Harley was trying very hard to keep her body from convulsing. She was sweating, hand fisting so tightly in the sheets she'd begun to pull the bedding away from the mattress.

Pamela's lips stayed pressed against her when she said, "it's so much better once you relax, Darling," which seemed to only succeed in winding Harley's body tighter. "Harl," she chuckled softly, finally pulling her mouth away and giving the younger woman some respite from her heightened state of arousal. "You're going to pull a muscle."

"Ugh," Harley groaned, rolling over onto her stomach. "It's a muscle I wanna pull. Come on, can ya just finish me off?"

Pamela crawled over her, planting a teasing kiss at the nape of her neck. "No," she whispered, breath hot against Harley's ear. "You're going to learn to enjoy your own pleasure if it's the only valuable lesson I teach you." And with that, Pam withdrew, climbing out of bed and retrieving the water glass she'd left in the bathroom, wiping her mouth before taking a drink.

Harley punched the soft comforter in frustration, though the attack hardly made a sound. "Screw you!"

"You already did," Pam set the now half-empty water glass down on Harley's side of the table, handing her the towel. "It's supposed to be your turn."

"Yeah, no shit!" Harley complained, turning to snatch the towel from her. "So I can't make it happen with just mouth stuff, so what?"

Pamela made sure to fluff the pillows before she laid back down, turning on her side and resting a hand on Harley's bare chest that was still rising and falling rapidly with her labored breathing. "Just because it's never happened before doesn't mean it's impossible. Letting me pay you that sort of attention for as long as it takes requires a level of confidence it doesn't seem you've achieved yet."

The blonde roughly brushed her matted bangs away from her forehead. "You're talkin' nonsense ta me."

Laughing, Pamela began trailing her fingers from Harley's collarbone, over her chest and down to her hips before turning back again, following a slightly different path each time. "I take it Jared didn't give many successful oral reports."

"How should I know how he did in school?"

Pam considered. "You know what? That one's on me."

Harley sighed, long and loud and drawn out. "I'm sorry. I'm just…not used to it, is all. You're the only lady I've ever been with just you and me and…before it was never, like, about me, ya know?"

Pam propped herself up on one elbow. "No, I'm not sure what you mean."

"I met Mistah J when I was 16," Harley began to explain. "So I was never really with anybody else, but he knew I kinda liked girls so sometimes he'd invite somebody over to—ya know—be with him. Both of us, I mean."

It took a moment for Pam to determine how best to respond. "And did you like that?"

Harley shrugged. "Sometimes, I guess. But he never really cared when I was in the mood and sometimes I got tired of preformin'."

"Harleen, I'm…I'm very sorry you had to experience that," Pam told her. "It sounds like a very unhealthy situation."

Again, she shrugged. "It wasn't all bad. There was worse stuff before that, but I don't really wanna talk about it."

Pam just nodded.

"And plus, if Mistah J hadn't found me, I prolly wouldn't'a started fightin'," Harley pointed out, propping herself up to mirror Pam. "Then I wouldn't'a met you, and I wouldn't get to go to fancy parties and make a ton'a money and live in this fancy house." Harley grinned, and Pam couldn't help but smile back. "I think, even when things are shitty, they gotta happen for a reason, right?"

Now it was Pam's turn to shrug. "I suppose that depends on your belief system."

"You mean like church and stuff?"

"Among other things."

"Pop always said that shit's for the Irish," Harley dropped back onto the mattress, moving in to snuggle against Pam's breast.

"Yes, well…" Pam relaxed in turn, wrapping Harley up in her arms and closing her eyes as she sunk into the downy pillows. "He also tried to have you killed, so perhaps it's best we don't take his prejudice to heart."

"I saw your ma called again," Harley said. "I didn't answer, though, cuz you told me not to."

"Thank you," Pam acknowledged. "And I listened to the voicemail. You didn't miss anything interesting; I promise."

Harley was quiet for a moment, the crickets outside Pam's bedroom window briefly punctuating their silence. "Do you hate her?"

"No," Pamela decided after a pause of her own. "Hate requires a passion that I haven't the time for. I just don't care about her anymore, same as she never truly cared about me."

She could feel the furrow in Harley's brow against her neck. "How come she calls so much if she doesn't care?"

"She's frightened," was Pam's simple answer. "My father is dying, and she'll soon be left alone."

"That's sad," Harley decided. "She must really love him."

