"Mama, why do I get ice cream?" Anthony asked as he skipped down the sidewalk.

Harleen was pushing herself as Pamela was preoccupied on her cellphone. "Because you were patient in the store and Mom and I have something very important to tell you."

"Is it a secret?" Anthony wondered.

"No," Pam mumbled, now typing furiously.

"Mom!" Anthony yelled, suddenly, startling Pam into dropping her phone on the pavement, cracking the screen. He was pointing above their heads at a building across the street. "Look! It's you!"

Pam glanced up at the billboard, narrowed her eyes, and then smashed her heel down on the broken cellphone in frustration.

Harleen and Anthony both stopped to stare at her. Wordlessly, Pam snatched Harley's phone from the purse hanging off her wheelchair, murmuring "I need to use this."

"Mom, why are you mad?"

"Grown-up stuff," Pam answered curtly, dialing a number and holding the phone to her ear as she walked away. "Four typos? What the fuck, Harold?"

Anthony's eyes widened. "She is so grumpy."

Harleen had to laugh. "Honey, can you pick that up?" she indicated the broken cellphone. "Nothing makes Mom grumpier than littering."

The boy nodded ardently, picking up the splintered device and placing it in Harley's purse. "I just wanted to show her the pretty picture…"

"I don't think that's what she's mad about, Bud," Harleen assured him. "But what's our deal?"

Anthony stared down at his sneakers. "Mom's big pictures are secrets that only we get to know."

"That's right," Harleen nodded. "Now, I don't know about you, but I need some ice cream in me like yesterday."

She let him order for both of them which resulted in two pistachio cones…not exactly Harleen's first choice, but she knew that he'd chosen it because it was green, and he was likely hoping it would help put Pam in a better mood. So Harley ate it all the same, wiping Anthony's face every other lick because, for the life of him, he could not manage to keep his cone from dripping. He just didn't understand the concept of equal attention.

…Maybe because most of Anthony's attention was focused outside the window where Pam was speaking animatedly into Harleen's phone. Harley could tell he was nervous about Pam's mood. Yes, she did still get angry, she still had a temper, but for the most part she was able to have the self-awareness to remove herself from Anthony's presence at least before she allowed it to truly flare. Harold, a paralegal at her firm, was evidently not as lucky. Harley felt a little bad, but at the same time was just relieved Pam's frustration wasn't being directed at her.

When Pam finally sat down with them inside the parlor, Harleen had already finished her ice cream and was contemplating throwing Anthony's away for melted it was.

"Look, Mom!" Anthony exclaimed, shoving the mess in Pam's face. "It's like the polar ice caps!"

Harleen bit her lip to starve off a laugh and tried to read Pam's reaction.

The redhead looked at the melted cone and then at her son's proud expression at his analogy. "An apt assessment."

Anthony grinned, turning back to Harleen. "Mama, I am done eating this now," he stated resolutely.

"OK," Harley giggled, taking the sticky mass from his hand and dropping it in the trashcan behind her. "But if you're never going to finish it, why do you always make me get you the big one?"

"Because it tastes better," Anthony told her like it was obvious.

To Harleen's relief, Pam was smirking now. "That's ridiculous."

"Nuh uh!" Anthony turned on her.

"Woah, woah, woah," Harley gave him a stern look. "Cool your jets, Mr. Attitude. We already have our designated grumpy goose today."

Pamela slid the phone she'd borrowed across the table, fixing Harleen with a look as she did. "I have never been less attracted to you than in this moment," she mumbled.

Harleen wrinkled her nose at the other woman, slipping the phone back into her purse before placing her hand gently on Anthony's arm. "So…we have some exciting news."

"You're going to have a sister," Pam told him.

Anthony cocked his head as the information sunk in. His question, when he finally did ask one, was: "Who?"

Harleen laughed. "Well, we haven't met her yet. So, we don't know."

Anthony looked a bit lost. "Will she live with us?"

"Yes…" Pamela confirmed, watching him curiously.

"But—but how do you know she's nice?" he asked. "If you haven't met her yet, how do you know it will be good for her to live with us?"

Harleen cursed herself for not having recorded this. "Well…you, me and Mom have to make sure she grows up to be nice. That's our job. That's your job, as her big brother."

Anthony crossed his arms, sitting back in his chair and regarding both women critically. "Will she be a baby?"

Harleen nodded.

"Will I get to hold her?"

Harleen grinned. "Definitely."

"What will her name be?"

She shrugged. "Maybe you can help us figure that out."

