Harley had walked off in the direction of the gym, but Pam didn't dare follow. Her feet remained cemented where Harley had left her, back pressed against the door to her lab, chest heaving in a pattern of ragged breathing that felt out of her control. She blinked, the tears that had been gathering in her eyes falling down her cheeks.
It took a moment of standing alone in that silent hallway for Pamela to get a handle on herself. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and swallowed, hard, re-doing the French tuck of her shirt before starting back towards the elevator.
When she arrived at the executive floor, Barbara was sitting at her desk, and looked up to watch Pam exit the elevator, on a b-line to her office.
"Hey, are you OK?" Barbara asked, standing up when she noticed Pam's disheveled appearance. "Dr. Isley? What happened to your shirt?"
"It's fine," Pam said, not stopping to let her assistant get a closer look. Instead, she grabbed the stack of reports she had to finalize from her desk, tucking them under her arm. "I'll be working from home for a day or two," she turned, finding Barbara had followed her. "If you could forward me the new hGH profile discrepancy, that would be helpful."
Barbara was blocking the doorway. "What did Bruce and Selina say? Are you…did we get—,"
Pam shook her head. "No, I'm fine. We're fine. But if you could pass the message along to them about me working from home, I'd appreciate it."
"Sure…" Barbara was hardly convinced, although she did step aside to let her pass by. "Pamela, wait," she stopped her just as Pam was pressing the button for the elevator. "You're upset, and I'm not sure if it's because of your dad dying or the sporting world labeling you a sexual predator, both or neither, but I'm free for lunch, if you—you know, want to be unprofessional about it."
"Um, thank you, but…no," Pam said, although she did feel a tug of hesitation. "I should probably be alone for now."
Barbara nodded in understanding. "I'll forward your calls to your cell. I can also order some dinner for you and have Harley pick it up on her way home, if that's helpful?"
The elevator car announced its arrival with a 'ding'. "Thank you for the offer," Pam stepped inside, pressing the button that would take her to the lobby. "But I doubt Harley will be coming home tonight."
/
Pamela dragged her suitcase up her front steps, unlocking the door from an app on her phone and shutting it behind her. She'd only been away for a few days, but it had felt like an eternity.
The house was silent. There was no Britney Spears blasting from the outdoor speakers, no stupid tiger documentary shouting from the living room TV. The stench of greasy pizza and sweaty gym clothes had also dissipated since they'd been away, leaving Pamela with only the smell of her flowers and the lemon-scented disinfectant her housecleaners must have used that morning. Hopefully, they'd watered her plants like she'd asked…they sometimes neglected to do that…
She left her suitcase by the door and scaled the stairs, dropping her stack of paperwork on her kitchen island and immediately reaching for the wine. After pouring herself a glass, she closed her eyes, bending over to rest an elbow on the countertop, rocking subtly back and forth.
"Fuck," she whispered, her hands clenching into fists and movement ceasing. "Fuck." Tears were gathering in her eyes again, so she stood up straight, running a quick hand through her hair and roughly wiping them away before taking a gulp from her wine glass.
The glass shook in her hand as she lowered it back to the counter. The tremors were from the physical violation, that was easy to diagnose. The tears, though, were something else entirely. She felt small. Small and so very…sad.
Pamela had worked hard to create an efficient existence. She'd essentially cut her parents out of her life because they'd never done anything but diminish her, and now her father was dead, and she'd made a point not to say goodbye. What was there to say? What was the point of telling him what a disappointment he'd been? How would that have been helpful for either party? And now she was supposed to run his company? A business atop an industry that she'd abhorred since childhood. Why had he kept her recommendations so close to him all these years? Why had he asked her to hit the ground running? Had she, in actuality, been contracted to write that report for her future self? Had that been a test? Would he have told her that on his deathbed or would he have maintained that stiff upper lip that had robbed Pamela of a relationship with him?
The worst thing was none of these questions were rhetorical, but who was she supposed to ask? Her mother? Maybe Lillian could answer a few, and maybe that would bring her some peace, but in that case, Pamela feared the cure might be more torturous than the disease, and she didn't feel like subjecting herself to that right now.
She was alone, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like a complication rather than a relief.
Pamela knew she'd made a mistake with Harley. She should have cleared things up sooner, but when it became obvious Harley didn't know how things really worked at WBA, it was already too late, the truth was going to break her heart no matter what and Pamela…she didn't…she hadn't been ready to lose her yet. Still wasn't ready, in fact.
But now she found herself afraid, of everything. Of her uncertain professional future, of being without Harley, of being with Harley. It had all come to a head so suddenly, and she was making decisions and decisions were being made for her faster than she could cope.
At 9:03 Pamela was distracted from her thoughts by the front door unlatching and then opening, the unmistakable squeak of Harley's converse in the foyer.
She blinked at the clock on the oven. 9:03? How is that possible? Pam was in the same place she'd been since 7pm, though the wine bottle was now much closer to empty.
Cautiously, Pamela righted herself, standing up straight and watching the stairs, waiting for Harley to appear. Her heartrate rose, pulse thrumming in her ears. Seemed her fight or flight response was to freeze. When Harley did appear, it was with her gym bag over her shoulder, her hair nearly molded into the shape of her ponytail despite their being no hairband present.
"I didn't think you'd come home," Pam said, surprising herself by speaking first.
It seemed Harley hadn't noticed her standing there before because her posture changed after Pam spoke, her shoulders broadening and chest puffing. "I'm not staying, just here to get some clothes."
