Pamela was going to cry. She could feel it. She was going to cry and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was passed the point of no return. The stakes were too high. The situation…unbearable.
…Jolene had been screaming, without even a hint of calming down, for the past hour and Pamela was about this close to flinging herself out the window.
Jo was far more human than plant. More so than even Anthony was, and so she was much more difficult for Pamela to soothe. In fact, it seemed an almost impossible feat at this point.
It was 3am, so Harleen was out working for Batman, leaving Pamela alone with the children. It started out fine. It always did. Harleen put Jo down while Pam read to Anthony, and then…that was it! That was supposed to be it! But it never was with Jolene. Every. Single. Night she woke up again, seemingly just as Harleen shut the door behind her, and cried, bawled, fussed. And it wasn't like with Anthony. There wasn't a reason behind it, it was just aimless noise. Aimless frustration and the powerlessness Pamela felt made her INSANE.
She had to walk her out to the greenhouse so that Anthony could sleep. Desperately, Pam paced back and forth, holding Jolene in her arms, bouncing her up and down, rocking her from side to side…and in those moments, when Jolene was the most distraught, Pamela couldn't even bring herself to look at her. Because her eyes were green. Bright green, and so Pam wasn't comforted or enamored by them. She couldn't look at them and think of Harley. In those eyes, all she saw was herself, and she wondered if her parents had gone through the same thing. If they'd spent a sleepless night up with her while she'd cried. And in those thoughts, Pamela always came to the heartbreaking realization that no, they'd probably just let her cry herself to sleep. Left her in a room all alone…
"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…" Pam whispered over and over again into her daughter's ear, urgently needing to feel like a better parent than hers had been
Pamela wasn't going to cry because she wanted to sleep. She was going to cry because the girl's suffering was so upsetting to watch. She pressed her lips to Jo's forehead as a tear rolled down her cheek, and held them there as she shut her eyes tightly, enduring the girl's kicks and jerks.
The books assured them that this behavior didn't mean she was an unhappy baby. That it wasn't necessarily their fault…but how could Pamela look at this frustrated little thing in her arms and not blame herself? From what they'd observed thus far, Jolene was a child of extremes. She was either hysterical or beaming. There was no in between.
She was slowly calming down now, her crying more chokes than sobs at this point. And Pamela knew it was because she'd tired herself out and not because she'd been effectively soothed. That hurt.
Pam carried her back to the house in what felt like a walk of shame, clutching her tight to her chest the entire journey. When they returned to the bedroom, Pam couldn't bring herself to put Jo back in her crib. Instead, she let her sprawl out on she and Harleen's bed, hoping that her warmth beside her would somehow communicate to Jo that she wasn't alone in this world.
/
"Mama!" Anthony ran into his parent's bedroom, clearly upset. "Mama, you have to control your daughter."
Harleen laughed out loud as she was certain that was the funniest sentence ever to come out of a six-year-old's mouth. "What did she do this time?"
He was so angry not even his artificial coloring could cover the red in his cheeks. "She took my man!"
Harleen had to clamp her hand over her mouth.
"Honey…leave it…" Pam intoned from where she stood in front of the mirror, attempting to disguise the bags under her eyes by augmenting her pigment.
"Which man?" Harley asked, controlling herself best she could.
"My Superman!" he stomped his foot.
Harleen knelt down in front of him, seemingly sympathetic. "Why'd she do it, Ant? Why'd she take your man? Just because she can?"
Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Mama…are you makin' fun of me?"
"Yes, Darling," Pam sighed, deciding she appeared adequately chipper. "That's exactly what she's doing," she passed by Harleen and Anthony where they stood near the doorway and headed for the room the children shared. She found the girl sitting on the floor, gnawing on Anthony's Superman action figure.
"Jo…" Pam pried the toy from her fingers. "No. You have your own toys. Plenty of them."
"That's right, Jolene," Harley seconded from where she now stood in the doorway. "You can have your choice of men."
"Harleen, I swear to Gaia…" Pam growled. "I'll be gone in 10 minutes; can you hold off on the Dolly Parton humor until then?"
"Absolutely not, Pamela. Life is simply too short," Harley grinned.
Pam rose back up to her feet. "You're a terrible person. You know that, right?"
"Actually…" Harleen scrunched up her face condescendingly, "My Gotham City Humanitarian Award says otherwise."
"'Gotham humanitarian' is an oxymoron, like 'lead from behind' or 'Christian conservative'," she kissed Harley on the cheek. "Love you, though."
The blonde glared at her, but accepted the kiss none-the-less. "House warming party at Barbara's tonight. Tim is watching the kids."
"I don't think that's what Robins are for, Harl," Pam smirked.
