"Dr. Isley!"

"Jesus, are we back to this, again?" Pam asked, face to face with Barbara as soon as the elevator doors slid open. "I texted you this morning, you can't be this excited to see me."

The two women walked, in lockstep, towards Bruce's office.

"I just wanted to warn you that Selina's been a bit yell-y today and she and Bruce are already waiting," Barbara said.

"I figured as much."

"How was your flight?"

"Fine. Although my headphones are hardly noise canceling."

"I can research a new pair for you."

"Sure, do that."

They arrived in Bruce's waiting room, his receptionist giving Pam the nod that meant 'you can go right in'.

With a deep breath, Pam turned to Barbara and asked, "How do I look? Worthy of risking this entire organization's reputation?"

Barbara gave her a quick up and down glance. "Yeah, Boss, sure. Good luck."

Pam offered Barbara a semi-convincing smile, pushed the door open…and Selina's gaze was immediately judgmental.

"Shit, are you still sad?" she asked, her tone laced with faux concern.

"No, but the condolences are appreciated," Pam said, stopping near Bruce's couch and crossing her arms. "Why?"

Selina frowned. "I don't know. Your look is throwing me off."

"My expression?"

"No, your look," Selina waved her hand at Pam's general being. "Something is off."

"I mean…" Pam looked down, studying herself for a moment. "I am wearing jeans."

Selina cocked her head, adding that to whatever mental calculation was underway. "Oh, OK, yes, that's it. I've never seen you in jeans. It's depressing, for some reason."

"I think they fit her pretty well," Bruce weighed in from where he sat behind his desk. "I mean, they're definitely flattering."

"Yes, well, anything is flattering on me," Pam agreed. The three of them sat in a strange silence after that before Pam cleared her throat to shake that off. "What a stupid way for us to begin this discussion."

"Sorry," Selina apologized, leaning back against Bruce's desk. "It's been a stressful morning and I wasn't expecting denim-gate on top of it. But anyway," she continued on before Pam could interject. "Quinzel needed a better crash course in media management."

Pam was already worried. "What do you mean?"

Selina picked up the remote for Bruce's TV, turning it on to reveal a paused ESPN segment that depicted Harley, in the sunglasses and athleisure wear she'd worn onto the plane, trying to get through a crowd of reporters that had camped out in front of the building. She pressed 'play', and it took everything in Pam not to cover her eyes. This wasn't going to be good.

"Harley! Harley! Harlequin! Harley!"

Slade was walking next to her, which put Pam slightly more at ease, although she knew Selina wouldn't be showing this to her unless it was a train wreck.

"Do you have any response to the allegations levied against—,"

"Alright, listen up," Harley stopped, interrupting the reporter before they could finish their question. "There is no allegation, OK?" Slade was pulling subtly on her arm, trying to get her to move on, but Harley wasn't budging. "It ain't Pam's fault Kate felt like cheating on her wife, and I ain't alleging anything. The only guy calling Pammy the antichrist is the grown man who started f*ckin' me when I was 16 and making me do coke before fights. So how 'bout you run with that headline, huh? That mother*cker Jared got me hooked on the same shit that killed my mama. How 'bout you launch an investigation into him, huh? Worst thing Pammy ever did was put me on a diet and withhold an orgasm or two. That's all I've got ta say." She pushed the microphone out of her face and that's when Selina paused it again.

"So," Selina was the first to speak. "Like I said, it's been a stressful morning."

"That's been running in a loop on segment after segment all day," Bruce said. "On the plus side, it seems mainstream sports media might actually be taking an interest in women's boxing. I like that Harley went after Kate, that's going to help sell tickets to their fight. But her roping Jared back into things is going to complicate our legal case, and her defending you is not something that people have been responding well to."

"I'd like it on the record that I specifically told her not to talk to the press," Pam defended herself.

"We're absolutely not keeping a record of this," Selina said, shutting the TV off and setting the remote on Bruce's desk. "Luckily, the fans don't blame her, they blame you, which puts us in an uncomfortable position."

"Selina, you are not going to sell me out like this."

"No one is selling anyone out, Pamela," Bruce assured her.

"I have never let my personal relationship with an athlete effect whether or not they pass their drug screening," Pam made that clear. "Every pass or fail is determined by you two. It's my job to make the results match the ones you've predetermined, and every report I've ever filed is absolutely air tight. You know that. I'm the only one who could do this job the way you want it done."

