, please.”

Jo did as she was told, taking one more look around the apartment and then down at the body before grabbing the aforementioned hoodie from the couch and pulling it on over her tank top.

“I blame myself, partially,” Pam sighed, kneeling down next to Jason’s body after Jo had left. “Or—I suppose it’s the first Jason who should shoulder the majority of it, seeing as it’s he who provided her the anxiety in the first place…” she studied the man below her, contemplating how best to handle his disposal. In the old days she would have just fed him to her pitcher plants…but the Justice League had taken those away on her first day out of Arkham 36 years ago and never given them back. Pity…

She supposed she’d have to disintegrate, or melt him down, like Selina did with Joker’s body all those years ago, meaning she’d have to transport him back to her lab.

Well, fine, Ivy sighed again, realizing that—anyway she sliced it—she had a long night ahead of her.

Hmm…dismembering him would make for easier transport…but goodness, that sounds exhausting.

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, smiling. “Why chop when you can pull?”

She searched through the pockets of Jason’s jeans. Men typically carry knives, right?

Her prize she found in his back pocket. The knife was small, but it seemed sharp enough to do the job.

A vine slithered down her thigh and Ivy watched as it exited through the skin of her ankle. Doing a quick measurement in her head, she stopped it once she felt it was at the appropriate length and bit down on the sleeve of her coat as she sawed through it.

Ivy repeated that process three more times before directing each length of vine into a separate corner of the room to search for something to anchor themselves on. She then instructed the free ends to choose the limb that corresponded to their position and secure themselves around a wrist or ankle.

“Oh, shoot,” Ivy supposed she should have stripped him naked first, that way she wouldn’t have to rip through skin, muscle, ligaments, tendons and fabric…

“Sincerest apologies, my darlings,” she exhaled. “Just give me one moment.”

They immediately obeyed, uncoiling themselves from his limbs and lying in wait as she yanked Jason’s jeans off, then his boxer shorts and jacket before electing to cut his long-sleeved t-shirt off rather than try to pull it over the crime scene that was his misshapen skull.

When he was finally naked, Ivy cocked her head curiously at the dark welts sprinkled over his forearms, biceps, pectoralis muscles…and then these raised portions on his Gluteus Medius and abdominal muscles…they looked a bit like—nicotine patches?

Ivy dug her fingernail under the edge of one and gently peeled it back, finding that it left an identical welt to the others that littered his body.

Huh…

She got up quickly, walking to the kitchen in search of a plastic baggie. Once she found one, she closed the patch inside and slipped the bag into the pocket of her jacket.

“Go ahead,” she told her vines, and they eagerly resumed their positions.

Pu—no wait!

Ivy took her own jacket off and laid it neatly over the back of a chair before pulling her sweater off as well, mumbling “I really should have brought some equipment”.

After a subtle groan, she bunched up the sweater and put it in her mouth, picking up the knife again and slicing down her wrists, then kneeling on the floor once more and placing her open wound on Jason’s shoulder and then hip joints.

His skin smoked as the poison began eating its way through.

Ivy exhaled, dropping the sweater from her mouth and wrapping it around her wrist (ruining perfectly good—and exorbitantly expensive—cashmere). “The things we do for our children…”

Pull.

/

“Where’s Jolene?” Bruce asked, watching Karen as she set up her presentation.

“Carrie?” Damian turned the question over to her.

“Target practice,” she told them. “Same as every night.”

“God—what the fuck is her problem?” Damian asked, getting up. “It’s clear we all hate her, but she didn’t used to be this mopey on top of it.”

“I don’t hate her,” Carrie dissented.

As did Bruce: “I don’t hate her.”

“She’s still trying to process her breakup,” Harleen revealed. “I’d suggest a little sensitivity.”

That was like a month ago, she needs to get over it. Damian started at a jog towards the training room where he watched her for a moment through the window before shutting down the simulator and stepping inside.

Jo’s immediate reaction was to spin around and whip a batarang at him. Damian ducked, and it sailed passed him, sticking in the wall behind him at eye level.

“You could have killed me just then,” he gritted, trying to get his heartrate under control.

“Al Ghuls always manage to dodge these things,” Jo said, tossing her utility belt aside. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

“I’m not an al Ghul,” Damian snapped. “I’m a Wayne.”

“I’m not an Isley, I’m a Quinzel!” Jo mocked. “It’s all the same difference. Now why the fuck did you end my simulation?”

“Because you’ve been down here for two hours and you’re the one who encouraged Bumblebee to take on this project in the first place,” Damian reminded her. “Now quit being a moody bitch because your boyfriend broke up with you and get changed.”

“I’m being a moody bitch because it’s my time of the month, and he did not break up with me,” Jo set the record straight.

Damian rolled his eyes. “I could really give a shit less about the specifics, Jo. Congratulations: you broke up with him. Now get upstairs.”

Jo took a sip from her waterbottle. “What do you know about Slappers?”

“Cheap steroid,” he told her, not totally sure why she felt the need to start this conversation right now. “But the market is oddly far-reaching. They seem to be selling them on the club circuit too. Why do you ask?”

“Well…what if I told you they weren’t cheap?” Jo asked. “And that—according to my Mom—Jason’s violent behavior the night he attempted to rape me and I killed him was likely due to an overdose of a very special ingredient that’s baked into those things.”

“Wait—you did what?”

“You heard me,” Jo intoned, somewhat casually. “He was wearing 5 Slappers when it happened. Now c’mon, you gonna guess the secret flavor or what? I’ll give you a hint—it took my Mom back to the good ole days.”

“Excuse me for needing a little time to process…” he trailed off as she leaned into his ear.

“Venom,” she whispered. “Bane’s venom.”

He pushed her away when her lips brushed against his ear. “Don’t Poison Ivy me. Just say ‘venom’ like a normal person.”

“Oh, you liked it,” Jo snorted, pushing past him and heading for the door.

T—the ven—wait! “What are we going to do about it?”

“About the fact that I breathed on you and you blushed like a cherry tomato? Shit—I don’t know, Man,” Jo shrugged, turning around. “You might need to get laid.

“Shut up,” Damian snapped. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I know you think you’re hot shit but…you’re really not all that hot.”

“Pfft, sure, Buddy,” Jo chuckled. “You know there are women you can pay for that kind of thing, right?” Jo asked. “Lord knows you’ve got more money than God…”

“That’s not—shut up,” he repeated. “What are we going to do about the venom? The effects can be—,”

“Adverse?” Jo laughed. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Jason was a dealer, it turns out. Took me a bit, but I tracked down his boss. Paris Franz, you familiar?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He’s not smart enough to manufacture the stuff himself,” Jo told him. “So how about I talk to him and you start looking for the source?”

“Are you just assuming the source is Bane?”

Jo shrugged. “You’re free to prove me wrong.”

/

“Let me just start out by saying that, Mr. Wayne—you have been an inspiration to me since I began in this field,” Karen told him. “And everything I’ve done with this project comes from a place of respect. With that being said…perhaps it’s time to go beyond Batman. Your designs and technology were—of course—advanced for their time…but we’re entering into a new era of innovation, technological especially, and being that everyone in here is a superhero without powers, I’m sure I don’t need to stress the importance of evolving along with it.”

“But Batman has never been about just the suits or the gadgets,” Damian argued. “It’s about the skill of the wearer.”

“I’m sure she’s aware of that fact, Damian,” Bruce assured. “She’s worked with Tim before, after all. She understands our goals here.”

“Yes, I—thank you, Bruce,” Karen nodded. “And Damian, I absolutely understand your concern, Jo voiced a similar opinion. Honor the past, embrace the future. That was my goal here. So…Jo?”

Harley watched her daughter step out in front of them wearing the updated suit, her cowl remaining off for the moment, but the material framed her face, so none of her hair was visible. “That’s…awesome..”

“Holy crap!” Carrie exclaimed. “That’s awesome!”

Karen smiled. “As you can see, we’ve streamlined the design.... the material is lighter and the majority of its functioning’s are internal. It’s intuitive, see. Like, this material is extremely breathable, but then when there’s an attack incoming—,” Karen stabbed downward at Jo’s chest with her pen, but just before the tip made contact, thin metal panels slid out to cover the area, and so the pen glanced off, falling out of Karen’s hand and down to the floor. “It’s self-armoring. But if you don’t trust it to know when or where to react, manual mode will automatically employ the defensive layer. Jo?” she prompted.

Jo raised her forearm and a panel slid back revealing a small display. When she clicked on the screen, the suit reacted just as Karen said it would, the panels sliding out of every surface (besides the green portions).

“You kept the solar panels?” Harley asked.

“Yes,” Karen nodded. “And I want to apologize for copying off of your homework, Mr. Wayne, but I couldn’t exactly improve on them. I did slightly increase their surface area so that the suit wouldn’t need to charge for as long during the day, but otherwise…can’t fix what ain’t broke.”

Bruce chuckled. “I appreciate that.”

“So where’s the utility belt?” Cass asked. “Because I only really see a buckle.”

“Ah, yes, that too is mostly internalized.” Karen told her. “Anthony programed the suit to recognize what you’re reaching for and provide it for you.”

“How?” Damian asked.

“Well, we had it memorize what you kept in each compartment of your typical belt. Jolene, you need your grappling gun.”

Jo reached behind her back, and when she brought her arm back to the front, the gun was in her hand.

“Now a batarang,” Karen instructed.

With her free hand, Jo reached to her right side and, like a disc player would spit out a DVD, a batarang was ejected from her suit.

“Good, but you don’t need to use it.”

Jo pushed the weapon back into the same hole, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come, the panel sliding back into place.

“Then where the hell did the gun come from?” Harley demanded, her mind sufficiently blown.

Jo turned around to show her the empty compartment before placing the gun back in. Like with the batarang, the suit reacted immediately, closing the tool inside, but this one didn’t retract back into the suit. It looked like one of the utility belt compartments, just sleeker and without the belt.

“So then what’s the buckle for?” Damian asked. “Why have a buckle when you don’t have a belt.”

“Well,” Karen smiled, “It’s not so much a buckle as a button.” She prompted Jo with a nod.

Smirking, Jo pressed the button and a pair of wings—with an obvious bat-inspired design—unfolded from her back. “No capes,” Jo said proudly, putting her hands on her hips.

“So we can fly now?” Damian was incredulous.

“It’s more like extended gliding.” Karen corrected. “But with a decent wind, you should be able to stay in the air for a while. Now, as for the cowl…” she leaned over and clicked the screen again on the inside of Jo’s forearm, and the cowl began to close into place, coming from the top and bottom before it shut completely over her face.

To say Harley found the finished product jarring would be an understatement. The eyes of Jo’s cowl glowed the same green as the solar panels…but more alarming than that was the panel spread like a giant, green smile where her mouth should be. But it was exaggerated, stretching from ear to ear and glowing eerily just the same as the other highlighted portions on her suit.

“Are we—um,” Harley cleared her throat. “Feeling inspired by certain dead psychopaths?”

“I just want people to know I’m happy to be kicking their ass,” Jo said, and when she spoke it was through a voice modulator that sent a chill down Harley’s spine.

“Is that really necessary?” she asked.

“Oh, right, yes, I also plan to equip everyone with a voice modulator,” Karen told them. “I find it odd only Batman’s suit had it before. Were you just banking on people not paying enough attention when women speak to be able to identify them by voice?”

With a begrudging sigh, Harley pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to type a text message.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“Texting that to Pam,” Harley told him before setting her phone on the desk in front of her. “She’ll love it.” A moment later, the phone vibrated and Harley grinned at the reply.

“What did she say?” Karen asked.

“She just discovered emojis, so it’s just a crying face, and then a laughing one and a thumbs up.” Harley snickered. “She’s so cute.”

“God—get a room,” Jo groaned, although it sounded oddly menacing through her cowl.

“I will!”

Bruce cleared his throat pointedly, attempting to get everyone back on track. “Does the cowl have any other features?”

“The typical accessories you would need to carry around, like night vision equipment, are incorporated into the eye sockets and can be switched on at any time using the control panel.” Karen explained. “Jo’s base color for the eyes is green because she has an entire solar layer beneath the suit’s exoskeleton. That’s unnecessary for Cass and Damian, so their eyes should glow white…or…whichever color they choose, I suppose.”

“Mm,” Bruce grunted, nodding sagely. “How long will it take to get the other suits produced?”

“Well I have the designs finished,” she said. “So…I’d like to meet with Cass and Damian individually to look those over and see if they have any input or wish to personalize them at all like Jo did with her cowl. Once we’re through there, if you give me the go-ahead and the funds are provided I should have these done by this time next month. If this little guy doesn’t pop out and ruin my momentum, that is,” she chuckled, placing a hand on her stomach.

Harley grinned. “I think it’s all fantastic, Karen. Amazing work, really. And how you managed to incorporate all that stuff and still make it—you know—sexy, is beyond me.”

Karen laughed. “I did place a special burden on keeping it aesthetically pleasing, yes. I’ve always been a fan of the Batman and Batgirl suits myself. The robins could probably use a little work, but lucky me, you all don’t have one of those right now.”

“We’re looking,” Bruce assured her. “But I think the answer is yes, you’ve got the green light, and lab space if you need it.”

/

Jolene stood on a rooftop watching the side door of the Iceberg Lounge. Franz had arrived a half hour ago tailed by two bodyguards, but from her week’s worth of stakeouts she knew that both liked to take a cigarette break around this time, before they actually had to start performing their duties.

It was 10pm now, and most of the business the lounge saw came after midnight, especially the sort of business that required bodyguards.

“Any leads yet?” Jo spoke into her microphone.

“I’ve only been on the clock for an hour,” Damian reminded her. “This job requires some patience.”

“Oh my God, really? I had no idea.” Jo’s sarcasm was palpable. “Not like I’ve been working here for three years or anything. Women—when will they ever learn?!”

“Let me know how it goes with Franz,” Damian growled before shutting off his microphone.

“Bitch,” Jo mumbled, watching as the first guard and then the second stepped outside, assuming their positions at either side of the door and pulling their stupid e-cigarettes out of their pockets. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she saw someone smoke an actual cigarette…not that they should, but God those things looked fucking dumb.

“Here goes nothing,” Jo took a deep breath and pressed the button that shut her cowl over her face.

Her new wings allowed her to glide right over to them, and they would have smacked her right into the building had she not used the first man’s soft body to pad her landing, using all of her momentum and weight to slam his head into the brick wall.

The second guy was a little tougher to take down. For one, he was at least a foot taller than her—she wasn’t exactly short at 5’6”, but this guy looked like he could squash her with his boot if he lifted his leg high enough. But...see…he also had testicles, and Jo was the type of combatant to exploit that.

A quick knee to his groin and then one to his forehead once he bent over, then a swift jab to his trachea and a metal-knuckled blow to his temple and he was done too.

Jo moved quickly inside, walking down the long hallway to what she knew was the manager’s office (Pam had provided her a basic layout of the interior. Evidently she and Selina had spent a lot of time there in their villain days).

She thanked her lucky stars the door was unlocked, and after bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet for a moment, slipped inside.

Franz was sitting behind his desk and looked up from his phone more annoyed than afraid or upset when he saw her. Clearly, he’d had more than a few run-ins with the Bat-family in his time. “Which one are you?” he asked.

“I’m sure it’s cliché to say ‘your worst nightmare’, but…that.” Her typical upbeat back and forth sounded far more threatening when filtered through her new modulator.

“Nightmare?” he raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “No, Baby Girl, I see you in my dreams.”

Are you fucking kidding me right now? “I’m wearing a mask, Jackass.”

“Your body’s all I need to see,” he assured her, leaning forward, propping his elbows on his desk.

“Unbelievable,” Jo laughed, cynically. “I can’t even threaten a man without getting hit on.” And then…an epiphany. “I think I finally understand my Mother.”

“Well…congratulations.” Paris granted, although he was clearly confused. “Now what can I do for a distinguished public servant like yourself on this fine evening?”

“The Slappers,” Jo said, getting to the point. She really had no interest in being in this man’s presence for longer than was strictly necessary. “Who’s your supplier? Who’s manufacturing them?”

“Oh, come on now,” he smiled. “I’m not just going to roll over like that. You’re going to have to provide me a bit of incentive.”

Fine. “Shoot.”

“How about you let me see that pretty face of yours?”

“Oh, sure,” Jo deadpanned, pressing the button to open her cowl. In her normal voice she then asked: “Should I get on my knees and suck your cock next?”

Now that—yeah, that surprised him, but he pulled his lips into a smirk anyway. “Depends. Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Boy, do I,” Jo grinned. “Is Bane your supplier?”

“Wait a minute…” Paris narrowed his eyes. “Don’t I know you?”

Jo shrugged. “Probably. I was a pretty famous gymnast.”

“No…” he shook his head. “No…you’re Jason Todd’s girl.”

“Yes,” Jo acknowledged. “And that’s how I prefer to be identified. Bane,” she changed the subject again. “Where is he? Where are you getting the venom to make these things?”

“You…” Paris chuckled, pointing an index finger at her. “You are a woman of many talents.”

“I really am,” Jo agreed. “And it’s a bummer you’re psychotic, because actually, you’re sort of my type.”

“Really?” he looked almost excited at the confession.

“Yeah,” Jo smiled. “Tall, dark, and—,” she reached behind her back and pulled out the 9mm she’d substituted for her grappling gun, pulling the trigger and leaving his brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. “—dead now.”

Jo reached for her finger-printing kit, and her suit provided her the plastic baggie containing Jason’s fingertips that she’d kept frozen for the last month while she tracked down this lead. Carefully, she planted his fingerprints on the gun before returning the baggie to its designated compartment and tossing the gun on the floor.

It had been a birthday gift from Jason, which she found laughable at the time because she was Batgirl and spent her nights defending neighborhoods a lot shittier than theirs…but she’d kept it anyway because he’d gone through the trouble of getting it registered (in his name) and—why not, you know? Just because Bruce didn’t like guns didn’t mean she couldn’t own one.

Jo looked up at the ceiling. “That one’s for you, Jay.” After a deep breath, she closed her cowl once more and pulled herself up and out through the ventilation shaft above Franz’s desk.

A few minutes later, she was on the roof, and then after a run and launch, back where she started, watching the lounge from a rooftop across the street.

The bodyguards were inside by now…they’d find Franz, but they wouldn’t call the cops, or talk to them when they arrived. But—if they did, Jolene was willing to bet the GCPD would go off the murder weapon marked with fingerprints by a known delinquent than the word of some thug telling a crazy story about some Batgirl from hell.

She’d thought she’d feel some great weight lifted off of her chest after she killed this guy…Jay complained about his boss all the time, but Jo didn’t know who he was until she went through Jason’s phone, trying to figure out what those strange patches were that Pam brought home along with Jason’s dismembered body.

Franz was in Jason’s phone under “Prick” and after meeting him, Jo was inclined to agree with his assessment. Franz was a prick.

She’d devised this plan to solve two of her problems: 1) covering up Jason’s murder, and 2) exacting some sort of revenge. Underlings who killed mob bosses usually wound up disappearing, so mission accomplished there. As for the second thing…yeah, it would have to do.

Jo wasn’t sure why she was crying now, or why she still felt that anger burning in the pit of her stomach…or why she wasn’t more upset at the fact she’d just taken a human life…but for some reason she also didn’t react at the sound of Damian’s voice behind her.

“You just wanted me away from here for the night.”

“Your absence was an integral part of my plan, yes.” Jo confirmed. “Couldn’t have you ruining my fun.”

“Did you kill him?” Damian asked, coming to stand beside her.

“I did…” Jo nodded, still watching the club, but wishing that she could take her cowl off to wipe her tears without him seeing. “Am I fired?”

Damian didn’t answer right away, but she could feel his gaze on her during the silence. “My father didn’t kill because he believes everyone is worthy of a second chance, and because murder drags you down to their level,” he nodded towards the club. “Your Mother didn’t kill because she believes in reformation. Poison Ivy is her daily reminder that you can find a light in the darkness.” He took a long pause. “I don’t kill because I choose to honor my father rather than my Mother. And…” he tentatively rested his hand on top of hers. “I don’t mind you needing some time to discover your motivation.”

“Are you giving me the greenlight to murder people?” Jo asked, pulling her hand away.

“No.” Damian shook his head. “I’m giving you the greenlight to make a mistake or two.”

She turned to him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“You’re right,” Damian agreed. “This was revenge for your initial mistake, no? or his initial mistake, maybe?”

Jo didn’t answer, mainly because she wasn’t totally sure if she’d ever heard Damian speak with legitimate sincerity before.

“Can I see your face?” He asked.

“No, there’s a mask obstructing it.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Can you take your mask off?”

Why would I want to cry in front of Batman? Even if it’s Batman lite… but Jo gritted her teeth and obliged, already missing the smile and the voice modulator when the cold night air hit her wet face.

Swallowing, Damian removed the glove from his right hand and reached out, gently wiping her tears away from her eyes with his thumb. “I don’t…like it when you cry,” he told her. “It makes me...just…” then, as if riding a sudden swell of courage, he moved forward and kissed her. Not on the lips, but just…awkwardly at the corner of her mouth.

Jo was too stunned to react right away, but when she did it was a full bodied: “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

“I don’t know,” Damian said quickly, turning away from her.

“Did you just—did you just kiss me? Why did you just kiss me?” Jo demanded. “Not all crying girls want to be kissed, Damian. It’s not some magic cure like in the movies.”

“Well maybe—maybe I didn’t do it for you,” he shot back. “Maybe I—did it because I wanted to, OK?”

“What do you mean you wanted to?” Jo asked, following after him as he walked towards one of the large chimney stacks in the center of the roof.

“I don’t know what I mean,” he said. “You—you frustrate me! All the time! You just—frustrate me.”

And that’s when Jo stopped walking. “Wait a minute—Dude—do you, like, like me?”

“Oh, fuck you.” He stopped too. “Don’t—no, I don’t—no. I mean, whatever.”

“Damian,” Jo laughed. “I didn’t even know you liked me! Like, just as a human being that you found me even tolerable.”

“I don’t!” he affirmed. “I think you’re awful! I honestly can’t even stand to look at you, and every time you talk I have to restrain myself from punching you in the face.”

“Then why did you kiss my face, Crackhead?!”

“Because you were sad!”

“Because I was—what? Since when have you cared about my emotional well-being?” Jo wanted to know. “Every other word out of our mouths are typically cuss words, and 95% of them are aimed at each other. I thought your goal was to make me cry. It’s definitely mine!”

“Whatever,” Damian shook his head. “Fuck you. Your pheromones came in or some shit. This isn’t—I don’t want to kiss you—I didn’t. I didn’t kiss you.”

“No, you’re right,” Jo granted. “You really didn’t.” she pushed him backwards into the chimney stack and pressed their lips together…and he let it go on for waaaaaaayyyy too long to not be into it. “You’re so full of shit,” she whispered, pulling apart just slightly before looking up at him, a sly smile stretching her lips. “Holy denial, Batman.”

Chapter Text

“So whaddya think?”

“What is it?”

“A square.”

“Yes…”

“A square that I knitted.”

“Ah…” Pam nodded slowly, picking up the oblong yellow ‘square’ from where Harley had dropped it on her lap. “Yes…well…yes, it’s very yellow.”

“I bought a bunch of yellow yarn because Karen likes yellow and I thought I’d knit something cute for the baby,” Harley explained, happily.

“Right, well…sure,” Pam nodded, handing the fabric back to her. “It’s very cute—your square.”

“Aww, thanks, Babe,” Harley grinned, clutching the fabric to her chest. “This was just a practice. I’m gonna get even better!”

“I’m sure,” Pam agreed. “But why—pray tell—have you suddenly decided to pick up knitting and scrapbooking?”

“And cooking!” Harley reminded her.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

“It’s because I’m gonna be a Grandma, Pammy. There will be things expected of me,” Harley informed her. “Grandma things.”

“Suddenly the world will be in desperate need of squares of knitted yarn?”

“Oh, knock it off,” Harley returned to her couch in a huff. As she sat there, tears began to well up in her eyes and Pam set her book aside.

“Harl, are you crying?”

“No,” the blonde wiped her eyes, averting her gaze.

“Oh, Honey, I didn’t…I didn’t intend that to sound terribly mean spirited.” Pam got up, taking Harley’s hand as she sat down beside her. “If you enjoy it, learning to knit, or any other ridiculous and unnecessary new hobby, is absolutely a worthwhile use of your time.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not that,” Harley wiped at her eyes again. “It’s just—it seems like not all that long ago we were murdering people and having babies…and now our kids are murdering people and having babies and it’s like…where’d all of it go, ya know?”

Pam laughed, laying back on the couch and pulling Harley down onto her chest.

“And what if the baby doesn’t like me?” Harley wondered, propping her chin on Pam’s sternum. “And what if we never get to see him?”

“OK, well first of all…” Pam gently pulled Harley’s hair out of her ponytail so that she could card her fingers through it. “I have never, in my life, known a child to dislike you. Not even Damian, and that boy is the devil incarnate.” Harley nodded sagely, agreeing with her wife’s assertion. “Just an absolute rotten egg of a child.”

“I think the idiom is a ‘rotten apple.”

“I would never disrespect apples so blatantly as to compare even the rottenest to Damian Wayne,” Pam said quickly. “And, might I add, how dare you?”

“Fine,” Harley chuckled, moving to press a kiss to her neck. “I’m sorry.”

Pam accepted her apology. “As for the other bit, Anthony taking that position at Wayne Enterprises ensures we’ll see the baby quite often.”

“Yeah, speaking of which…is Karen crazy? Why would she want to relocate here? It’s basically a dumpster compared to San Francisco.” Harley said. “And—like—I’ve lived here my whole life.”

“It’s closer to headquarters,” Pam reminded her. “And the position Bruce offered her pays three times more than Stanford anyway.”

“She didn’t take that yet, though.”

“Yet,” Pam repeated. “She will eventually. She’d be an idiot not to, after all, and she doesn’t strike me as an idiot.”

“Mm,” Harley acknowledged, laying her head down to listen to the beating of Pam’s heart. “What did you call your Grandma?”

“Ma’am,” Pam answered plainly.

Harley frowned. “You called both of your grandmas ‘Ma’am’?”

“I only ever met one,” Pam revealed. “My Father’s mother committed suicide when he was very young.”

“Quick—tell me a story about your childhood that doesn’t make me want to cry!”

“Can’t. Empty set.”

Harley laughed. “I called mine ‘Grammers’ and ‘Babushka’.”

“Babushka?” Pam raised an eyebrow.

“She was from Lithuania,” Harley told her. “Total badass. Survived the holocaust, immigrated here…or maybe she got refugee status, I don’t remember. I know FDR wasn’t exactly huge on taking in tired, poor and huddled masses, though, so whatever. In any case…yeah, Babushka,” she laughed. “And if you ever think I’m eccentric, Gammers was like a whole other level of nuts. In the best way possible, of course.”

“Of course,” Pam chuckled.

“She raised a career con man, though, so maybe she could have afforded to be a touch more grounded.” Harley squinted, thinking on that. “Or maybe not. Maybe my dad was just a…rotten egg.”

Pam smirked. “Maybe…” after a moment of simply listening to the rain patter on the roof, she asked a question: “Why didn’t I ever meet them?”

“Who?” Harley asked. “My parents?”

The redhead nodded.

“Oh, uh…I don’t know…I stopped talking to Pop after I got my degree.” Harley told her. “All he did was ask for money.”

“And your Mom?”

Harley sighed. “Ma found out about my affair, and…didn’t ever look at me the same. So when I told her I was marrying you, she asked what you did…”

“Mhm…”

“And I told her you were a lawyer—which you were, at the time—my lawyer, and…yeah, she wasn’t exactly stoked.” Harley admitted. “Add that to the whole, ‘you’re a woman’ thing…”

“Hm,” Pam furrowed her brow. “I never imagined your family to be bigoted.”

“Well they weren’t, exactly,” Harley attempted to explain. “But my brother was another freeloader, still mooching off Ma’s nonexistent estate…and Ma was always soft on him, couldn’t see he was an absolute waste of space and that pissed me off. So…I sorta implied that…if she wanted to be included in my new life…that I wasn’t gonna tolerate his behavior, and that she shouldn’t either.”

“And she chose him?” Pam guessed.

“Yeah,” Harley confirmed. “It’s alright, really. I knew she would. We’d grown apart anyway. I loved her a lot, though. Still do. She died a few years back, you remember.”