"Oh, goodness no," Pamela laughed. "She's 20 years younger than him and didn't ever want to have to work in her life. That's their love story."

"I mean…you're a few years older than me, right? Like 12?"

Fuck, I might need a therapist.

Pamela decided actions would speak louder than words, so she pushed Harley away from her, assuming her earlier position between her legs before the blonde could protest. "We're going to give this another shot."

"Alright!" Harley clapped once, hard and loud to psych herself up, accepting her mission. "I got this!"

"You've got this," Pam settled in. "Just enjoy it."

/

"Assistant Barbara, I need you in here," Pamela released the intercom button and the younger redhead appeared in the doorway a moment later, padfolio in hand.

"Is there another—?"

"Barbara, what's your middle name?" Pam asked, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, expression inscrutable.

The question seemed to catch Barbara off guard. "I don't—um—don't have one, Ma'am."

"Well, that's a relief," Pam laughed, pushing those glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It's a new look I'm trying," she explained before the question was asked. "Listen, I need you to put me on Bruce's schedule today. He's purposefully slow-balling a response to my funding request."

"Oh, shoot, did you not get that email?" Barbara asked, opening her padfolio to retrieve a paper copy. "He denied that request."

Pamela stood to snatch the paper away from her, giving it a quick read before balling it up and tossing it in the waste bin. "Bastard," she said…before walking over to the balled-up paper and moving it to the recycling. "Fine," she decided. "Put me on Selina's schedule, then."

"Yes, ma'am," Barbara said, making a quick note for herself. "Any particular reason?"

"I just want to make sure there won't be any surprises with the schedule," Pamela explained, grabbing her blazer from the back of her chair and brushing past Barbara on her way out of the office. "Walk with me," she instructed, forcing Barbara to jog a few steps to catch up. "Do you think I'm kind?"

"No, Ma'am," was Barbara's quick answer, but when Pamela stopped dead in her tracks in the middle of the hallway, she quickly covered with, "But it's hot, like Miranda Priestly vibes."

Pam regarded her critically. "I don't know the reference."

"She's a Meryl Streep character."

"Oh," Pam's icy expression immediately gave way to a smile. "Well that is complimentary," she started walking again, on her way to the elevator. "Are you hungry?"

"Um, not really, I just a—,"

"Lunch is on me," Pam announced, not interested in her complete answer. She pressed the elevator's 'down' button and they waited. "I was hoping to discuss a few topics outside the realm of what's considered strictly 'professional', if that doesn't make you too uncomfortable."

Barbara crossed her arms, eyebrow raising in turn as they stepped into the elevator together. "Isn't this the kind of conversation you should be having with a friend? Like Selina?"

Pam scoffed. "And let her see me emotionally vulnerable? I think not."

"OK, well, Can I call you Pamela?"

Pam pursed her lips, considering the request. "Yes, you may. As long as you tell me why your friends call you 'Babs' rather than 'Barb'."

"I don't know the answer to that question."

"Fine," Pam acquiesced. "I recently joined Twitter and it was suggested I follow a 'BarbieG', is that you?"

"It is."

"And may I follow you on Twitter?"

Barbara shrugged. "I mean, I mostly just bitch about my boss on there…" she smiled when Pam got the joke. "Yeah, but what's going on here, are you dying? Be honest. You can trust me. And I know you don't have a will, so we need to start that process yesterday."

"I'm not dying," Pam assured her. "Although it's slightly concerning that's the first place your mind goes when I offer to buy you lunch," they exited the elevator, Pam leading them out of Wayne tower and down the street. "No, I think I might—well, I don't know, really, it's complicated."

"Isn't everything?"

"I don't think so, no," Pam disagreed. "And it's unfortunate because I've worked very hard to keep certain aspects of my life as uncomplicated as possible."

Barbara was slightly distracted as she looked for a restaurant or food cart. "Right…what are you hungry for?"

Pam waved her off. "Whatever you want, I'm not eating. But anyway, I feel as though whatever sort of relationship Harley and I have cultivated is—I'm not sure—evolving? And I'm not—I can't be sure that's something I'm comfortable with."

Barbara frowned, getting in line for a hotdog "What do you mean?"

"Well, I just—it doesn't feel like an affair anymore," Pam attempted to explain. "I spoke with my ex at her gala, which you father was at, by the way, and she made it clear she'd moved on, so…that means what Harley and I have is an actual relationship. Like, we're dating…but she lives with me."

