"—I want you to be excited!" Selina encouraged. "This is an incredible opportunity for you. One that few rookies get."

"Yeah, no, I get that," Harley was nodding, trying to accept Selina's point of view. "I just, um, what's he gonna ask me about? And who is he, again?"

Selina was trying to hide her frustration with how this conversation was going and Pamela was very much enjoying that aspect of it. "Luke Fox," the brunette reiterated. "This is Sports Center, Harley. This is big."

"And what does he wanna know about me?"

"Everything," Selina's exasperation was obvious at this point. "He wants to profile you. I'm trying to sell you as Talia's replacement, so we must strike while the iron's hot. Everybody loves you right now, Harley: bisexuals, 28 year old men who have never left their basements, lesbians—especially the 40 year old who mask their repression with promiscuity to avoid emotional intimacy demographic—you know, all the important markets."

Pam was incensed. "Selina, I'm 35."

"Of course you are, Pamela," Selina placated her, moving along. "This is going to be the perfect lead-in to your fight with Stephanie next week. Just trust me, OK? Fox is a pro, you're in good hands. There are some topics I'd like you to avoid, however."

"Like what?" Harley wondered.

"Well, like Pam, for one," Selina told her. "If you could keep your sexual escapades on the downlow, that would be much appreciated."

Harley frowned. "How come? Cuz we're both ladies and the world isn't ready for us yet?"

"What? No." Selina laughed. "Because Pamela is the executive in charge of performance testing in our organization and any relationship between you two would look incredibly improper to a national audience."

Harley's frown deepened momentarily before her expression suddenly brightened, and she turned to Pam to say, "Hey, that's kinda hot, right?"

Pamela wasn't going to dignify that with a verbal response…but she did offer a subtle nod, which seemed to please Harley.

"Right, so none of that," Selina reiterated. "Keep it in your pants and don't mention Jared's lawsuit." She put her reading glasses on like that would be the end of their conversation.

Harley sat up straighter, alarmed, Pamela taking a similar stance where she stood behind her. "What lawsuit?" she said, at the same time as Pam was asking, "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Selina dismissed both their concerns with a wave of her hand. "That's not a plotline you need to be invested in."

Pam wasn't sure whose question that was supposed to answer, or if she'd meant it as a blanket response, but it wasn't helpful in either context. "I'm just surprised you wouldn't opt for contacts."

"I only need them for reading," Selina was defensive. "What, am I not pulling them off?"

"I think you are," Harley decided. "I think glasses are cute, just one girl's opinion. You should see the ones Pammy wears before bed. But anyway," she righted her own ship. "Why are you gettin' sued by Mistah J?"

"Oh, something about unlawful dismissal and lost wages in the form of 45 thousand dollars that seems to have disappeared from his bank account," Selina was nonchalant. "Nothing our legal team can't take care of. Now," she pivoted. "I've scheduled the interview for tomorrow afternoon. You'll start here at the gym and then transition back to Pamela's house."

"I'm sorry," Pam felt the need to interject. "It sounded like you just implied the interview will take place in my home."

Selina seemed unbothered; she had this all figured out. "Only part of it. Luke likes to see the athletes in their natural habitat."

"But it's not her natural habitat, it's mine," Pam reasoned. "Are you saying you'll be kicking me out of my own house for the afternoon?"

Selina smiled, her expression cloyingly sweet, mocking. "Don't be silly, Pamela. It'll take place during work hours."

/

Pamela had checked her phone at least 15 times in the past hour. This was uncharacteristic, and she was slightly concerned it might progress into a tick as she did it for the 16th time.

Harley had promised she'd text with any questions or concerns during or before the interview. She was also supposed to let Pam help her choose an outfit, but clearly that wasn't going to happen as it was half passed 4 and the interview was supposed to start at 3. If she hadn't chosen an outfit by now there was truly no hope for her.

With an audible sign at the lack of correspondence, Pamela set her phone down on her desk, leaning back in her chair and pushing herself away from her computer. She'd never participated in a relationship like this one. One where she felt the need to embody the role of caretaker. Really, when she thought about it, Barbara had been her most significant relationship to date and both she and Pamela were incredibly self-sufficient, leaders in their fields. Pamela would have never worried about making sure Barbara ate a nutritious dinner or that she might say or do the wrong thing around their friends or colleagues.