“I do,” Pam nodded. “We went to the funeral…and you didn’t introduce me to your brother.”

“I did not,” Harley acknowledged. “I sacrificed a better relationship with my Mom to cut ties with him. Wasn’t about to waste all that for an introduction, no offense.”

“I understand,” Pam said, pulling Harley’s glasses off of her face and setting them down on the coffee table beside them. “And I think—if nothing else—our kids have a better relationship with each other than you had with your brother.”

“Hey! That’s true!” Harley grinned. “And, after you cleaned up Jo’s murder, I’d say your relationship with both of them is better than yours was with either of your parents. So…good parent high five!” she raised her hand.

Pam chuckled. “How about…a kiss instead?”

“Well now I’ll have to give you two kisses: one for being a good parent, and one for being a good suggester of things.”

/

“You know what’s disgusting?”

“You eating ice cream in bed?”

“No, that’s normal, healthy behavior that you should probably get used to now.” Jo informed him. “No, what’s disgusting is that I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me.”

“What?” Damian sat up immediately. “Where the fuck would you get an idea like that?”

“Umm…well, from the three times you’ve said it today, mainly.”

Damian was appalled at her assertion. “When would I have done a ridiculous thing like that?”

“Well…” Jo took another bite from the ice cream carton. “In the Batmobile first, then…in the shower, and then like 20 minutes ago.”

“You mean when I was—was finishing?” Damian looked slightly relieved. “You can’t hold that against me.”

Jo laughed. “Oh, no?”

“Yeah, no,” he affirmed, relaxing into the pillows. “And we really shouldn’t have sex in the Batmobile anymore.”

“I was actually gonna suggest we increase the frequency.” Jo told him. “But fine, whatever, you’re not in love with me. Continue living in denial, what do I care?”

He rolled his eyes. “And why would that be disgusting? I’m the handsome, intelligent heir to a 9.2-billion-dollar fortune. Don’t act like you could do better than me.”

“Look, Man, I don’t give a shit either way. I’m just saying two months of hate-fucking a girl is a weird time to be throwing that around,” Jo took another bite. “To me, it means you were probably Bruno-Mars-I’d-catch-a-grenade-for-you level infatuated before we even started hooking up. Now suddenly those self-esteem lectures you kept giving me make a lot more sense.” She laughed. “Or—shit—maybe I’m not giving you enough credit. Maybe it’s been longer than that. Maybe you were coming over to play Legos with my brother and thinking ‘dayum, that baby can wear a diaper’.”

Damian snatched the ice cream away from her. “I don’t love you. Why would I love you? I mean, just out of basic self-preservation—you literally murdered your last boyfriend.”

Jo didn’t respond right away, in fact, the first sound she made was a sniff. When Damian looked over to investigate, he found her eyes had filled with tears. “That’s…yes,” she sniffed. “That’s true.”

“Jolene,” well now he felt like an asshole…something that now only felt good some of the time. “You don’t have to—stop it,” he reached over to wipe her tears away. When she didn’t stop, he moved the blankets away and crawled over her, kissing her gently until—she began to laugh. Confused, he opened his eyes to find she was now flipping him over onto his back, straddling his hips and pinning his hands down.

“You’re totally in love with me,” she snickered, leaning down to kiss him. “That’s so gay, Dude.”

“How?” Damian demanded. “I’m a man and you’re a woman.”

She ignored him. “My tears are Batman’s kryptonite…damn,” she grinned. “I hope all this power doesn’t go to my head.”

/

“Are you worried about the Dow drop?” Selina asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“No,” Bruce answered plainly. “Can you pass me a scone?”

“Plain?”

“No, cranberry.”

“Cranberry?” Selina was intrigued. “What’s gotten into you today?”

Bruce shrugged. “I thought I’d switch things up.”

“Oh, OK, I see how it is,” Selina nodded slowly, passing him the scone. “Looking for a slightly different flavor.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Looking for a little zest.”

Bruce nodded, taking a bite. “That’s right.”

“See, I might usually go with Strawberry,” Selina told him. “But today…” she reached for the plate. “I think I’ll go for blueberry. You know, in the spirit ‘switching it up’.”

Bruce chewed, watching her with squinted eyes. “What are we doing?”

“I really don’t know,” Selina admitted. “Good morning, Jolene.” She greeted the girl as she swept into the kitchen, pulling her jacket on, her hair still wet from the shower (Selina guessed).

“Morning,” Jo smiled, snatching a scone from the plate.

…and that’s when Selina realized something was odd. “Wait a minute, what are you doing here?” she asked as Jo got a mug out of the cupboard and poured herself some coffee. She usually went home after her shift, or took a nap down in the cave before work…but rarely did she come upstairs to take a shower.

“Oh, I was sleeping with Damian,” she told them, zipping her jacket up. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately. Too much, maybe. I’m a terrible influence on him, to be honest.”

Bruce choked. “I’m sorry?”  

“Yeah, cat’s out of the bag,” Jo sighed. “If I had more time I’d think of a pun for you, Kitty, but…I’m late for work and young minds are impressionable. Thanks for breakfast!” and with that, she was gone, taking the mug with her. “Oh, and don’t tell my Mom!” she shouted behind her before they heard the front door slam shut in the distance.

Bruce and Selina turned to look at each other, both thoroughly confused.

“Did she mean…” Selina began before Damian entered the kitchen…shirtless in pajama pants, drying his hair with the towel that was draped around his neck.

“Morning,” he grunted, starting up the cappuccino machine.

Turning around to look at him, Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I feel like you should be in a better mood.”

“Why?” Damian asked, his voice all but drowned out by the machine as it frothed his milk. “We still haven’t tracked down Bane, Batgirl is still insubordinate, I’m still not totally sold on my new suit, despite its practical improvements on the old design…what do I have to be in a good mood about?”

“Well…aren’t you getting laid?” Selina asked, taking a sip from her mug. “Or is it that Batgirl is insubordinate in other areas as well...?”

Damian slammed the machine into the ‘off’ position. “That fucking—she told you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Selina nodded at Bruce, as Damian was unaware that he was the one who’d just confirmed it for them. “She told us all kinds of stuff.”

He whipped around, “I don’t love her, OK?!” spilling some of his drink down his pants as he did. “She’s a liar. Just because you say you love someone three times doesn’t mean you actually do, alright? Doesn’t matter what you say, it matters what you do.”

“And you’re doing her, no?” Selina casually took a bite of her scone.

“Just—I have to go,” Damian shook his head, angrily dabbing at his pants with his towel. “Father, if you need me, I’ll be down in the cave. But if Jolene calls, I am not in.”

Selina laughed. “Why would Jo call? She just left, she’ll be back tonight.”

“Who knows? She’s crazy.” He started for the elevator. “Certifiably, in all likelihood.”

Slowly, Selina turned back to the table after he’d left them alone. “I was not expecting that.” She admitted. “Here we were, having a quiet, routine morning and then…shattered.”

Bruce agreed with a nod. “I thought zesty scones were going to be this morning’s only revelation.”

After a moment of silent reflection, Selina reached an open palm across the table, watching Bruce expectantly as she did.

“What?” He asked, glancing down at her hand. “Do you need help up?”

She shook her head, maintaining her silence and tapping her open palm with the fingers of her other hand.

Rolling his eyes, Bruce pulled his wallet out of his pocket and counted out three $100 bills, slapping them down into her hand once it was all there. “Congratulations.”

“Took em’ long enough, am I right?” Selina laughed.

Chapter Text

“You need to calm down,” Karen intoned, fixing Anthony with a look from where she was pacing.

To say Anthony was offended would be an understatement. “I resent the implication that I am not—by far!—the calmest person in this room right now.”

“Your Mother is asleep,” Karen pointed out.

“No…no I’m not,” Pam sat up groggily. “And I resent that imp—,”

“I hate every single one of you right now, I swear to God,” Karen continued to pace. “And that includes the world’s most indecisive fetus. He didn’t get that from me, either. That’s a Quinzel trait.”

“Karen, what are you talking about?” Anthony demanded. “You broke up with me and then two days later decided to take a cross-country trip just to apologize. You’re literally the least decisive person I know. I, on the other hand, have been fairly blatant with my intentions from the—,”

“Motherfucker, I don’t know if you’re whitesplaining or mansplaining right now, but either way I. don’t. like. it.”

Anthony shrunk back, nodding. “Sorry, sorry, you’re having a baby, I’ll just shut up.”

“Yeah, your baby,” Karen pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Yours. You did this to me.”

“Babe, I am so…so sorry,” Anthony took her hand. “I hate myself, and I hate the baby preemptively.” He let that ride for a moment as Karen nodded decidedly, satisfied with his statement.

…but Anthony could only let it go on for a moment before he had to set the record straight: “That’s a lie, I love him already. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and he hasn’t even happened yet.”

“OK, that’s it!” Pam shouted, standing up. “We’ve been here 12 hours, I’m inducing labor.”

They all turned to face the door as it was pushed open. “You were gonna induce labor before the midwife came back?” Harley asked, nonplussed. “Doesn’t exactly seem like a smart move, Pamela.”

“You’re not a midwife,” Pam pointed out.

“You’re right,” Harley agreed, setting her bag down. “I’m a doctor.”

“So am I,” Pam reminded her.

“No, you’re a doctor,” Harley put air quotes around the word. “Nice try, but an PhD isn’t the same as an M.D.”

“Fine,” Karen groaned. “Two PhDs, an M.D. and an honorable mention,” she nodded at Anthony. “We’re all smart, yay us. Now, between the four of us, do you think we’ll eventually be able to get this baby out of me, or…”

“Hey! Geez, sorry we’re late,” Jolene apologized as she yanked the door open, panting a bit. “Damian had to give me a ride…over here,” she squinted, weighing something in her head before nodding quickly. “Anyway, we brought donuts!” She grinned, presenting Damian (who had funneled in behind her carrying a box from the bakery down the street). 

“You brought donuts to a birth?” Anthony questioned, obviously bewildered. “Are you 10 years old?”

“10 and a half!” Jo stomped.

“And Damian,” Pam pointed out, more critical than puzzled. “Donuts and Damian.”

“Two of my fa—least favorite things!” Jo exclaimed, her shaky delivery only adding to the confusion in the room.

Pam raised an eyebrow. “Faleast favorite things?”

“Yes,” Jo doubled down. “Faleast. Halfway between ‘favorite’ and ‘least’…meaning donuts are my favorite and Damian is my least favorite, obviously. It’s teen slang, Mom. I wouldn’t expect you to be privy.”

“Umm…shut up, how about?” Karen not-so-kindly suggested. “I’m in pain here? So…somebody make that different? Preferably the walking marijuana leaf over there?”

“Is that—that’s me, isn’t it,” Pam acknowledged, making her way over to the kit she’d packed. “It’s an incorrect classification of my anatomy, but I understand that in a more relaxed setting that could be been seen as humorous.”

“This baby. Out of me. Now.” Karen growled.

/

Pamela sat back once Karen began to push. Surprisingly, Harley did seem to have the situation under control, and was pretty collected given the enormity of this moment.

Pam watched silently as Karen gripped Anthony’s hand and he smoothed her hair down, whispering in her ear and resting his forehead against her cheek as she sweat, moaning from pain and exertion.

If someone had told the Poison Ivy sitting in her cell on March 1^st, 1997, that in three years, she’d be married to the blonde doctor whose credentials she’d just insulted…or that in 13 years she’d be asking Batman to help her have children with said Doctor…or that in 18 years she’d have two children that were biologically hers, and in another 13 she’d be sending her son to college, and her daughter would be on everybody’s TV screen in another two…that three years after that their daughter would be Batgirl and their son would be holding his girlfriend’s hand as she delivered his baby…Ivy would have probably told them that they belonged in that cell rather than her.

But here she was. And that had been the story of her life thus far. The young woman tied down to the table, the villain who fed men to her flytraps with a reckless abandon was now the happily married superhero sitting in one of the Justice League’s hospital rooms—just a few doors down from the one she’d spent a week in suffering through her mutation—preparing to be a grandmother.

That was…odd. Odd for any parent, she assumed, to watch your child begin their journey same as you did with them…but it felt especially odd for Pamela because—she was Poison Ivy. The Poison Ivy, and—

—she was pulled from her thoughts when she heard him cry. The baby…

Pam remembered how frightened Harley had been when Anthony didn’t cry when she first pulled him out of the incubation tank…but Anthony himself had nothing to be frightened of. His baby was here, and he was holding him with wonder and love in his eyes as he gently laid the boy down on Karen’s chest.

They’d been wondering for months what he would look like when he came out given his interesting mix of heritage. Would he be green like his father or dark like his mother? Pam breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw the boy took after Karen…teaching Anthony pigment control had been exhausting, and she had not been looking forward to repeating that process.

But Pam did find that the baby took after her side of the family in one key regard: his eyes were bright green, glowing like Pam’s did when she employed her powers. That was odd for a few reasons: one being their nearly supernatural appearance, and two being that with the amount of melanin evident in the baby’s skin, his eyes likely should have been brown, and if not—blue, being that he was a newborn. But no—his eyes were green, and Ivy was already brainstorming ways to disguise them when Harley asked: “What’s his name?”

“It’s up to Karen,” Anthony smiled, kissing her on the forehead.

“Duke,” she announced. “Duke Thomas Quinzel.”

/

“Oh my God!” Jo laughed, punching Damian in the arm. “You’re such a pussy.”

“I am not!” Damian caviled.

“No, you’re right,” Jo was still laughing. “Pussies are awesome. Karen’s just stretched enough to let a complete human being through. Nah, you’re a scrotum.”

“Why?!”

“Because one little tap,” she illustrated her point by doing just that, and grinned as Damian grunted in pain. “And you’re done.” She skipped on ahead of him. “Yeah, you know what?” she turned around, jogging backwards now and cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice: “I hereby decree being called a ‘pussy’ a compliment, and ‘scrotum’ an insult!”

The woman walking past her gave her a high five (to Jo’s absolute delight) and Damian shook his head, although his smirk betrayed him. “You’re an idiot.” He told her.

“An idiot with a super cute fucking nephew, though.” Jo grinned, stopping in front of the coffee shop and holding the door open for him.

“I think I’m supposed to do that,” he pointed out, walking past her inside.

“Well you can shove your antiquated gender norms right up your ass, thank you very much.” Jo stated matter-of-factly, getting in line. “I’ll hold the door open if I damn well please, and you’ll be grateful.”

“Whatever,” Damian exhaled, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at how slow the baristas were moving. “What did Harleen want again?”

“Caramel macchiato,” Jo said quickly, standing on her tippy-toes to see to the front of the line. “Can you believe my brother just had a baby?”

“Your brother’s girlfriend just had a baby,” Damian corrected.

“Pfft, OK, Mr. Politically Correct,” Jo scoffed. “Sorry I’m not perfect all the time.”

“You’re not perfect any of the time,” Damian casually reminded her.

“Ooooh, buuurrrrnnn,” Jo mocked, bumping him with her shoulder.

Damian sighed, and was about to start in with something else when a woman (who was probably around 20, if Jo had to guess) tapped him on the arm.

“Excuse me,” she said, clearly trying to tame her excitement. “Are you Damian Wayne?”

“Yeah…?” he answered with caution, eyeing her sideways. “Can I help you?”

“No—it’s just—you’re Damian Wayne!” Her smile looked like it was about to split her face as she blushed a deep red. “You’re—oh my God, my friends are gonna flip! I saw you on the cover of CatCo and—you’re even more gorgeous in person. Can I get a picture?”

“Umm…sure.”

“Awesome!” The woman squealed. “Miss, could you—could you take a picture for us?”

Jo, who had been watching the exchange with notable amusement, blinked at that. “Miss?

“Could you take a picture of us?” the woman repeated, shoving her phone in Jo’s face. “This is—he’s Damian Wayne.”

“Ya don’t say…” Jo mumbled as she opened the camera app on the woman’s phone, pointing it at them and waiting for Damian to at least attempt a smile. What he gave was weak, but…whatever, beggars can’t be choosers. Jo snapped the picture and handed it back to her.

“Thank you so much!” the woman grinned, looking at her screen with the live action translation of heart-eyes.

Jo saw they were next and was beginning to move towards the counter when the woman continued: “This is crazy, I don’t usually do this, but—,”

“Babe,” Jo called behind her before she could think better of it. “It’s our turn.” Damian looked as confused as the woman did embarrassed as Jo took his hand in hers and pulled him forward. “Could we get a medium caramel macchiato, a medium green tea—but only if it’s organic—a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, a small black coffee and a small orange juice, please?” she asked the barista before glancing over at Damian. “And what did you want, Babe?”

“Oh—uh—black…just black. Coffee. I want coffee.”

“And another black coffee—small.” Jo instructed with an even tone, although she could feel her face getting hot. “That’s all.”

Jo sulked waiting for their order after Damian paid, scuffing her sneaker on the linoleum as Damian watched her with interest.

“Wait a minute…” he said, finally, and she could all but hear the squint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips. “Did you just get territorial?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she told him coolly, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Ha!” Damian laughed. “You got jealous just then! You felt threatened by that random girl.”

“I did not,” Jo snapped.

“Disgusting,” Damian was still laughing—a sound Jo wasn’t even totally sure she’d ever heard before. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“I didn’t get jealous,” Jo repeated, a bite to her tone as she rapped her fingers on the counter. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Look, Man, I don’t give a shit either way,” he was clearly having a lot of fun with this. “I’m just saying two and a half months of hate-fucking a guy is a little soon to be getting territorial, don’t you think?”

Jo rolled her eyes, deciding not to engage any further.

“Pfft,” he scoffed at her reaction, using her chin to tilt her face upwards. “You’re so full of shit.”

Their kiss was interrupted a few moments later when their drinks were set down beside them, and Jo’s blush was so intense when Damian pulled away that she felt like dunking her head in a bucket of water.

/

Harley couldn’t believe it. This baby—her baby had made this baby! And she was right, he was a boy and he was round! She’d totally called it!

Smiling like an idiot, she ghosted her lips against his little fingers again, closing her eyes as she breathed in his new baby scent.

“He’s so perfect,” Harley whispered. “Have you ever seen a baby so perfect?”

Pam shook her head. “Not since that one,” she nodded towards Anthony, who was asleep on the bed with his arm around Karen.

“Duke,” Harley pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “His name is Duke and he’s my grandbaby.”

“Our grandbaby,” Pam corrected.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Harley chuckled. “I’m gonna hog him, though, I hope that’s clear. Speaking of which…” she got up from her seat, pressing the boy to her chest. “We should probably go.”

“You think so?” Pam was surprised.

“Yep,” Harley nodded. “While they’re asleep. Let’s skedaddle.” She grabbed another blanket off of the bed and headed for the door.

“Umm…aren’t you forgetting something?” Pam asked, referencing the baby that was still in her arms.

“Why do you think we’re leaving while they’re asleep?”

Pam laughed. “Bring him back here. They deserve a chance to be parents just like we did.”

“Noooooo,” Harley whined, pouting as she languidly dragged herself back to her chair, prompting another laugh from Pam.

“You should probably at least have chocolate chip cookies mastered before you kidnap him,” Pam suggested. “That’s what Anthony wanted…” she trailed off as her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out.

“That from kitty?” Harley asked. “How far out are they?”

“No…” Pam sighed, annoyed. “It’s a google alert. Bruce gave me the phone so, for some reason, whenever Wayne Enterprises is mentioned online I get an email. Can’t figure out how to disable it.”

“Huh…well I’m sure Anthony can do it for you when he wakes up,” Harley turned her attention back to Duke.

“Damian Wayne is officially off the market,” Pam read aloud.

Harley laughed. “I mean—I guess that’s newsworthy…pretty sure that fucker’s still a virgin.” She looked over at Pam (who had yet to laugh at her joke) and found any traces of a smile had melted off of her face. “Who is it?” Harley prompted.

Without further warning, Pam turned and rifled her phone at the wall, shattering the screen into a million tiny pieces.

Anthony and Karen woke with a start, concern automatically etched into Anthony’s expression. Harley held the baby closer to her and Karen still looked pretty out of it, but she was clearly unhappy at being awoken so suddenly from her well-deserved nap.

“Did she get her daddy issues from Bruce?” Pam angrily inquired. “How is that even possible?! He’s not even her Dad! She doesn’t have a Dad!”

“Pam, what the hell are you…” Harley trailed off as the door opened and Jo and Damian reentered, all smiles and rosy cheeks and—Christ. Really, Jo? Fucking really?

“Hey, good news! The tea was organic, Mom,” Jo grinned, handing Pam her cup.

“Him?!” Pam was beside herself, taking the tea from her and slamming it down on the table. “Why, Jolene? Why?”

“I’m…what?” Both Jo and Damian looked thoroughly perplexed by this display. And that’s when Damian’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Still watching Pam, he pulled it out to check the notification, and just like Pam, his features drained of all joy.

“Fuck…”

“What?” Jo leaned over to look before her happiness befell the same fate. “OK, that is your fault.”

“Whose fault? Mine?” Damian was incredulous. “How?”

“How? You’re the one that initiated the fucking PDA!”

“PD…” Anthony frowned, examining the situation, putting the pieces together. “Oh Jesus Christ—Jolene, are you sleeping with Damian?”

Jo groaned, looking up at the ceiling, clearly wishing her powers included the ability to fly away. And when she didn’t answer, Damian took it upon himself to announce something definitive.

“Yes, and she's head-over-heels in love with me to boot.”

Chapter Text

“Fore!” Harley called out as she swung.

Pam rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to say that every time, right? It’s supposed to be used to warn someone if they’re in the path of the ball.” She used her own club to point downrange. “There’s no one there.” 

“Hmm…” Harley mulled that over as she watched her shot land. “OK, I see your ‘it’s unnecessary’ and I raise you an ‘it’s fun!’.”

“And that’s the point of the sport, is it not?” Selina prompted.

“This isn’t a sport,” Pam argued. “This is an activity for wealthy senior citizens with too much free time on their hands.”

“Right,” Bruce agreed, lining up his shot. “Which is why we’re here.”

“Yeah, congrats on still being hot, Pam,” Selina leaned against the cart to watch Bruce’s stroke. “The rest of us have to get our kicks in somehow. We tried living vicariously through our kids already, and it’s exhausting, frankly.”

“You don’t have a kid, Selina,” Pam reminded her.

“Oh, sure I do,” the brunette laughed. “And he’s sticking it to your daughter.”

“Selina Kyle, I swear—,”

“Man,” Selina sighed happily. “If I could go back to all of our arguments, all the times you just royally pissed me off, and know that someday I’d be standing here with the knowledge that my kid’s dick—,”

“—to Gaia I’ll kill you, Selina. Right here. Right now. I will bury you under this goddamn golf course,” Pam warned. “And you’re not Damian’s Mother. Talia is.”

“Oh yeah?” Selina laughed. “Then where is she, huh? Help me out here, Bruce. Where’s Talia?”

“Not he—,”

“Not here, that’s right.” Selina placed her ball on the tee. “She relinquished her parental rights when she dropped that asshole on our doorstep, so…” she drove a shot down the course, passing Bruce’s ball and rolling onto the putting green. “To the victor go the spoils.”

“You hate Damian,” Pam reminded her.

Selina shrugged, filing her club back into her bag. “I have it on good authority you’re not a huge fan of Jo’s right now either; that doesn’t take away your genetic contribution to her. Nor does my complicated relationship with Damian void the signature that made him legally mine.”

“Look at us, Pam,” Bruce smiled from the driver’s seat as they piled into the golf cart. “40 years ago you were binding me and gagging me and leaving me to suffocate…and now…”

“Go ahead,” the redhead sat forward “Make a BDSM joke about our children. I dare you.”

“Maybe we could tell them they’re siblings,” Harley suggested as Bruce pulled away. “Tell them Bruce and I had an illicit affair, and that I just told her she was yours to make things less complicated.”

“Mm…” Pam narrowed her eyes, thinking on that. “A couple of glaring issues with that idea: 1) I very much doubt I would have stayed with you if you’d cheated on me and been knocked up by Bruce 17 years into our marriage. 2) Jo looks a lot like you and me and absolutely nothing like Bruce. 3) she dreams my memories, and 4) I don’t fucking think so.”

“Alright, fine, so there are some plot holes,” Harley admitted. “I’ll get back to the drawing board.”

“Or—and I know this sounds crazy—,” Selina began. “How about you just suck it up, Buttercup? Quit making your kid’s relationship about you, maybe?”

“OK, hey,” Harley stepped in, “to be fair, we’re pretty sure Jo entered into a 3-year relationship that ended pretty damn terribly just to spite us.”

“Indeed,” Bruce acknowledged. “And it’s not like you taught her there are consequences to her actions, so history is doomed to repeat itself.”

“You know what, Bruce?” Ivy moved forward in the back seat, resting her hands on his shoulders. “I did what I had to do,” she hissed into his ear. “And you can report me to The League if you want to act like you would have handled it any differently had it been one of your children holding the crowbar.”

“Aww!” Harley interrupted the suddenly tense moment by opening a text message. “Look, Duke’s wearing the Robin pajamas.” She excitedly held her phone up for everyone to see. “I’m surprised Karen even let that thing into her house,” Harley chuckled. “She hates that costume.”

“Well, perhaps if Duke ends up a Robin, she can improve the design,” Bruce grumbled, noticeable salt in his tone.

/

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Karen announced, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. “I pumped, so there’s milk in the fridge for when he gets hungry, but you have to combine it with that formula your Mother gave us. Two-to-one, you know the drill.”

“Got it,” Anthony confirmed from where he was laying on the rug next to Duke, the two of them rapt, watching the portable mobile spin above them.

“Can you…”

“Send you a picture of him to look at when you get there?” Anthony guessed. “Absolutely. And one at 5 minute intervals afterwards to tide you over during your rest periods?”

“Thank you, yes.” Karen breathed a sigh of relief.

“You don’t have to get back in the swing of things so soon, you know,” Anthony reminded her. “You just had a baby.”

“Yes, five months ago.” Karen confirmed. “And they’ll expect me to be back in fighting shape when I return from my maternity leave next month. If I’m not ready, they’ll put me down in the lab, and as much as I enjoy working on other people’s suits, I’d like to get back to using mine.”

“I understand,” Anthony told her, pulling himself up and walking over to kiss her on the cheek, grabbing her water bottle off the counter once he did. “Did you need this?”

“Oh, shit, thanks,” she bonked herself on the forehead with it before slipping it into her bag. “It’s a wonder that anything’s in the right place in this house given my brain’s working at—like—30% capacity.”

“Hey, you’ve got an awesome excuse, though.” Anthony reminded her with a grin. “He’s 16lbs and shits green into his diaper.”

“Right, speaking of which—,” she opened the door, turning quickly to give him a proper kiss before stepping outside, “—he smells terrible, you should probably check on that.”

She was in her car before Anthony could think up a response other than “ugh”, but he did manage to flip her the bird as she pulled away.

Sighing, he shut the door. “It’s just you and me tonight, Little Man. You, me and stinky diapers.” 

Duke reached his hand up to bat at the mobile.

“I know, right?” Anthony grinned. “That’s my kind of party.”

/

“Dat ass, tho!”

Damian faltered under the weight on his back, startled at Jo’s exclamation. “Fuck off,” he gritted, beginning another rep.

“No, really,” Jo sat down on a bench behind him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Dick was your father.”

“Please leave me alone,” he grunted as he pushed up out of the hole.

“Oh, come on,” Jo laughed. “That’s scrotum weight, right there. If you can’t squat 225 with a distraction, you ain’t shit.”

“You—can’t—squat 225 at all,” Damian reminded her, attempting to maintain his concentration. “This is a burn-out set, get off my back.”

“OK, well, first off,” Jo got up to lean against the squat rack. “I can absolutely squat 225, and secondly, this is how women feel in the gym every goddamn day.” She slapped him on the butt. “Gotta learn to deal with routine perversities.”

With a final grunt of exertion, Damian re-racked the bar. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing that lead rather than fucking up my leg workout?”

“Nah, Carrie’s on that. She’ll let me know when he’s ready. In the meantime…” Jo smirked, trailing her finger from Damian’s clavicle down his chest. “I’m bored. Come play with m—,” she gagged, stopping her sentence in its tracks. “Sorry—too gross, not worth the reference.”

