Harley didn't sleep well during the night, that's something Pamela had noticed since she'd come to live with her, which was just as well on this particular night because she likely had a concussion and she needed to stay awake for as long as possible.
"My head's killin' me," Harley grumbled, laying back on a nest of pillows Pam had brought from her own bed (those decorative ones weren't going to cut it right now).
"I'm not giving you any more ibuprofen, you're going to stress your kidneys," Pam scolded, retrieving another ice pack from the freezer to replace the now room temperature one that Harley was holding against her jaw.
"Don't I got two of those for a reason?"
Pam rolled her eyes, moving Harley's feet to take up residence on the other end of the couch. "Honestly, Harleen…" for some reason, she felt as though all the energy had been sapped from her body, so she closed her eyes, sinking into the rather uncomfortable sofa that she was beginning to regret purchasing. "Why are you a boxer, Harley?" she broke the silence that had descended between them. "And please be more specific than you were last time."
Even without looking, she could feel Harley shrugging. "Don't know. Couldn't be a gymnast anymore, and I had alotta—I don't know—rage, I guess. You gotta do something with that or it'll tear you up inside. Mistah J told me that."
"It's tearing you up anyway," Pam pointed out. "You clearly have immense physical talent, Harley, but as far as I can tell Jared wasted it."
"What do you mean?" Harley wondered.
"I mean, you're a fantastic athlete, but a subpar boxer," Pam told her. "You have almost zero intelligence for the sport."
Harley sat up. "Hey, fuck you! You're so rude!"
"I didn't say you were a lost cause," Pam reminded her. "You're just too raw to be truly successful at this level. You need someone who can help you harness that energy."
"Well, great!" Harley threw her hands up. "Find me a fuckin coach, then!"
/
Harley was still asleep (and breathing, thank goodness) when Pam rose the next morning. She went about her typical routine—water plants, shower, makeup, hair, clothes, coffee—before taking a seat at the desk in her home office and going through her old rolodex.
The gentleman Pam was thinking of had been retired for a year or two now, but he was the only coach she could think of off the top of her head who might be able to corral Harley out of undisciplined mediocrity.
The line rang 6 times and Pam was preparing to leave a voicemail when, to her surprise, a gruff, male voice on the other end asked, "What do you want?"
"Slade!" Pamela painted a big smile on, one she hoped he'd be able to hear through the phone. "Always good to hear your voice."
"Who's this?"
"Oh, this is Dr. Pamela Isley from the WBA, you remember me," she assured him. "How's retirement been treating you?"
"Fine," his tone was curt. "And yeah, I remember you."
"Wonderful, then I'm sure you also remember how many of your athletes I gifted clean reports to."
"Christ, what do you want?" He demanded.
Pam leaned back in her office chair. "I have a project for you. A bit of a wild mustang that only you can break sort of situation."
"What are you talking about?"
"Harleen Quinzel," Pamela cut to the chase. "Have you heard of her?"
"That clown girl who was disqualified last night?"
"The very same."
"What about her?"
"She's a valuable asset to our organization and she doesn't have a coach," Pam told him. "Naturally, we have our pick of the field, but I thought of you."
"I don't do that anymore."
"Do what?" Pam asked. "Win? You're right, it has been a while. Lord knows you didn't exactly retire victorious."
"Listen, lady, I don't—,"
"We'll make it worth your while. And she's more coachable than Jason, I can promise you that. Just one meeting, OK? Grant her that and I won't publish your last title winner's original test results."
The silence on the other end of the line was long enough for Pam to finish her coffee.
"Fine," he eventually acquiesced, sounding none too happy about it. "When and where?"
/
The bruise on Harley's jaw had changed from a deep purple to a yellowish green by the time Monday rolled around.
She was dressed in one of her new outfits, which was really the only thing that had motivated her to off Pamela's couch that morning.
Her volatility had dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that reminded Pam of the morning after she'd shown up on her doorstep.