/

"Drop it."

Riddler whirled around to find Batwoman standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unimpressed.

"Didn't I drop you off at Arkham last week?" she asked, tapping her foot.

"Bigger than the biggest animal, than a feather I am lighter, though at night I take my flight," Riddler said, a sly smile stretching his lips. "What am I?"

Batwoman groaned, she didn't have the patience for this song and dance tonight. At night I take my flight… "A shadow," she decided.

His smile collapsed, disheartened at her correct answer. Without warning, he flicked his cane out and struck her across her face.

"Motherf—," Batwoman angrily grabbed the cane as he retracted it and used it to pull him closer, ramming him into her foot as she kicked him hard in the gut, forcing him to double over. She uppercut swiftly, landing a blow to his throat, causing him to choke and sputter as she finished him off with another kick to the chest.

She stood over him. "A man rides into town on Friday. Three days later, he leaves, also on Friday. How?"

"The—the horse's name is—is Friday," Riddler wheezed, clutching his stomach where he lay in the fetal position on the ground.

"Wrong!" Batwoman said, handcuffing him. "Time machine, bitch."

/

Light was just beginning to seep into the city when Harleen stumbled up the stairs.

She unceremoniously kicked off her shoes as she entered her bedroom, pulling her jacket off and her jeans down, tossing them both into the corner.

Pamela was curled up on the bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, in a very similar position as Riddler had been in earlier that night. Harleen wondered how many times Batman had seen her like that…in pain…ready to be carted off to Arkham. Harley wondered if she would have done the same, had circumstances been different. Had Ivy not signed the contract. Had she remained a villain.

But Harleen didn't want to think about that, not now, anyway. She was sore and her face had just barely stopped bleeding. She didn't even want to look in the mirror, knowing the swelling would already be ugly. Instead, she grabbed Pam's ankles, pulling her legs straight so that she could crawl up into her arms.

She hummed contentedly, nuzzling her face into Pam's neck and breathing deeply, smiling at the pleasantness of the floral aroma compared to the smells she'd encountered in the bowels of Gotham's back alleys. She knew she should just go to bed, Anthony would be up soon and he wasn't so into naps these days, but she just couldn't resist kissing the warm skin in front of her.

Pam shifted slightly as Harley scooted up on the bed so that she could kiss her lips as well.

"Mmm…you smell like a sewer," Pam murmured against her lips.

"Funny you should say that…" Harleen smiled sleepily.

Pam's eyelids fluttered open and she frowned as she took in the sight before her, although with Harley pressed so close to her, it was hardly a revealing vantage point. "Daffodil…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," Harleen attempted to brush off her concern by peppering kisses along her jawline. "I'll take care of it in a bit."

"No," Pam sighed, detaching herself from the other woman. "That needs to be closed up."

"Can't you just lick it better?" Harley asked, rolling onto her back to watch Pam get out of bed.

"Firstly: that's not an actual thing," Pam told her from the bathroom as she searched for the first aid kit. "And second: why would I want to lick your open wound? Yes, I'm impervious to bacteria, but that's disgusting, frankly. I mean, honestly, even if my saliva did contain some magical power of coagulation, why wouldn't I bottle it?"

"Well, what is that stuff made out of then, if not your spit?" Harleen asked, gently dabbing at the gash in her cheek to see if the bleeding had resumed.

"Nothing derived from my physiology," Pam informed her, climbing back onto the bed, first aid kit in hand. "What happened?" She asked as she began to clean the wound.

Harleen winced slightly at the stinging of the alcohol. "I wasn't really paying attention and Riddler whacked me in the face with his cane."

Pam said something under her breath that Harley couldn't quite make out as she began to press down harder with the alcohol wipes.

"Hey, ow!" the blonde complained.

"Sorry…" Pam mumbled, applying her blood-clotting ointment to the open wound before clamping the skin together with butterfly bandages. She then took Harley's face in her hands and examined her handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, she readied an ice pack and placed it delicately on the epicenter of the swelling on Harley's cheek.

"Thanks," Harley replaced Pam's hand with her own and held the ice pack to her face, watching the other woman as she closed up the kit once more. "Hey," Pam wouldn't make eye contact with her. "Hey," she repeated, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," The redhead murmured. "I know you can take care of yourself."