"OK," was Pam's only response. She and Harley looked at each other for a moment, Harley now the one avoiding eye contact.
Harley cleared her throat, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. "How come you're still wearing that shirt?"
"I don't know," Pamela answered honestly. "I'm not sure where my evening went."
Harley nodded like she understood. "I get that sometimes," her voice was quieter now, looking past Pam rather than at her. "After fights or after Jared, y'know. I'm glad I didn't hurt'cha, I'd feel real bad about that."
"You did hurt me," Pam found herself saying. "I'm—my head is killing me, I can feel a welt forming, I have bruises on my back from when you slammed me against the wall and bruises on my shoulders from when you lifted me off my feet. You certainly could have hurt me worse, though, that's true."
"Well…" Harley's eyes fell to the floor. "That's nothin', really."
They were quiet again.
"Where will you be staying?"
"With Steph," Harley said, adjusting her bag. "I didn't handle you any rougher than when we're havin' sex."
Since when is she friends with Steph? "Yes you did," Pamela disagreed. "And even if you hadn't, I didn't consent to how you treated me this afternoon."
Harley scoffed. "How I treated you? How about how you treated me? How about you lyin' ta me this whole time? How about you not bein' honest about how you felt about me?"
"I was never dishonest about that," Pam countered. "Not about how I feel about you. I care about you, Harleen, I really do, but if I tell you I love you and it's a lie, that lands us in the same place we are now."
"OK, sure, fine," Harley dropped her bag on the floor, standing on the other side of the island now, leaning over it. "Let's be totally honest with each other then, sound good? You hate your mom so much but you're just like her, empty wine bottle and everything."
Pamela took her glass to the sink, shaking her head as she did. "I don't want to do this with you again, Harley."
But Harley didn't seem interested in stopping things there. "You act like your life was so sad because your parents wish you were straight, or whatever. I got beat, Pamela. Everyday. And if I wasn't getting' beat I was—,"
Instead of setting her glass in the sink, Pamela threw it, the glass shattering, littering the chrome basin with its shards. "You can't use that against me!" she shouted, spinning to face Harley. "I've respected your boundaries around your past, I've asked to hear about what you went through, and every single time you say you don't want to talk about it, but here you are, holding it over my head like I don't care or understand as soon as it's convenient for you. How am I supposed to love you if there's always some trauma you're hiding from me? Or keeping in your back pocket so you can guilt trip me about my own suffering! Why don't you tell me, Harley? I brought you home, I let you meet what is left of my family, I did my best to show you why I am the way I am. So if you want to tell me about your past, please, I'm all ears. Tell me every terrible detail, but for the love of God don't use your fists to do it."
"Oh, you've suffered?" Harley laughed at that. "You suffered in that big fancy house with the butler and the fuckin' horse stable?"
The tears were back, Pamela had cried more today than she had in the last 10 years combined. "Yes, Harley, I did. And I know you did too. I wish I could take all that hurt away," she said, taking a step closer to the other woman even though her body screamed for her to retreat. "I take no pleasure in your pain, Harleen. That is the actual difference between me and Jared. You are not that little girl in that foster home anymore, you are not that desperate 16 year old crawling into Jared's bed because it's warmer than the bridge you slept under the night before, and you are certainly not the undisciplined, coked up, pill addicted shell of a human you were when I met you. You are a powerful, hardworking, talented fighter coached by the best mentor money can buy, with your name up in lights on boxing's biggest marquee. But most importantly, you are a grown woman with enough money put away for a down payment on a house like this one."
Harley sniffed, fighting off tears of her own. "Then how come you're keeping me here?"
"I'm not!" Pam exclaimed, only a few feet between them now. "I want you here! I'm not some fucking siren who lured you to my home or to bed with me. You showed up on my doorstep. You kissed me. You fucked me."
"Yeah," Harley acknowledged. "And then you lied to me about somethin' that made me feel real good about myself."
Pam shook her head. "No, I let you keep believing the lie that Jared fed you."
"What's the difference?"
"I don't know," Pam admitted. "I'm sorry, I wish things were different. But this is where we are now, and it's awful. You defended me on TV, Harl, I saw your interview. Why would we try to face these things alone rather than together?" they were close enough to touch now, and so Pam reached out, gently running her hands up and down Harley's arms.
"Bein' with you means I lose," Harley reminded her, pulling away. "I ain't playin' your games, and I ain't readin' their scripts. I'm gonna beat Kate Kane, and then I'm gonna date someone who works no where near me, who isn't afraid to lie about lovin' me or whatever bullshit you said earlier, who isn't cozy with my asshole bosses, and most importantly doesn't get paid to watch me take a piss." She picked up her bag and started back towards the bedroom.
Pam didn't follow. What more was there to say?
10 minutes later, the blonde re-emerged, bag noticeably fuller. "I'll pick up the rest'a my stuff later. And you're outta toothpaste, by the way."
She was gone as suddenly as she'd arrived. Pam dumped the rest of the wine from her bottle down the sink, deciding she'd deal with the broken glass in the morning.
Picking her phone and stack of paperwork up off the counter, Pam made her way to the living room, sitting down on the couch and tucking her bare feet underneath her. There were a few unread text messages for her to respond to, one from Barbara again asking if she was OK, one from Selina asking if she'd managed to get Harley under control, and one from an unknown number who turned out to be Luke Fox upon reading the message. He asked if she was ready to give a sit-down interview.
She wasn't.
Pamela navigated to her email rather than respond to any of them, opening the document Barbara had forwarded over, and then dragging the paperwork onto her lap, flipping open the first folder.