It's not that Pamela typically steered clear of women like Harley—no, she often found herself drawn to them—but usually she had the self-control to keep it to a one-night affair. At this point, whatever she and Harley were engaging in was far from limited to a singular night. They hadn't spent a night apart since it began nearly a month ago. They simply couldn't keep their hands off each other. To Pamela, it felt like she'd been ordering dessert every night, biting into something intoxicating and sickly sweet that she knew wasn't good for her. Even now, just thinking about it, she wanted her.

Get a hold of yourself, Pamela.

She watched her phone on the desk in front of her, attempting to quiet her mind.

There were so many ways in which Harley was simple. Dangerously uncomplicated and oftentimes incompetent. But there remained a quiet intelligence to her, one Pam didn't claim to understand. Harleen knew (most of the time) when to speak and when to stay quiet. She understood (for the most part) when Pamela wanted to be fucked vs made love to. But her all her evident emotional intelligence, the undercurrent of Harley was that of a perhaps stunted, childish woman who vastly preferred to speak about her trauma through her fists rather than out loud to those who could comfort her.

There was a knock at her office door. "Dr Isley?"

Pamela blinked, clearing her mental fog, grateful for the interruption. "Yes? What is it, Barbara?"

"Luke just texted me," the younger redhead held her phone up to illustrate. "He's all done at your house, if you want to head home."

Puzzled, Pamela raised an eyebrow. "Why is Luke Fox contacting you about that?"

Now it was Barbara's turn to appear confused. "Because…he's my boyfriend. Remember?"

Pam searched her mental archives. "I do not remember having that conversation."

"Oh," Barbara deflated slightly. "I told you he was a big fan of Harley's, didn't I?"

"Huh," Pam sat back, biting the tip of her thumb thoughtfully. "I must have assumed he was a Kate fan when you said that."

Barbara cleared her throat when Pam didn't continue. "In any case, they're done. Harley was supposedly hilarious."

That can't be good.

/

The interview aired the next day, and Harley made sure they had plenty of popcorn to enhance the viewing experience.

"I'd really prefer you didn't eat that here," Pamela complained, brushing away the crumbs that were already accumulating on her couch.

"What?" Harley shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth. "Suddenly it ain't my bed anymore and now I can't eat on it either?"

"I have a kitchen for snacks," Pam muttered, though she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Harley ignored her, already halfway through the bag at this point. "I'm kinda nervous about this. I think I might'a said something dumb."

"You're aware this counts as your cheat meal, right?"

"If this is what havin' a real mom is like, I'm not interested," Harley huffed, snuggling back deeper into the cushions and taking her popcorn with her.

"OK, well, that's repulsive," Pamela stood, snatching the bag away from her and taking it to the kitchen. "I'm not interested in supervising some extreme, last minute water loss to help you make weight. Sodium is the enemy right now."

The interview wasn't supposed to start for another 10 minutes, but the TV was already turned on to the appropriate channel, though Pamela had muted it as she wasn't interested in whatever "sports roundup" was happening on screen in the meantime.

Suddenly, though, Harley yelped in surprise and excitement, launching to the other side of the couch to grab the remote and turning the volume up. "Pam!" she exclaimed. "They're talkin' about my tiger show!"

"According to Shaq's statement, he just wanted to see the animals," the anchor was saying. "He doesn't see the cub petting as abuse. Here to comment on why something that seems so innocuous could be so harmful is renowned zoologist Dr. Barbara Ann Minerva, who is currently head researcher at Paradise Island, the largest Big Cat sanctuary in Namibia. Pleasure to have you with us, Dr. Minerva."

"The pleasure is all mine. I appreciate you taking the time to highlight the severity of this issue."

Pamela's blood ran cold and she gripped the edge of her countertop, rocking backwards as she groaned. "Why?"

"What?" Harley asked, though she simultaneously turned the volume up, causing Barbara's cold British accent to again echo through Pamela's living room.

"—these cubs are taken from their mothers immediately after birth," Barbara was saying. "The hope is that they'll imprint on their human caretakers, but it robs them of the biological imperative passed down to them by means of maternal bonding."

"And that can be harmful to the cub?" the anchor wanted to know.

"Detrimental," Barbara said. "The instinct to seek out human affection is not a natural one. At Paradise Island, our Big Cats remain social to their caretakers, as most of them are rescues from poaching camps or exotic animal ownership like Mr. O'Neal was implicated in. Ultimately, once they're stimulated by a more natural environment, we start to see them turn away from their relationships with humans and towards a more natural social order."

It was then Pamela realized she'd much rather be watching that sports roundup.

