Harleen rapped her fingers on her thigh, looking at her phone to check the time, and then the entrance of the park.

It'd been 20 minutes since Pam disappeared and they were now officially late to relieve Tim.

Harleen didn't quite know what to do. She hadn't planned for the fallout of her comments. Idiot. Why did she have to say that? Why did she have to go there? And in a sexual setting? REALLY?! As if it hadn't taken them for-fucking-ever to get Pam comfortable enough to...You're a terrible therapist Harleen. Or, wife. Terrible wife. I'm a terrible wife. Ugh. But also...she pulled a total dick move! Ends don't justify the means, asshole. Yeah, yeah...

She felt frozen somehow, not wanting to drive home, but not exactly wanting to follow Pam either. For good reason, since she was pretty sure encountering an unstable Poison Ivy in a dark park at night was a popular start to horror stories some years ago. Harley was also, again, a bit drunk, so her decision making abilities weren't exactly in full force at the moment. At 30 minutes, she finally came to some sort of conclusion and dialed Bruce.

He answered after the third ring. "Harleen?"

"Yeah, hiya. Listen, I did somethin' sorta bad and now Pam's pretty pissed at me."

The line was quiet for a moment. "You're calling me for marital advice?"

"No, I—I really messed up, OK?"

"What did you—"

"It doesn't matter," Harley cut him off. "Jus'…if Ivy gets mad, don't hurt her, alright? She doesn't mean it."

"Harleen, I need to know what sort of risk we're talking about here. What happened?"

"You can't tell Selina," Harley implored. "Please. She would be mad too."

"Harleen, I—"

Harley hung up.

Taking one last look at the park entrance, she slid into the driver's seat and carefully navigated the last two blocks home.

Tim was watching TV with his feet up on the coffee table when Harley walked in. He instantly readjusted, giving the table a fast wipe with his sleeve and scurrying to look respectable.

"It's just me, you're fine," She reassured him, sloppily hanging her coat on the hook. "Sorry we're late."

"No, it's all good," Tim smiled. "Teen Titans marathon on cartoon network. I always get a kick out of it."

"Somebody a little full of themselves?" Harleen raised an eyebrow.

"Hey," Tim laughed. "I'll take what I can get! Speaking of which…"

Harleen pointed to Pam's wallet where it sat on the counter. "The cash is yours."

Tim vaulted over the couch to investigate. Rapidly counting the bills, he furrowed his brow. "Harl, there's like 200 bucks here."

"Are the kids asleep?" she questioned.

"Yeah. But, hey, what happened to your face?"

Harley had almost forgotten what was likely now a bruise on her cheek, or a welt at the very least. "Alcohol," she answered, plainly. "And you earned the money. Bruce doesn't give you enough of an allowance anyway."

Tim grinned. "You guys have fun?"

"Not even a little bit," Harley told him. "Can you get yourself home?"

He evidently could, which was good because driving him in her current state wouldn't exactly make her a model of lawful behavior.

Her first task was to check on the kids.

Anthony lay in his bed with his covers pulled tight around him, his glasses hanging lopsided off of his face, and an action figure clutched to his chest. Kid Flash, to be specific. Wally was his favorite since they had similar red hair and kids were superficial. Harley pulled his glasses off and set them on the bedside table. Some months ago, she'd called Pam to tell her she thought maybe Anthony was having depth perception issues, and Pam had left work immediately to get him to an ophthalmologist. Harley thought she vaguely remembered some story about Pam's mom not letting her get glasses or something, so that was probably where that little heart attack stemmed from. Pam's mission as a parent seemed to just be do everything better and different than her mother had…which Harley supposed was the goal of most parents, or at least the ones with mommy issues as gnarly as Pam's. But for how much of Pam's life that woman's actions still dictated, Pam rarely ever talked about her. The last time she was discussed in any sort of detail was…shit…when Harley used her example to prove to Pam that no one had ever loved her. Technically, Pam had proposed that they get married about two years into their courtship, but looking back, Harley realized that moment on the grass at the hospital was probably the true proposal, and it was Harley who'd asked, or demanded it, really. That was the moment Pam truly became her emotional dependent. How romantic.

Jolene lay in her crib, limbs sprawled out everywhere, blanket kicked down to her feet, using her stuffed unicorn as a pillow (slobber receptacle). Harley smiled down at her little mess. "Are you an asshole like me?" she asked, gently running her fingers through the girl's strawberry blonde curls.

"Mama."

Harley jumped nearly out of her skin, whirling around to see Anthony sitting up in bed. "Anthony! You—,"

"Mama, why is she scared?"

Confused, Harley glanced down at Jo, who was still sound asleep.

"She's mad and sad, too," Anthony told her.

"Honey, what are you talking about?" Harley asked, crossing to kneel in front of his bed, thinking maybe he had woken up from a dream and was confused.

Anthony yawned, snuggling back into his pillow. "She can smell him, but he smells like you."

He could hear Ivy. Harley suddenly felt very cold. Her spine tingled. She had to remind herself for maybe the 18th time in her life that no, her son was not that kid in every horror movie. He just…sometimes said things that really creeped her out. And what was there to be afraid of? Her wife? The woman who stitched up her face and made her French toast on her birthday?

…or the one who strangled her parents, fed her victims to giant carnivorous plants, and ensured a painful death with just a kiss. Fuck.

Harleen leaned down and pressed her lips to Anthony's cheek. "Mom is gonna be OK. She's just throwing a fit."

"Like Jo does?" he asked, his eyes closed.

"Mhm," Harleen confirmed, standing up and taking one more look around the room. "Goodnight," she stepped into the hallway and only left the door open a crack before stealing down the stairs to check her phone. No word from Batman, which meant Poison Ivy hadn't started tearing up the city yet.

She'll come home, Harleen assured herself, curling up on the couch near the big picture window and watching the empty street. She'll come home.