"Good morning, boss!" Barbara was grinning, a magazine clutched in one hand, a tray with two coffee cups in the other.

Pamela was already at her desk, an hour into her last stack of reports for the men's super-heavyweight division. "I neglected caffeine this morning, please tell me that second cup is mine."

"It is," Barbara assured, handing her the cup labeled Americano. "Stevia, oat milk, all that jazz."

"Thank you," Pamela accepted it with a deep, appreciative breath. "What do you know about the meat processing industry?"

"Not much, ma'am, but wait, before we get sidetracked…" she held out the magazine, encouraging Pam to take it. "I brought an even better pick-me-up. From Luke. Hot off the presses."

Tentatively, Pamela lifted her fingers from her keyboard, giving Barbara and the magazine her full attention. "Since when did ESPN have a print edition?"

"Since always," Barbara answered, opening it to the correct page for her and dropping it on the desk with a certain satisfaction. "I know I'm biased, but he's very good."

Pamela pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, cautiously optimistic as she picked up the magazine, quickly skimming over the article. "Oh…" she said about halfway through. "Have Selina and Bruce seen this?"

"I don't know, I brought it straight to you."

"Are they in?"

"I don't know," Barbara laughed. "You got here before me, remember?"

Pamela stood, taking the magazine with her. "Let's go, bring my coffee," she said, leading the way out of her office and down the hall to Selina's, Barbara hot on her heels, coffee in hand.

Selina was sitting behind her desk holding a compact in front of her face while she adjusted her contour. "Remind me not to buy this shit again," was her greeting. "I hate it."

"Have you read it?"

"Read what?"

"Luke's piece!"

"Do you want me to stay or did you just want me to carry your coffee?" Barbara whispered.

"Alright," Selina closed her compact, opening the top drawer of her desk and tossing it inside. "What's all this about. I find this energy stressful. Are you smiling, Pamela?"

Pamela hadn't actually noticed, but yes, she was, and she wasn't about to tamp it down now. She handed the magazine to Selina while Barbara loitered on the outskirts of the conversation. "Have you read this?"

"Yes, he sent it to me before he published the digital version," Selina said, though she still gave the article a look over. "It's very good. The best case scenario, really. Bruce!" she shouted at her husband as he passed by her open office door. "Get in here, a boy was nice to Pamela, we're celebrating."

Bruce leaned into the open doorway. "Who? Harvey?"

"No!" Selina said like this was a revelation. "If you can believe it, it was a man who doesn't want to sleep with her…I don't think."

"I hope not," Barbara laughed awkwardly, reminding the others of her presence.

"Oh, right, he's already found a less problematic redhead," Selina observed. "Do you think he'd prefer an edible arrangement or a pair of Talia's signed sparring gloves, Barbara? I can barely give those things away."

Barbara considered. "Um, probably the gloves. But I don't know, the edible arrangement might be nice."

"We'll send both," Selina decided. "Pamela, I would like to congratulate you for not adding even one bless your heart, I'm sure it was a struggle. This is what good press looks like, everyone. Enjoy it. I think it will last us until the fight, at the very least."

"Remember to stay on message," Bruce instructed. "That's how we keep the press good."

Pamela was in such a good mood, not even Bruce's needless rephrasing could bother her.

"I mean, the press conference is going to be a mess, but that's at least predictable," Selina said. "Kate should stay in line now since she managed to leverage a title out of us, but Harley…who knows, really. Here's hoping she still cares about you enough not to go nuclear."

That statement succeeded in dampening Pamela's mood where Bruce had failed. "Here's hoping."

/

Pam waited until just before 4pm to slip inside the gym. Slade hadn't arrived yet, but Harley was already stretching near what Pam recognized as her favorite heavy bag. Stephanie was with her, her head tipped back in laughter, while Damian was wrapping his hands off to the side. They made a rather unlikely posse, but Pam was glad to see Harley had managed to create some social connections.

It was Stephanie who first noticed Pam after she'd finished laughing at whatever it was she found so funny. "Oh, dang. Looks like the doc is here to give you a pelvic exam, Harl."