“What?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry…” They both turned to find that Karen had just stepped through the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What?” Jo immediately shoved Damian away from her. “You mean between me and this jagweed? I don’t think so.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows we’re dating, Jolene.”

“We’re not dating, we’re sleeping together.” Jo set the record straight. “Totally different. Right, Karen?”

“Um…well…I thought Anthony and I were just sleeping together…and now he’s waiting at home with our baby, so…”

“OK, well, you’re no fucking help,” Jo turned her back on her. “Take me on a date, then you can say we’re dating.”

“I don’t want to take you on a date, and you don’t want to go on one,” Damian reminded her.

“Well ya never fuckin’ know, maybe I changed my mind,” Jo spat.

“You did?” Damian seemed genuinely surprised.

“No, I said ‘maybe’,” Jo sneered. “Why? Did you—change your mind? Or whatever…”

“I—no, uh…no, I didn’t.” Damian’s attempt at a definitive response was fairly unconvincing. “No, I don’t want to date you because I don’t want to go on a date, and I don’t love you either because…I don’t.”

“Riiiggghhhttt….” Karen said slowly, glancing back and forth between them. “So…this is clearly a super comfortable situation and all, but umm…I was going to work legs, so…can I clear the weights? Or…are you…”

“Yeah, fine.” Damian said quickly, moving back to the rack and pulling the clips off the bar. “I was done.”

“Awesome,” Karen nodded awkwardly…and just kept nodding until somebody took the hint.

“I should—go!” Jo said suddenly. “Because I have a job to do. So…you look great, Karen, by the way. I can see why my brother is into you.”

Damian and Karen cocked their heads in unison.

“Sorry—that was really weird,” Jo admitted. “I’m Batgirl. I have to go.”

/

“No, you have to keep your hands up,” Anthony laughed, straightening his son’s fingers. “Patty-cake, patty-cake, baker’s—Duke! Come on, man! Focus up.”

The boy had balled his hands into fists and had his right one back in his mouth before Anthony could finish the verse.

“Come on, D.” Anthony repeated, shaking his head, but powerless against the smile that spread across his face as he watched his son’s leg kick out haphazardly. “You’re cute, but try to focus here, alright?”

Duke rolled his head to the side and trained his green eyes on the lamp in the corner, quietly examining it with the degree of awe one might feel watching a sunset.

Anthony followed his gaze, snorting before looking back at him. “Yeah, Buddy, I feel you. Lights are pretty awesome.” He laid down next to the baby on the couch, nodding back over at it. “Edison didn’t actually invent it; you know—the lightbulb. Really, Edison was approached by a German precision mechanic named Heinrich Gobel who’d put together a functional lightbulb back in 1854…” Anthony glanced down to see Duke hadn’t dropped his gaze yet, so he continued. “And Edison, in effect, told him his invention was dumb—or, more specifically—that he saw no use for it. So anyway, Edison saw the design, innovated it by adding the carbonized bamboo filament, and…voila! Edison invented the lightbulb.”  

Duke lolled his head back, looking up at Anthony now with the same degree of wonder he employed looking at the light.

“That’s right,” Anthony nodded, “I can talk. That’s pretty awesome too. And if you think that’s cool…” he spread his fingers out in front of Duke’s face and slowly changed his skin color from green to a more civilian-appropriate pink, earning a beaming smile from his son.

“I know, I know,” Anthony laughed. “That’ll have to tide you over until I figure out some dad jokes.”

/

Does this fatass seriously think he can outrun me?

“I suggest you pump the brakes,” Jo called after him as the man huffed and puffed around the corner.

She knew these rooftops like the back of her hand…or like the aesthetic lines of Damian’s—oh my god, shut the fuck up, Jo!

Pulling herself up onto the next level by reaching a swift hand out and letting her momentum do the rest, she kicked upwards, yanking herself over the railing and contined her pursuit.

Jo could see him below her now, moving slower with each step, his feet landing heavily on the slick, wet metal of the roof.

“Idiot,” she mumbled, launching off of her perch and landing just in front of him. “Boo.”

He stumbled backwards, the fear in his eyes evident even in the dark and through the rain.

And then…he slipped. Well…he started to slip, Jo helped him seal the deal by kicking his legs out from under him, and he slid quickly down the roof, screaming—panicked—as he fell over the side, saving himself from certain death by grabbing hold of the gutter.

“Help me!” he pleaded.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you can’t go from shooting at me, to running from me, to asking for my help just like that, alright?” Jo plopped down on her butt, dangling her feet over the ledge. She knew he wouldn’t grab for her because he was clearly having trouble holding himself up with two arms, let alone one. “I’ve got some questions that need answering. Your answers will determine whether or not I’m in a helpful mood.”

“What do you want?!” he yelled, his eyes wide with fear.

“Simple: I want to know where Bane’s holed up.” Jo told him, kicking her feet playfully, her whimsical body language establishing a bizarre juxtaposition accompanied by her menacing appearance.

“I don’t know Bane! I don’t know anything about him!”

“Are you lookin’ to go splat, buddy?” Jo asked, slamming her first down only an inch away from where he was gripping the gutter. “I know you were the go-between for Bane and Franz.” When his only response was a whimper, she pushed down on the gutter and a sickening creak sounded out. “Not sure your hand-hold’s gonna be around much longer,” she pointed out. “It’s now or never.”

“OK! Look, he’s—there’s an island in the bay,” the man stammered. “It’s remote—he bought out the estate—that’s where he lives. I’ve been there! I can show you! Just—you just have to let me up. I’ll take you there! Please, I’ve got kids!”

“And where are your kids?” Jo asked.

“What?”

“Your children—your son and your daughter,” Jo reiterated. “Where are they?”

“How did you know—,”

“Where are your children?!” Jo roared, her question sounding even more threatening through her voice modulator.

“Ahh—with their Mother!” the man told her, still holding on for dear life. “She—she’s got full custody!”

Jo kicked him in the side. “Why? Tell me the truth.”

“Because she’s a crazy bitch! What do you care?!”

Jo sighed, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, ‘Crazy Bitch’ was not on the board.” She used her gloved fingers to trace lazy circles on his knuckles. “Actually, the answer I was looking for is ‘I beat their Mother within an inch of her life, and she had the good sense to finally leave me’. But…we can’t all be winners,” Jo shrugged before lifting her leg up and slamming her boot down on the gutter, tearing it away from the building and sending the man plummeting to his death.

“Mmm whatcha say…” she sang as she watched him become street pizza.

/

“Bigly?” Pam raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a word, Harleen.”

“Sure it is,” the blonde giggled, taking a sip of her wine. “And I get triple the points too. That’s a big amount of points. I scored bigly.”

“You sound—absolutely ridiculous,” Pam held in a laugh, picking up her phone.

“Hey, no phones on Scrabble night! You know the rule,” Harley complained.

“I’m looking it up,” Pam smacked her wife’s hand down as she tried to reach for the phone. “I’m not going to forfeit these points just because you told me to. There are rules to this game.” She felt stupid even typing “bigly” into a google search.

“It’s a word,” Harley confidently assured, getting up to pour her another glass of sparkling water. Looking back from the fridge, she grinned at the disappointed look on Pam’s face as she stared at her phone. “It’s a word.”

Pam groaned, locking her the screen and tossing it back onto the table. “It’s a word—but!” she added before Harley could celebrate. “It has been banished, evidently. So, while you do, technically, win the argument, your victory is hollow and you should be ashamed.”

“Then thank goodness my days of stringent morality are behind me,” Harley snickered, sitting back down at the table and sliding Pam’s glass over to her. “That’s Jo’s job now.”

“Oh, yes,” Pam chuckled, raising her glass. “And our daughter is nothing if not stringently moral.”

Harley raised her glass as well. “To the erosion of the Bat-family’s moral compass.”

“And to Jo and Damian,” Pam piggybacked. “The thought that triggers my gag reflex almost as quickly as the word ‘bigly’ and those who employ it in their everyday vocabulary.”

Harley happily clinked their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Chapter Text

“I know you hate it,” Pam said from the closet. “But I thought since I don’t have to report to The Watchtower until 2, we could maybe check out that garden show downtown? I was supposed to make a speech—Ivy, I mean…so…if you wanted to accompany me, perhaps I could bring civilian clothes to change into and we could enjoy it together? Or—I’d enjoy it enough for the both of us?”

Harley swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing them again by slowly putting her weight on one foot and then the other. “Umm…I don’t—uh—I don’t know, Babe. I’m not feeling too hot.”

“Oh...well, alright,” Harley could hear the disappointment in her wife’s voice. “Is it a stomach ache? Because I can fix that—probably, but I’ll need a moment in the lab.” Pam poked her head out of the closet to raise an expectant eyebrow her.

“Nope,” Harley shook her head. “Thanks—I just…I don’t feel like walking around all day, is all.”

“Well it’s not ‘all day’,” Pam chuckled. “Were you not listening?” she buttoned her flamingo pink blouse all the way up to the top button, threading her polka dotted ascot through the collar (the one that made her look every bit the wealthy country club member she was). “I have to catch the 2pm shuttle to The Watchtower. It’s 10 now, I’m not due to give my speech until noon…are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat,” Harley forced a smile.

“Great,” Pam smiled sweetly back at her. “We could try that café down the road? I saw they had squash quiche on the menu, and although that seems like a conflict of interest, being that the texture of cooked squash is soft, much like the texture of cooked egg—what?” she stopped her thought in reaction to Harley’s expression.

…which Harley just realized had melted into a pile of goo. “You’re really pretty.”

“Oh,” Pam blushed through her already paled skin, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Thank you—I mean, yes, I know.”

Harley grinned. “Quiche sounds alright, but how bout’cha cook me something instead?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harley affirmed. “I would offer to cook for you…but I feel like that might be more punishment than anything.”

Pam laughed. “You’re making positive strides, at least. But yes, no need to fix what isn’t broken. Any preferences?”

“Surprise me.”

“By which you mean ‘fruit salad’, of course.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Please go make me a waffle.”

“Fine,” Pam sighed, leaning down to give her a slow kiss. “I’ll be back,” she whispered, giving Harley a quick peck on the forehead as well before sashaying out of the room.

Harley waited until she was sure Pam was down the stairs before making another attempt to get up. She grabbed onto the bedside table and locked her elbows, using her upper body strength to push herself out of bed.

Her legs wobbled under her as she held fast to the table, but eventually they stilled, and she felt comfortable enough to let go.

“Fuck—remind me to quit getting old.” She said aloud, making her way to the closet to pull on a pair of jeans and (since she was being dragged to a gardening show), the t-shirt Jo had gifted her that said “I’ve taken a Lichen to Moss” in big letters across the front.

Pam was humming over the heating waffle maker when Harley arrived downstairs, immediately taking a seat at the kitchen bar.

“You know what I just realized?” Harley prompted.

“Seeing as you’re not a plant…no, I don’t know what you just realized.” Pam poured an evenly measured scoop of batter and closed the lid.

“I just realized that today is February 13^th.” Harley told her. “And we haven’t planned anything for tomorrow.”

“Right, yes…well…how awful,” Pam nodded, washing her hands in the sink and grabbing a plate from the cupboard.

“Oh my God,” Harley laughed. “Are you for real right now? Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day! How can you live on this planet for like 105-fricken-years and still forget that?”

“Damn it,” Pam cursed, spinning the waffle maker. “I swear, before this is all said and done, I will remember a Valentine’s Day.”

Harley scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“Oh, come now,” Pam began…

“What? Just spontaneously?” Harley crossed her arms. “Nice try, Lady. I require a little romance.”

Pam sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, and Harley just had to laugh. “If you’re lookin’ for someone to blame, blame yourself.”

“It’s just—I saw the shirt at the same time. It all hit me at once.” Pam massaged her temples.

“And I totally contributed genetic material to your children,” Harley cackled. “You can’t escape me!”

“Yes, congratulations. Truly,” Pam clapped for her before the timer dinged on the waffle maker and she opened the lid. “I simply refuse to pile it with the sheer volume of sugar you seem to require, so you’ll have to do that yourself.”

Harley wrinkled her nose haughtily as she pulled herself up…but stumbled after only a few feet, grabbing onto the counter to keep herself from falling.

Pam looked at her strangely. “Are you OK?”

“Ha! Yeah—that wine must still be sloshing around in my system,” Harley chuckled, trying not to sound too nervous.

“You think you’re stumbling around 12 hours later thanks to two glasses of wine?” The redhead narrowed her eyes. “Where’d you get that medical degree from again?”

“Or maybe I’m just getting my sea legs, my darling Mera,” Harley laughed, regaining her composure and taking the whip cream out of the fridge, noticing Pam had already put the syrup out on the counter.

Pam scoffed. “In a plot twist, as a reaction to these extraordinarily stupid jokes you all like to make, Mera and I will be running away together to have fish-plant hybrid children who look exactly like us. We’ll establish a colony comprised solely of gorgeous, super-powered redheads that will eventually rival the Amazonians and Atlanteens. We’ll pit them against each other and lay in wait as they destroy their once great civilizations…then all that will be left are the humans, and we’ll make short work of them. Of that I can assure you.” She stopped herself, looking stunned. “Oh, my…”

Harley bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Did you finally crack the code on world domination?”

“It’s—I mean—,” Pam was reeling. “It would take some convincing, but her stand on pollution is nearly as rigid as mine!”

“Red, hey,” Harley grabbed her face. “Fish are friends, not food.”

With a far off look in her eye, the corner of Pam’s mouth turned up into a smirk. “I suppose she could be both.”

Harley laughed out loud, dropping her hands. “Only in my fantasies, Babe.”

Pam blinked. “Your fantasy is me cheating on you with a woman who looks almost exactly like me?”

“Mmm,” Harley closed her eyes. “So much red.”

/

“There are only four islands in the bay with inhabitable structures. What’s-his-fuck told me Bane bought out an estate.” Jo whispered. “The Batplane has infrared scanning capabilities…we’re fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“No, you got trigger happy, and as a result, we have to push back our raid another night so we can actually find the fucking compound,” Damian hissed.

“Trigger happy?” Jo scoffed. “You can’t shoot someone with a grappling gun, and that’s all I took with me last night.”

“You killed him,” Damian intoned. “The method is irrelevant.”

“Nonsense,” Jo muttered, checking her watch. “It was wet. The poor man slipped. Roof-running isn’t for everyone. He learned his lesson the hard way.”

“God, you sound just like your Mother…and I don't mean Harleen.” Damian mumbled.

“Yeah, well, you’re doing a bang-up impression of your Dad too, Asshlole.”

Jo had just finished her sentence when the nurse appeared in the hallway. “They’re ready,” she smiled warmly. “As is the photographer.”

“Fantastic,” Jo grinned, grabbing Damian’s hand and pulling him up to his feet.

“Ya’ll are so sweet for doing this,” the nurse told them. “Really, the kids love it.”

And…here…we…go…“Well, it’s a cause near to our hearts, obviously,” Damian dropped Jo’s hand to wrap an arm around her waist for a better show of intimacy. “The Wayne Foundation is proud to support the Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital, and willing to help wherever and whenever we can.”

“Yeah, I think that’s implied, Babe,” Jo smiled, though not at him.  

Damian managed to fight his nature and control his eye roll as Jo led the way into the children’s cancer ward…which was pretty much the last place Damian wanted to spend his afternoon. He should have been in the cave with Carrie doing what he could to track Bane in the daylight.

But no.

No, Damian was at his family’s hospital representing his family’s charity foundation because Damian was now the public face of his family. Damian and...ugh…Jo.

People liked Jo. Well—to be more specific, people who didn’t know Jo liked Jo. The public knew her as a beautiful, charming, former elite athlete turned cancer survivor who’d returned to her old gym to teach young girls the skills she never got a chance to use on the international stage.

Of course that was all a lie. Well…most of it, anyway. She was attractive, certainly. Damian acknowledged that. Technically she had been—and still was, obviously—an elite athlete…and she was a coach now, imparting her wisdom to the next generation of gymnasts…

Alright, fine. But the cancer stuff was bullshit, and that’s why they were here, anyway.

Damian and Jo were similar in a lot of ways. He’d been aware of that for some time. Perhaps that’s why they “worked”, perhaps that’s why they didn’t…but despite all their personal and temperamental similitudes, there were many ways in which they differed. One of them being that, if this performance was any indication, Jo was by far the more talented actor of the two.

“Did you ever have to shave your head?” a girl in a beanie cap was asking her.

“I did, yeah,” Jo nodded. “But it was sorta perfect timing because I’d just seen Mad Max.”

Lie.

“I’ve never seen it,” the girl mumbled, starring down into her lap.

“Ah, no, I guess you wouldn’t have,” Jo chuckled, likely realizing for the first time that Mad Max might not be appropriate for the 10-year-old she was talking to. “Well…Mad Max is the story of a woman named Furiosa who’s kidnapped as a young girl and taken to an evil place far far away where everyone is hooked up to machines and nobody has hair.”

“So…sorta like here,” the girl acknowledged. “Cept for it’s not really evil here, just sad sometimes.”

“That’s right,” Jo nodded. “And so this girl has to shave her head to fit in.”

“Did she still look pretty?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jo assured her. “Definitely. And she looked way more badass, too—don’t tell your doctor I cursed.”

The girl giggled. “OK.”

“So anyway, the little girl grows up into this strong, beautiful butt-kicker and finds some other people like her, people who’ve had their lives stolen away from them,” Jo told her. “And they band together and fight back. Kinda like you and all your friends here are fighting your cancer.”

Picking at her pajama pants, the girl asked: “Does she win in the end?”

“She sure does,” Jo grinned. “And she does it all with a shaved head. Oh! Uh—hold up,” she grabbed one of the makeup kits they were delivering and pulled out the black eyeshadow. “Can I?” she asked.

The girl nodded quickly and Jo leaned forward, gently pulling the girl's beanie off and applying the dark makeup around her eyes, “see, in the movie she drives this big ole’ semi-truck across the desert,” and up onto her forehead, “and uses a whole bunch of grease for her war paint. But dang!” Jo grinned, sitting back to admire her work. “Step aside, Charlize Theron! There’s a new Furiosa in town.”

She talked to every single kid that way—telling a unique anecdote each time. Her personal stories were all made up, of course, as Jo’s cancer was made up to explain her sudden disappearance from the world of gymnastics…but the kids enjoyed them.

“Yeah, I didn’t go to my prom either,” Jo was saying.

“Why?” the boy she was talking to asked. “Were you too sick?”

“Well…I certainly didn’t feel well,” Jo admitted. “But I was also dating this guy at the time who was a lot older than me…and who I was sorta embarrassed of, to be honest. So I stayed home.”

“Do you regret it?” he inquired.

“Mm…” Jo narrowed her eyes. “A little bit. Damian takes me to all sorts of fancy parties now that I get to dress up for, though, and those are pretty fun, so…honestly, I think it all depends on your dance partner. You’ve gotta bring someone that entertains you both on and off the dance floor.”

“Is he a good dance partner?” the boy asked, nodding up at Damian.

“Totally,” Jo grinned. “His hips don’t lie.”

The boy laughed and Damian let a smirk slip before Jo continued: “I’ll tell you what…I know Prom isn’t for a little while, and who knows, between now and then you could totally meet your perfect dance partner and everything could be fantastic. But if that doesn’t happen, I’d be more than happy to hang out with you for the night. Like I said, I’ve got a lot of fancy dresses to choose from, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you’re a total catch. Anyone with eyes or ears should be able to see that.”

“Are you—asking me to prom?” the ghost of his laughter still lingered in the boy’s features.

“If you swing that way.” Jo told him. “If not—I happen to know an exceedingly handsome gentleman who’d be honored to accompany you instead.” She waggled her eyebrows in Damian’s direction. “And man oh man does he know how to wear a tux, lemme tell ya.”

Her demeanor changed a bit when she reached the last girl in their rounds…who happened to be wearing a Batgirl shirt with a bright green logo over her hospital gown.

“I like your shirt,” Jo grinned. “Is that Batgirl your favorite?”

“Yeah,” the girl smiled back just as wide. “I have a doll of her too, see?” she reached over to her bedside table and pulled an action figure out of the top drawer, holding it out for Jo to examine.

The doll was dressed in the new suit, complete with the smiling cowl and extendable wings. “Wow…” Jo said, seemingly in legitimate awe. “That’s—I can see why she’s your favorite.”

“Yeah,” the girl repeated, taking it back from her and smoothing her hand reverently down its face.

“Why is she your favorite?” Damian asked…definitely not upset she didn’t have his action figure instead. That would be stupid.

The girl shrugged. “I like that she’s happy. Because…sometimes I get really sad, but see—,” the pulled the doll’s mask back. “She’s really smiling. Sometimes I only smile on the outside but not the inside…but she smiles with both.”

Jo and Damian took a closer look now. The Doll’s face was fairly generic, with bright red lips (Damian nearly scoffed out loud at the notion that Jo would wear makeup under her mask), bright green eyes (OK, so at least that was accurate—although unknowingly, on the part of the toy company), and yes—a wide, happy smile.

“Mm,” was Jo’s only verbal response.

Her final goodbye to the children was somewhat muted in its enthusiasm, and she stared silently out the window of the town car as they pulled away, heading in the direction of Wayne Manor.

“Do you…need to take a nap or something?” Damian asked, attempting to be considerate. He’d certainly found that experience oddly draining...though not the complete waste of time he’d expected.

“What if I’m not Jolene?”

“Come again?”

“What if I’m Tricky Nicky? Or Annie from Sublime’s Wrong Way?” there was a surprising degree of panic in her tone as she turned to him.

“I’m not—totally following,” Damian furrowed his brow. “But if you’re wishing to compare yourself to the fictional subjects of once popular songs…I’m pretty sure both of those women were coke whores. You’re a lot of things, Jolene, but you’re not that.”

“So what am I, then?” Jo asked, a bit desperately. “And don’t say ‘Roxanne’, please. Am I Cecilia?”

OK…maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed drugs so quickly.  “Miss Jackson,” Damian answered, finally.

Jo was clearly confused by his choice. “Outkast?”

“No, Panic! At The Disco.”

Jo narrowed her eyes, possibly trying to recall the lyrics as she sunk back into the plush leather seats. “OK,” was the response she came up with after a long moment of silence. “I want Bane,” she told him, her voice quieter than usual. “He’ll be my last mistake. But I have to finish this.”

Chapter Text

“All of his security appears to be internal, so you’re going to wait when I drop you. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Jo saluted him…and even behind his cowl she could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” was Damian’s final request.

Jo placed her hand on her chest, offended. “Who? Me?! Stupid? Never! Everything I do is with calculated precision.”

“You planning to do something stupid doesn’t make it not stupid, it just makes it premeditated,” Damian intoned as the Batplane neared the drop site.

“Well fine then,” Jo leaned over and gave him a kiss as the hatch opened.

“What was that for?” He asked.

She grinned as her mask closed over her face. “For incase I do something stupid.” She stood up as the plane slowed to a hover for a moment, and jumped over the side, employing her wings to help her glide safely to the ground.

Once her feet hit, she started at a sprint towards the viewing point they’d scouted, and skidded to a stop once she’d arrived, her heart beating fast in her chest.

Switching her vision to infrared, she scanned the front room of the house, registering two bodies—men by the size of them—and then another one on the stairs. Carrie and Damian had reviewed the blueprints of the house and decided that production of the Slappers was likely taking place in the warehouse at the back of the main house, but because the goal was to end the entire operation, they’d start in the main house and work their way through.

“What are we looking at?” Damian was suddenly beside her, mirroring her crouched position.

“I don’t get props for waiting?”

“Congratulations,” Damian granted. “You can follow basic instructions.”

“Thank you,” Jo smiled beneath her mask. “Two on the ground level, one on the stairs…that’s as far as I can see.”

“Do you think you can handle them?” Damian asked. “If I start around back?”

“Sure. You take the back, I’ll take the front…which reminds me, if we ever do a three-way, we’ll be asking another girl as I have absolutely no interest in taking it—,”

“Jo!”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Jo nodded ardently. “Catch’ya on the flippidy.”

She skirted around the underbrush, at first considering just trying the front door before she noticed the drainpipe on the side of the house that happened to lead directly up to a second story window.

“Damn, it’s like the architect wanted somebody to break in,” Jo mumbled as she began to climb, slipping the point of a batarang between the window and the sill and quickly wrenching it upwards, feeding the batarang back into her suit and then pulling herself inside.

Jo found herself in an empty bedroom; one of four on the second level. The only light source was spilling in from the hallway through the open sliver of the door. The stairs and the first guard would be to her right once she opened the door fully, and then below him would be the other two.

Best to be prepared now.

With that in mind, she reached for her smoke grenades. Or…where her smoke grenades were usually kept. This particular one was a gift from her Mother, and man were there some perks to being Poison Ivy’s kid.

…besides having a genetic predisposition for hotness, although that one is not to be understated.

Pushing the door open, she tore the pin off the grenade and rifled it at the man on the stairs, conking him on the side of the head and sending him toppling downwards.

That got the attention of the two guards on the ground level, but it was too little too late as a green mist began to discharge from the grenade.

3…2…1…poof.

Right on cue, the grenade burst open, enveloping all three men in a thick cloud of verdant smog.

Jo poked her head around the corner to watch them cough and choke, falling to their knees and painfully writhing on the ground as they seized.

“Ha, well fuck…” she murmured before calling out: “Sorry, I couldn’t think of a quip. That’s usually the best part of being murdered by me.” And starting down the hallway.

She checked each bedroom, popping her head in and quickly glancing around before continuing. Her pace slowed and her ears pricked up as she approached the master bedroom, though. Unlike the others, this door was closed, but Jo thought she could make out the sound of machinery running inside.

Preparing a batarang and taking a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and slowly twisted it, pushing the door open to find…

Huh?

An old man in a wheelchair…hooked up to noisy, hulking breathing machine.

He was looking straight at her, hunched over in his chair, his eyes bloodshot and his head bobbing lazily with each forced breath.

Fuck. Of course. If Jason couldn’t even go a month on venom, Jo could only imagine what a guy that lived off of it for a half a century would look like.

And now she didn’t have to imagine it. He was sitting right there in front of her.

“Uh, Batman?”

“Yeah?” Damian grunted, clearly in the middle of something.

“I found Bane. And…somehow I don’t think he’s the brains behind this operation.”

“Yeah—mmph,” she was pretty sure he’d just punched someone. “I’m starting to get that too.”

“Use your grenade,” Jo told him, not breaking eye contact with Bane. “You’re immune.”

“To what? Since when?”

“You sleep a lot,” she answered plainly, her mask shutting off their communication as it pulled back from her face.

“Hello,” she greeted Bane, once he got a look at her actual face. “I’m Jolene. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He—of course—couldn’t speak thanks to the tube that had been implanted in his trachea, but she smiled at him anyway. “Do you remember Poison Ivy?” she asked. “Red hair, has a lady boner for flowers…both in the botanical sense and…you know…the Georgia O’Keefe sense…” Jo trailed off as he nodded. “Cool, cool. Was she your friend?”

He shook his head rather definitively.

“Yeah, I heard that ‘honor among thieves’ thing was probably bullshit,” she tapped her foot on the ground a few times, narrowing her eyes as she sized him up. “So I’m her daughter…Ivy’s, I mean.”

Bane nodded again.

“Aww, you can tell?” Jo grinned. “Do I look like her?”

He slowly blinked his eyes.

“Ah, green. Got’cha.” She winked. “You’re very sweet, but I’m actually here to kill you.”

His reaction came slower this time, but when it did it was…another nod.

“You know that or you’d like me to?” Jo questioned.

Bane’s response was simply to nod again.

“Oh,” her shoulders fell in slight disappointment. “Well…alright. I’ve never killed anyone that wanted to die before…do you—umm—have anything in mind? Any particular method?”

To the best of his ability, Bane jerked his head in the direction of his breathing machine and Jo’s gaze slowly followed.

“So just…pull the plug?” she crossed the room to examine the machine. “Well that’s sort of anticlimactic, isn’t it? I was sorta on this revenge arc and…Oh, here it is.” She pressed a button and the machine instantly powered down.

/

“When I said you should plan something for Valentine’s Day, I meant—like—a nice dinner out or something. Not a walk in the park in freezing-ass-February.” Harley complained.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Can you have a little faith, please?”

“But I’m coooolllldddd, Pammy,” Harley whined.

