"The village children listened attentively," Harleen read aloud. "And the Dryad no less attentively; She became a school-child with the rest."

"Mama, what's a Dryad?" Anthony asked, tugging at the cape on his Miss Martian doll.

Harley looked up from Hans Christian Anderson's The Dryad. "It's like a tree spirit," she explained.

The boy furrowed his brow. "But don't all trees have spirits?"

"Well…yes…but Dryads are like people, sort of. Or, they kind've look like them? It's not real, it's a fairytale," Harley told him.

"But…" Anthony's frown deepened. "Isn't Mom like that? Isn't she a plant and a person?"

"I—yes," Harleen admitted.

"So they are real?"

"I don't know, I guess so. Now are you going to let me finish the story?" Harleen asked, a bit impatiently.

Anthony wrinkled his nose and snuggled deeper into the covers as Jo abandoned chewing on her stuffed unicorn in favor of one of the wooden slats of the crib Pam had made. They were convinced the girl would forever be teething.

Harleen cleared her throat pointedly and returned her attention to the book. "She felt so happy in beautiful France, the fruitful land of genius, with the crater of freedom. But in her heart the sting remained that the bird, that every animal that could fly, was much better off than she. Even the fly could look about more in the world, far beyond the Dryad's horizon."

Anthony scowled at Jo as she began to giggle. "It's not funny, Jo. It's sad."

Harley reached out and squeezed his hand where it lay atop the covers as she continued. "France was so great and so glorious, but she could only look across a little piece of it. The land stretched out, world-wide, with vineyards, forests and great cities. Of all these Paris was the most splendid and the mightiest. The birds could get there; but she, never!"

"How come?" Anthony asked. "Why couldn't she leave there?"

Harleen shrugged, "Maybe she was scared."

"Mom wouldn't be scared..." He mumbled.

"Among the village children was a little ragged, poor girl, but a pretty one to look at," Harleen moved on. "She was always laughing or singing and twining red flowers in her blonde hair. "Don't go to Paris!" the old clergyman warned her. "Poor child! if you go there, it will be your ruin," But she went for all that. The Dryad often thought of her; for she had the same wish, and felt the same longing for the great city."

"What color is blonde, again?" Anthony wanted to know.

Harleen tapped her head, indicating her own hair as she continued to read, skipping a few paragraphs because she was sure Anthony wouldn't be able to tell the difference and it wasn't really for him anyway. "With the little girl gone, and herself still lonely, the Dryad's thoughts trembled, her limbs trembled, she sank down on the grass by the bubbling water. "Thou wilt ever spring living from the earth," she said mournfully. "Moisten my tongue—bring me a refreshing drought."
"I am no living water," was the answer. "I only spring upward when the machine wills it."
"Give me something of thy freshness, thou green grass," implored the Dryad; "give me one of thy fragrant flowers."
"We must die if we are torn from our stalks," replied the Flowers and the Grass.
"Give me a kiss, thou fresh stream of air—only a single life-kiss."
"Soon the sun will kiss the clouds red," answered the Wind; "then thou wilt be among the dead—blown away, as all the splendor here will be blown away before the year shall have ended. Then I can play again with the light loose sand on the place here, and whirl the dust over the land and through the air. All is dust!"

"That's what they say to me," Anthony admitted, quietly. "The flowers tell me they're hurting."

"I know, Baby…" Harley whispered, gently.

He clutched his doll closer, lip quivering. "So—so she was too scared to leave with the girl and—and then her world died?"

Harleen quickly glanced over the book. There was still a while more to go, and she felt like she'd skipped some important parts, but, with what she did read, she supposed that was a decent summary. "Mhm," she nodded.

"And trees can't live in dust," Anthony realized. "So she died too…all because she was scared," He studied his Miss Martian for a moment before looking up at Harley. "Do you think Mom would follow the girl?"

"Oh, I know she would," Harleen smiled. "She already did. It's how we got you and Jo," She leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek and he wrapped his arms around her neck as she did, trying to keep her there a moment longer.

"I'm glad about that," he whispered into her ear.

"Me too," Harley whispered back before he let go and she tucked him underneath the blankets. "Goodnight."

"Love you, Mama," He mumbled, closing his eyes.

Harley walked over and forcibly detached Jo's mouth from the crib, laying her on her back and planting a kiss on her forehead. "Night, Weirdo."

Pam was sitting in the hallway just outside the door with her knees drawn to her chest and her head resting back against the wall, eyes closed. She opened them when Harley gently closed the bedroom door.

"Hey," Harley prayed that Pam had been there the whole time, listening to the story and to Anthony because the choice of story had certainly been strategic.

Silently, Pam held her hands up to Harley, who tentatively grabbed them and helped her up. She didn't move away once she was on her feet, and when she did release the other woman's hands it was so that she could gently cup her jaw.

Harleen stayed absolutely still, starring back at her as Pam looked into her eyes, learning from the silence as she so often did. She attempted to further quiet her breathing and the pounding of her heart, as if even the slightest sound would scare Pam off.

After another moment of weighted silence, Pam leaned forward and kissed her softly. Not dispassionately, exactly, but also not an invitation to start ripping her clothes off (even if that was exactly what Harleen wanted to do). Harley was smiling before the kiss was even over, but her face quickly fell when Pam whispered, "you're a liar."

Harley was silently guided back against the wall, her confusion evident as Pam kissed her again, pressing deeper this time. "The girl's hair is black, not blonde," she hissed, tugging at Harley's earlobe with her teeth.

So she had been listening…"I—" Harley gasped as Pam's hand snaked up inside her shirt. "I didn't want him picturing Selina," Oh, Pamela…for a second there I almost thought you were going to be unpredictable, but…nope!

Suddenly, Pam stopped and forcefully pressed her forehead against Harley's, to the point where the pressure was almost painful. "Don't ever try to pull that shit again," she said through clenched teeth. "I don't ever want to hear those words from you."

Harley attempted to nod and surge forward to capture her lips again, but she was stopped with a hand around her neck.

"I'm fucking serious."

She wasn't squeezing with her hand, which Harleen was grateful for, just holding it there like a warning. Of what, Harley wasn't quite sure. She didn't think Pam would ever hurt her physically. Not really, anyway. But she was certainly drawing a line in the sand. Harley had made a significant mistake and further slip-ups of that nature would not be so "kindly" received.

"Do you hear me?" There was venom in her tone.

Harleen looked at the other woman with every ounce sincerity she could muster. Pam's skin was her darkest shade of green and her eyes flickered with the poison she usually reserved for her enemies. This was Ivy, and she'd come to protect Pamela again.

"Red…" Harleen made sure her gaze never wavered, their eye-contact never ceased. "On my life, on the kids—It will never happen again."