"I'm not that kind of doctor," Pamela corrected, just making sure that was on the record.

Harley looked up at the sound of her voice, the smile melting from her face. "What are you doing here?"

Pamela faltered when she realized she wasn't quite sure. "I knew I'd find you here, I suppose. I was hoping we could talk."

"You mean fight?" Harley stood, balancing on one leg, lifting the other behind her and grabbing her ankle, pulling to stretch her quad. "I'm kinda sick of that."

"I am too," Pamela agreed, taking a step forward. "It doesn't have to be right now, but maybe this evening, when you're done here, we could get some dinner?"

"I'm on a pretty strict diet right now, Red. Not sure goin' out ta eat is a good idea."

"Of course, of course," Pam nodded, wanting to be considerate of all Harley had going on.

"This is sad and weird," Damian felt the need to interject. "Take a hint, Isley, it's over."

Pam decided that ignoring him would be the best course of action because she was about this close to ripping that child a new asshole and she doubted that would put her in good standing with Harley. "I was interviewed by Luke Fox for ESPN Magazine…I'm not sure if you've had a chance to read the article yet…"

"Haven't read it," Harley answered, switching legs. "That's cool, though."

"Yes, it is, um, cool," Pam was struggling here. This was sad…and weird. "I actually—here," she produced her copy of the magazine from her briefcase, crossing the mat to hand it to Harley. "It starts on page 9."

Harley dropped her leg, accepting the magazine with a cordial smile. "Thanks."

"I think you'll like it," Pam insisted, trying to keep the conversation alive. "Some much needed good press."

"Yeah, I'm sure you sound super smart and stuff. Anyway, I've got a title fight to train for, so…we're gonna get to it," Harley told her, bending down to grab her handwraps from where they'd been laying on the floor. "Sorry I haven't been by for my shit, I've been busy."

"No apology necessary, really," Pamela was in no rush for Harley to clear her things out, as that felt like it would be the final nail in the coffin. "I'll leave you be, but I just wanted to say I'm glad you're still training with Slade."

Harley shrugged. "Wasn't gonna make another coaching change this late. We'll see how things play out this offseason. I'll read the article later, I promise."

"Alright," Pam smiled, relief washing over her. She spun on her heels, feeling almost buoyant as she left. After a few steps, though, she paused, quickly turning back to say, "You seem good. Clear-headed."

"Sober, single-life," was Harley's explanation.

/

Her heel landed with a thunk, bruising the drywall as a result of Pam kicking her shoes off. She felt lost, but more importantly like she was losing Harley. She hadn't slept here in nearly a month and while Pamela was thinking of this as more of a break, Harley considered herself single, evidently.

Pam trudged up the stairs with a distinct lack of purpose. She was planning to pour herself a glass of wine, but then remembered Harley comparing her to her mother and thought better of it, opting for a pre-made kale smoothie instead. There was absolutely no reason for her to spiral. She'd survived 35 years without letting her feelings control her and there was no reason that had to change just because she'd decided to—momentarily—open up her heart.

Smoothie in hand, she undid the button on her slacks, pulling the zipper down in the name of comfort before sitting down on her couch. What was happening to her?

For the purposes of self-flagellation (and a professional responsibility), she'd recorded Kate and Harley's press conference. Rather than rewind to the beginning, she decided to skip the "pleasantries" and introductions, starting things 10 minutes in.

Harley and Kate were about 6 feet apart at a long table, a cluster of microphones in front of each of them. Kate was wearing her aviator sunglasses on top of her head; upper body clad in a well fitted Henley shirt that she'd paired with one of her many leather jackets. Pamela swore she must have a closet solely dedicated to them. If anyone was ever confused on what the draw to Kate Kane might be, this image of her looking effortlessly suave in a casual $1500 outfit was a fantastic illustration.

Meanwhile, Harley looked like she'd come straight from the gym as she was dressed in the same baggy tank top and neon sports bra Pam had seen her in earlier that day. She'd also neglected to put her stage makeup on like she had for previous press conferences, opting for only her pigtails.

Pam turned the volume up to hear whatever Kate was saying.

"—a speed bump or two, but I'm back, exactly where I want to be and it feels good."