“Ugh,” the redhead groaned, taking off her scarf and wrapping it around her wife’s neck instead. “Did I not instruct you to bring a warmer jacket?”

“Yeesh, alright, Mom,” Harley mocked, nuzzling in closer to Pam’s side as they walked. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Patience,” Pam exhaled, pulling Harley with her off the trail.

The air was crisp and yes, cold, certainly, with a bite to it that only the tail-end of winter could offer. After Woodrue and before Harley, this park was where Ivy would spend her winters, holed up deep in the thickest part of the woods, mourning the deaths of her children as the frost wiped them away, ending their nonconformity and shrouding the once diverse landscape into one uniform winter wasteland.  

Of course, winters were different now that she had her human family. She didn’t get so lonely anymore or so sad, and when she did they were there to remind her that spring would come again and that new seeds would soon manifest themselves.

Harley grinned as the underbrush cleared out of the way for them, creating a path just as blatant as the main trail, and then covering itself once more as they passed. “That never won’t be awesome.”

Pam smirked as she led them to the hanging branches of a weeping willow tree. Stopping there and taking a deep breath, she said: “Alright. Even though you had to remind me…I did my best,” and with that, she pulled back the branches in front of them, revealing a sheltered alcove lit with candles. The trunk of the willow tree had split off into two distinct bodies, the second one low and flat enough that it resembled a table, on top of which were placed two covered dinner plates.

“Wha…how did you…in the forest,” Harley’s words stumbled out as she remained slack jawed.

Pam chuckled. “Being married to Poison Ivy would seem to have its perks.”

“But the…” Harley took a few steps forward, then turned back around to look at her. “Is there food in there? Did you—how’d you get it all the way out here?”

“OK, don’t make fun of me, please,” Pam let her skin shift back to its natural green, at home in her surroundings. “But it’s takeout. And by take-out, I mean hotdogs from the vendor at the entrance.”

Harley’s eyes began to fill up with tears. “You bought me a hotdog?”

“I bought you two hotdogs,” Pam corrected. “And myself one that I won’t like, but that I’ll eat anyway because I love you.”

“Pammy,” Harley wiped a tear away from her eye. “You’d eat a hotdog for me?”

“In the ultimate test of devotion,” Pam sighed. “Yes. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The blonde flew into her arms, wrapping her into a tight embrace and peppering her face with kisses.

/

Sometimes Damian wondered what it felt like to kiss Poison Ivy.

Just to compare it to how it felt kissing Jolene.

And not because Ivy was her Mother, either…but because he always felt a bit…drunk when he was with Jo in that way…under the influence of something he couldn’t quite explain. But it certainly felt nefarious…and perplexing…but mostly just frustrating.

The first time they’d kissed, it’d just felt so right to Damian that he’d panicked briefly, thinking Ivy must have passed down some version of her pheromones to her daughter because it was too perfect to be anything but his last.

But no. He’d lived to kiss her again.

And to fight with her again.

And to yell at her.

And to scold her.

And to smile at her, and to see her smile…

And to kiss her again.

Damian’s head was resting on her chest now, between her breasts, basking in the afterglow of…well, he was so happy with the sex they’d just had that he had yet to roll off of her…but he was pretty sure she was still thinking about the satisfaction that came with killing Bane and ending the production of Slappers in Gotham City. Either way, she’d made no move to push him off like usual, and he liked the feeling of her fingers as they absently carded through his hair.

“This? Right here, what you’re doing?” Jo broke the silence. “It’s called cuddling. You’re cuddling me.”

Yeah, I know. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he scoffed, still not moving. “Maybe if you’d heard me when I called for backup, and actually—you know—come to back me up, I wouldn’t be so tired.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Jo mocked, curling a lock of his hair around her finger. “You seemed fine to me when you were starting round two…and finishing it, actually.”

“It’s a cumulative exhaustion,” Damian explained. He felt rather than heard her responding chuckle…and it was some time before she spoke again.

“What’s wrong with me, do you think?” she asked.

Damian snorted, propping his chin on her sternum to look up at her. “How much time do you have?”

Jo rolled her eyes before laying her head back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “The first thing I remember my Mom saying to me is that she loved me. That’s my earliest memory of her. I love you, Jolene…”

Damian tried to think of his first memory with his Mother…probably her handing him a switchblade and telling him to go work on his close-quarter knife skills. His first image of Selina would forever be emblazoned in his memory, though. His Father had gone outside to speak with his Mother when she’d first dropped him off, and Selina had taken him inside and sat him down at the dining room table before narrowing her eyes at him and asking: “so what’s your deal?”

“Vindictive…” Jo was saying. “Her, me, all of us…cuz’, see—I knew that the only thing that could hurt them worse than not knowing whether or not I felt loved, was thinking I didn’t love myself. Because you know what sort of 15-year-old hooks up with a down on their luck 22-year-old? One with low self-esteem. One who doesn’t think they’re worth anything better, or one who thinks they don’t need a fucking childhood because life is all garbage anyway. I was done being a kid at 15. I knew Jason had taken that away from me, and you know what I thought? Good. That’ll teach them.”

“Teach who? Your parents?”

“Yeah,” Jo confirmed, looking reflective. He supposed this did end a rather significant chapter for her.

Damian cleared his throat, moving off of her to lay on the pillow beside her. “You said you were—triggered when Jason—you know…but you’ve never been…”

“Raped?” Jo guessed. “Yeah, no. Not directly, at least. But…you know when you’re in your VR simulations, and a guy charges at you, and just for a second, you forget that it’s not real?”

“I do…”

“OK, well…I’ve been…VR raped a lot of times,” she told him. “And I learned to remind myself it wasn’t real a long time ago…but that time—with Jason—I couldn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t make-believe…so I panicked…and I hit him. I hit him so many times, Damian. And who’s fault is that?”

Damian didn’t answer, both because he didn’t have an answer and because he’d moved his hand to rest on her stomach, and him talking would more than likely remind them both that their behavior and body positions were atypical and…ugh…affectionate.

“Is it his fault? No, he was high as a fucking kite,” Jo continued, working through her own question. “Is it my fault? Is it my Mom’s fault? Do I blame the murder of my boyfriend on the fact that my Mom was raped in 1966? No, that doesn’t make any fucking sense. But I gotta blame somebody,” She exhaled. “Because I’m angry, Damian. I’m really fucking angry. And I have been for so long.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I’m 19 years old and already so tired. I’ve lived too much goddamn life already.”

“So have I,” he murmured.

It was only when she turned to look at him that he realized he’d said that out loud. “What’s wrong with me that I would choose someone who blatantly didn’t love me over people that always have and always will?” 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Damian said, brushing that off. “If you want to be with someone, you want to be with them. That’s love. Finding a person that you can tolerate…that’s love.”

Jo frowned, propping herself up on her elbow. “You don’t see what the big deal about love is?”

Damian shrugged. “I have parents that provided for me. That care about me. That’s all I need. Just because they’ve never said they love me doesn’t mean I’m at some radical disadvantage.”  

Jo looked confused. “I’m sorry—what?”

“That’s all I need.” Damian reiterated. “Someone to tolerate who tolerates me.”

“Damian…” Jo began, sounding cautious. “Has no one ever told you they loved you? Not your Dad? not…Selina?”

“No,” he intoned. “But I know they respect me. That’s what’s important.”

“Umm…no,” Jo sat up a little higher. “I mean—yeah, that’s nice. Respect is good, respect is…part of it, but Damian—that word does matter.”

“Sure,” he shrugged again, this one with a bit more subtlety, a bit less assuredness. “I said it to you, didn’t I?”

Jo shook her head. “No, Dude, I don’t think you understand.” She grabbed his arms and pulled him up to a sitting position, tenderly running her hands up his wrists, his arms, his shoulders…until she was cupping his jaw.

Damian’s heart beat faster in his chest as he watched her, the sincerity of her gaze almost difficult to reciprocate.

Jo gently brushed his cheek with her thumb, lightly clearing her throat before saying: “You is smart, you is kind, you is imp—,”

“Oh, fuck you, Jo,” Damian smacked her hands away and grabbed the blankets, laying back down and pulling them up to his neck. “You’re such a bitch.”

Jo was laughing, “oh—no, c’mon,” she burrowed under the covers, crawling over him and pressing kisses up his chest and neck until her lips pressed against his ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered.

“Can you just…say it?” he mumbled.

“Mmm…” he felt her hum against his skin as she came to hover over him, their lips nearly touching. “I love you, Batman.” She murmured, letting her lips brush languidly against his. “I love you, Robin.” She nipped playfully at his bottom lip. “I love you Damian Wayne.” And skimmed her tongue across it afterwards to soothe it. “I love you, داميان الغول.”

He made a fist in her hair when he pulled her down into an actual kiss, done with her teasing as he wrapped his other arm around her back and held her tight against him, suddenly wanting desperately to be closer to her. Wanting to feel every inch of her soft skin against his.

It was messy and Damian felt dumb, but he needed it. He would never admit to needing her, but this…seemed somehow essential.

/

Pam’s eyes opened slowly to a dark room.

Well…nearly dark. There was light spilling out from the bathroom.

With a small groan of annoyance at having woken up hours before the sun had even graced them with its presence, she turned over onto her other side, meaning to cuddle up next to Harley in hopes that her wife’s breathing would lull her back to sleep.

Except for Harley wasn’t there. And as Pam’s senses came into focus, she found that light wasn’t the only thing emanating from the open bathroom door.

She registered a sniffle…a muffled sob…

“Harleen?” Pam called out, sitting up in bed. “Are you OK?”

Harley didn’t answer, just sniffed again, louder this time now that she knew Pam was awake.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, the redhead pulled back the blankets and gingerly stepped out of bed, crossing the darkened bedroom towards the light of the bathroom.

“Harl?” she asked again as she pushed the door open wider, revealing her wife sitting on the floor with her back against the toilet, her face stained with tears.

“Honey, what—,” Pam yawned. “What’s the matter?”

“I—I sat down and I—they don’t—I can’t,” she stammered nonsensically, her throat full from crying. “I can’t get up.”

Pam’s brain was already only functioning at about 50% capacity given the ridiculous hour, and Harley certainly wasn’t making it easy on her with her sentence fragments. So, confused, she asked: “why did you sit down?” which really wasn’t the right question, but it was the only one that made sense in her head and out her mouth.

“I felt shaky,” Harley wiped her eyes. “So I—I thought I’d sit down to let it pass, but it…it didn’t…it got worse and I—I can’t feel ‘em anymore. They’re gone.”

 “What are?”

“I can’t feel ‘em,” Harley repeated. “I can’t—they’re gone.”

And then it clicked. “Harleen, can you not feel your legs?”

Pam took the new tears spilling down her wife’s face as confirmation. “I had to sit down—I was shaky…I—I didn’t make it. I couldn’t make it.”

That one decoded itself when Pam kneeled down next to her and the smell of urine hit her nostrils. “Oh—Harl, that’s—it’s fine, Daffodil.” She tried to give her a reassuring look, but her mind was reeling. Harley had been fine and walking around only a few hours ago. She objectively didn’t look any older than 50 (despite actually being nearly a decade older), she exercised, she took care of herself…her legs spontaneously failing her didn’t make any sense.

“I think the s—s—pell w—w—ore off,” Harley was sobbing now, her face red from embarrassment.

Zatanna, you fucking bitch…

“Maybe,” Pam gently brushed the hair away from Harley’s face and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

“I didn’t want you to s—see.”

“Mm,” Pam kissed her cheek now and then her lips. “Sweetpea, you’re fine. Really. There’s no need to be embarrassed. I’m your wife, I’m supposed to be here for you when you need help.”

Harley’s hands fisted in the fabric of Pam’s shirt as she hung her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense,” Pam shook her head. “I’m going to draw you a bath, we’re going to get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to go speak with Zatanna and try and get to the bottom of this. How does that sound?”

“Don’t—leave,” Harley pleaded.

Pam shook her head once more, smiling reassuringly. “I happen to have her number in my cellphone. I won’t even leave the bathroom if you don’t want me to.”

“OK,” Harley whispered.

Nodding, Pam stood up and turned on the warm water. It would be a moment before the tub was ready, but she didn’t exactly want Harley waiting in her urine-soaked pajamas any longer, so she grabbed one of their robes from the back of the door and knelt down next to her once more. “Do you remember how to do this?”

Harley dropped her gaze again, staring at the tile below her. “Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Five times Pamela had called; five times it had gone to voicemail.

Frustrated, she tossed her phone off the bed before turning her attention back to Harley who was tucked in beside her. “She’s not answering.”

Harley was still sniffling, her breathing choppy and shallow. “Pammy, what if I never walk again—what if today was the last time?”

Pam knew that was a possibility, although it was one she wouldn’t accept. Even so, she decided to take herself out of the equation and approach this like a parent. Offer a sobering consolation. “But we had a good day, didn’t we? Walking through the park with me…that wouldn’t be a terrible last day of mobility, would it?”

Harley wiped at her eyes even though she’d run out of tears some time ago. “But Duke can’t even walk yet. I can’t—I wanted to be able to go to the park with him and show him where we used to take Anthony when he was little. All Duke will ever know is me in a wheelchair.”

“Honey, you’re his grandmother.” Pam reminded her, placing her hand over Harley’s heart. “One who already loves him and is invested in him. That’s what he’s going to care about. Not whether or not you can walk.”

“I care, Pamela.” Harley said. “I care.”

“I know,” Pam whispered, kissing her on the head. “And I’ll speak with Zatanna first thing in the morning. I’m not sure why she’s unavailable, but I’ll handle it.”

/

“Alright, fine,” Zatanna laughed. “It was pretty cliché, really. We flew to Paris—,”

“How?” Dinah asked, an eyebrow raised.

“I knew you were going to do this!” the brunette playfully smacked her friend’s arm.

“It’s a simple question,” Dinah leaned casually against the wall. “Come on. Out with it. What did you fly to Paris on?”

Zatanna sighed before mumbling: “A magic carpet.”

Dinah laughed. “What was that?”

The magician rolled her eyes. “A magic carpet, alright?! I told you it was cliché!”

Dinah was laughing when they heard an angry female voice echo down the hallway: “Hey! The fucking fishnet convention!”

They both turned to see an irate-looking Poison Ivy charging towards them.

“Oh, shit,” Zatanna cursed under her breath. “Look, Ivy, I’m sorry I missed your ca—ah!” she yelped as a vine shot out of Ivy’s arm and wrapped around her ankle, harshly yanking her off of her feet.

“Pamela!” Dinah protested. “It’s 8am, for Christ’s sake. Have a cup of coffee then reassess.”

Ivy was quickly reeling the vine in, dragging Zatanna towards her as she continued to advance.

Panicking slightly, the brunette began to cast a spell before she was gagged by yet another vine that had sprouted off the main one. Ivy was standing above her now, and with fury in her eyes she dropped down to the floor, gabbing Zatanna by the lapel of her tailcoat and sitting on her hips.

“Why didn’t you answer?” she demanded, their faces only a breath apart.

…and for a second there, Zatanna wasn’t sure if she wanted the vine out of her mouth so she could answer her question or kiss her. “Mm—mm—vvv—ttt—dd!” she unsuccessfully tried to force the words through her gag.

“If you actually came for answers, might be helpful to be able to hear them, huh?” Dinah pointed out.

Evidently deciding she was right, Ivy retracted her vine, and Zatanna sputtered, gulping in the air she’d been deprived of and spitting out the taste of foliage. Ivy, however, refused to change her position, keeping her weight pressed down on her hips.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Ivy repeated.

“It was Valentine’s Day—damn!” Zatanna was finally able to answer. “I didn’t get to my phone until like 3am. Figured I’d just wait until we were face to face. Now get off me! And what the hell do you want?”

Ivy was still glaring at her, but she did relinquish her position, pulling herself to her feet, but pointedly not helping Zatanna to hers. Dinah did that for her. Dusting herself off, the brunette reiterated: “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

Glancing quickly at Dinah and apparently deciding the conditions were suitable for her to speak, Ivy said, in a more controlled voice than what she’d used before: “My wife, Harleen…”

“Yeah?” Dinah prompted her to continue.

“She’s paralyzed again,” Ivy said it like the words pained her to voice. “The spell you cast, it must have worn off. She lost her ability to walk again last night, and she’s…afraid.”

Oh, right. Crap. “Pamela…”

“It’s Ivy,” the redhead snapped.

“Ivy,” Zatanna corrected. “That spell was always meant to be temporary. You knew that. I told you that back then.”

“Yes, but I held up my end of the bargain!” Ivy rather forcefully reminded her. “I went on every idiotic ‘Dark’ mission you asked me to. I followed your every order. Did you find my performance unsatisfactory? Because that’s absolutely ridiculous. I contributed every ounce of what I could.”

“Yeah, I know that, Ivy,” Zatanna acknowledged. “But I didn’t pull the spell, it wore off itself, like you said. It worked like a parasite, rerouting her body’s energy. If she can no longer walk, it’s because her body decided it needed her energy for other functions.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ivy demanded.

“It means she’s tired, Pamela. It means she’s getting older and her body doesn’t have energy to spare anymore.” Zatanna explained. “Again, I told you this the day I cast it.”

“But she’s not—dying,” Ivy told her, spitting the word out like it tasted bitter on her tongue.

“She didn’t say she was,” Dinah clarified. “She said her body doesn’t have the energy budget anymore.”

“Don’t you have some adolescents to scream at?” Ivy snarled, her eyes nearly glowing as she turned to address the blonde.

“As a matter of fact…” Dinah said, returning the redhead’s rigid gaze. “Are you good here, Zee?”

“Yeah,” the magician confirmed. “Look, Ivy, I’m sorry, OK? But these things run their course. There’s really nothing I can do.

Ivy’s mouth twitched in a barely noticeable show of dejected acknowledgment before her features hardened once more. “Useless,” she muttered, looking at both women in front of her with something approaching disgust. “Utterly useless.”

She retreated from whence she’d come, rounding the corner out of sight at a determined pace. But unlike her approach, her shoulders slouched now, heavy with the weight of Zatanna’s answer.

“Damn,” Dinah remarked once Ivy had disappeared from view. “She went like full on Jodie Foster on you just then.”

Zatanna raised an eyebrow.

“Supremely cranky lesbian,” the blonde translated.

/

Ivy stopped walking once she was sure she was alone, ending up in front of one of The Watchtower’s large windows.

She pressed her back against the wall, letting herself slide down it until she was sitting on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest.

Why now?

Things had been so…wonderful. So effortless.

Ivy supposed she’d just answered her own question. She wasn’t meant to be happy. None of them were. There was always some obstacle to overcome, some wood to be lost in…

Her leotard deposited her cellphone in her hand and Ivy sighed as she dialed the number for the first of her two calls.

Anthony picked up after three rings. “Hey, Mom,” he said, and she could hear the smile on his face. “How are you on this fine Sunday morning?”

Pam closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. “I’ve been better.” She admitted. “Can you come over this morning, do you think? In an hour, maybe?”

“Umm…yeah, yes, I think so. Hey, Bee?” he raised his voice, pulling his face away from the phone. “What time is that baby yoga class you’re taking Duke to?”

“3. And its swim class, not yoga,” Pam heard Karen say in the background.

“Yes, an hour works,” Anthony confirmed into the phone. “We’ll see you then. Do you want us to bring anything?”

Pam sighed, although she hoped not too audibly. “Just yourselves is fine. Your Mother will be happy to see Duke.”

Anthony ended the phone call with an “we’ll see you then” and then a “love you”.

Gathering herself a moment, Pam dialed the second number. This one only rang twice before it was sent straight to voicemail.

“You got Jo. Lucky you. Please don’t leave a voicemail. I can never remember my password so the notification just sits there screaming at me on my lock screen. Send a text message. You’ve got fingers, right?”

Pam rolled her eyes as it beeped, then hissed: “I hope this voicemail haunts your lock screen for all eternity,” before hanging up and immediately dialing again.

This time the line rang four times before the real Jo answered, sounding out of breath. “Top of the mornin’ to ya.”

“Are you in the middle of something?” Pam asked.

“Uh—nope. Just some cardio,” Jo told her. “What’s up?”

“There’s something I’d like to speak to you about in person,” Pam kept her tone as light as possible. They’d have plenty of time to be worried later. “Can you be at the house in an hour?”

“Mmm—yeah—ah! Yep!” Jo agreed to her timetable in a rather bizarre fashion.

Pam furrowed her brow. “Jolene, are you alright?”

“Me?” Jo asked. “Yeah, totally. It’s just—umm—you know when you’re on a machine and you specifically ask it—program it—to slow down but it speeds up instead? Yeah, it’s just a—I should get a new one.”

“Well Bruce has quite a few to choose from,” Pam reminded her. “No need to torture yourself on a shoddy piece of equipment.”

“Preach!” Jo squeaked. “K, be there in an hour.”

Pam narrowed her eyes, now positive there was something amiss, before they widened in realization and she angrily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fantastic.” She gritted. “Please see to it that Damian is no longer inside you when you arrive.”

Pam had to squeeze the phone tightly enough in her hand that her knuckles turned white after she’d hung up You’ve smashed too many phones. Harley said not to do it again until you’re eligible for an upgrade. She shook with anger. And you can’t kill Jo either. Harley is too attached.

“Dr. Isley.” Supergirl pulled her out of her thoughts. “Are you OK? What are you doing on the floor?”

“No, I’m not OK,” Ivy snarled petulantly. “My wife is paralyzed and the only thoughts that bring me comfort are the ones that revolve around killing my daughter.”

Kara looked concerned. “You’re…joking, right? That’s not a very nice joke.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Ivy stood up. “And yes, I’m…joking. About killing my daughter. Not about my wife’s paralysis.”

Supergirl visibly relaxed before her face contorted into a look of pure sympathy. “Dr.—Pamela, that’s…that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

Pam was confused at first by the woman’s kindness…before she remembered that seemed to be part of the House of El DNA. “Thank you.” She barely had time to nod before Kara was pulling her into a tight hug.

“If you buy her a box of chocolates, I’ll pay you back. You don’t have to say they’re from me, if you don’t want to.” the Kryptonian murmured into her hair.

Pam almost laughed. “That’s…sweet of you, thank you.”

/

“Dude, what the fuck?!” Jo smacked Damian across the face as he stifled a laugh. “I asked you to wait like two fucking seconds. Now my Mom—,”

“Knows you’re not a virgin?” Damian guessed. “How awful. And you had such a sterling reputation before.”

“You’re an asshole,” Jo informed, climbing off of him and out of bed.

“Hey!” he protested. “Where are you going?”

Pulling open the drawer that she stashed a few articles of clothing in, Jo asked: “are you familiar with the Stanford marshmallow experiment?”

Damian propped himself up in bed. “What?”

“It was a study on delayed gratification in the 60s and 70s,” Jo explained. “The researcher would leave a child alone in a room with one marshmallow and tell them that, if they waited 15 minutes, they’d come back with another marshmallow, so they could have two. But if the child chose to eat the one instead of wait, that’s it. That’s all they got.”

“So…”

“You ate the marshmallow, Damian.” She said, pulling a pair of light wash jeans over her thighs. “So I am withholding the second.”

“Ugh,” Damian groaned, flopping back into the pillows. “Why would you even answer? It’s 8am on a Sunday, you get one day off per week. She didn’t think you’d be sleeping?”

Jo rolled her eyes, ignoring his assertion. “You picked me up last night, meaning I’m gonna need a ride home, too. So…take care of yourself or whatever and let’s go.”

/

“Karen, really, you don’t have to bring that.” Anthony assured her as he buckled Duke into his carseat and Karen climbed into the passenger. “They’ve forgiven you, and even if they hadn’t, I’m not sure that would help.”

“The lady said it was the right choice for any occasion. Everyone likes cheese, Anthony,” Karen explained.

Closing the door on Duke and starting the car from the driver’s seat, Anthony reminded her that: “my Mom can’t even eat cheese. And where’d you get that, by the way?”

“In the fridge.”

“Our fridge?” Anthony pulled away.

“Yeah, our fridge.”

“Well I didn’t buy it,” he told her. “Did you?”

“Umm…” Karen furrowed her brow, thinking on that. “I’m really not sure.”

Anthony glanced over at it in her lap as he stopped at a red light. “What kind is it?”

“White?”

“White? Is it supposed to be white?”

Karen held up the package for examination. “Uh—yes?”

“OK, give me that,” Anthony snatched it away from her, tossing it into the back beside Duke. “Just, let’s leave it.”

“Can we stop and get them some champagne or something, then? We could have mimosas,” Karen suggested. “That’s fun, right?”

“Both my parents have been retired since I was like 12 years old,” Anthony reminded her. “And my Mother is Poison Ivy. They’ll have champagne and orange juice on site, don’t worry.”

Evidently deciding he was right, Karen sighed and leaned back against the headrest. “Fine. I just...do you ever feel like your parents only tolerate me because of Duke?”

“What?” Anthony sounded legitimately surprised as he rounded the final corner on the short drive to their destination. “Karen, you’re a dream come true. I’m serious. You’re…” he trailed off as he pulled into his parent’s driveway. “Head and shoulders above the competition.”

Karen followed his gaze to find Jo and Damian sloppily making out on the porch. “Oh…yeah, I might be moving in to ‘daughter they never had’ territory.”

“Rapidly,” Anthony agreed, getting out of the car. “Oh, good, so that’s still gross,” called up to the porch, causing them to break apart in reaction. “Good to know even disgruntled automatons get horny, though, Damian. That’ll help me in my research.”  

“Ironic since that crisp button-down screams ‘Stepford husband’.” Jo called back. “Your PhD should be in ironing.”

“We prefer ‘Stepford baby-daddy’, thank you.” Karen corrected as she came around the car, walking up to the porch with Duke on her hip, Anthony in tow. “Congratulations on your Teen Vogue cover, you two looked…appropriately nauseating.”

“Don’t remind me,” Damian grimaced.

“Yeah, we’re relationship goals, heart-eye emoji, heart-eye emoji.” Jo deadpanned, but her face broke out into a wide smile when she turned her attention to Duke. “What up, Little D?”

“You’re going to give him a complex,” Anthony chastised as he knocked on the door.

Pam opened it a moment later, looking uncharacteristically tired. Her Oxford shirt only halfway tucked into her jeans and her hair pulled up into a loose ponytail.  

“I guess Mom finally watched The Kids Are Alright.” Jo remarked.

“You and you,” Pam pointed an accusatory finger at her daughter and then at Damian. “Are so high up my shit list right now you’re closing in on Booster Gold.”

Jo furrowed her brow. “Isn’t he dead?”

“Yes,” Pam confirmed. “And if I was given the power to reach into the afterlife only once, I would use it to punch him in the face. That’s how much I hate him. That’s the company you’re keeping. Nevertheless,” she exhaled. “Thank you all for coming.”

“What’s going on, Mom?” Anthony asked, slowly growing concerned. “Is everything Alright?...besides The Kids, I mean.”

Jo snorted and Pam drummed her fingers on the doorframe, her eyes narrowing. “Your Mother and I have something to discuss with you,” she intoned, her voice barely louder than a whisper, turning into the house and leaving them at the open door.

Jo held out her hand for a low five, which Anthony provided as he stepped into the house, following the familiar path to the living room where he found Pam standing behind Harley…who was sitting in her wheelchair, staring blankly at the ground just in front of her wheels.

“That’s quite the throwback,” Anthony chuckled as Karen, Damian and Jo filed in behind him.

Harley blinked, raising her gaze to look at them…and it was then Anthony noticed that her eyes were puffy—presumably from crying.

“Can I hold the baby?” she asked, her voice raspy and cracking.

Karen looked at her oddly, and then at Duke. “Yes, of course.” She moved forward, gently placing her baby on Harley’s lap.

“What’s—this is weird,” Jo realized. “Seriously, you guys are freaking me out. What’s going on?”

Pam cleared her throat. “H—,”

“I can’t walk.” Harley cut her off, not breaking eye contact with Duke as she smiled softly at him. “The spell wore off, Zatanna can’t cast it again, there’s nothing we can do, I can’t walk.”

Anthony’s jaw went slack. “I’m—I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want to say it again,” Harley told them as she planted a kiss on Duke’s cheek. “You’re bigger every time I see you, you know that?”

“Wait, Ma,” Jo seemed to be having as difficult a time as Anthony processing this. “You mean you’re—paralyzed again?”