"We agree," Bruce said, nodding solemnly. "That's why we're going to give you two a choice." He leaned forward, pressing the intercom button on his phone, "Carrie, send them in when they're ready."

A moment later, the door behind Pam opened, the redhead turning to see Harley and Slade file into the office. Harley still had her hand wraps on, sweaty from the workout this had clearly interrupted. Slade looked supremely inconvenienced.

"Make it quick," Slade said, shutting the door behind them. "This one gained 5lbs over the weekend eating ham."

"Did you guys know Pammy was like a pork princess?" Harley asked the group, unbothered by her coach's harshness, as she took a seat on the couch near where Pam was standing.

"Yes," Selina confirmed. "It was grotesque when Gillian Flynn did it and it remains that way now."

"I'm actually The Pork Queen now," Pam corrected. "But we can get into that later. First, propose your Sophie's choice so we can get on with our evening."

Bruce cleared his throat, gearing up. "I want to start by saying we'd like the decision to be unanimous to avoid any discontentment."

Pam was already rolling her eyes. "Just get on with it."

"Harleen," Selina addressed the blonde directly, bypassing Pam altogether. "You can either have Pamela and lose the title fight or dump her and win it. I'm sorry for the High School Musical level cliché, but you have to choose one or the other.

Harley's brow knit together, and with an awkward little laugh she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that Pamela is very good at her job and has, at this point, become a close, personal friend," Selina explained. "I'm going to do everything in my power to keep her where she's at rather than bend to the exhausting 'double standard' think pieces and fire her. Right now, based on online polling, there's strong support for both you and Kate, meaning we're going to sell a lot of tickets regardless of the outcome."

Harley was glancing between Selina and Pamela. "Well, that's a good thing, right?"

"It is," Selina nodded. "But I cannot have the winner of this match sleeping with the woman whose job it is to make sure everyone is playing fair. And I like you a lot better than Kate at the moment, which is why I'm letting you choose your destiny here. So what's it going to be?"

Harley's brain was working overtime to process all that information. "But, I don't—how can I choose—how can I choose if I win or not?" was the first coherent question she was able to form. "I don't understand. I mean, me and Kate are still gonna fight, yeah? That's—I mean, I'm going to try to win, but—,"

Fuck, Pam closed her eyes. And here's the other shoe.

"No," Selina cut her off. "This isn't going to be like the last time you fought Kate. You won't be going rogue."

"Rogue?"

"We're going to come up with a game plan and stick to it. The difference is, you get to choose this time, not us."

Harley was on her feet now. "Whaddya mean choose?"

"Yes, choose," Selina repeated. "We choose our winners based on what makes the more compelling story, but in this scenario, you and Kate both have equal claim. So the choice is yours. Do you want to win a title? Or do you want to be with Pamela."

Harley was slowly backing up, something Pam couldn't be sure was even a conscious motion. "So you—so you mean, like, when I knocked Talia out, and when I…when I beat Steph and Tatsu, I was—that wasn't really me, then? I mean, they were supposed to lose?"

"Yes," Bruce confirmed.

Slade stopped her before Harley could back up into the window.

"But—but why would somebody lose on purpose?"

"If you go down at the right time, then you receive a bonus," Selina explained. "Your former manager should have gone over that with you."

Harley wasn't looking at Selina anymore, her big blue eyes were searching Pam now. "That's cheating. Red, did you—did you know about this? Did you know they were cheating?"

Pamela was having a difficult time maintaining eye contact with her. "Yes, Harley. It wouldn't be a very effective operation without my help."

Harley's jaw shook, close to both tears and rage. "Is that why it was so hard for you to say you were proud? Because there was nothin' to be proud of?"

"No, Harley," Pam took a step towards her. "Of course I'm proud of you. The progress you've made with Slade has been incredible, you've come so far and worked so hard."

"How come nobody told me?" Harley asked, though the question wasn't aimed at anyone specifically. "How come I'm the only one who didn't know?"

Selina took it upon herself to answer, "To be honest, after your first fight, we decided you couldn't be trusted to follow directions, so we cut you out of the conversation."

Harley's usually pale skin had turned a nearly fire hydrant red. "This is crazy. I'm a professional boxer. How can this be how you guys run a professional boxing league?"

Sighing, Selina reminded her that, "It's still Gotham, Sweetheart."

Harley's frustration was now being directed at Slade. "You knew too? Why are you even my coach if everything is an act?"