"And what about your marriage?" an offscreen reporter asked, their voice muffled.

"It's good, it's—complicated," Kate said. "It took me coming to terms with the fact that I wasn't the center of the universe to open up a dialogue, but we're in a good spot."

There was some mixed laughter in the room, which Kate smiled at—that practiced, self-indulgent smile that Pamela wished she hadn't found so appealing.

"Is the scandal a motivator for you?"

"I mean, sure," Kate chuckled, pulling her sunglasses down in front of her eyes to run a hand through her hair. "Not that I spend much time thinking about my ex-mistress' new fling. I guess mockery really is the sincerest form of flattery."

That caught Harley's attention. "What's that supposed ta mean?"

Kate leaned closer to her microphone, smirking in Harley's direction. "You better get that ear drained, Quinzel. I think it's starting to effect your hearing."

"I cannot wait to kick the sh*t outta you."

"Hey, no kicking, remember?" Kate teased. "I'm just saying, some originality wouldn't hurt."

"Harley, Harley," a reporter interrupted the exchange before Harley could return fire. "As a rookie gearing up for her first title match, how are you dealing with the distractions outside the ring?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "You can just say 'Pam'."

"Do you find the relationship distracting?" the same reporter rephrased.

"No," Harley stated, simply. "I'm sure all your guys read the article, we're givin' each other some space so I can win this thing. She made it pretty clear that any questions about that s*it can be directed at her, so I don't know why you're still askin' me."

"Lay off, guys, come on. Seems like it might be a touchy subject," Kate mocked.

"How do you game plan for the Harlequin, Kate?"

"I don't," Kate answered honestly. "I mean, jesus, she's a mess! There's no strategy there. Actually, serious question," she turned to Harley again. "How did you and Pam stand each other? With your chaos and all her control issues."

Pam knew why Kate was taking this approach, she was using this catfight to get free publicity for an actual showcase of her talents. Pam couldn't exactly blame her, it was a shrewd and obviously effective strategy, but she was still about to throw her remote at the TV.

Harley seemed to be wrestling with a similar reaction. "How 'bout you worry about your wife and I'll worry about mine—I mean, my girlfriend—I mean, my Pam. How 'bout you fuck off," was what she ultimately landed on. "Either we talk about the fight or I've got better s*it to do."

Not quite grasping what she'd just heard, Pamela sat up straighter, rewinding 10 seconds to the beginning of Harley's flustered retort.

"—and I'll worry about mine—I mean, my girlfriend—I mean, my Pam."

Pamela paused it there, letting that sink in. Maybe Harley hadn't moved on after all.

Riding a sudden swell of determination, Pamela grabbed her phone, dialing her assistant to see if Harley was still at the complex. They needed to talk; Pam wasn't going to take no for an answer.

…except she dialed the wrong Barbara, and worse than that? She'd facetimed her. Mistakes she didn't realize until she was looking at a strange angle of Barbara Ann's new partner, Diana.

"It's Pamela," Diana was saying.

"Why?" Barbara Ann wasn't visible on screen, but that was certainly her voice.

"I don't know. Would you like me to answer?"

"No, I think you'd better not."

"You actually already have," Pam spoke up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—,"

"Pamela!" Diana exclaimed, holding the phone in front of her face now, giving Pam a quick refresher on just how flawless she was. "What a wonderful surprise! The fundraiser was a fantastic success, did Barbara reach out to thank you for your donation?"

"You know, she didn't, but that's absolutely OK," Pamela assured. "It's probably good we—,"

"Barbara!" Diana scolded. "Is this any way to treat someone you once loved?"

"Blimey," Barbara muttered before taking the phone, wearing a rather exaggerated smile once she finally appeared on screen. "Pamela! To what do I owe the pleasure?...and what's gone on with your trousers?"

Pamela glanced down, only now remembering she'd unbuttoned and unzipped them. Well, this is the worst ever. "I called you by accident."

"There are no accidents, Pamela," Diana said, returning to frame behind Barbara. "Something brought this conversation to be."

Pam sighed, resigning herself to this rather embarrassing interaction. "I was dumped…I think."