“Yes,” Pam confirmed when Harley didn’t answer. “She’s not sick or hurt, it’s just her body can no longer utilize the spell.”

“Ma, I—,” Anthony got on his knees so he could look her in the face. “Ma, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even—God, I’m so sorry.”

Again, Harley didn’t answer, but from her clenched jaw and glassy eyes he could tell she was recruiting all her willpower to avoid bursting into tears.

“We wanted to tell you both—or, you all, I should say—in person because although I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her on my own,” Pam began. “I did it the first time, after all—there may be times moving forward when my League membership might keep me away from the house, as it sometimes does. So it’s possible we’ll need to call on you in the future for assistance should I be unavailable.”

“Better start putting together a timecard,” Harley mumbled sourly.

“Harleen, you know that’s not what I mean,” Pam scolded. “Please, I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“You guys can just go ahead and put me in a nursing home,” Harley told them. “I don’t care.”

“Darling, please,” Pam sighed, gently squeezing her shoulders. “This is difficult for everyone. I think the most important thing is that we’re here for each other and take the time to understand the challenges that might arise from this new development.”

“I have to go,” Jo said rather suddenly, backing herself out of the room.

Pam rolled her eyes. “Jolene, what did I just say? Do you think you could manage a shred of maturity?”

Jo shook her head, although it looked like it was more to shake away her surroundings than an answer to her Mother’s question. “I have to go.” And with that, she turned, quickly exiting the living room and then the house.

Anthony pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll go—,”

“No,” Damian stopped him. “I can handle it.” He started for the door, and soon it was only Anthony and Karen that remained with Harley and Pam, the baby still on Harley’s lap.

“She gets overwhelmed,” Anthony attempted to explain away Jo’s behavior.

“I know what she does,” Harley assured him, smiling halfheartedly as she gently squeezed the rolls of Duke’s wrist. “Time to put on her song.”

Anthony had only seen Harley in her wheelchair in pictures. This was…surreal. She’d been the most active person he’d ever known—and that was saying something as he’d grown up around Catwoman and every member of the Bat-family. Imagining a world in which his Mother couldn’t run, walk, or even stand…it hurt him. Deep in his chest, it hurt.

“Ma, are you…are you gonna be OK?” it was a stupid question, he knew that…but suddenly Anthony realized that ache was fear. Fear and sadness. And his parents had always been there to alleviate that for him. So, still, he needed them to help him, even if, in this moment, he knew he should have been comforting them instead.

Harley’s bottom lip quivered and Pam took her cue, lifting Duke off of her lap before Harley spread her arms and Anthony rushed into them.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “You’re gonna be OK. I mean 'I know you’re gonna be OK'.”

Chapter Text

“You’re happy? You’re settled?” Pam asked, standing next to the bed she’d just tucked Harley into in her typical oversized t-shirt. “You’re sure you don’t need anything else?”

Harley sighed. “Yep. Happy as a clam. A paralyzed clam.”

“Well,” Pam began as she climbed into bed beside her. “Technically clams don’t have legs, so I’m not sure you needed to amend your original statement.”

“Read the room, Pamela,” Harley exhaled, her eyes trained on the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Pam mumbled, laying on her side to look at her. “May I put my arm around you?”

Harley could picture the quietly hopeful expression on her wife’s face without even looking. “Yeah,” she muttered.

And Pam readily complied, wrapping her arm around Harley’s waist and snuggling close to her, her face nuzzling into Harley’s neck. “If you need anything during the night, please don’t hesitate to wake me.”

“OK,” Harley could feel Pam’s long lashes flutter against her neck as her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Harley’s remained open. The week since the spell wore off was the worst week of sleep she’d had since she said those awful things to Pam in the car after the party all those years ago. All those…18 years ago. Although, this time, her wife was sleeping beside her rather than in the green house, which was a welcome variation. “Pam?”

“Hm?” she hummed in response.

“Can you—umm…try to touch me?” Harley was embarrassed so her request came out shaky.

“I don’t need to try,” Pam mumbled. “I’m touching you right now.”

“No, I—I mean can you try to, you know…touch me. To see if I can…the first time we figured out ways to…”

She felt Pam pull away from her. “Oh—yes, sure. Should I—would you like me to kiss you? Or…”

“I’d like you to not make it fucking weird,” Harley snapped, coming off way harsher than she’d meant to. “You don’t have to make it a whole production, I just—I want to know.”

“I understand,” Pam acknowledged, gently taking Harley’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and turning her head to face her on the pillow. Pam’s eyes flitted down to her lips momentarily before returning her gaze once more, moving her hand now to reverently stroke her cheek with her index finger.

“What?” Harley breathed, her chest suddenly tight.

Pam smiled serenely. “I just feel so…warm every time I get to kiss you.”

On instinct, Harley thought to move towards her…until she remembered her catheter tethered her to that spot…meaning she’d have to pick up her bag to move…and use her arms to drag her lower body…and—luckily her increasingly depressing thoughts were cut off when Pam affectionately bumped their noses together.

“You’ll always be perfect to me, Daffodil,” she whispered, her breath warm against Harley’s lips, and the blonde allowed her eyes to flutter shut. “Always. Even when it’s just me in this bed. I’ll go to sleep every night remembering the feeling of your body pressed against mine…I’ll remember the curve of your lips and the blue of your eyes…” her hand languidly made its way under Harley’s shirt below the covers. “And I’ll be grateful for how you loved me…and for how you let me love you.” Harley’s breath hitched as Pam gently squeezed and swirled and pinched. “I’m so lucky,” she murmured.

And Harley was pretty sure she was about to cry before Pam pressed her lips to hers, softly at first, but then gaining intensity in a transition only Pam could seamlessly manage. How she could be so tender and overwhelming all at the same time Harley would never understand, but it was always something she’d marveled at.

Her eyes closed tighter as Pam dragged her hand away from her breast down her stomach, and…

Well that was anticlimactic.

Again.

She remembered this now, how she could feel some pressure but no sensation. How hard she’d had to focus in order to feel the slightest twinge of pleasure anywhere below her waist. How an orgasm was really just visualizing one and then convincing herself that what she was feeling was real. “Pam, stop.” She opened her eyes to find that her wife’s had been closed as well.

They opened immediately after Harley spoke, filled with worry. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s—I’m tired…I can’t.” And then it hit her that she’d basically phoned it in the last time they’d been intimate…and that was the last time they were ever going to be intimate.

Pam leaned over her, wiping Harley’s tears away as they fell. “Shhh…” she soothed. “Darling, be patient. We learned last time that this was a marathon, not a sprint.”

“I don’t have time for a marathon, Pam.”

That reminder seemed to hurt Pam as much as it did Harley as she pressed their foreheads together. “I’ll figure it out.”

/

Jo flopped down on the couch in Harley’s office with a groan, pressing the heels of her palms into her closed eyelids before dragging her hands down her face.

“There are beds upstairs, you know.” Damian’s voice came from the open doorway, startling her.

“Jesus,” she jumped. “Take a fucking hint, Bro. I’m trying to sleep.”

“You can’t sleep on the couch,” Damian reasoned.

“Weird, since I’m laying on the couch, about to go to sleep.” She shut her eyes once more, attempting to tune him out.

“How was the meet?”

“Fine,” Jo mumbled. “The team placed second, but one of our girls won the all-around. Anyway, can I help you?” she still wasn’t looking at him.

“I…you haven’t…you’ve been different since the thing with Harleen,” he told her, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “And Carrie said it might help if I was—uh—there for you. So…I’m doing that.”

Jo squinted at him. “Doing what?”

“Being there for you.” He told her. “I’m, umm…here.” He awkwardly pet her head.

“Umm…OK?” Jo acknowledged. “Thanks, I guess?”

He came around to sit at her feet on the couch, his movements strange and overly measured as he gently placed her legs across his lap.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Jo frowned at him. “Why are you wearing a tux?”

“It’s after 6. What am I, a farmer?” Damian answered, sounding mildly scandalized.

She snorted, kicking him in the leg. “You’re such a prick.” He didn’t smile then, rare was the occasion he let slip an external example of happiness, but Jo could tell he wanted to, and that was good enough for her as she laid her head back down.

“Have you talked to her?” he asked after a moment of fairly comfortable silence.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid. Obviously.” Jo answered plainly.

“Why?” Damian asked again.

“Umm…because Ma’s in a fucking wheelchair again and she’s the strongest person I ever knew and she raised me and took care of me and the idea that I now have to help take care of her is fucking terrifying?” Jo blurted out. “Yeah, probably that.”

“Oh,” Damian mumbled.

“Oh,” Jo agreed, closing her eyes once more and rolling onto her side.

“…well I think fear is useless except for as a motivator,” Damian told her.

 “Thank you,” Jo mocked. “I feel very consoled.”

“But, I think…” he continued. “Perhaps, if my legs were suddenly taken away from me after a lifetime of relying on my physical prowess…I might…allow myself to feel afraid for a moment. Especially if I felt like I was letting down people who relied on me by needing to ask for help instead of providing it.”

/

Pam frowned at her phone, not liking the findings in the last article and moving on, her feet casually up on the table in the rec room.

“I did it on accident!” Kara suddenly said from the other side of the table. “Really, I meant to accept it.”

The redhead looked up from her screen. “Come again?”

“Your friend request, on Facebook.” Kara clarified, setting down her apple juice. “I swear I meant to accept it. It was a total accident. You can request me again if you want. I’ll totally say yes this time.”

Confused, Pam said: “I don’t have a Facebook account.”

“Oh,” Kara adjusted herself uncomfortably in her chair. “But I could have sworn ‘Pamela Isley’ sent me a friend request.”

“Then it was either a fake account or a fan page as the ‘Pamela Isley’ name is blatantly synonymous with Poison Ivy, and I wouldn’t use it to conduct affairs outside this skin color or my immediate family.” Ivy told her.

“Oh,” Kara said again. “So then what are you frowning about?”

“The female orgasm,” Ivy answered plainly.

Kara choked on her apple juice, her last drink having been poorly timed.

“Dr. Isley, would you kindly report to the conference room?” Martian Manhunter’s voice rang out in her head.

“Goddamn it, Zatanna,” she muttered, handing her phone to a vine reaching out of her leotard and pulling her feet back from the table. “Remind me to conduct my next warranted assault out of view of the security cameras.”

“Wha—uh—OK,” Kara sputtered, likely still recovering from hearing the word ‘orgasm’, which had apparently traumatized her.

Ivy exited the rec room, heading down the hall towards the conference room, which she found was full of some of her higher-ranking colleagues.

“Pamela,” Wonder Woman welcomed her as the heavy door shut her inside. “Please, have a seat.”

Ivy obliged, starring Zatanna down the entire time. The brunette swallowed, averting her eyes as Ivy bore holes into her with her gaze. “If this is about my conversation with Chris Angel’s mistress in the hallway last week…”

“It’s not,” Black Canary assured her, though not too kindly.

Superman cleared his throat, clearly understanding the reference, but moving past it. “No, Ivy, we’ve decided you now qualify as a senior member. And we wanted you to sit in on this meeting with us because all senior members get a voice in recruitment.”

Diana pressed a button that turned on the screen in the table in front of Ivy, everyone else with a seat at the table had one as well.

“Recruitment?” Ivy asked.

“Every year we have a meeting to weigh in on candidates for new membership into both our organization and our various other training and junior programs.” Diana explained. “Some of us have chosen to champion a candidate, some have not, but all testimony given will be entered into the hero candidate’s file and be factored into our individual assessments of him or her.”

“So let’s get started.” Clark smiled. “Our first candidate for League Membership is Superboy.” The displays all changed simultaneously, going from the generic Justice League logo to a picture of dark haired, blue-eyed boy with that signature Kryptonian boy scout smile. Next to the picture was a list of his physical characteristics, powers and abilities, estimated IQ, and a laundry list of his various qualifications and heroic acts. “Given name, Jon Lane Kent—he’s my son,” Clark said proudly, blushing slightly. “Half-Kryptonian, half-human, his powers are very similar to what you’ve seen from Kara, Connor and me. As a young boy he had issues with consistency and power fluctuations, but that hasn’t been an issue in some time. He joined the Young Justice program at 16 and was—by all accounts—a valuable member of the team until he transitioned to the Titans.”

“I can vouch for that,” Dinah confirmed. “In his file is my letter of recommendation, if any of you are curious. He’s deeply caring and wants to protect anything and everything, which has caused him a little trouble…but I think we can continue working on his decision making once he’s here.”

“Thank you,” Wonder Woman said. “Does anyone else have an argument for or against they’d like to make?”

“Not an argument, just a question,” Ivy spoke up. “It says here he’s 24…wouldn’t that be considered a man? Why are you still calling him Superboy? Is this a Neverland type situation?”

The woman who Ivy recognized as Raven snorted, and Diana let a barely noticeable smirk slip before she said: “if that’s all, let’s take it to a vote. Majority rules. For Mr. Kent’s approval, raise your hand and say ‘aye’.”

Everyone raised their hand…Ivy being the last. “I’m sorry, shouldn’t Supergirl be included in this meeting? I haven’t been here much longer.”

“She doesn’t want to be,” Clark told her. “Having to choose upsets her. She just wants everyone to be included.”

“Ah,” Ivy understood as a virtual “APPROVED” stamp was placed over Jon’s face and a new file came on screen.

“Aquagirl,” Aquaman took over. “Mareena Curry, my daughter, is seeking entrance to the Young Justice program.”

The girl in the picture was only 10, according to her file, despite having white hair. “Isn’t she a little young?” Ivy asked.

“She’s mine and Mera’s biologically, and we’re having a hard time harnessing her abilities, to be totally honest.” Arthur told them, sounding almost ashamed. “She has more potential than both of us, and she wants to do good, but keeping her down in Atlantis…she craves a look at the outside world. She’s getting restless. Kaldur'ahm found the program very helpful, and I think Mareena might be more responsive to coaching from someone other than Mera or I.”

Pam smiled at the picture now, deciding she reminded her of Jo at that age. 10 was such a wonderful age.

“Understood,” Diana nodded. “Dinah? Your opinion obviously matters here. Anything to say for the record?”

“I’m up for the challenge,” the blonde smiled.

“For Aquagirl’s approval.” Diana prompted.

There were a few holdouts this time, but Ivy raised her hand high. She liked Mera, and Arthur was more than adequate, as far as men went. She was sure their daughter would be successful if given the proper tools.

“APPROVED” was stamped atop the girl’s face and her file was erased from the screen.

“Next…Batman.” Clark said. “This is Bruce’s biological son, Damian. Mother: Talia al Ghul. Damian has worked closely with my son before, so I can personally vouch that he’s every bit as talented as his father.”

“And every bit as stubborn,” Arthur added.

“Right,” Clark chuckled.

Pam forced her eyes to keep from rolling. Sure, Damian. What else do you want? You already haunt my holiday’s and my phone calls with my daughter…why not fuck up my professional life as well?

“Bruce included a letter of recommendation, and despite his reputation, he served as a valuable member of the Titans all throughout his adolescence.” Diana reminded them. “He’s more than qualified for membership. That’s my personal stance.”

“If he can get his attitude under control,” Arthur began.

“He’s improving,” Pam mumbled.

All eyes turned to her. “What?” the brunette Arrow guy with a stupid name that Ivy could never remember asked.

“Damian is improving,” Ivy said, a bit louder. “I—,” she cleared her throat. “As a hero…on a professional basis…I trust his skill. And although he’s truly detestable, he does attempt to conduct himself—to some degree—in the image of his Father. Bruce wouldn’t have turned over the mantle to him if he didn’t believe Damian would act in the best interest of the human population of Gotham City.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone thought on that before Clark spoke up. “For approval, raise a hand.”

I hate myself, Pam thought over and over again as she slowly raised her hand.

“APPROVED”.

Ivy’s stomach turned in disgust before Damian’s file gave way to the next.

“Hellbat,” Arthur said before the digital file opened, evidently reading off a list Ivy hadn’t been provided with.

“I’m sorry, who?” Ivy asked…before the file opened and answered her question. “Oh, God,” she covered her face with sudden embarrassment.

“Given name: Jolene I. Quinzel,” Diana read aloud. “Was recommended to the Young Justice program by Damian Wayne. She’s served the Bat-family for four years now, in her file is another letter of recommendation from Bruce. In it he acknowledges past morality concerns, but says there’s no reason to fear an alignment switch.”

“No,” Ivy said, crossing her arms. “First of all, ‘Hellbat’ is an extraordinarily stupid name, and secondly: No, absolutely not. She has far too much on her plate right now and she’s easily overwhelmed. Her coping mechanisms are regularly reckless and immature…no. She’s good where she is.”

Brunette-Arrow scoffed. “You sound like her Mom.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” Pam asked.

“Roy—Arsenal.”

“He yours?” she nodded at Canary.

“Oliver’s protégé,” the Canary explained.

“Well I preferred the blonde one,” Ivy told her.

“He’s retired.”

“And why aren’t you?” Ivy inquired. “What fountain of youth have you been sipping on?”

Dinah cleared her throat. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Ivy scoffed. “Next time you see Talia, tell her I said she could choke.”

Diana lightly cleared her throat to interrupt them. “She is Jolene’s Mother, Roy. And as such, her concerns are valid as well as biased. So, please, everyone take Pamela’s assessment with a grain of salt.”

“Wh—you all advocated for your children!” Ivy loudly reminded them. “I took your recommendations as the unimpeded truth, but suddenly because I wouldn’t recommend my daughter be inducted you all choose not to listen?”

“Well I disagree with your assessment, Pamela. I don’t think she is reckless,” Diana told her. “She comes off as calculating to me, and to Bruce as well, according to his recommendation. And if anyone is going to make the ‘but she’s killed before’ argument, I challenge you to find a hero among us who hasn’t. You’re certainly no exception, Pamela. Bruce came in here 40 years ago and vouched for you, told us not to define you by your past, but by your potential. And you panned out rather well, I’d say. I think we can all agree on that.”

There was some unorganized head nodding around the table.

“I’ve watched her training tapes, I’ve seen her aptitude scores, I’ve read Bruce and Damian’s assessments of her,” Diana continued. “And like you, or like Aquagirl, given the right environment and coaching, she could be an asset to us for years to come. That’s why I’m recommending she be assigned to the Titans. Damian and Jon moving on means there’s room on the team, and Ms. Quinzel has the skills and experience to fill it.”

“Everyone in favor, say ‘aye’.” Superman prompted.

/

Harleen started her 14^th consecutive round of Candy Crush.

Pam was late. She’d said she’d be home by 8 and it was already 9 o’clock. So much for Scrabble night…

See, the worst part about being paralyzed, besides—you know—being paralyzed, was having to live according to other people’s schedules.

Harley was tired. Dead tired. Why? She had no idea. Not like she’d fucking done anything that day. Just sat in her electric chair and wheeled herself around the house. Regardless, she’d have to wait until Pam got home to go to sleep. Her catheter needed to be emptied, she needed to be carried to bed, Pam needed to help her with those pointless atrophy exercises…but Pam wasn’t here, and Harley wasn’t about to send another text so that she could sound more needy.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of a knock at the door. One that began with confidence, but then quickly trailed off into reluctant.

Great, Harley thought, wheeling herself in the direction of the door. Maybe I’ll be murdered by a nervous burglar. A fitting end.

But when she opened the door it was Jo standing on the porch, soaking wet—presumably from the rain that was beating down on the pavement. In her hands she was holding a bouquet of roses, a pizza and a DVD.

“Hi,” Jo said, starring down at her feet until she gathered the courage to look Harley in the eye.

“It wasn’t over for me!” Harley said. “I waited for you for 7 years!”

And immediately, all the worry melted off of Jo’s face, replaced by a wide grin. “I wrote you 365 letters.”

“Not on paper, I hope. Your Mom would throw a fit.” Harley smirked.

“No, no. Email. Don’t worry.” Jo assured her.

“What’s with the dismembered corpses?” Harley asked, nodding at the flowers, her heart beating fast in her chest in an unexpected reaction to seeing her daughter. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her this past week.

“Oh, Umm, Damian didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day, and Selina found out and got these for me then said they were from Damian,” Jo explained. “And they’re still alive, so maybe I’ve got plant powers after all.”

Harley bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You re-gifted me your Valentine’s roses.”

“It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over!” Jo said with a dramatized sincerity. “No, it’s just—you’ve got roses on your engagement ring, so I figured you liked em.”

“Right,” Harley smiled, trying to hide the PLEASE STAY that was probably hiding in her eyes. “Do you want to—umm—come in?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jo smiled nervously, moving forward as Harley backed up into the house.

“You brought pizza?” Harley asked, wheeling into the kitchen, hearing Jo follow behind her—but not too closely.

“I—yeah. Canadian bacon pineapple. Best of both worlds.” Jo set the pizza down on the counter as Harley turned her chair to face her. “Mom’s not here?”

“She’s working.”

“Ah, good—I mean—cool, that’s, umm…” Jo was obviously struggling here. “I don’t mean it’s good she’s not here, I just mean—I came to talk to you, so…I’m glad you’re—yeah.”

“Good sentencing.” Harley chuckled. “I can see you’re putting every point of that genius IQ to good use.”

“Yeah, you bet,” Jo laughed nervously. “Uh—look, Ma…I love you.”

Harley nodded slowly. “But you’re so tired of disappointing me?” Jo’s face went white, her smile falling immediately, and Harley panicked. “Oh, no, Honey, I was quoting The Vow. I thought we were doing a Rachel McAdams thing.”

“Fuck,” Jo exhaled, visible relief washing over her. “Thank God. No, I—remember when I was little? And I’d squeeze too hard when I hugged you or—like—overwhelmed you with kisses? That’s how much I still love you. I love you lots and I just…I don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you because I’m so happy you’re my Mama, you know? And I—I freaked out, and I’m so sorry. I was just scared and I didn’t know what to do with it and then I was angry—not at you, just like…I sorta wished I was raised with a religion for a second so that I could have a God to be mad at besides Wonder Woman’s Dad or whatever.”

Jo ran a hand through her hair to soothe herself and it suddenly hit Harley how similar to Pam Jo could be. And not just in terms of physical resemblance, which was making more and more sense with each passing year, but also their energy. How nervous Jo got, how stressed and overwhelmed. How she overreacted or underreacted to things…and how quickly she too could cross over into Ivy territory.

“—you know?” evidently Jo had continued talking and Harley had completely tuned it out. Oops.

So she just nodded silently. Can’t go wrong, right?

…which, according to the smile that spread over Jo’s face in reaction, seemed to be the right answer.

“And I try my best not to listen to anything he says because he’s the worst and sucks at life,” Jo continued (?), opening the pizza box and then the cupboard to get them both plates. “But he does occasionally say stuff that doesn’t make me want to punch him, which is nice, and this happened to be one of those times. I was just scared you’d be different and I was scared I’d have to be strong, and sometimes…I mean, I try, but—it’s been so weird being with him—,”

—wait, who? Damn it, I knew I should have listened.

“—and just…it makes me realize how special you guys are. Like, did you know that he’d never heard ‘I love you’ before I said it to him? Literally no one had ever told him they loved him. Not Bruce, not Selina, definitely not Talia—,”

Oh, Damian. She’s talking about Damian. Wait—she said what?

“And it made me so sad, but then when I told him it was like—I don’t know—like a piece was falling into place. Something he’d been missing before, something I’d always had. So yeah, I brought you roses because love is…love is good! It’s great and it’s important and I used to think it was overrated…but then I gave it to someone who hadn’t had it before and it’s…it’s just good. So I love you and I love him and I just—umm...I see how much Mom loves you and that’s—it’s wonderful, I think.”

Whaaat is going on right now? Harley was moving into alarm as the observed the bright pink in her daughter’s cheeks.

“And—fuck—it must be—Christ—it must be so fucking scary not being to walk.” Jo was—wow—still talking. “But Mom…Mom loves being able to love you, ya know? Like…I see her, still! Now! After all this bullshit and me and Anthony, she still lights up every time she sees you. You two are a team. For my whole life I’ve seen you guys work through everything as a team, and I think—that’s the only way to handle something like this. So, I think…yeah, you’re scared…but deep down I think maybe you know you don’t have to be because you still have Mom and she’s never leaving and she still loves you and to her you’ll always be the woman who helped her get out of Arkham or rolled down the aisle or—whatever! It’s just…you’re you and that’s what she loves. You.” Jo happily took a bite of pizza, leaving Harley at a loss for words.

I mean…I guess she’s right? Somewhere in that word salad she made some sense? But hold up—I wasn’t even down with her sleeping with Damian, loving him is a whole new sandpit of shit.

“Whhhat’s the movie?” was all that Harley could come up with.

“Oh,” Jo swallowed. “Well I’m not totally sure about it, OK? If it makes things worse or upsets you I can just trash it.”

“What is it?” Harley’s curiosity was piqued and she tried to sit up straighter in her chair to see the cover.

“Well…” Jo cleared her throat. “It’s you. Every one of your gymnastics meets that was ever recorded and every news clip that ever showed you as Batgirl or Batwoman. People say all the time how they wish they could go to their own funeral…”

“So this is a funeral for my legs.” Harley realized.

“It’s dumb.” Jo said quickly. “I’m sorry. It seemed like a better idea in my head. Carrie got all the clips together and even she said it was a stupid idea. I’m sorry. It’s offensive, isn’t it?”

Harley wasn’t quite sure, honestly. Just reliving everything she’d never be able to do again? Not that she was still jumping off of buildings or doing backflips when the spell wore off… “OK.” She said, her voice quieter than she’d expected. “Let’s watch it.”

“Yeah?” Jo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised (and excited). “Cool. Do you…want some pizza first?”

“I think we can multitask.” Harley smiled.

“Right duh,” Jo grinned as she piled their plates full of pizza. “After you.”

Harley led the way to the living room, so happy to not be alone, coming to a stop in front of the couch as Jo set the plates down on the coffee table.

“Is that—umm—do you have to stay in your chair?” Jo asked. “Do you want to?”

“Uh—no but you’d, umm…” Harley scrambled just as awkwardly as Jo had in the kitchen. “You have to move the bag too, and—uh—me.”

Jo nodded in understanding, putting the DVD into the player before crossing back over to the chair, looking calmer than she did before. Silently, she leaned over, slipping her right arm beneath Harley’s knees and her left across her upper back. “I think maybe you should grab on?” she murmured.

Instantly, Harley flashed on Jo gnawing on the slats of her crib. On attempting to feed her cheerios and watching Pam bounce her happily on her hip. On watching Jo take her first stumbling steps and do her first handstand…to kissing her cheek before her flag football games and watching her tear off across the marble floor into Pam’s waiting arms, nearly toppling them both over…this was Harley’s baby. Harley’s little girl…but now it was Harley being carried and set gently down on the couch, just like she’d sat Jo down on the couch a million times, trying to convince her to sit still so they could enjoy a movie.

Jo set the bag from the back of her wheelchair beside them, minding the hose and grabbing for their pizza and the remote before sitting back and snuggling in next to Harley, helping to keep her upright by offering her shoulder.

/

Pam knew she was late, and she absolutely hated it.

But fuck them, approving my daughter without my consent.

The guilt was heavy in her gut, pulling at her with each heavy step up the driveway and onto the porch.

Unlocking the door, the first thing out of her mouth was: “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, honestly. I tried to get home sooner, I really did.

Silence.

“Harls?” I hope she didn’t try to get in bed herself…

But her relief spread quickly as she stepped into the living room to find Harley asleep on the couch…Harley asleep on the couch with Jo.

The two were snoring peacefully, Harley’s head resting on Jo’s shoulder and Jo using Harley’s head as a pillow in return.

Blinking at the strangely tranquil scene laid out in front of her, Pam turned to see the TV was playing what looked like old home video. Of Harley, she realized.

She looked around 15 in the video, wearing a shiny red leotard, the bangs spilling out onto her forehead extremely appropriate for the year denoted in the corner of the screen: 1986.

’86, so this was the year that…but she was so young, and her smile was so innocent…who would hurt that child? Why?

Pam had to turn it off, her stomach ache too severe at the thought of her wife being preyed upon at such a young age. Just like Jo…well…different, but they did have a similar essence. The girl on that tape and the one sleeping on the couch.

Why was Jo here?

That was the question Pam knew she should ask…but looking at the girl’s expression now…the only one she wanted to ask was why did she ever leave?