And Harleen understood. They were returning to the reverberating effects of Pamela's possessiveness. There were many ways a psychologist could approach this particular character trait of Pam's in relation to Harley. They could say that it was Pamela's need for control that drove her to worry for her wife's well-being. They could say it was because Harley was her toy and Pam didn't like when other people played with and broke her without permission…and sure, Dr. Quinzel acknowledged those avenues, incorporated them into her diagnosis and treatment, but it wasn't what Harleen believed in her heart of hearts. If that was it, then why was she here? For an extended case study? Dr. Quinzel could have conducted that without the romantic entanglement. No, she truly did love Pamela. She was, at this point, dependent on her, and so she had to believe that the foundation of Pam's possessiveness was rooted in a dedicated affection, and more specifically, rooted in fear of again being devoid of that affection.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Thank you."

"For what?" Pam asked, her eyes focusing on the patterns of the comforter below her fingers.

"For trusting me," Harley answered with a smile, taking the other woman's hand and lifting it gently to her lips.

Many people assumed that because they'd been married so long, their routine had become monotonous or their interest diminished, but the truth was, they hadn't been married to this version of each other for all that long. Harleen was paralyzed at the time of their wedding, and spent the next six years in that chair as a much different human being than she was today. Temperamentally and psychologically speaking, of course. And Harley's attitude had forced Pamela to adjust as well, assuming the role of the doting wife, the emotional support system. But now that Harleen had moved on and was faced with a drastically different future than what she'd envisioned the night that gun went off, Pam had adjusted again, finding a place somewhere in between Pamela and Ivy where she could exist fulfilled. Anthony had changed their marriage too, and now that they were bringing a little girl into the world in a month's time, there simply wasn't room for monotony. It was a learning process, all of it. Every day filled with teachable moments.

Which reminded her…

"Do you know what day it is?" Harley asked, changing the subject, seemingly to Pam's relief even though it soon became abundantly clear she had no idea what day it was. "It's September 11th," Harley reminded her.

"My condolences to the country," Pam answered in a safe and generic response. She still didn't quite understand how to gauge the correct emotional response to human tragedies she, herself, had no stake in.

"Oh, come on. Seriously? Again?" Harleen wished she didn't find things like this so frustrating. "It's my birthday, Pam."

The redhead cringed slightly, biting her lip in a show of mild embarrassment.

Harleen sighed. "I guess fixing my face was an alright gift…"

Apparently deciding she was done with the uncomfortable situation, Pam got off the bed and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom, turning the shower on as well.

The blonde rolled her eyes and flopped backwards. "Do you at least know how old I am today?"

"Yes…" Pamela affirmed in the voice she used to reserve for the victims of her seduction. "42."

Harley turned her head to see Poison Ivy standing in the doorway, completely nude with a confident smirk on her face. Harleen quirked an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement as Pamela crossed over to the bed, slipping her arms around Harley's legs and back like she used to when Harley needed to be moved to and from her chair.

"Wait a minute…" Harley started, grinning widely as she was lifted off the bed. "Is my present shower sex?"

"That and a breakfast that Anthony has no part in making," Pam informed her, setting her down on the bathroom sink and removing her t-shirt for her.

"Aww, you do care!"

/

French Toast seemed the natural choice seeing as how they did not have the ingredients for pancakes or waffles.

"When's my birthday?" Anthony asked from where he was laying on his stomach, examining an action figure under his microscope.

"November," Harleen told him over the country music she had blasting from the record player. Pam had announced it was her day and Harley was trying to see how far she could push that. "Two months."

Anthony nodded, deciding responding verbally wasn't worth yelling over the music.

"Hey, Pam?" Harley asked as Dolly Parton's 'Jolene' came on. "What is this song supposed to mean to me if I'm married to Jolene?"

Pam carefully flipped the toast over in the pan. "I'm sorry?"

"Your beauty is beyond compare with flaming locks of auburn hair/ with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green…" Harleen sang along with the music, unapologetically off-key. "That's you, Babe!"

Pam laughed, but Harley continued.

"Your smile is like a breath of spring/ your voice is soft like summer rain…" she sat up straighter on the couch, watching Pam where she was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. "I'm serious, I think your parents really missed the boat naming you 'Pamela.'"

"Honey," Pam went over to slice some strawberries while she waited for the toast. "That song came out like 40 years after I was born."

"Well, now that it's out there, we can't make the same mistake with our kid," Harleen stated, resolutely. "I simply refuse to miss such a gigantic opportunity should she end up looking like you."

Pam just shook her head, chuckling, so Harleen turned to Anthony. "What do you think, Ant?"

"Name the baby like the song?" He asked, looking up at her. "Mama, 'Jolene' sounds like your name."

Harleen laughed. "Even better."