Both women seemed shocked, Barbara perhaps more so. "By the amateur tattooist? That is quite the plot twist."

"What do you mean you think?" Diana asked for clarification. "Are you not sure?"

"It's complicated," was the best answer Pamela could give. "I still care very deeply for her, it's just—,"

"But you don't love her?" Diana's perfectly groomed eyebrow was raised in judgment.

"Well, I haven't used the word, exactly, but—,"

"She's always had trouble with her feeling words," Barbara explained to Diana. "Knows every word in the dictionary but that one, it would seem."

Diana shook her head like this simply wouldn't do. "Pamela, listen to me." She had a captive audience. "To be human is to love, even when it gets to much. And you're not ready to give up, I can see it!"

Pamela frowned, feeling like she'd heard that before but deciding not to dwell on it. "I'm doing my best."

"That's rubbish, Pam, and you know it," Barbara inserted herself, suddenly passionate. "If this is anything like what happened with me, you are putting in 10% of the effort you should be."

"Then what do you suggest I do, Barbara? If my best is only 10% of my capacity?" Pam wondered, matching her intensity, very much wishing there was a bottle of champagne they could be passing between them. "What could I have done to win you back when you were slipping away?"

"Loved me out loud," was Barbara's answer.

"Out loud," Pamela repeated.

"Yes," Barbara affirmed. "I do wish you happiness, Pamela, so it's with all the affection I once had for you that I say…it's nearly midnight here and we were headed to bed."

"I promise I didn't mean to call you," Pam insisted.

But Diana wasn't done dispensing advice. "Be grand, Pamela. Only love can truly save the world."

"…right, brilliant," Barbara chuckled, side-eying Diana. "I suppose we're invested now, so do let us know how it all shakes out."

The first thing Pam did once the call ended was zip her pants back up and tuck her shirt back in. She could be upset, she could be heartbroken, but she wasn't going to be sloppy. It simply wasn't her brand and she wouldn't tolerate it.

To love out loud was something Pamela had never had a talent for, likely because she'd been forced to keep everything bottled up, buried at nearly unreachable depths until she'd escaped from her parent's house and her mother's judgmental, overbearing gaze. But the damage was already done. Pamela chose her moments of rebellion carefully, and perhaps that was why this whole thing with Kate and Harley had so severely mangled her self-image—because she'd assumed the affair with Kate would be safe. Kate was married, Kate should have been unavailable for any meaningful connection. Kate would never know her deeply enough to hurt her the way Barbara Ann had…and that's where Pamela had miscalculated. Kate cared so little about her that their unspoken pact of mutually assured destruction was rendered null and void once push came to shove, that and Kate's marriage was more solid than Pam had anticipated.

Meanwhile, Harley was supposed to be a rebound for her rebound, and yet here Pam was, calling her ex for advice on how to avoid making a mess of things this time.

Pamela pressed play on the TV once more, deciding that whatever romantic gesture she was going to attempt would require some actual reflection, something she hadn't the headspace for at the moment.

"—either we talk about the fight or I've got better s*it to do."

"So what's your strategy, Harley?" a reporter asked. "This is David and Goliath, what's the game plan?"

Harley rocked back in her chair, laughing at the reporter's expense. "Why would I tell ya with her sittin' right there? The game plan is to win, obviously. How I do it is my business."

"Are you intimidated?"

"No," Harley answered.

"Care to elaborate?"

"My whole life, nobody's bet on me. Nobody. I'm used ta people countin' me out, so no, I'm not intimidated. This'll just be another Saturday night for me, 'cept for I'm going home with a belt."

"I'm not worried," Kate answered the question before it could be asked. "Ultimately, win or lose, I already have what matters most—somebody who loves me, and I'm grateful every day for that."

"And who's that?" Harley wondered. "Yourself?"

There was some dispersed laughter in the room, even Kate had a chuckle, although, even with her eyes obscured, Pam could tell it was less than genuine.

"There's nothing wrong with a little good old-fashioned female self-esteem, Harl," Kate taunted. "I'm sure you'd have a healthy supply too…if you were me."