Pam hated to disturb them, but it was late and Harley’s catheter needed emptying and changing, her muscles needed moving…there was a routine in place that couldn’t be deviated from. So, as quietly and as steadily as she could manage, Pam moved Harley away from Jo, picking her up, along with the bag, and heading for the stairs.

Jo didn’t seem to mind, laying down in the spot Harley had just vacated…or at least Pam thought she didn’t mind, until Jo spoke, her words slow as she’d just woken up. “You need help?”

And the guilt in Pam’s stomach was suddenly overtaken with something warmer, something kinder…something like gratefulness. “No. You just sleep; I’ll see you in the morning.”

“K,” Jo mumbled, surrendering herself to sleep once more.

Chapter Text

“Alright, you got all your stuff?” Karen prompted.

“Uh huh,” Duke said from the back seat, looking apprehensively out the window.

Narrowing her eyes at him in the rearview mirror, Karen asked: “What’s the matter?

“Maybe my flowers aren’t good,” he said, starring down at the yellow marigolds in his lap. “Maybe she will not like them.”

“Baby, Grandma’s never met a flower she didn’t like,” Karen assured him, pulling into the driveway. “Daddy and I will come back after work and we’ll all have dinner here, OK? I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, OK,” Duke mumbled, unbuckling his seat belt and waiting for Karen to come around and let him out (Anthony had enabled the child lock some time ago and now they couldn’t figure out how to take it off).

His feet landed on the ground with a stomp to enable his light up shoes, and for a moment, he didn’t seem so nervous. Then he reached behind him and grabbed the flowers from the seat, holding them close to his chest, careful not to spill even a speck of soil from the plastic container.

“You ready?” Karen asked.

Duke nodded silently, allowing her to lead the way, but keeping close to her side, turning down her outstretched hand and electing to dedicate all his attention to the delicate flowers in his hand.

Karen headed towards the side gate, the one that led to the backyard, using the key she’d been given to unlock it before ushering Duke inside. “Hey,” she called out, shutting it behind her. “We’re here.”

Pam looked up from where she was kneeling in the garden—weeding, by the looks of it. She offered a warm smile, but didn’t get up. And it was Harley whose voice they heard first.

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed from her chair on the back porch. “Duke, where did you get those shoes?!”

“Daddy got them at the store,” he told her as she rolled down the ramp towards him.

“Do you think they’d fit me?” she asked, stopping just in front of them.

“No,” Duke shook his head.

“Oh,” Harley feigned disappointment. “Is it cuz my feet are too small?”

“No, they’re too big, Nana. Stop being silly,” he giggled.

“Me? Silly?” Harley grinned. “Nuh uh, no way, no how, never.”

“No, always!” Duke disagreed.

Harley crinkled her nose teasingly at him as Karen cleared her throat. “I should be back by like 7:00, if that’s alright.”

“You mean I get to hang out all day with this munchkin?” Harley asked, obviously more for Duke than Karen.

“I’m not a munchkin.” He told her, frowning. “They scare me.”

Harley bit her lip to keep another grin at bay. “The Munchkins scare you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And the lion. And the tin guy. And the scarecrow.”

Karen sighed, she’d been through this more than a few times already, but Harley seemed to be having fun.

“Well what about the witch?” she asked. “Does she scare you?”

“No,” he giggled like that was a silly question. “She’s just an ugly Grandma.”

“Yes, well, when you ostracize and misunderstand brilliant, green skinned lesbians, they tend to turn bitter.” Pam offered from the garden.

Harley furrowed her brow, looking at Pam over her shoulder. “Elphaba was a lesbian? With who?”

“Glinda,” Pam told her. “The blonde. But you don’t need to have a female love interest to be a lesbian.”

“The good witch,” Duke corrected.

It appeared that Harley’s mind had been sufficiently blown, so Karen nodded, taking a deep breath. “Sweet. I’ll see you guys later.” She leaned down to kiss her son on the top of the head. “Be good, Baby.”

“Wait!” he grabbed onto her shirt, keeping her in place and lifting up onto his tip toes, Karen leaning down so that he could whisper in her ear. “Help me.”

“With what?” Karen whispered back.

“Give Grandma her flowers,” he said.

“Oh, OK,” Karen kissed him on the cheek, putting her hand on his back and guiding him across the lawn to where Pam was kneeling, focused on her work.

“Grandma?” he said, his voice quiet, his eyes trained on her white sunhat.

She pushed the brim of her hat up on her forehead, squinting to look at him through the pleasant, 11am sunlight. “Yes?”

Slowly, he held the flowers out to her, watching her cautiously as he did. “I brought flowers for your garden.”

Pam looked at the flowers, and then up at Duke, a smile growing on her face as she did. “For me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded.

She sat forward on her knees to examine them closer. “Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Yes,” he said, seeming to hold his breath.

“Marigolds,” Pam reached out a hand and gently stroked the dainty petals. “Let’s see…how old are you?”

Duke gingerly let go of the container with one hand to raise four fingers.

“Four,” she smiled. “Well, when your Daddy was your age, I used to let him help me in the garden.”

Duke nodded in acknowledgment. “Daddy’s good at flowers.”

Pam chuckled, stripping off her gloves. “What about you? Would you like to give it a try?”

Duke’s eyes grew wide at the thought. “Plant my flowers?”

“Mhm,” Pam confirmed. “If you brought your best listening ears and your gentlest hands.”

“I did!”

“Wonderful,” Pam smiled. “How about you say goodbye to your Mom and we get started.”

/

Jo sighed. “What’s this one for, again?”

“Orphans,” Damian answered as the tailor went to retrieve the jacket he’d fitted. “And it’s important to both our brand and my father, so wear the green, not the red.”

“Not the—,” Jo was offended. “OK, first off—it’s salmon. But what’s the matter with it? You bought it for me!”

“Besides the fact that you always get cold and we have yet to find a jacket that works with it?” Damian raised an eyebrow in the mirror as he began the practiced process of tying his bow tie. “If the gala was being held indoors it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Jo narrowed her gaze. “You just don’t like having to give me your jackets.”

“Not particularly, no.” He admitted, frowning at the bow. “Does this look straight to you?” he asked, turning to give her a better view.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Why are you being so weird?” Jo asked, more annoyed than suspicious. “Since when do you care what I wear? My job is to look hot and sophisticated, and that’s what I do. Consistently. And I don’t even buy my own shit, really. That shopper you hired does. So…”

“I just want you to be in a dress that you’re happy with,” he said quickly, clearly wanting to be done with the conversation.

“Well I’m happy with the salmon.”

“Fine! Wear the salmon.” He angrily threaded his cuff-links. “I just don’t want you to regret it.”

“Reg—OK, American Psycho. You need to take a chill pill,” Jo glared, crossing her arms. “Thanks for your concern, anyway.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, taking his jacket from the tailor when he returned and sliding it on. After studying himself in the mirror a moment he asked: “What do you think?”

“Of the tux?” Jo wondered. “It’s nice. You did a good job,” she smiled at the tailor.

“Good,” Damian nodded…maybe a few too many times. “I’m glad you like it, as it’s what I’ll be wearing when I propose to you tonight.”

“Oh, got’cha. Cool, cool, cool.” Jo pointed two finger guns at him and casually got up, heading for the shelf of bottled water. “Excuse me,” she got the tailor’s attention, grabbing one of the bottles. “Are these free?”

“$5.00,” he informed her.

“5? This better taste like Zeus’ hand-milked tears.” She unscrewed the cap, taking a drink…and then immediately sprayed out her entire mouthful. “WHEN YOU WHAT?!”

“Propose to you,” Damian casually repeated, stepping down off the platform. “I’ll pay for the carpet if you notice any water damage,” he told the tailor.

“Wait, Damian—wait,” Jo felt more confused than anything. “You…want to marry me?”

“Well…yes,” Damian answered like he wasn’t sure why it was a question. “It’s been almost 5 years now, Jo. You weren’t—I’m sorry, I thought you were expecting this.”

“Uh—no, I—no,” Jo shook her head. “Do—do 23-year-olds even get married?”

Damian shrugged. “Anthony was 24 when he had Duke, right? I’m not asking for that, I’m just…umm…will you marry me?”

“I mean…yes, sure.” Jo told him, still attempting to process what was happening. “But why?”

“Well, I have a speech for tonight—and a ring,” he informed her. “But cliffnotes: you’re my best friend, you’re the only person on the planet that I actually, truly care about, you make me feel like I’m not alone, my Father and Selina spent too long running in circles around each other, and I think we do enough of that already without actually drifting in and out of each other’s lives. Also, I love you, and when I think about the future, in my head you’re always there with me.”

“Those are…all good reasons,” Jo said, clearing her throat in hopes of warding off the tears she felt building behind her eyes. “OK. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Damian grinned, and it was real and genuine. It was maybe the first time she’d actually seen him express true happiness in the 23 years she’d known him, and it was in reaction to him learning she would be his wife. And that…made Jo happier than she could express with words.

“Yes,” she said again, quickly closing the space between them and throwing her arms around his neck, pulling him into an overzealous kiss. “Fuck yes,” she whispered.

She felt him smile against her lips. “That’s the answer I was looking for.”

/

“We don’t have to have spaghetti if you don’t have pasta,” Karen assured them. “Really, we can troubleshoot.”

“But…but I like spaghetti,” Duke quietly protested from where he was already sitting at the table, seemingly ready to be fed. “I want to eat some right now.”

“You heard the man,” Harley nodded towards him. “Pam can go to the store, it’s not a problem. We need a new skillet anyway.”

Confused, Pam said: “they sell skillets at the grocery store?”

“They do at Target,” Harley reasoned.

“Well…OK, fine, but Jo took my car today,” Pam reminded her, sounding like she was making an excuse.

“Where’s hers?” Harley asked.

Pam got up, grabbing her purse, having apparently decided she wasn’t getting out of this. “In the shop because she’s a horrible driver. Do you want to go? We could take the van…”

“No,” Harley said quickly. “No, it doesn’t need to be a big to-do, just…how about you and Karen go? Take her car. I’ll just wait for Anthony.”

“Uh—yeah, sure,” Karen agreed. “Duke? You wanna come with me or stay with Nana?”

Guiltily, the boy weighed his options, before ultimately turning to Harley and saying: “Nana, will it hurt your feelings if I go with Mommy?”

“Nope,” Harley smiled kindly. “Moms are great, I get it. If you see anything cool at the store, tell Grandma she has to buy it on my orders.”

Pam rolled her eyes, opening the door for them, Harley offering a double-thumbs up before she closed it behind them and headed for the car. “I suppose you should drive.”

“I suppose,” Karen agreed, buckling Duke into his booster seat and coming around the front to sit in the driver’s.

Pam climbed gingerly into the passenger seat like it was some alien planet, going to adjust her hair immediately after buckling herself in, and only then letting herself relax.

“You good?” Karen prompted.

“You a good driver?”

“Mommy’s the best driver,” Duke assured her from the back seat, patting Pam on the shoulder. “You’re safe. She’s a superhero.”

“Thanks, Baby,” Karen chuckled, pulling away and starting on what she knew was a brief journey. “So…I take it you’re usually the one behind the wheel.” She said after a few blocks.

“Yes,” Pam acknowledged, her gaze aimed straight ahead.

“Did you teach Anthony how to drive?” Karen wondered. While she was, at this point, more or less accustomed to having Pamela Isley as a mother-in-law, she was still curious about a lot of things. It was still bizarre to think that the permanently-disgruntled plant hybrid that roamed the halls of The Watchtower was the same woman who raised the impressively well-adjusted father of her child.

“No,” Ivy was saying. “No, that was Dick Grayson. His Godfather. We saw it as an opportunity to promote some male bonding.”

“Did he ever have a rebellious teenager phase?” Karen wanted to know.

“Anthony? Goodness, no,” Pam laughed. “We hit a little bump when he was around 12, I think. That was when we finally explained to him what he was and what I was, and he was hurt for a moment. But then my mutation set in and things just…fell back into place. But even without that, I’m confident we would have been fine. Harley always knew how to talk to him. To both of them, really.”

“He didn’t talk to you?”

“Oh, no, he did, it’s just…I’m an easy target for anger,” Pam told her. “I think—for the most part—well-loved children don’t truly want to hurt their parents, even when they’re angry. But they want you to think that they do. To think that they’re capable of that.” Her gaze turned out the window. “But if you listen to them and try to understand their concerns as they see them, they pull their punches. And Anthony never had much fight in him to begin with, really, so the few times he did attempt to test out his anger, it was on me because…well because I’m Poison Ivy, frankly, and being an immortal meta-human meant they didn’t have to pull their punches quite as quickly.” She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “Does that answer your question?”

Karen nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah…” and for a moment there it was like she was just getting some parenting advice from her mother-in-law…not from Poison Ivy, which was…nice.

She pulled into a parking spot and Pam got out, slinging her purse over her shoulder and helping Duke out of the backseat.

Duke grabbed onto her hand, doing a big stomp to get his shoes going before he reached for Karen’s hand as well. “For extra safety,” he said.

Karen smiled, both at her son’s thoughtfulness and at the fact that Poison Ivy seemed to have no objection to the request.

Together, they walked across the parking lot and into the store.

“OK,” Karen glanced around. “So…I think the groceries and the kitchenware are in the same general area, right?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Pam admitted, looking a bit overwhelmed. “I don’t—I don’t frequent these sorts of establishments.”

Oh, right. Industrialism bad. “We’ll figure it out,” Karen tried to sound as cheery as possible. “What do you say, Duke?” she asked. “You want to go on an adventure?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, letting go of Karen’s hand to pat Pam’s. “It’s OK, Grandma. I’m a good explorer.”

“Well…lead the way, then.” Pam forced a smile and they were off. Just…two superheroes and a four-year-old wandering around a Target at 8pm.

“So what are the two things we need?” Karen prompted.

“Pasta.” Duke said matter-of-factly, stopping to try to see to the end of an aisle before determining they weren’t buying what it was selling. “Pasta and pans. One more cuz we already got one,” he smiled up at his Grandmother.

“No, Sweetheart, my name is ‘Pam’. ‘Pam’, not ‘pan’.” She informed him.

“Oh,” Duke looked disappointed (and maybe a little embarrassed) as Karen stopped them.

“Pasta.” She dropped Duke’s hand to grab a box of angel hair.

“And kitchenware,” the redhead pointed in the opposite direction, and Karen turned to see there was, in fact, an aisle across from them filled with kitchenware.

Pam lifted Duke up onto her hip, as he was still wearing that downtrodden expression. While he was a pretty decent size for a four-year-old, he still wasn’t too big to be carried, and Karen liked how he instantly rested his head against Pam’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around her neck. He held onto Anthony the same way.

“We have to buy nonstick because Nana always forgets to add oil,” Pam was saying. “Karen, would you…?” she nodded towards the wall of pans.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” She stepped forward. “Which one?”

“The 10 inch is fine, thank you,” Pam told her. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Superheroes, they’re just like you! Karen chuckled to herself as they headed for the checkout. Luckily the store wasn’t all that busy, so there was an open cashier waiting.

Pam set Duke down and Karen placed their two items on the belt, smiling politely back at the grinning cashier.

“What a handsome young man,” the woman complimented as she rung up the items, looking at Pam as she was the one in front (and the one who’d been carrying him).

Pulling her debit card out of her wallet, Pam evidently noticed the woman’s misplaced attention and corrected it with: “He’s lucky to have such a beautiful Mother,” she smiled quickly at Karen and swiped her card.

“That’s so sweet,” the cashier was still smiling broadly. “My partner and I are looking into adoption.”

“How wonderful,” Pam told her, sounding genuine, but also distracted as she keyed in her pin.

“Did you use a surrogate?”

Karen shook her head, although she found the question a little invasive. “No, I carried him myself.”

“That’s nice,” the cashier processed the transaction. “We were looking into that but it’s just all so expensive, you know?”

A puzzled expression creeped into Pam’s features as she checked back into the conversation. “Yes…”

“How’d you decide who would be the—,” the cashier changed her volume to a whisper and covered her mouth so Duke couldn’t see when she said: “biological mother”.”

Karen froze Oh, no. No no no. No no. No no. No, while Pam turned the color of the store’s logo, and from her expression, Karen was pretty sure her internal monologue didn’t sound much different.

“H—her womb, her baby. That was o—our decision,” was Pam’s forced response. “I need to take a shower now. I need to take many showers. Excuse me.”

/

Harley and Anthony were in the kitchen when they heard the front door open.

“Took ya long enough!” Harley complained.

Duke ran through the door and into Anthony’s arms and Pam and Karen stumbled numbly behind him, looking like they’d seen a ghost.

“How was your day in the garden?” Anthony asked his son. “I heard Grandma helped you plant some flowers.”

“Yeah!” Duke began his account of the day, but Harley tuned him out, all of her attention focused on the two women standing an awkward 5 feet apart and starring down at their shoes.

“Mother-daughter bonding time went well?” Harley inquired. “Or…no?”

Both their faces contorted into something nearly surpassing disgust, and now Anthony had taken notice as well, pausing his conversation with Duke to ask: “Did you park in Ma’s spot, Bee?”

“Please don’t,” Pam gritted.

“I totally would have let you borrow my pass for the night,” Harley said. “Really it’s all access. And all my gadgets are electric, so I really don’t see the harm in—”

“Stop!” Pam suddenly shouted, startling Harley and Anthony. “Please, you have to—stop. I’m sure you mean did we park in a handicap spot, and that you would have let us borrow your sticker, and that your electric wheelchair makes it not too much of a bother to wheel across the parking lot—but we need some time and space to deal with our nausea, please.”

“Uhh…OK…”

“The cashier thought your Mom and I were Duke’s parents!” Karen blurted at the exact moment the door leading from the kitchen to the backyard slammed open and Jolene waltzed inside.

“I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it,” she whimsically spun around, ripping her beanie cap off of her head (the one that looked very out of place given the fact that she was wearing an evening gown) and tossing it at Harley, hitting her in the face.

The kitchen was silent then, aside from Jo’s excited breathing and Harley spitting the hat’s stray fibers out of her mouth.

…until Pam shook herself out of her stupor and asked, in a surprisingly casual tone: “With whom?”

“W—with Damian,” Jo looked an odd mix of happy and confused now as she calmed down, although her wide smile remained prominent. “We’re getting married!” she held out her left hand to show off the diamond on her ring finger.

“I think we should drink,” Harley proposed.  

Chapter Text

“Isn’t that a little cliché?” Bart asked. “And like…incestuous, maybe?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “We’re not actually related, Dumbass. And what’s it to ya, anyway?”

Bart shrugged. “Well…Nightwing married Batgirl, right? Now Batman’s marrying Batgirl too?”

“Hellbat,” Jo corrected. “And my parents already make enough ‘match.cave’ jokes, alright? When I told you guys I was getting married, it was intended as a ‘hey, you’re my friends. Come to my wedding’ rather than a ‘I wonder what Bart Allen thinks about my relationship’. But thanks anyway.”

“Well I’m happy for you,” Suzanne assured her, patting her hand where it lay on the table. “And if Bart wants to be my date he’s gonna knock it off and be happy for you too.”

“I just think he’s a little overrated, OK?” Bart responded like they were persecuting him. “It’s always Batman this and Batman that—the dude doesn’t even have any superpowers!”

“What does that matter?” Jo crossed her arms. “He’d still kick your ass.”

“Pfft,” Bart scoffed. “I’m the fastest man alive.”

“Mmm…” Zachary narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I’d put my money on Wally or Iris, no offense,” Jo said. “Or, actually—offense.”

Bart looked disgruntled for a moment before coming back with: “Yeah, so what?”

“So…I’d beat you in a fight, Bro,” Jo laughed. “Never mind Batman.”

“Wh—what?” Bart was so offended he stood up from the couch he and Jo had been sharing. “There’s no way!”

Jo grinned, sitting up. “How about we make a bet?”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” Suzanne chanted.

Bart narrowed his eyes. “What are your terms?”

“If I win, you have to go up to Damian and ask him to autograph your suit in permanent marker,” Jo proposed. “Right on the ass.”

Zachary laughed. “I like this already.”

“Fine,” Bart agreed, after a moment’s contemplation. “But if I win, you’ve gotta whisper in his ear that Batman is overrated while he’s…uh…you know…”

“Inside of me?” Jo laughed. “First off: you’re a pervert. But secondly: that’s hilarious and yes, absolutely. Let’s do it. Suit on or off?”

Bart raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think you can beat me without your suit?”

Jo smiled, already beginning the process of removing her suit. “I’m pretty confident, yeah.” While pulling the arm off, though, her hand slipped and she pressed a button that sent a clear mist into the air. “Oh, shit, sorry! It’s not poisonous, it’s just my sweat, I promise.”

“Gross,” Bart complained. “Your suit collects your sweat?”

“Does it look terribly breathable to you?” Jo wondered, chuckling as she finished the removal process, leaving her in a pair of spandex and a tank top. “You ready?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m—umm…ha,” he said, bashfully, his cheeks flushing as she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him forward. “I’m not—uh—,” he attempted to clear his throat. “I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

“OK,” Jo fluttered her eyelashes. “Show me what’cha got, Speedy.”

“I’m…I’m pretty fast,” he assured her as she circled him, a dopey grin growing on his face. “Better watch out.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” Jo chuckled, trailing her finger languidly down his arm as she saddled up behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist. She felt his breath hitch when she trailed her hand down lower…

…until she wrapped that arm around his leg and upended him, spinning him head-over-heels and slamming him to the ground. She climbed quickly over him then, pinning his arms over his head. “Would you like to kiss me or kill me right now?”

“Kisses, please,” he said, giggling.

“Mhm,” Jo grinned. “Those are called pheromones, Bart. Little trick I picked up from my Mom. Unfortunately, the ones that I excrete are far less potent then hers, but my brother designed a system within my suit that collects my sweat and concentrates it.”

“That’s cool,” he said, before leaning up and attempting to kiss her.

Jo stopped him with a hand on his forehead, pushing it back to the ground. “That signature’s gonna look so sexy,” she chuckled before getting up. “Sorry, Suzanne, didn’t mean to encroach on your, uh…turf.”

Suzanne and Zachary were both laughing. “You can have him.”

“I think I’m good,” Jo winked.

“Wait, hey!” Bart sat up, his head having cleared slightly now that Jo was giving him space. “You cheated!”

Jo put her hands on her hips. “Were you not just about to use your speed to beat me? Or was this supposed to be hand-to-hand? Because that would have ended even worse for you than this did.”

Bart pulled himself up to his feet. “But Damian doesn’t have any superpowers! That’s the point we were trying to make.”

“You’re right,” Jo admitted. “But he does have about 14 other gadgets that would leave you in a very similar state. You’re sword, he’s pen, and I’m boob. And everyone knows boob beats pen beats sword. Right, Suzanne?”

“Right,” the archer agreed.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Jo began, packing up her costume. “I’m in a fantastic mood, and have been for far too long, so I’m going to go see my Mother now to remedy that perversion of my nature.”

/

“Mmm…I don’t know,” Harley said, narrowing her eyes. “I just don’t know. Might it be too…let me see…” she dug her fork in for another bite of cake, chewing thoughtfully. “I just don’t know—,”

Selina snatched the fork away as the blonde started her journey towards another bite. “You know what it tastes like! Save some for Jo!”

“No, see…this is white cake. Jo hates white cake,” Harley informed her, snatching the fork back. “She likes chocolate, that’s why I can eat this slice.”

Now it was Selina whose eyes were narrowed. “I don’t think you’re old enough to make that cute yet.”

“Bullshit,” Harley slammed her fist at the table. “I’ve been adorable at every age. Just ask Pam.”

Selina rapped her knuckles on the table, nonchalantly taking a bite of her own from the half-eaten slice of cake. “Do you and Pam still…are you guys still—uh—making an effort?” she tried to pose the question casually. “

“I mean…” Harley squinted with one eye. “Yeah…I guess. She definitely does, which is cute, but uh…I don’t know. Sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it. She’s gotta work her ass off, I’ve gotta be totally focused and 100% into it…we’re done with casual sex, that’s for sure.”

Selina sighed. “It’s so fucking weird getting old.”

“Mm,” Harley set her fork down. “I take it things are cooling down?”

Selina snorted. “I’m 70 years old, Harley. Can you fucking believe that? Seriously. And Bruce is 75, so…it just is what it is. And the idea of becoming those horny geezers in a nursing home orgy someday is absolutely terrifying, so…yes, we’re cooling down. We’ve cooled down.”

Harley laughed. “A what?! That can’t be a real thing.”

“It’s totally a real thing,” Selina affirmed. “Eddie told me about it yesterday and I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

Harley laughed again. “Why were you talking to Riddler?”

“He’s got something I want to take off his hands after he croaks,” Selina informed, sitting back in her chair. “And Bruce is paying the rent at his retirement community, so we catch up on occasion.”

“That’s…oddly endearing,” Harley decided. “Well, anyway, you’re hands down the hottest 70-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

“Isn’t Pam like 106?” Selina asked. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but she’s cheating.”

“So am I,” Selina pointed out.

“Yes, but she’s cheating more than you.”

Selina nodded. “Alright, I’ll accept that. So Jo’s picky as fuck, so no white cake. But Damian’s not a huge chocolate fan, so obviously, we’ve hit a snag.”

“Ooh, me! Me!” Harley excitedly raised her hand.

Selina rolled her eyes. “Yeah?”

“What if they just didn’t get married?”

“Will you knock that shit off?” Selina not-so-kindly requested. “Your kid likes a boy who likes her back. We should all be encouraging them—seriously. They make each other bearable. I caught Damian humming the other day! Humming ‘Jolene’ by Dolly-friggin-Parton, you monster! Support that, goddam it! You have no idea what a nightmare he was growing up.”

“Christ, calm down!” Harley demanded. “Holy crap…” she allowed Selina to take a deep breath before continuing. “Obviously they’re going through with it. We figured out a while ago that when Jo decides something we can’t exactly reason with her. Damian seems like the only person she listens to, for some reason, so more power to em. But he’s Talia’s son, so I’m gonna keep making jokes.”

“He’s not Talia’s son,” Selina mumbled as a car pulled into the driveway.

/

“Pamela,” Damian greeted cordially. “You don’t drink coffee.”

“Yes,” Ivy acknowledged. “Which is why this is tea.”

“Mm,” Damian grunted, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Ivy stared at him a second before she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you still wearing that fucking cowl? We’re inside!”

“I…like it,” he quietly took a sip.

“Do you ever take it off?” Ivy gritted, not totally sure why this particular issue annoyed her so severely.

“Only when I shower,” he told her.

“Please don’t tell me you make my daughter call you ‘Batman’ in the fucking bedroom.”

Damian swallowed back a mouthful of coffee. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Ivy lowered her voice slightly for their next exchange, as Donna Troy had wandered within earshot and she had zero interest in involving an Amazonian in their conversation (as it would likely get back to Diana and Ivy couldn’t stomach the thought of Wonder Woman being involved in her family drama). “When you allow her to answer the phone while you two are engaging in—whatever you two engage in, it becomes my business.”

“That was four-fucking-years ago,” Damian hissed back. “Get over it, Pamela.”

“Stop referring to me as if I’m your peer,” Ivy snapped, less careful with her volume this time. “And only when you have a child will you understand the trauma of…oh God,” she nearly gagged. “What a horrifying thought.”

“Yeah, no, continue to think about that,” Damian told her. “Think about it all night long. And remind me why you hate me, again? Because still being pissed I pushed Anthony off the slide that one time seems a little insane seeing as we’re all adults now.”

“Well conversations like this certainly aren’t helping your cause,” she assured him.

“You’re the one that made this weird!” he slipped back into a volume that Donna definitely took notice of. “I just pointed out it was weird you were drinking coffee! That’s it! You’re the one that brought up me and your daughter’s bedroom habits.”

Donna was giving them a strange look from where she was placing an entire rotisserie chicken on a plate.

“Hi there,” Ivy smiled to placate her. “You must be hungry.”

“…I am,” Donna said like it was the dumbest observation she’d ever heard. “I’m eating this chicken.”

“No, I know, I was just…” Ivy started to explain herself before she decided it wasn’t worth it. “Sorry—enjoy.”

“I will,” Donna said, still looking at Ivy like she had three eyes as she exited the kitchen, chicken in hand.