"Right…" Barbara repeated, nodding slowly. "Seems like you skipped a few steps."

"Yes!" Pamela was relieved Barbara seemed to see things the same way. "And she's not exactly the type of woman I'd aim to take those steps with in the first place, but now that we've skipped them…I'm having a difficult time not…"

"Just one with mustard," Barbara ordered. "Feeling romantic towards her?" she guessed at the end of Pam's sentence.

Pamela paid the $3.00 they owed, groaning as she did, though at her romantic predicament, not the reasonably priced hotdog. "I'd really prefer it just be about sex."

"Ah, so that's what your meant by outside the realm of strictly—,"

"But last night she came on my tongue for the first—,"

"—'professional'."

"—time and it was so moving for her that—,"

"Here you go, lady," the hot dog vendor handed Barbara her food.

"—I nearly felt like crying."

"Yeah, wow," Barbara took a bite. "That's a lot. A lot of complicated emotions for you, a lot of information for me…"

Pam turned, leading them back to the tower, walking slower this time to allow Barbara time to eat her meal. "It takes work to be with someone."

Barbara nodded. "It does."

They walked in silence for a moment before Pam asked, "Why did you and Dick break up?"

"He was done with me," Barbara was flippant. "Ready to move on to bigger and better things. Who knows. It's not his fault that everyone loves him, he just…wasn't always great at loving me."

Now it was Pam's turn to nod, turning that answer over in her mind. "And you're happier now? With Luke?"

The smile that spread over Barbara's face at the mention of Luke's name was something she appeared to have little control over. "He has a lot more time for me. And energy. And interest, honestly," she laughed. "I didn't think I was ready. I was with Dick for a long time, but Luke, he's just…right, I guess."

They stopped short of the rotating tower doors, Barbara throwing away the tinfoil that had wrapped her hotdog.

"I think Harley's kind," Barbara told her, circling back to Pam's earlier question. "Maybe she can make up for what you're missing. Maybe you two would be a complete disaster. Anything's possible, I guess, but you won't know unless you actually give her a shot."

Pam bit her lip, basking in something between hope and dread for what felt like too long. "Maybe we can make lunches a weekly thing," she cut short her own thought process. "There's a chance you may be wise, and it turns out I don't have any friends."

/

Harley bounced from one foot to the other, eyes closed, hitting her open palm with her closed fist again and again as she attempted to visualize her victory, step by step, hit by hit, slip by slip. It was a technique Slade had taught her, and one she'd been working very hard to incorporate into her pre-fight ritual.

"Alright," Slade grabbed the blonde's shoulders once Tatsu's entrance song ended. "Remember what we talked about, Kid. Stay in it. She's quick, but she doesn't have your power. Once you find your opening, capitalize. It should only take one."

Harley let her body be still as Slade squeezed her, planting her feet firmly on the ground, cracking her knuckles and then her neck. She took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes, looking past Slade to where Pam was watching silently. Her painted red lips stretched into a grin. "I got this," she said, pupils constricting as the spotlight found her.

Pam smiled back. "Just enjoy it," she even added a wink for good measure, desperately wanting Harley to understand the reference. They so often went over her head.

Biggest boss and I been the trillest

I'm a bigger problem when I click with Skrillex

Harley backed out of the tunnel, giving Pam a thumbs up as the crowd roared.

Murder on my mind it's time to pray to god

My revolver is not religious, the revolution's born

She finally turned, waving her arms as she did, bouncing with the energy of the arena, fanning the excitement around her, her fans impossibly louder at each indication that she was here for them—she was here to perform. Whether or not it was what Selina had intended, Harley was the people's villain now. But they didn't love to hate her like they had Talia, they were rooting for her. She was their anti-hero.

Pistol on my waist I might make a mistake

Dead shot, head shot, oh my god, am I crazy?

Harley grabbed a t-shirt cannon from an arena employee, firing a shot from her hip that landed somewhere deep in the upper balcony.

Ain't no mercy, got that purple Lamborghini lurkin'

Rozay, don't you know that pussy worth it

She raised her fingers to her mouth, creating a v to wiggle her tongue through.

"Fuckin' A, Harley," Slade complained. He turned to Pam briefly before following Harley out of the tunnel to say, "that one's on you."

"I'm certainly not ashamed!" Pam called after him.

Killers everywhere, ain't no place to run

Forgive me for my wrongs, I have just begun