"Obviously, the documentary series has created sort of a pop culture moment around all this. What's one thing you hope to communicate to people who have the means to change the culture around the Big Cat conversation?"

"Exotic animals, of any kind, are not meant to be pets," Barbara simply stated. "To glorify any opinion to the contrary is deeply irresponsible, but—,"

"Boo!" Harley muted her. "This lady sucks!"

Pamela returned to the couch with a glass of wine and some water for Harley, grateful for the quiet. "You have no idea…"

"She basically just said I'm a shitty person for wantin' a hyena," Harley continued. "Oh, what? She thinks she's better than me cuz she's got a fancy accent?"

"Well…" Pamela hated to come out on Barbara's side, but… "The exploitation of exotic animals isn't exactly something to—,"

"Wait, shush, Pam! It's on!" Harley turned the volume back up and Pam let out something resembling a sigh of relief, placing Harley's water in front of her on the coffee table and settling in to watch.

The program started in the gym, just like Selina said that it would. There was some footage of Harley training, Slade wearing mitts and leading her in a series of complicated combinations while Luke Fox's voiceover played, explaining that, while Harley was only a rookie, she'd already made a significant impact on the super-lightweight division of women's boxing.

"I look pretty good there, right?" Harley whispered, quietly mirroring her on-screen movements.

"Mm…mhm," Pam agreed, gently taking Harley's arms to still her, the blonde eventually relaxing.

Luke was in front of the camera now, speaking with Slade while Harley worked the speedbag in the background. "I've been following her since the underground days, but when I saw that fight with Lance, I thought there was no way she'd be coming back this season," Luke said. "And yet, that's the moment you decided to get on board. Why is that? What about that fight made you think she was someone who could actually win?"

Slade clearly disliked the question. "She's got a fire in her, that's for sure."

…Luke had obviously been hoping for more. "But you came out of retirement for her. What about her inspired that?"

Slade crossed his arms, heaving a put-upon sigh. "I don't think it was about her, exactly, more the people she had around her. When people who you know don't care about anyone but themselves say they suddenly believe in somebody, you take notice. Plus, you know," he glanced back at Harley where she was still maintaining her tempo on the speedbag. "She's got a motor that won't quit. An old-fashioned work ethic I haven't seen in some time."

"She always gets back up," Luke agreed with a smile.

"Yeah," Slade laughed—a sound Pamela had never heard before. "Even when she should probably stay on the mat."

They were in Pam's driveway now, filming the exterior of her house. The front door opened, Harley stepping out onto the front porch and waving them inside.

The camera cut and they were inside the house now, Harley leading them up the stairs. "So, this is my crib," the on-screen Harley grinned, doing a little spin once she'd reached the 2nd floor, stepping into the open concept kitchen/living room.

The Harley sitting beside Pam on the couch giggled. "I've always wanted to say that."

The camera focused on the painting that hung above Pamela's dining room table and Luke walked towards it. "I wouldn't have pegged you as an art collector."

"I love art," Harley was nodding. "I grew up poor, but I'm still classy."

Luke took a step closer to the painting, examining it more closely. "Right, but is this an original Georgia O'Keeffe? This had to cost millions of dollars."

"It was a gift," was Harley's quick answer.

Pam was dying inside watching this exchange.

"That's quite a generous gift," Luke laughed.

"Yeah, well, they knew how much I loved paintings of…" Harley tilted her head like it was the first time she'd really looked at it. "…the wonders of the female…anatomy."

"Or a flower, right?" Luke helped her out.

"Oh!" Realization seemed to dawn. "Yeah, that too."

Pamela buried her face in her hands, experiencing secondhand embarrassment in a way she never had before.

Harley noticed she was no longer watching. "What?!" she demanded. "It totally looks like lady parts!"

For some reason, Pam found herself laughing, an expression of emotion she didn't realize would feel foreign. "That's definitely something you could have texted me about," she wheezed.

And Harley was laughing too, now. "It was too late, Pammy! The cameras were already rollin'!"

"Everything you do," Pam was shaking her head, her laughter dying slowly into a smile as she moved from her place beside Harley, straddling her now and wrestling the remote out of her hand to press 'pause'. "Is an unmitigated disaster."

Harley tempered her grin by biting her lip, her hands finding their way to the small of Pamela's back. "Still workin' on the whole 'mind over mayhem' thing."

"Well…" Pamela leaned down to kiss her, slow and teasing. "I appreciate the effort."