Ivy and Damian waited in silence for a moment as Donna left before Damian said: “Honestly, Pamela, what’s the matter with you? Leave the woman to devour that entire chicken in peace.”

Pam had to cover her mouth to starve off a laugh, but her eyes had obviously betrayed her amusement because Damian smirked into his coffee mug.

“Anyway,” Ivy attempted to pull them back on track. “I have zero recollection of what our argument was about. But you know what you did, I’m sure.”

“Something having to do with Jo.”

“That’s right!” she pointed an accusatory finger at him as she simultaneously dumped her tea into the sink with her other hand. “Now I have to go. Goodbye, you emotionally repressed nightmare of a human male.”

“Well, takes one to know one,” Damian sneered. “Except for the male part…and the human…just—nevermind. Goodbye.”

/

“Hey,” Jo greeted, smiling and leaning against her car as Damian climbed out of his. “You’re cute. What’s your deal?”

“I’m engaged,” he said plainly, shutting his door.

“Well I’ll make you forget all about him,” she guaranteed him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him toward her.

He only let the kiss go on for a moment before he separated to ask: “he?”

“You’re almost too pretty to be straight, Babe,” she ran a hand through his hair affectionately. “I’m just playing the odds here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just ask my brother,” Jo told him. “He knows the struggle.” Then she shrugged as he dropped his hands from where they were pinning her hips against the car. “I’m just sayin’—if we ever need to supplement our income, you could make a killing.”

“9.2 billion dollars,” Damian reminded her. “That’s how much my Father’s worth. And that’s not even counting Selina or your parents.”

Jo shrugged again. “Better you than me.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” he grumbled before leaning down to kiss her again.

“Oh, hey!” Jo was the one to interrupt them this time. “You’ll be happy to know I defended your honor today.”

“If it was to a casting director I sincerely hope you told them I was a top,” Damian warned.

Jo snorted. “Well look who’s coming around to that joke…”

“Hey!” Pam slammed her car door as she’d just pulled up behind them. “You’re going to scare the neighbors,” she scolded. “Get inside or I’m getting the hose.”

/

Harley sighed as she watched Jo and Damian through the blinds. “Remember when we were young and used to make out with people up against our cars?”

“Bruce and I used to fuck on rooftops,” Selina mourned. “Now we just look at each other and go ‘so, are you tired?’ ‘I don’t know, are you tired?’ until one of us falls asleep.”

Pam had pulled into the driveway now as well. “At least you can walk,” Harley pointed out. “And at least Bruce is getting old too. Do you have any idea how inadequate I fucking feel? Look at her, Cat! Seriously look at her.”

Selina did, watching Pam follow Jo and Damian up the driveway, and…yeah. “Well maybe if she dressed less…unrealistically-sexy political campaign manager in an HBO miniseries all the time, that might let you off the hook a little.”

“That wouldn’t help,” Harley grumbled, getting out her phone and scrolling through her camera roll until she found a picture of Pam from the back wearing a pair of Harley’s old sweatpants and a plain grey tank top while she did the dishes, her hair up in a loose ponytail.

“Mm,” Selina nodded gravely. “Yeah, I’d hire her to paint my house.” 

Harley was still starring at the picture. “Is that a euphemism?”

“A gay one, right?” Selina sounded unsure.

Harley frowned. “I mean…it sounds pretty gay…”

The front door opened then, and Jo burst through first. “Hi! What are you looking at?” she asked as Harley scrambled to lock her phone.

“Nothing,” Harley assured her…at the same time as Selina was saying: “Your Mother’s ass.”

“Ah,” Jo nodded like that was totally normal. “It’s a good one.”

Pam came in behind her. “If you wanted a closer look, Selina, you should have taken what I offered in 1995.”

“Well isn’t that some fun family history,” Damian intoned, closing the door behind him as he was the last one.

“Hush,” Selina scolded, although it wasn’t clear if she was talking to Damian or Pam. “There are cake samples in the kitchen, Harley informed me—,”

“—I want chocolate,” Jo cut her off.

“And I want red velvet,” Damian dissented.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Red velvet is just chocolate with food coloring, Dunce Cap.”

“Then that’s what I want,” Damian decided.

“Cool,” Jo agreed. “Red velvet it is.”

“That’s…that’s it?” Selina asked after a moment of silence. “Guys, Harley and I went to four different bakeries today.”

“Cool,” Jo repeated. “Did you get any red velvet?”

“Well…I mean, yeah,” Harley said.

“Perfect,” Jo smiled happily. “We’ll have that. As far as music goes, if Anthony’s up for it I’d love him to be there playing the piano—he can choose the first dance song himself, we don’t really care as long as it’s not Jason Mraz cuz, frankly, that guy can shove his fedora up his Jason Mrass—otherwise the wedding is mostly for the public anyway, right? So we trust your judgment completely. Go crazy, do whatever you want. Carrie will be my maid of honor and Dick will be Damian’s best man. Ma, you’ve gotta find a way to walk me down the aisle because Mom is technically dead, and…oh! We’re still on for dress shopping on Thursday, right?”

“Uh—yeah,” Selina was at a loss for words other than that.

“Fantastic!” Jo’s grin broadened. “Thank you guys so much, really. We’re excited,” she took Damian’s hand. “Anything you wanted to add?”

Damian thought for a moment before saying: “I think you covered it.”

“Well, we’d love to stay longer, as we love all of you,” Jo told them, backing up towards the front door. “But because we both have two superhero jobs on top of a civilian job each, we have about four hours during the day where we get to decide whether to sleep or have sex. Of course, we should choose to sleep, but the other option is just more fun, so we’re gonna go do that now.”

“Have a good evening,” Damian nodded before Jo yanked him out the door.

The three women in the foyer flinched when she door slammed shut, leaving them alone and in silence.

“Hm,” Pam said aloud.

“Hm,” Selina agreed.

“I…think our children might be adults,” Harley realized.

Chapter Text

Brown or blonde? Brown…or blonde…or black?

Pam stared at Selina’s wig collection. Had been standing, staring, for a while now. She was aware of that. She was also aware they had to go, but she just…couldn’t choose. Couldn’t make up her mind. She liked her red hair. She didn’t want to wear a wig. Not today, anyway.

“Pam?” Barbara called from the doorway. “We have to go.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, not removing her focus from the hair options in front of her.

Barbara cleared her throat, taking a step inside. “You look nice.”

Pam glanced down at her suit. “I wanted to wear a dress,” she mumbled.

“Why didn’t you?” Barbara asked, now standing beside her, her arms crossed, examining the wigs as well.

“I don’t know,” Pam told her, reaching forward to pick up the blonde option. “Thought this would be a better disguise, I suppose. Harley does pants better.”

Barbara cracked a smile. “I think you do everything pretty well.”

“I know,” Pam exhaled, setting the wig back down. “What do you think?”

“Mmm…” Barbara narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, looking at each wig and then glancing over at Pam. “Brown,” she decided, finally. “The darker one. Blonde makes you look too much like Jo—you’ll get ‘how are you related?’ questions, black just isn’t your color, and the caramel is what you wore when you worked for Bruce, so obviously that’s not going to work.”

Pam nodded at Barbara’s reasoning, but made no move to grab it from the shelf. “You’re right.”

The Commissioner nodded. “Can I help you put it on?”

“No.”

“OK, well…Harl and Selina are already there, so…it’s just you and me,” Barbara patted her on the back. “I’ll go start the car, alright?”

“Yes, fine,” Pam agreed.

Barbara gave her one last smile—one that communicated a noticeable degree of pity—and headed for the doorway.

“I don’t want her to get married,” Pam stopped her.

“What?”

Pam turned to face her. “I don’t—I don’t want Jo to get married.”

“Pamela,” Barbara sighed, “Damian may be difficult, but—,”

“No, it’s not that,” Pam cut her off. “It’s just…it’s all moving too fast. All speeding towards an inevitable conclusion that—I knew…I knew this would happen.”

Barbara smiled once more, leaning against the doorframe. “You knew your kids would grow up to be with people they love? How wonderful.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Pam mumbled. “It feels like—like yesterday it was my wedding, and I was taking your cake away and telling you to wait until you were ready to be with Dick. Do you remember?”

“I do,” Barbara chuckled. “And you’re not alone, Pam. You’re not the only one that feels like things are moving fast. You’re just the only one that stands still to watch it all pass by.”

“Then must you all continue to sprint?”  Pam laughed—but it was sad, and she had to swallow back her emotions before continuing. “52…”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” Barbara laughed in a very similar fashion. “I’m over the hill now.”

Pam shook her head, “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to adequately thank you.”

“For what?” Barbara smiled.

“For being the child I could never mess up, as you were never mine to begin with,” Pam told her.

Barbara drummed her fingers on her thigh for a moment before making her decision and closing the space between them, pulling Pam into a tight hug. “It was easy. I didn’t have you to live up to.”

/

“When’s this thing supposed to start, again?” Jo complained, spinning around in her chair.

Harley raised an eyebrow. “By ‘this thing’, do you mean your wedding?”

“Figured that was implied…”

Harley sighed, wishing that Jo was taking this more seriously. Marriage was…big. Marriage was marriage, and thinking of Jo married was just so…surreal. Or strange, maybe. Maybe just strange.

It had always been easier for her to imagine Anthony growing up, becoming a man, going to college, buying a house, even getting married and having children. In some ways, he’d always been a grownup, with his Windsor knots and logical reasoning.

But Jo was…Jo was different. Harley had been 42 when they had her, and yet, in comparison to where she was now, she felt like she’d been so young. And they’d done so much leaning on the job with her…see, she and Pam had sort of assumed that the experience they’d accumulated with Anthony would make raising their second kid easy, and the fact that she was a girl and they’d be able to relate to her better would do the rest.

Boy were they wrong.

Jolene was such a different kid. A challenging kid. Anthony was born with the weight of the world on his shoulders and Jo…well Jo accumulated it along the way. Stopping every few feet to pick up a new piece and place it on her back. And she hadn’t even gone that far yet, really. 23 was…God, 23 was only two years after Harley had won her National title, 23 was three years before she’d even meet Pam, and another two before she’d marry her. 23 was…something Jo was better at, maybe, as there’s no way Harley would have been ready to start a life with someone back then. Those five years had been paramount to her development.

“What did it feel like?” Jo asked, pulling Harley from her thoughts. “When you were waiting before you married Mom. Was it, like, exciting? The idea of it?”

“Oh, geez, I was a mess,” Harley laughed. “Selina had to go get Pam to convince me to put my dress on.”

Jo smiled, sitting forward. “You know they’re not supposed to see you in your dress beforehand, right?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I told her. And do you know what she said?” Harley asked.

“What a ridiculous superstition,” Jo guessed at the same time as Harley was giving her that exact answer.

“How’d you know?!” Harley laughed.

“I dreamed about it last night,” Jo smiled. “You weren’t kidding; you really were a mess.”

Harley tried to hide her annoyance by glancing at her watch. 10 minutes. “Why’d you ask if you already knew the answer?”

Jo shrugged, popping a Jordan Almond into her mouth. “Wanted to see if you’d lie, I guess.”

“Why would I do that?”

Jo sighed, spinning her chair to look at her reflection in the mirror again. “I find people tend to romanticize life’s big moments. I was curious how you remembered it.”

“Well…” Harley pursed her lips. “I remember feeling…scared. Scared and ugly and like—like the world was playing a trick on me. Like maybe Pam, Selina and Bruce were all in on this elaborate prank because…when I saw her in that dress it was just, ‘in what world is she here to marry me?’.”

“Hm,” Jo said, taking in what Harley was saying with a thoughtful expression.

“And what about you?” Harley looked at her daughter’s face in the mirror. “What are you feeling?”

Jo pushed a strand of stray hair back into place within her bun. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “maybe like…we deserve each other, but I don’t deserve how happy he makes me.”

Furrowing her brow, Harley asked: “why not?”

“Because sometimes I feel kinda stupid, caring about somebody like that,” she confessed. “Especially that somebody. I mean…it’s Damian, ya know?”

Harley couldn’t help but smile. “Your person is your person, Jo. I definitely didn’t expect mine to be my patient, nor did Selina expect hers to the guy messing with her jewel heists. Actually, out of all of us, your love story probably makes the most sense.”

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said about us,” Jo murmured, keenly examining her nails.

Oh…

They both turned their attention to the door as it opened and Pam stepped inside, carrying a small box in her hands.

“Pam, we had a plan,” Harley sighed. “You’re not supposed to be back here.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, sounding regretful. “But I…” she opened the box and pulled out a white rose, “grew this, and I wasn’t sure what you were doing with your hair, but I thought you might like to wear it.”

Jo watched her silently for a moment, looking her up and down more than once. “You look like Talia.”

“…what a terrible thing to say,” Pam sounded demoralized.

Jo bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Did anyone see you come in?”

“No, I came in through the back,” Pam told her. “Really, I just wanted to deliver this to you and…” she trailed off as Jo rose from her chair and crossed over to her.

Without saying a word, Jo took the chestnut brown wig in her hand and pulled it off, followed by the wig cap, clearly being careful to avoid pulling Pam’s actual hair which lay underneath. Once she could see red, she quickly ran a hand through it, mussing it to add volume where the tight wig cap had flattened it.

“That took me 20 minutes to put in place,” Pam said quietly.

“After I say my vows and kiss my husband, I want to look out into the audience and see my Mom there,” she tapped her index finger on Pam’s chest above the neckline of her shirt. “And by my Mom…I mean Poison Ivy.”

“Jo, Honey,” Harley began to protest.

“Oh, come on, Ma. You two are such good friends, right? It’s not weird Dr. Quinzel would invite Ivy to her daughter’s wedding,” Jo appealed before turning her attention back to Pam, looking at her with palpable sincerity. “I don’t want you to have to hide.”

/

We invited way too many fucking people, was all Damian could think as he waited for the ceremony to start.

Half these people he didn’t even know personally. He recognized the mayor, though, who was likely only there because they’d donated heavily to her campaign in the last election. He spotted the Titans in the crowd as well, dressed in their civilian clothes, but not many of his colleagues from the Justice League, Jo was better at making friends…but Carrie and Cass and Tim and Dick were there, and he’d spotted Supergirl too, and Poison Ivy, of course…

Wait.

Poison Ivy?

She was wearing a well-tailored maroon pant suit over top a low cut black V-neck, which wasn’t exactly a look he was accustomed to seeing her in, but his big problem was with her shamelessly green skin. Ivy sat four rows from the front on Damian’s right, the people seated around her observing her with a mixture of fear and awe, by the looks of it. Ivy, herself, was staring straight ahead, though. Straight at Damian, so intently it was unnerving.

Luckily, he was saved when the music began and Jo started down the aisle, biting her lip in hopes of containing her smile, which seemed to be a useless exercise as her happiness was blatantly obvious.

To his horror, Damian found he was smiling back at her and lifted his hand to obscure his mouth. But then he felt Dick’s hand on his arm pulling it back down to his side.

“Let yourself be happy for a minute, Damian,” Dick murmured behind him. “I promise it’s not gonna kill ya.”  

So he forfeited for a moment, allowing an unimpeded smile—well, more of a smirk—as she finished her trip down the aisle.

“There are way too many people here,” Jo whispered upon arrival.

“Yeah, no shit,” Damian agreed at the same volume. “Speaking of which—Poison Ivy?”

“I wanted her to come, don’t be a dick.”

“We are gathered here today—,”

Damian bumped her lightly with his shoulder, and he just barely caught her smirk before turning his attention to the task at hand.

“—as long as you both shall live?”

“Definitely,” Jo answered. “No! I mean—‘I do’, sorry,” she laughed. “Gosh, I’m terrible at this. I should really only get married once.”

An amused chuckle emanated from the audience and the Justice of the Peace smiled as he posed the same question to Damian, who answered with a much more straight forward “I do”.

“Throughout this ceremony, Jolene and Damian have vowed, in our presence, to be loyal and loving towards each other…”

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Jo mumbled.

“They have formalized the existence of the bond between them with words spoken and with the giving and receiving of rings…”

“Gross,” Damian couldn’t help himself.

“Therefore, it is my pleasure to pronounce them husband and wife. You may now—,”

Jo had already leapt into his arms at this point, kissing him fiercely.

“Kiss the groom, I suppose.”

/

“Are you the real Poison Ivy?” the man sitting next to her finally got up the courage to ask.

“No, I just decided to cosplay for a wedding,” Ivy mocked distractedly, watching Harley across the lawn, waiting for an opening that might never come as yet another person slid in beside her to start a likely meaningless conversation.

She knew whoever it was would leave in an instant if she approached, but drawing that much attention to their discourse just wasn’t worth it. Besides that, what Pam really wanted was a hug or a kiss….and that obviously wasn’t going to fly in these surroundings.

“Selina must have planned this,” a female voice came behind her. “Only she could spend this much money in one place.”

Ivy knew that voice, but she was still surprised when she turned around. “Leave,” she told the man, who instantly sprung to his feet.

Talia al Ghul sat down in the seat he’d just evacuated, sizing Ivy up as she did and looking the same age as she had 40 years ago. “Pamela.” She greeted coldly.

“Talia,” she murmured with equal chill to her tone. “Funny, I didn’t see you on the guest list.”

Ignoring that, Talia nodded towards where Jo and Damian were talking to Anthony as he sat down at the piano. “She’s very pretty.” Ivy didn’t say anything, just let her eyes wander to them as well, so Talia continued: “But I suppose that was expected. You always had a knack for growing pretty things. And perhaps I should be thankful Damian didn’t inherit Bruce’s disease.”

“And what might that be?”

“Promiscuity,” Talia answered, sitting back in her chair. “He only settled down with Selina because he ran out of steam, everyone knows that. Not like she had anything valuable to offer him.” 

“Well, she raised their son,” Ivy pointed out as Damian and Jo stepped onto the dance floor. “Raised him to be a halfway decent human being. That’s clearly something you couldn’t offer him.”

“Damian isn’t their son, he’s our son,” Talia spat.

“Mmm…” Ivy smiled, “I’m not sure that’s the way he sees it.”

/

“In hindsight, maybe we should have chosen the song with him,” Jo realized as Damian took her hand. “Aren’t these things typically choreographed?”

“We’ve been to enough parties, Jolene, I think we can figure it out,” Damian assured her.

And she smiled softly in response. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Your name?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

“It reminds me of my parents,” she told him as they waited for Anthony to begin playing. “They only use their full names when they’re really trying to get the other one to listen and it’s important that they hear. “I love you, Harleen,” Jo did an earnest impression of Pam. “It’s serious business.”

“I see…” Damian smirked, putting his hand on her waist as Anthony leaned into the microphone.

“Good evening,” he greeted the audience. “My name is Anthony Quinzel, I’m Jo’s older brother, and…some of you may not know this, but growing up, Damian was my best friend…until I met Carrie, but close enough.” Damian saluted him from the dance floor. “And I—I remember the first time I suspected Jo might maybe have a crush on Damian,” Anthony laughed. “Which is just so cliché, the little sister crushing on her big brother’s friend, but, uh—he was biking on the street outside our house and I was timing him to see how fast he could make the loop—he was always the better athlete—and he was coming in hot, on track to beat his personal record, when a squirrel ran out in front of his bike,” Damian’s face reddened slightly. “So he swerved, and ultimately crashed, and I’ll never forget how Jo shot up from her seat—she was probably 6 at the time—and she runs over to him, and Damian’s holding back tears because he’s a man’s man, and so Jo kneels down to examine his knee—which is scraped up pretty bad—and says: ‘I would kiss it to make it better but it’s super icky and my Mom says that doesn’t work anyway’.” The crowd laughed then and Anthony grinned, “Which, if you knew my Mother, is definitely something she’d say. Anyway, Damian didn’t know what to do, I’m guessing, he was 12, I think, so it was sort of a strange situation—because then Jo leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek instead and said: ‘big boys can cry too, if they’re sad’.” Another laugh, from Jo too this time.

“That’s not how it happened,” Damian grumbled.

Jo laughed, “that’s totally how it happened.”

“She’d been listening to a lot of Fergie,” Anthony added as an aside, cracking his knuckles and spreading his fingers out on the keys of the piano. “Jo and Damian, I love you both—but Jo considerably more—and I’m happy for you—you deserve each other. And, remember, if you hate this song, maybe you should have chosen something yourself.”

Jo chuckled, mumbling: “asshole” as she turned her attention back to Damian.

Anthony began with a few measures on the piano, and to both Jo and Damian’s relief it wasn’t terribly difficult to keep time to, nor was it Jason Mraz.

“I met you in the dark, you lit me up / You made me feel as though I was enough,”

Jo had to fight to urge to just rest her head against his chest like they were at a super well-funded prom.

“We danced the night away, we drank too much / I held your hair back when / You were throwing up,”

“I have literally never thrown up in my life,” Jo corrected as he spun her.

“Then you smiled over your shoulder / For a minute, I was stone-cold sober,”

Damian furrowed his brow. “That can’t be true.”

“I pulled you closer to my chest / And you asked me to stay over,”

“No, really,” Jo reaffirmed. “I have almost no gag reflex. But you already knew t—,”

“And you asked me to stay over / I said, I already told ya / I think that you should get some rest,”

Damian sighed, shaking his head subtly as he spun her again, this time only half way, trapping her in his arms, her back to him.

“I knew I loved you then / But you'd never know,”

He kissed her ear, careful to avoid the white rose in her hair before releasing her to face him once again.

“'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go / I know I needed you / But I never showed / But I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old,”

“Any regrets?” Damian asked.

“Mm…,” Jo mulled that over.

“Just say you won't let go / Just say you won't let go,”

“I didn’t sleep with enough women,” she decided.

“I'll wake you up with some breakfast in bed / I'll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head,”

“How many did you sleep with?” he asked.

“And I'll take the kids to school / Wave them goodbye,”

“None,” Jo sighed. “It’s shameful.”

“And I’ll thank my lucky stars for that night / When you looked over your shoulder / For a minute, I forget that I’m older / I wanna dance with you right now,”

“What about you?” Jo wondered, giggling as he lifted her, which got a cheer from the audience. “Any regrets?”

“Oh, and you look beautiful as ever / And I swear everyday you’ll get better / You make me feel this way somehow,”

“Yeah,” Damian admitted. “Right now I’m regretting not sleeping with your brother.”

Jo threw her head back to laugh.

“I’m so in love with you / And I hope you know / Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold,”

“I mean—I’m not one to give compliments—or to sleep with men…”

“We’ve come so far, my dear / Look how we’ve grown / And I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old,”

“But he’s killin’ it right now,” Jo laughed. “It’s alright, I get it. And you absolutely have my blessing.”

“I appreciate that,” Damian whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

/

Harley had been looking forward to sitting next to Pam all night. She’d seemed so lonely sitting by herself, most people too intimidated to approach her. And anyway, Harley knew the only person Pam wanted to talk to was likely her.

She’d had to wait through the ceremony, and the cocktail hour, the receiving line, the first dance, dinner, and even the cake.

Both Jo and Damian had been resistant to the ‘shove cake in each other’s face then kiss’ tradition—and for good reason, it was pretty weird. Damian had assured those watching that he knew what Jo’s mouth tasted like, and knew what cake tasted like, and that he really didn’t understand why he had to have both at once. But then Carrie had called him a party pooper and smacked him on the back, so they’d caved and done it anyway.

But finally, as people finished their dessert and the dance floor opened up, Harley was left alone for a precious moment, and Pam—Ivy—immediately took notice, crossing the lawn with a relieved smile on her face.

“So glad you could make it, Pamela,” Harley told her—aware of the two couples sitting within earshot. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

Pam sat down beside her, obviously resisting the urge to do something more affectionate than just a cordial nod. “Beautiful ceremony,” she said.

“Wasn’t so bad, right?” Harley chuckled. “My friend Selina and I planned the whole thing.”

“Well I’m impressed,” Ivy granted. “And the bride seems happy. More so then I expected, I must admit.”

“I was more surprised that the groom looked happy,” Harley grinned. “That’s actually pretty rare, if you can believe it.”

“Bruce Wayne’s son? Of course I can,” Pam smiled back, although there was pain in her eyes. She wanted to be able to enjoy this like everyone else. Like a Mother watching her only daughter get married should be allowed to enjoy it. But the barriers were…insurmountable. They’d have a real conversation when they got home, but Harley still felt bad. Guilty, even if she had nothing to do with what was ailing her.

“Umm…excuse me,” both women turned to find Supergirl standing above them. Yes, Supergirl. In full costume. Harley had invited Kara Danvers, and she’d even seen her arrive, wearing a cute summer dress and glasses. This look was…a little different.

“Supergirl,” Harley greeted, Surprised. “I didn’t—uh—I didn’t know you were coming.”

Rather than engage in the same faux conversation Harley and Pam had been having, however, Kara knelt down next to her chair, leaning forward to whisper in her ear: “Dr. Quinzel, is it OK if I ask your wife to dance? She seems sad and Supergirl’s the only one who could dance with her without it looking suspicious, I think.”

Harley’s heart melted. “Is that why you changed?”

Kara nodded silently.

“Then you’re free to ask,” Harley couldn’t help but smile, even though it meant forfeiting her moment with Pam. She’d let Kara be her surrogate.

Pam looked at Harley first before giving Kara her answer, her wife giving her the go-ahead.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Flash interrupted.

“There’s another cake under the table.” Harleen told him distractedly, wanting to get back to she and Pamela’s conversation. “Pam alerted me to your unique caloric requirements.”

“No,” he laughed. “Thank you, but I was coming to ask for a dance.”

“I’m not sure how effectively Harleen’s wheels will—“

The blonde woman smiled and placed her hand on Ivy’s knee to interrupt her. “I think he meant with you, Babe.”

Pam looked up at him confusedly at first, but her expression quickly changed to guarded and skeptical. “Why…?”

“Is she always paranoid?” Flash asked the bride in the wheelchair.

“Go, Pam.” Harleen patted her knee. “Live a little so I can live vicariously through you.”

She was yanked out of her memory when Selina flopped down heavily next to her. “I’m exhausted.”

Harley blinked, registering Selina’s presence, and the absence of the two couples she and Pam had been shining on. “God, you were so drunk…”

Selina looked confusedly at her. “I’m sorry?”

“At my wedding,” Harley explained. “Flash came to ask Pam to dance, and then you sat down next to me, absolutely wasted.”

“Oh,” Selina looked down at her lap. “Yeah, Harley—look, I’ve apologized, that’s really all I can do at this point.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not that,” Harley said. “It’s…you’re the only one that’s changed. All this time, you’re the only one that’s any different. Look, Pam’s still dancing with a superhero, I’m still in this fucking chair, but you...fuck, Selina. I’m back in this fucking chair.”

Selina nodded slowly. “For like the last five years now, yes.”

“No, I mean…” Harley wiped a tear away from her eye. “I worked so hard just to end up right back where I started.”

The brunette looked out onto the dancefloor, observing the wide berth the other guests were giving Ivy and Supergirl. “No, Harley, you’re not the same. You not being able to walk again doesn’t erase everything else you’ve done. You were pretty shitty back then, Harley. I mean—we all were, but it’s not just me who’s changed.” She said, taking Harley’s hand. “I’m sitting here right now knowing that you are my friend. Happy that Pam chose you. Happy that I’ve been given the opportunity to watch your kids mature, happy that your daughter is now officially a Wayne. None of that would have been true back then. I hated you, Harleen. I mean it, I really did. And chair or no chair, you’re a better person now then you’ve ever been.”

Harley swallowed, now watching Pam as well. “I wish I could be the wife she deserves,” she said, quietly. “And I wish—I hate that she has to keep putting my pieces together.”

Selina cleared her throat. “Do you know what I’ve learned about Pam in the 50-something years we’ve known each other?” she waited until Harley had turned to her to continue. “I learned that she’s a caretaker. She wants to help things grow. Her plants, her kids, even you…that’s what she does in the Spring: helps her flowers grow. And in the Summer, she lives with them…she loves them…and then in the Fall she sits with them as they wilt. She knows that all of these stages are of equal importance.” Selina stopped to swallow back the emotion that was creeping into her voice. “You are in your Fall, Harley. And so she’ll sit with you and love you just as much as she did in your summer and in your spring. That’s her burden, and she shoulders it with pride.”