Slade's gaze was softer than usual, though his delivery remained gruff. "You needed to be taught discipline."

"This is fuckin' stupid," Harley said. "And it ain't what I signed up for."

Bruce sounded legitimately distressed to have to break this to her: "Of course it is. This is how it works here, Harleen. Same way it does in the underground, our operation just runs a little smoother up here."

"We need a decision, Quinzel," Selina brought them all back to the task at hand. "Kate will be here in 30 minutes and we need to tell her what the plan is."

"The plan is fuck you guys!" Harley laughed, high and panicked. "The plan is I ain't playin' your game. The plan is I'm gonna win fair and square and you assholes can watch it happen."

"You won't win fair and square, Harleen," Selina assured her. "If you walk out of this room right now then we'll be betting against you, meaning Kate Kane will have every incentive to beat you to a pulp. Are we clear?"

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Harley flipped them off with both hands, the door's soft close behind her a tad anti-climactic.

"Well, that didn't quite go as planned," Bruce summarized, earning an annoyed look from Selina and a far angrier one from Pamela.

"That was a little harsh, don't you think?" Pam ridiculed.

"I agree," Slade said, not that Pam needed an ally.

Selina closed her eyes, massaging her temples. "Fix it, Pam," she intoned. "This is a mess."

With a disappointed shake of her head, Pamela left the room, jogging after Harley into the hallway. She spotted her about to board the elevator. "Harley! Harleen, wait!"

The blonde saw her, but then immediately looked away, tapping her foot like that might help speed the elevator's arrival.

"Harley…" Pam slowed to a stop next to her. "I'm so sorry. It's not as simple as it seems, I promise. The outcomes don't make you any less talented, I—,"

"When I said 'fuck you guys', that meant you, too, Pamela," Harley snapped. "Us sleeping together doesn't make you less of an asshole, it makes you an even bigger one."

"OK, hold on," Pam positioned herself between Harley and the elevator. "I think 'sleeping together' is a glib descriptor."

Harley rolled her eyes, mumbling. "You're so fuckin' pretentious…"

Pam chose to ignore that. "You told me you loved me."

"Yeah," Harley acknowledged, taking a more offensive stance. "And you never said it back, so fuck you." The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open, and Harley pushed past Pamela to get in.

"Harley, please," Pam followed, the doors enclosing the two women in the small space together. "I care about you deeply, I—,"

"Shut up!" Harley screamed; a reaction Pam was not expecting. "That's the exact bullshit Mistah J would feed me. I don't wanna hear it anymore! You either love me, or you're using me. Actually, you know what? Using me is exactly what you're doin'. You, Bruce, Selina and even Slade."

Pam was trying hard to keep her own temper under control. "I wish I could make it different, Harley, but like Bruce said, this is how it works. Me operating as I always have within this organization does not mean I don't care about you."

Before Pamela could react, Harley's hands were fisting in the fabric of her oxford shirt and she was being slammed against the elevator doors, the movement ripping two buttons clean off. "You know the difference between you and Mistah J?" Harley snarled, her saliva spattering Pam's ear. "He could hurt me, and not just with his words. And I'll tell you what I realized, when I'd be layin' on the floor in a pool of my own blood: I realized gettin' my feelings hurt wasn't so scary anymore. Doesn't matter how smart you are, Pamela, or how mean, because this?" Harley pulled upwards until Pam's feet were barely touching the floor. "This is power."

"Harley," Pamela's voice was hoarse. "Please let me go."

Harley did as she was told, shoving Pam out of the elevator when they arrived at the basement level. "I guess that's the difference between me and Mistah J," she watched Pam stumble to find her own balance, the redhead quickly retreating as soon as she did, backwards down the hallway towards her lab, and Harley followed. "I wouldn't use it. The difference between you and Mistah J, though? You don't have it." She had Pamela backed up against the door to her lab now. "So you find other ways to control people."

"Harley…" was all Pam dared to breathe, tears gathering in her eyes, though she wasn't sure if they were inspired by fear or heartbreak.

"Control…power…over somebody, over me…it's all the same bullshit," Harley had that look in her eye that told Pam there would be no reasoning with her. This was the mania she wore into the ring. Not the performance art, but the genuine trauma laid bare, and Pam was at her mercy. "You just wrap yours in a prettier package." She took a step back, not touching Pamela again. "See ya around, Red."