Pam was beginning to realize that Harley's moods came in cycles based on her proximity to a fight. Before a fight she was manic, unable to focus, jumpy, like every nerve and synapse was exposed. The day of the fight she was nearly unreachable, Harley gone and replaced with…whoever that was in the clown makeup. Then, afterwards, she crashed—sleeping most of the day and only standing to retrieve whatever food she was having delivered. As soon as she got back in the gym and started training for her new opponent, her lethargy would melt away and the energetic, good natured, empathetic and oftentimes oblivious Harley would return. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Pamela had spent enough time around these athletes to understand they all experienced highs and lows, but Harley took it all to an extreme. She seemed to be having a slightly more difficult time recovering from this fight than the one with Kate, perhaps because there was some shame wrapped up in this one thanks to her disqualification.
Pam glanced over at her from the driver's seat, watching as the blonde breathed deeply, her eyes closed, head resting against the glass of the window. She wasn't asleep, but close to it, and Pam idly wondered if she should get her an energy drink before their meeting with Selina.
Ultimately, she decided stopping would make them late, and she didn't need to facilitate Harley leaving another bad impression on Selina. So she headed straight for the office instead, rousing Harley from her near slumber in the parking garage and riding with her in the elevator up to the top floor.
"How long's this gonna take?" Harley wondered; her body slumped against the metal wall.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Pam apologized, though there was little genuine remorse in the statement. "Is your job keeping you from something you'd rather be doing?"
"I mean, yeah," Harley said like she wasn't expecting the question. "There's a show on Netflix about some crazy dude who has two husbands and owns a tiger zoo, so…"
"Fascinating."
"I want a hyena."
"Well, you can't have one," Pam denied her request, stepping out into the hallway once the doors opened and starting towards Selina's office.
Harley followed reluctantly behind, dragging her feet like a petulant teenager.
Selina waved them into her office immediately, welcoming them with an unnaturally happy smile. Pam understood the purpose of the meeting, but little about Selina's intention, so the odd greeting made her instantly uneasy.
"Harleen," Selina walked towards her with an outstretched hand for her to shake. "It's so good to see you again. Glad you made it through the night, I just finished the report from our medical staff, and you have a doozy of a concussion."
"I followed protocol," Pam assured, taking a seat while Harley and Selina finished their awkward handshake.
Selina gestured for Harley to take a seat beside her. "Great. So, obviously, I need to start things off by briefly addressing what happened last Friday…"
"I'm not allowed to kick in boxing," Harley said like it was a line she'd been taught to recite, plopping down in the empty chair.
"Right, or clothesline or punch your opponent while they're on the ground," Selina added with a nod, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk. "Typically, conduct like that would warrant either a suspension or a hefty fine, so I'm just going to cut your commission check for that fight in half and call it good. Sound fair?"
"Hey, wait a—," Harley began to protest, but Pam placed a hand on her thigh, giving her a firm squeeze while she cut her off.
"Fair."
"Wonderful," Selina smiled. "Harleen," she changed the subject, circling around her desk and taking a seat behind it. "I owe you an apology. It seems I underestimated you as a performer. I hope you'll forgive me."
Harley was confused. "Um…sure?"
"See, Pam, Bruce and I," she continued. "We saw the blue eyes and blonde hair and those adorable dimples of yours and assumed the best you could be was another Stephanie Brown. But that's not who you are, is it, Harl?"
"I mean…no?" Harley guessed. "I don't think so?"
"No," Selina agreed. "When Pam first showed me your tape, I thought your unhinged, demonic jester thing was something your coach had come up with to get some retweets. But you're actually a little fucked up, aren't you?"
Harley opened her mouth and then closed it, evidently not sure how to respond.
Selina smiled kindly at her, her eyes softening in a way Pam rarely got to see. "I did a little supplemental reading on you. My husband Bruce is quite the detective, you see. Is it true your Father took out a life insurance policy on you, your brother and your Mother and tried to have you killed to pay off his mob debt?"
Harley's face flushed red, her head bowing like she'd finally been caught.
That was all the affirmation Selina needed, but Pam wasn't quite ready to move on.
"Hold on," the redhead interjected. "Did you just—,"
"Yes, it seems Harley may have pulled into the lead for the office 'Most Fucked up Childhood' title," Selina cut her off. "I mean, Pam, our entries are solid, but I think it's Bruce and Harley in first and second at this point."
Pam sat back in her chair to process that information.