Selina was looking at her intently now, forcing her to make eye contact. “You didn’t want to take that on with her. You didn’t want to help her replant after winter. And neither did I, for that matter. Or Bruce. And Talia—who had the balls to show up here today, that slippery bitch—never plants anything at all, so she’s free to survive her cycles without burden.

They heard Kara’s laugh over the music, and that made Harley smile.

“So I say we count our blessings,” Selina concluded. “And appreciate Pam’s attention and assistance, and tell her that’s exactly what we’re doing while we’re still here. Because she’s the one who will ultimately be left alone, not us. Because we get to move on, eventually, and that makes our burden a whole helluva lot easier to shoulder.”

“Hey,” Bruce greeted as he pulled a chair up, sitting down next to Selina. “See? Weddings aren’t so bad, are they?”

Selina smiled, leaning in to give him a slow kiss, breathing in as she did. “I love weddings Bruce. Especially the ones that aren’t mine.”

/

“Bye, Ma. Thank you guys so much,” Jo pulled she and Selina into a hug. “Goodbye, Ivy,” she waved to her where the redhead was standing off to the side, mouthing ‘love you’ before looping her arm around Damian’s.

They were nearly at the car when Damian stopped cold, looking into the shadows like a hunting dog who’d just heard a stick break.

“What?” Jo asked, confused…until Talia al Ghul stepped out of the shadows.

“Mother?” Damian said, sounding genuinely surprised.

Seriously? Now? Jo groaned internally. Their honeymoon was only 48 hours and they were already on the clock.

“Damian,” the woman intoned.

“Uh…Jo?” she offered, trying to feel included.

“What are you—what are you doing here?” Damian was trying to sound firm, but it came out a little shaky. “You weren’t invited.”

“You’re the only child I have, Damian,” she reminded him. “I wasn’t about to miss your wedding.”

“Alright,” Jo separated from him, crossing her arms, “but—uh—you’ve missed every other important milestone, so…sorta lame to just drop him off on his Father’s doorstep and suddenly show up when he turns out well-adjusted.”

“Jo, it’s fine,” Damian said. “Just get in the car.”

“Aww, boo. You’re not gonna let me meet your Mom?” she pouted.

“You already have,” Damian intoned, his gaze cold. “Her name is Selina Kyle.”

“Oof,” Jo cringed on Talia’s behalf. “Better luck next time, Tally-ho.”

Chapter Text

Because Harley didn’t expend the amount of energy she once did in her waking hours, she was rarely able to sleep in. Of course, that was totally fine, it was a schedule she’d been used to for some time as she used to utilize these early morning hours to exercise, but now…all she could really do was lay there. Lay and wait for the sun to rise and for Pam to wake up.

The most measurable example of progress Harley could claim with Pam, as a result of their relationship and her therapy, was that she no longer felt the need to comfort herself while asleep. She used to sleep in a tight ball, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, regardless of if Harley was in bed or not. But now, instead, she tended to sleep with her arms wrapped tightly around Harley, like she was some sort of paralyzed human teddy bear. Or just human teddy bear, she supposed, as they couldn’t walk anyway. Like with the clam, pointing out she was paralyzed was redundant.

But whatever. I can say whatever the fuck I want in here! …in here…in here…Harley imagined the thought echoing in her head.

Just then, Pam began to stir, retracting her hand from where it was wrapped around Harley’s middle to sleepily rub her eyes.

She remembered how Anthony used to do that after Harley would remove his glasses at night. He always forgot to do that himself, but then she’d help him out and he’d reach his little hand up wondering where they’d gone.

“I told her not to go snorkeling,” Pam mumbled.

Harley laughed. “What?”

“I said, ‘Jo, you can’t even swim’.”

“Wh—yes she can!” Harley took a closer look and found that Pam’s eyes were still closed. “Wait, are you asleep?”

“Anthony’s playing the Titanic, meanwhile Jo’s in a boating accident,” Pam continued, nonsensically. “And who’s stuck with the medical bills? Not Selina, that’s for sure.”

Harley tried her best to sit up, attempting to achieve a better vantage point on her wife. “Pam,” she snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Pamela.” Harley chuckled when she didn’t respond. “Why would Selina pay our daughter’s medical bills?”

“She’s a terrible influence,” was Pam’s answer, although it was clear she was only about 20% there.

“Our daughter isn’t trashy enough to get in a boating accident,” Harley assured her, brushing away the hair that had fallen in front of Pam’s closed eyes. “That’s only for Florida residents who launch beer cans at the alligators that crawl into their yards.”

“Hey, my Mother was from Florida,” Pam sounded offended.

“Your Mother was from Virginia,” Harley laughed. “And you hated your Mother.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pam smiled into her pillow before her breathing pattern began to resemble deeper sleep once more.

Harley sighed, looking out the window at the early morning sun. “Babe,” she nudged Pam’s shoulder. “Hey, I wish I didn’t have to wake you up…”

No response.

“Paaammm,” she poked her. “Pam.”

The redhead stirred, her breath hitching slightly as she was yanked back to the land of the living. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” she groggily declared, opening one bleary eye and then the other. “Are you OK? Did I oversleep?”

“Just a little bit,” Harley told her.

“Do you—is your bag full?”

Harley had checked it when she woke up, and no, it wasn’t in need of immediate emptying. “No. Hey—what were you dreaming about?”

Pam’s expression was puzzled as she stretched. “What do you mean?”

“I mean just now,” Harley said. “Jo was in a boating accident?”

“No,” Pam shook her head, looking equally confused. “She’s not nearly trashy enough to be in a boating accident. That’s reserved for Florida residents.”

Harley laughed. “Hey, your Mother was from Florida.”

“No, my Mother was from Virginia…” Pam slowly corrected, her eyes narrowing. “Are you alright?”

Harley shook her head, smiling. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Still appearing a bit lost, Pam decided to move on. “Well, good morning anyway,” she kissed her on the cheek before sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“I just like that I’m the only person who’ll ever know how much of a dork you are,” Harley chuckled, putting her hands behind her head in a show of satisfaction.

“Dork, huh?” Pam turned to look at her. “Dr. Quinzel, do you know who I am?”

Harley grinned, “who?”

“Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD,” the redhead answered, climbing back onto the bed. “An eco-terrorist of international prestige,” she crawled over her. “A senior member of the Justice League,” she kissed her languidly. “Mother Nature’s Chosen Protector,” Harley giggled below her as she moved her kisses to her jawline, and then down her neck. “A goddess amongst men.”

Without thinking, Harley attempted to arch her back as Pam’s mouth lingered over her covered breast…only to remember that she didn’t get to have this, not anymore. Not in the way she wanted it. Not in the lazy Sunday morning kind of way.

“Pam,” she stopped her, placing her hands on her wife’s shoulders to gently push her away. “We probably shouldn’t.”

And Pam actually looked…disappointed? Not apologetic, not guilty, not sympathetic…disappointed. “You’re not even going to let me try?”

“I just don’t feel like it today,” Harley said. “Thanks, though.” She leaned up in an attempt to kiss her, but Pam turned her head in what appeared to be an act of purposeful avoidance and climbed off—of both Harley and the bed.

Harley watched her curiously as Pam pulled a pair of jeans from the drawer—the ones she typically wore when working in the garden—and put her hair up into a messy bun. “Umm…hey,” Harley began, sensing some tension. “Do you…work today? Up at The Watchtower?”

“No,” Pam answered plainly. “I’ll set you up downstairs and then I’ll be in the garden if you need me.”

“Doesn’t Anthony have a pitch meeting at the Hall of Justice today? For that Aqualayer or whatever?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you know if Kara will be there?” Harley asked.

Pam was curt: “I keep track of my own schedule, it’s not my job to memorize Kara’s as well.”

Yeah…Harley wasn’t a fan of this mood shift. What the hell is her problem?

In the old days, Harley probably would have sat there thinking on it for a while. Analyzing the moments leading up to the shift, Pam’s body language—every subtle movement…but she really didn’t have the patience for that shit anymore. “Hey, what the hell is your problem?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to,” Pam told her, pulling a sweatshirt on to battle the crisp morning air.

“I’m referring to your suddenly bitchy attitude,” Harley clarified, grabbing behind her for the headboard and yanking herself into a seated position. “Are you disappointed in me because you feel like I’m giving up on the sex thing?”

“Nope,” Pam answered simply. “Your body, your choice. Would you like to take your shower now or tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.

UUUGGGGHHHHH, fine! Dr. Quinzel it is.

Alright, so…Pam said she didn’t really care for sex. She does it with me because she likes to see me satisfied, and—Oh! Fuck, that was easy. Pam gleans her sexual satisfaction from my satisfaction, so my not taking what she offers leaves her without a stimulus, either mental or physical.

“You’re horny.”

Pam immediately straightened up from where she was bent over, putting a pair of socks on. “What?”

“Sorry—thorny,” Harley laughed. “Pam, this is the kinda stuff you need to actually talk to me about. I’m just going off of the information you’ve given me, and in the last conversation we had on the subject you told me you only really have sex for me.”

“Yes, well, that was—,” she cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “That was 8 years ago.”

Huh? That can’t be right. “I think your math is a little off.”

“Jo was 15,” Pam murmured, keenly studying her nails in the same way Jo did when she wanted to divert attention. “She’s 23 now…that was 8 years ago.”

“Wait a minute,” Harley frowned. “Are you trying to tell me you haven’t had an orgasm in 8-fucking-years?”

Pam blushed a deeper shade of green. “I’m sure there were nocturnal emissions I wasn’t aware of…” she said, still refusing to look her wife in the eye.

“Pam, that’s nuts!” Harley wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “What the fuck? How have you not torn apart a building or something? And now you’re not even getting the secondary satisfaction from me…no, that’s unacceptable. Come here. Take that bulky-ass sweatshirt off.”

“No, it’s fine, Harleen, really,” Pam assured her. “I’m a plant, I don’t—it’s really not necessary.”

“Pamela. Lillian. Isley.” Harley bored holes into her with her gaze. “Come here. Now.”

“No, it’s—it’s stupid,” Pam shook her head. “I hate—I’m not needy.”

“Pammy, I have to wait for you to wake up before I can get out of bed in the morning.” Harley reminded her. “You empty my urine bag and insert a new catheter into my urethra every morning. You carry me into the shower. You make every one of my meals as I can no longer reach the stove—you wanna talk about neediness? That’s neediness.”

“Yes, but I’m happy to do all of those things,” Pam assured her, her tone sincere. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“And you think relieving Poison Ivy’s frustration bothers me?” Harley laughed. “Babe, have you looked in the mirror lately? It would be my honor. Now please take that sweatshirt off so I can see you.”

Pam swallowed before doing what she was told, folding it once it was off and placing it gently on the chair in the corner.

“And the socks,”

She did so one by one, her skin remaining the flushed emerald it got when she was embarrassed or feeling bashful (which were both extremely rare).

“And the jeans, please.”

Pam took a deep breath before stripping those off as well, folding them like she had the sweatshirt and setting them on the chair.

Harley smiled lascivious. “How about the shirt?”

The redhead drummed her fingers on her bare thigh a moment before slowly lifting the shirt up and over her head.

See…Pamela—Ivy was an extremely confident person. She was well aware of her beauty and sex appeal, it was what she was most famous for, after all…but she also hated to feel vulnerable. Hated feeling like she was at the mercy of anyone else. She’d simply been hurt too many times. So even now…asking for something like this…to take something without giving anything in return…wasn’t exactly something she was comfortable with.

“Ugh,” Harley groaned, covering her eyes. “Would you stop being so perfect?”

“You used to like that about me,” she heard Pam say as the bed creaked and she climbed in next to her.

“Yeah, but that was back when I was pretty close to perfect too,” Harley smiled, taking her hands away to observe her wife where she was now lying next to her. “But your boobs were always way better than mine.”

“They’ve certainly come in handy over the years,” Pam acknowledged with a sigh. “And I suppose I should be grateful for their ‘buoyancy’. I hear most other women experience significant back pain.”

Harley looked at her confusedly. “You mean they’re not heavy?”

“No,” Pam shrugged. “I noticed no difference in weight after the procedure.”

“You mean…your boobs literally defy physics?” Harley didn’t even try to hide her wonderment. “I mean—you’ve got a lot of cool powers, but holy crap, that one takes the cake. I have literally never been more impressed with you than I am right now.”

Pam laughed, pulling Harley down out of her sitting position. “I think I’m going to take offense to that.”

Harley grinned, turning her head to face her on the pillow. “Alright, I’ve got one question. Just one, OK? Then we can get started.”

Pam sighed again, running her hand distractedly up and down Harley’s stomach. “Fine.”

“So…I know this whole ‘Jessica Rabbit come to life’ thing wasn’t exactly naturally occurring, so…what did you look like before Woodrue got his hands on you?” Harley asked. “Your body, I mean.”

Pam frowned, considering the question. “Are you familiar with the film The Help?”

Harley scoffed. “Of course. You even made me read the book before we saw it.”

“Well, I was born in 1933, so it was relevant to my upbringing seeing as I, too, was a young female professional in the 1960s who saw the rise of the civil rights and feminist movements firsthand,” Pam said defensively.

“Calm down,” Harley laughed, pecking her on the lips. “I liked it. Now go on.”

“Anyway…” Pam sighed with considerable exaggeration. “Emma Stone in The Help is the most accurate answer I can give. Even the hair,” she admitted. “My Mother would take me into the salon three days a week to straighten it out when I was younger because she found it embarrassing and unattractive, so if you’re wondering, there aren’t any pictures. Then I took myself throughout high school and college—Sunday, Wednesday, Friday, like clockwork…Woodrue’s procedures changed it to the texture it is now—evidently he wasn’t a fan of its natural state either, but—yes—it was rather curly. Or—“kinky”, as my Mother put it. She used to say that if we still lived in Virginia, they’d have to bus me to…Oh, God,” Pam laughed—abruptly stopping her train of thought. “I’m a gay scientist with a PhD and a black grandson. My Mother is rolling in that unmarked grave I fucking buried her in.”

Harley laughed too as Pam kissed her excitedly. “Awesome foreplay, Babe. Really. Top notch.” Pam’s smile was broad against her lips. “And good to know your Mother was a racist too. Finally got bigot bingo.”

“Ah, then congratulations are in order,” Pam kissed her again and Harley sighed, truly impressed that Pam had yet to run out of ‘seriously, my Mom was awful’ stories.

“So you started out a Skeeter and ended up a Celia, huh?” Harley chuckled, nuzzling their noses together.

Pam gave herself a moment to mull over the comparison. “Sure,” she finally decided. “If Celia happened to also have the abs of a fitness model, and the intellect of—,”

“—fuck, alright, we get it, you’re awesome,” Harley rolled her eyes affectionately. “Now are ya gonna climb on or what?”

“Well if you insist,” Pam smirked.

/

“Wait! K—Ms. Danvers! Excuse me!”

Kara stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning around to find the owner of the voice running towards her before skidding to a stop a few feet in front of her.

“Hi,” he breathed. “So glad I caught you. It’s—I’m Anthony Quinzel, it’s a pleasure,” he transferred the stack of paper and presentation board he was holding into his left hand so he could shake with his right…

…which Kara happily reciprocated. “I know who you are.” She grinned, making sure not to grip his hand too hard. “You’re Dr. Isley’s son.”

“I’m sure ‘Pamela’ or ‘Ivy’ is fine,” Anthony assured her. “But don’t quote me on that. She might prefer the formality. Her bark is worse than her bite, is my point…well…for the most part.”

“Oh! And you’re Karen’s husband!” Kara realized, embarrassed for not having made that connection earlier. “You two have that adorable little boy.”

“Ah, well, ‘Partner’, but yes,” his eyes smiled along with his mouth as he straightened his already perfectly straight glasses.

Kara grinned. “You could be a superhero too, I think. You’ve got the glasses and the jawline. My wife, Lena, says those must be the two main requirements.”

Anthony looked almost surprised as he laughed. “I had no idea Lena Luthor had a sense of humor.”

“Oh, she doesn’t,” Kara told him earnestly—even if it wasn’t true, “She’s completely serious about that.”

“Then I shall take it under advisement,” he decided…and Kara decided that Anthony reminded her of Clark and James, maybe, and that there should be more men like them that use their handsomeness for good and not evil.

“So what were you running around for?” Kara asked. “Seemed like you had something important on your mind.”

“Oh, right, yeah, sorry.” He quickly apologized, kneeling down to place his papers on the floor so he could better show her his presentation board. “The League occasionally contracts me to design and manufacture suits for its members,” he indicated the image of Aquagirl on his board wearing what she assumed was his new design. “Like for Mareena here—she gets dehydrated quickly and becomes less effective the longer she stays out of the water, so this design includes an “Aqualayer” which essentially traps water against her skin and filters it throughout the day, so she doesn’t need to charge in her sea tanks for as long in between missions. Instead, all she needs to do is fill her suit back up.”

“That’s such a good idea!” Kara said enthusiastically. “Should I…should I wish you good luck on your pitch? Or…”

“Oh, no,” Anthony chuckled warmly. “Thank you, I already got the go ahead. No, my Mother—Harley—,”

“Dr. Quinzel,” Kara nodded.

“Right,” Anthony smiled. “Dr. Quinzel. We were just really grateful you took time out of your schedule to come to my Sister’s wedding, and changing into your suit so that my Mother—,”

“Dr. Isley.” She was invested in his story and wanted to make sure she was following correctly.

“Dr. Isley,” he acknowledged. “—would feel less alone was exceedingly kind. So, in return, I would like to formally volunteer my services. Mine and Karen’s. We’d like to update your suit, if we could.”

Kara furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? Is it outdated?”

“Well…no…”

“It works just fine,” she guaranteed. “Blocks bullets…that’s really all I need. Besides, my good friend made it for me.” But Kara had seen the suit Anthony made for his Sister and for his Brother-in-law…and that Aquagirl one looked pretty cool, so… “But—just out of curiosity,” she began, trying not to tip her hand. “What would you change about it?”

Grinning, Anthony turned his presentation board around so that she could see the back…which displayed a large sketch of her that he must have done in pencil. “Pants.” He answered triumphantly.

Chapter Text

Ivy hummed to herself as she walked down the sidewalk, past the fountains towards The Hall of Justice, smiling at the warmth of the early morning sun on her face.

“Poison Ivy!” a reporter called from behind the press line. “Poison Ivy, is an attack imminent?”

Well that sounds serious, Ivy thought, stopping at the bottom of the grand steps that lead up to the front entrance to approach press corps.

Which seemed to…surprise…everyone. Even the reporter who’d asked the question.

“What seems to be the problem?” Ivy asked, her tone…chipper.

“Uhh—ga—thh—,” the reporter struggled to get her words out, her microphone shaking in her outstretched hand as Ivy leaned into it.

“Imminent,” Ivy repeated. “Meaning ‘overhanging’ or ‘about to happen’. Seems you need to get that question out while I can still be of service.”

The reporter seemed to be recovering from her initial shock now, and finally blurted out: “White Martians! They’re—satellites picked up a ship.”

“Oh,” Ivy said, frowning with concern. “Well that is upsetting.”

“Does the Justice League have a contingency plan in place to combat this?”

“I certainly hope so,” Ivy chuckled. “Either way, I’d suggest you all get in doors. Seeing a White Martian in its natural form can really ruin your day, believe you me.” Then she smiled at the reporter in front of her. “What a gorgeous necklace.”

“Oh, umm—thank you,” the reporter blushed as Ivy reached a hand out to closer examine the pendant.

Without thinking, Pam said: “I bought the exact same one for my w—allet,” Goddamn it. “With my wallet.” She corrected. “I bought it with my wallet because that’s where I keep my money, of course. Well…great. We’ll take care of the White Martians, you get off our sidewalk…everything is fine.” Ivy tried to bring the conversation to a definitive end and nodded before spinning on her heels, heading quickly up the front steps.

“Oh, here, let me get that for you,” Ivy told Wally West, who was scaling the steps in front of her. A tree root leapt up from the ground and wrapped around the door’s handle, pulling it open.

Wally looked a bewildered as he said: “thank you?”

“No problem,” Ivy grinned, stepping inside behind him, her clapping heels on the marble floor sounding almost melodic to her. “Good morning, Clark! Jon, J’onn,” she nodded at each of them as she laughed. “That’s funny. Did no one ever think that was funny? Or have you just never stood next to each other?”

“Good morning, Dr. Isley,” J’onn greeted in return, although he too seemed puzzled. Clark looked almost concerned and Jon seemed scared.

“Kendra,” Ivy nodded as she stepped into the elevator next to Hawkgirl. “Or—no! it’s Shiera now, isn’t it? Sincerest apologies. I love your hair!”

“Uh—thanks,” Shiera offered, looking perturbed as she pressed the button for the 3^rd floor.

Ivy tapped her foot in tune with her humming as the elevator took them up to the Hall’s recreational quarters, where she zeroed in on Jo and Damian as soon as the doors slid open.

“Hello, My Daughter who seems to think it’s appropriate to treat this communal space like it’s her living room,” she acknowledged with the same lighthearted tone and sing-songy cadence she’d been using all morning.

Jo frowned, lifting her head from where it was laying on Damian’s lap, the two of them lounging on the couch—well, Jo lounging and Damian allowing it. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Ivy questioned.

“On your face. There’s something on your face.”

Ivy panicked slightly as she wiped around her mouth. She’d just given a television interview, something on her face was the worst case scenario. “Where?”

“Right there!” Jo pointed.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Your smile, Pamela. She’s referring to the smile on your face.”

“Ah, yes,” Ivy closed her lips over her teeth, tamping down her happiness just slightly. “And my Son-in-law who continues to insists on treating me like a peer despite my seniority and the fact he’s now married to my daughter; how could I forget you? Good morning. I hope it’s treating you well.”

Jo narrowed her eyes, setting the tennis ball she’d been tossing in the air to the side and sitting up. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Ivy told her. “But I am wondering what you’re doing here. Shouldn’t you be in San Francisco?”

“White Martian threat, they wanted us all under one roof so we could mount a united defense,” Jo answered quickly.

Damian was eyeing her with the same critical regard Jo had employed. “I think she got laid,” he decided after a moment.

“Who?” Jo was confused.

“Your Mom.” Damian told her. “She either just had sex, or she’s pregnant.”

“Ugh, that reminds me—we’re never having kids,” Jo informed him nonchalantly before taking another look at Ivy. “Holy shit,” she realized. “Please tell me it was Ma.”

“Jo, that’s—,” Pam began, but was cut off by Damian saying: “What the hell does that mean?”

Jo turned to him, asking: “What do you mean what does it mean? I don’t want kids, thought my statement was fairly self-explanatory.”  

“You can’t just declare that!” Damian shot back. “It’s a joint decision!”

“—disgusting you’d assume or even suspect I’d be unfaithful to your Mother in any capacity,” Ivy mumbled, leaving them to their conversation. “But yes, I did get laid. Not that it’s any of your business…”

“Who are you talking to?” Donna Troy asked as Ivy passed her in the doorway.

Ivy stopped, turned to her, and with a sigh, reached into her pocket, pulling out a $20 bill. “You should be able to buy at least two chickens with this. Go do that.”

/

“Can you just fucking not?” Damian ducked to avoid Jo’s quick flurry of batarangs which stuck in the alien behind him.

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation,” he growled, pulling out his grappling gun and firing from the ground. The hook ripped through a Martian’s stomach, securing itself there so that Damian could reel it in. He reached for his belt…but nothing came to his hand. “Goddamn it, Jo. Where are my swords?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Jo asked, taking care of the Martian he had hooked by pulling the pin on one of her grenades and waiting until just before it detonated to throw it. “Did you leave them at home?”

Having cleared their immediate surroundings, Damian took a moment to rip his hook out of the alien spasming at their feet. “I took them to get them sharpened…did I leave them in the car?”

Jo opened her mask. “Were you even looking in the right compartment?”

“Of course! I’m not an idiot, Jolene. Believe it or not, I’m more than capable of—,”

“Did you check on your back?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What did I just say?” he demanded. “I said I’m not a fucking idiot.” He reached behind his back anyway to prove a point…and the swords sprung to his hands.

“See, this is why we…” Jo trailed off as the light changed, and they both looked up to see it was because a White Martian was blocking their sun.

But it wasn’t long for this world, as—at the moment it raised its fist—a tree root stabbed through its head, coming out the front through its eye before quickly retracting. The alien dropped to its knees before falling forward onto its face…revealing an irritated Poison Ivy.

“We don’t have time for your heterosexual nonsense,” she told them. “Damian, of course Jolene wants children. She loves children. She made a reactionary statement stating an opinion that she’s comfortable with for right now. You just got married.” She reminded them, and as she did, they watched a thick vine shoot up from the ground behind her and wrap around a Martian that was quickly approaching. “Allow a little time for that to sink in and for Jo to actually adjust to adulthood before beginning those conversations. You’re young, there’s plenty of time. However, Damian, with your family history and personality, it honestly isn’t unreasonable for Jo to assume you might not want children. So, although the inevitable conclusion is that you will have children, it’s not ridiculous for the alternative to be considered. Now do your job. I shouldn’t have to be parenting right now just like you shouldn’t be quarreling.”

“Fine,” Jo and Damian mumbled in unison, Jo’s mask closing back over her reddened face.

/

“Uhhh…I don’t know, you guys…”

“Kara, Honey, just come out here, please,” Lena was growing impatient. “I’m sure you look fine.”

“I know I look fine,” the blonde guaranteed from the bathroom. “It’s just…it’s weird not being able to feel a breeze.”

“I think you’ll eventually come to appreciate the lack of breeze,” Karen chuckled from her place on the couch next to Anthony, and in another moment, Kara did (somewhat reluctantly, it seemed) emerge from the bathroom.

She seemed nervous as her hands tentatively came to rest on her hips in an attempt to assume her ‘hero pose’…but quickly deflated, her shoulders slumping as she dropped her hands. “I don’t know, I just—it doesn’t really feel like me, I don’t think.”

Anthony was confused—if not a bit disappointed. They’d made sure to keep the essence of her old suit. Pay homage and improve, that was always their motto when approaching the aesthetics of a design.

They’d recreated the material with only slight structure modifications to improve durability, so it should feel the same on her skin. As far as color, they didn’t change that either, just added a few sky blue highlights on her sides and shoulders to accentuate her v-taper. And yes, they’d added a collar…and a yellow highlight around the edge of her cape…changed the belt design to something a bit thinner…added some red to her pants, broadened the symbol on her chest and anchored the cape there, so the red of the ‘S’ began the red of her cape…alright, so maybe they changed more things than Anthony realized. Plus, you know, pants. But still, Anthony and Karen had been pretty pleased with themselves. And getting to work on a Super had been such an honor…they understood how loved the Kryptonians were on this planet. How much their image meant, how pictures of Kara in this suit would be plastered onto the walls of millions of young girls (and probably a few teenaged boys).

Unlike the Bat-family, who operated under the cloak of darkness, everything the Supers did was on worldwide display. Needless to say, Anthony and Karen hadn’t taken this assignment lightly.

“Is there anything that you don’t like about it specifically?” Anthony asked, taking out a notepad. “Because we can always go back and make adjustments. We want you to feel comfortable and confident. Going into battle with a suit you don’t like is—in my humble, non-super opinion—akin to arriving at school in only your underwear. Stressful for you, weird for everyone else.”

Kara didn’t answer, just stood in front of the mirror nervously wringing her hands, so Lena sighed and turned to explain that: “Kara doesn’t like change. Processing it can be difficult for her. But the suit is gorgeous, honestly. And looks absolutely lovely on you, Kara,” she raised her voice slightly to make sure she was getting through whatever mental blockade her wife was putting up. “Once she’s grown more accustomed to it, we’ll contact you should we come up with any specific gripes. But in the meantime, well done. Really and sincerely. I think it’s a fantastic next step in her evolution as a hero.”

/

“You look like your Mom, ya know,” Jo said into the silence of their darkened bedroom.

“That’s impossible,” Damian murmured beside her.

Jo rolled her eyes. “OK, even if I was talking about Selina—which you know I wasn’t—my statement would still be true as your Dad’s type is so specific it extends not only to the children he collects but the woman he married as well. Seriously, if Selina were a boy, she’d look exactly like you…or Dick…or Tim…or Bruce, for that matter.” She scoffed, “and they say my Mom’s a narcissist.”

“And Jason,” Damian pointed out. “Seems like you’ve got a type too.”

“Jason’s dead.”