/
Pamela passed her assistant in the hallway on the way to her office.
"Good morning, Ms. Irving," the woman greeted. "Umm…the top office left a message on my desk, Mr. Wayne would like to see you."
"Fuck me…" Pam groaned, causing the woman to blush and Pam to roll her eyes in response. "Humans…" she mumbled, handing the woman her briefcase and heading back to the elevator.
"Hello, Ms. Irving," Bruce's receptionist greeted pleasantly. "Can I interest you in a coffee? Perhaps a muffin?"
Normally Pam would just say no, but…she was tired to the point where every little thing annoyed her. "Cindy, look at me. Does it look like I eat muffins? Honestly, look at my body and tell me if there's any world in which you could conceive of me saying yes to 800 calories at 8am."
"I—uh—I didn't-," the woman stammered.
"Paula!" Bruce sounded like a man who'd been embarrassed by his drunk wife at a dinner party. "My office."
Pam offered Cindy a dazzling smile and a cutesy wave before following Bruce, and realizing he wasn't alone.
"No, hey, no," was her immediate response to seeing Diana Prince and Clark Kent. "I have adhered to every single one of your ridiculous guidelines. I have participated in missions. I have followed the watch schedule…whatever this is, it's a set-up or it's bullshit because I have been a model league member."
Clark smiled his dopey mid-western smile that Ivy always wanted to punch off his handsome face. "Calm down, this isn't a disciplinary hearing."
"Have a seat," Bruce urged, gesturing to the stylish couch behind her.
Pam sighed, long and loud, making sure her annoyance was obvious, but did end up sitting down, crossing her legs neatly and smoothing down her skirt as she did.
Bruce leaned back against his desk as Diana took a seat across from Ivy.
"You do not age," Diana said in her accented English. "You will not die. Like me, you are immortal."
Pamela certainly hadn't expected that to be the first question. "As long as plant life survives on this Earth, so will I," she told them.
Her statement was evidently affirming something for Clark, because he was nodding and taking a folder from Bruce's desk. "As you know…" he started. "Many of our metahuman members are in a similar situation, their aging is slowed to at least some degree, me included," he handed Pam the folder and she eyed it warily. "The public generally understands and accepts this concept when we're in costume, but our civilian identities are another issue entirely."
Pam opened the folder, revealing her student ID card from Seattle University. It was marked 1966 and called her 'Dr. Pamela Isley, PhD." She stared down at the 55-year-old picture of herself, slightly unnerved by the innocence in her eyes.
"33, yes? That's how old you were?" Diana asked.
Ivy nodded silently.
"A time comes in our lives when we have to move on from our identity," Diana told her. "Or at least from who that identity is."
Pam furrowed her brow, more concerned now than when she thought she was being disciplined. "I don't understand…"
"You've worked here as Paula Irving for 16 years. Handled high profile international cases, had your name and picture in the paper. Many of your coworkers have been here just as long or even longer." Bruce told her. "The problem is; Paula Irving still barely looks 30."
Oh…Pam flipped to the next page in the folder and found a copy of her Wayne Enterprises ID badge, the name 'Paula Irving' sprawled across it in the company's signature Gothic font.
Bruce cleared his throat. "We've run a few aging progressions and have determined you can continue in this identity, in this position for another year before people begin to become more suspicious than impressed."
Ivy studied the graphs on the next page. "And then what?"
"I am prepared to offer you a severance package," Bruce said. "One that will take care of your family until Harleen…"
"Dies," Diana finished for him. "It's my understanding that your children should be grown by then…"
"So that's option one," Bruce continued. "Option two, you do away with your civilian identity entirely and exist solely as Poison Ivy, like you did before the contract. Although that avenue I can't recommend seeing as how it would likely put you and your family in danger."
"Is there a third option?" Pam asked, hoping that the answer was yes, knowing that it would be unhealthy for her to be without some sort of day job, and impossible for her to live with the risks of the other choice.
"Yes," Clark nodded. "The third option is assigning you a new identity and profession. That has already been prepared."
Pam flipped to the next page to find a STARR Labs ID badge with her picture already inserted, even though she had no memory of posing for it. "Dr. Lillian Rose?" Pam couldn't help but laugh. "You can't be serious."
"That's the identity we set up," Clark said, gruffer than usual. He must have come up with the name. "Take it or leave it."
"You'll get to be a scientist again," Bruce told her, a self-satisfied smirk creeping onto his lips.
No matter how ridiculous the name was, Pamela couldn't take her eyes off the credential…Doctor…
"Yes," She told them, attempting to come off as slightly disinterested, although she was powerless against the wide smile overtaking her features. "Option three."