Selina's focus moved back to Harley. "That must have been tough."
"I don't like to talk about it," Harley mumbled.
"That's fine," Selina granted. "We don't need to delve into the hurt there, I'm not your therapist. I just didn't want you thinking you work for some heartless corporation. Here's the thing about boxers—everyone here is a stray in one form or another. My husband Bruce competed for many years to try and bury the trauma of losing his parents."
Harley glanced up, finding a bit of bravery. "Did it work?"
"Oh, sure," Selina chuckled. "I mean, he still occasionally cries himself to sleep, but he won a lot of titles, and success truly is the best band aid."
The blonde frowned, mulling that over while Selina and Pam watched. "Do you think I should send Canary a fruit basket or something?" She finally asked.
Selina pursed her lips. "A fruit basket probably isn't going to cut it. But here's the deal, alright? We're here for you, all of us—except for Dinah, you definitely burned that bridge—and I don't want you losing any of your fighting spirit. In fact, I don't want you to change a thing. Not the face paint or the fist pounding or the shirt ripping—I'll even let you get away with an infraction or two per match, if you play the game for me."
Harley raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What game?"
"My bad girl is washed up," Selina explained. "I need you to take her down for me."
/
Slade was already waiting in the gym when Pam and Harley arrived, leaning against the ropes of the practice ring, his hair having grayed since he and Pam's last meeting. Retirement had not been kind to him.
"Dr. Isley, you wretched bitch," he greeted, not moving to welcome them as Selina had. "What a pleasure it is to be blackmailed into seeing you again."
"Yes, thank you so much for coming, Mr. Wilson," her smile and tone were condescending. "We're so honored you could take time out of your now useless existence to meet with us."
…this was more the tone Pam had been expecting over the phone, their earlier conversation had gone far too well, seemed Pam was right not to trust it.
Harley stepped out from behind Pam, looking between the two as they stared each other down. "Did you guys hook up or somethin'? Is that why this is weird?"
The question caused Pam to nearly short circuit. "I'm sorry, wh—,"
"What's with the eye patch?" Harley had already moved on, stepping past Pam and up to the ring. "Is it just to look cool or did somebody poke your eye out?"
Slade squinted, pushing off the ropes to size her up with his good eye. "You look different without the paint," he decided.
"OK, wait," Pam piped up in the background. "Before we get too far into anything, I just want to make it clear that we absolutely did not have intercourse with each other."
Slade and Harley ignored her, the blonde climbing into the ring to join him. "Timeout," she said once she got close enough to really get a look at him. "I know you! You're the guy who went blind in one eye cuz Victor Stone had metal in his gloves."
"—that anyone would assume I'd let a man inside of me is comical, borderline offensive, actually—,"
Slade grunted in response to Harley's identification.
"Pammy says you're a good coach," Harley told him.
"That so?"
Harley nodded. "Yeah, and I'm gonna need one cuz evidently I'm a street brawler, not a boxer, and I gotta win my next fight."
Slade narrowed his eye, unconvinced.
Pam decided to let Harley take this one while she brainstormed ways to somehow make her sexuality more obvious to her.
"Listen, I realize I ain't much, alright?" there was suddenly emotion in Harley's voice. "I grew up on the street because my daddy cared so little he tried to kill me, my mama popped pills until we got taken away and my little brother caught a train and never looked back. At least that's what the cops told me; he could be in a million pieces in some creep's dumpster for all we know."
Oh…shit…Pam checked back into the conversation.
A tear was rolling down Harley's cheek. "They said I couldn't do gymnastics anymore after that foster family kicked me to the curb, so this is all I've got left. I work hard, mistah, that's the truth. I just—I gotta win. I can't let these people down. Red—she's lettin' me crash on her couch, and Selina and Mistah Wayne—they think I can really be somebody. Please, you gotta help me be somebody."
Slade slowly uncrossed his arms, letting all that hang in the air for a moment while Pam exhaled for the first time since Harley began her appeal.
"I don't train cheaters," was how Slade finally responded. "So either you learn to control your temper enough to follow the rules, or you find a different coach."
Harley wiped the tear from her cheek, a relieved smile nearly splitting her face in two. "I wanna learn, you just gotta teach me how."