Pamela awoke with a start…although she wasn't completely sure why. It felt like she'd had a troubling dream or had forgotten something, maybe. But her mind was blank as her eyes blinked open to survey the darkened bedroom. No memories of a dream, she wasn't due at the watchtower until the afternoon and the sun hadn't even risen yet.

But Harleen was home. She could hear her breathing next to her. Pamela knew she hadn't been asleep long, as she hadn't started mumbling yet. Harleen was usually a talkative sleeper, nearly as active in rest as she was in operation.

Pam rolled over to face her, careful not to jostle the bed too much as she did so. The blonde lay in her sports bra with just the sheet pulled up across her abdomen. Pam sighed when she saw Harley had neglected to take her hair out of her messy ponytail, and…yep. Her suspicions were confirmed when she gently pulled the sheet down off the other woman's body to find she was wearing her spandex shorts. Meaning she'd just stripped off her Batwoman costume and collapsed into bed. And…that's exactly what it smelled like had happened too. It wasn't Harley's odor that Pamela disliked, really, it was the smell of Gotham City she preferred Harley to shower off before she got into bed. Like grease and rust and the fires the homeless lit on the streets. The city was better now than it ever had been. Cleaner…it's parks manicured, it's trees and window baskets vibrant…but it was still dirty. Always would be. Pamela knew she'd never escape it, well…not in Harleen's lifetime, anyway.

And the places Batwoman was sent were nothing like the wide-open spaces Poison Ivy was now in charge of. No, these were holes in the ground. Wet, dank hovels were humans were trafficked and drugs were funneled.

Pam brushed the matted bangs out of Harley's eyes, trailing her finger deliberately down the woman's cheek, watching her hand as it went. She scooted lower on the bed as her hand continued past her collar bone, over the swell of her breasts, down over the subtle bumps of her ribcage. There, she gingerly laid her head, letting her fingers continue down to circle Harley's navel and brush back up along the lines of her abdominal muscles.

"Mmm…"

Pam felt Harley's lungs expand beneath her head

"What are you doing?" She mumbled, sleepily.

Pam answered by pressing a lazy kiss to her diaphragm. "Looking at you…"

"God, why?" Harley's voice was horse with sleep as she stretched.

"Because…" Pamela traced the blonde's hip bones with her index finger. "I don't want to forget a single line…or divot…protrusion."

Harleen giggled when Pam's finger dipped below the waistband of her spandex, not moving any further, just ghosting along her skin.

Pam smiled when Harley reached out and threaded her fingers in her red hair. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright," the blonde said with a sigh, "I thought we could make breakfast together. Remind the kids we're normal."

"Normal…" Pam repeated, letting that be the only sound in the room for a moment before she turned her head to face Harley. "Is that what we are?"

Harleen smirked. "It's a relative term."

"Mmm…" Pam smiled, her attention drifting back down to Harley's torso

"You know…" Harley twirled a lock of red hair around her finger. "I was sorta liking the direction that hand was taking before…"

"Oh, I'm sure you were," Pam acknowledged, her lips pressed against her skin. "But I've still got all your scars to catalogue."

"Bleh," Harleen sat up onto her elbows. "Why would you want to remember those?"

Pam laughed, "Harleen, if you despise them so thoroughly, why won't you let me get rid of them?"

The blonde frowned. "Because I like them. They're part of me."

Pamela rolled her eyes with all the affection she could muster. "You've just answered your own question." She pressed herself up onto her knees, and crawled on all fours over her wife as her long hair curtained them. "I want to remember you for what you actually were. Is that too much to ask?"

Harley laced her hands under Pam's arms, holding onto her shoulders and gently pulling her down until they lay chest to chest, nose to nose. "Boooo," she said before planting a chaste kiss on the lips above her. "Reality sucks. It's why I hate Indie films."

"Fine," Pam smirked, kissing her back. "Then how should I remember you?"

"Smokin' hot," was Harley's immediate answer. "With big tits and a nice ass."

Pam laughed, kissing her longer this time. "If I wanted all that, I'd just look in the mirror."

Harley scoffed. "What a charming narcissist you are. No, just…keep me at 26, alright?

"Don't worry. She's in here," the redhead smiled, tapping her temple. "As is 30-year-old you, and 40-year-old you, and 45-year-old you…"

"And 49-year-old me?" Harley guessed. "Now we're doing 49-year-old me?"

Pam nodded silently above her, nuzzling their noses together as she did, the smile slowly fading from her lips.

Harley looked at her for a moment, just took her in for a quiet second before bringing both hands up to cup her face. "Let's go make breakfast."

"Harl," Pam chuckled. "The sun's not even up yet. We'll wake the kids."

The blonde grinned. "Good. We let those fuckers sleep way too much anyway. We could eat, and then maybe go on a hike or something before you've gotta report to the tower."

Pam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You hate nature…"

Harley looked offended, "Pamela, that's absolutely ridiculous. I immerse myself in nature every day!...and night." She added an exaggerated wink to the last part.

"Mm, well. You certainly won't be 'immersing yourself in nature' this morning," Pam rolled off of her. "I'm afraid those privileges have been revoked."

"Aww, there's my party pooper," Harley grinned, reaching over to the bedside table for her phone before sinking back into the pillows. "Missed ya, Babe."

Pam grunted in response, accidently grabbing one of Harleen's blouses from the closet and attempting to button it over her chest. She stared down at herself for a moment, confused, before breathing a sigh of relief at her mistake and exchanging it for one of her own. When she glanced back at the bed, Harley was still snuggled into the comforters.

"I thought we were making breakfast."

"We are." Harley confirmed. "But breakfast making requires a breakfast making playlist. I am making that playlist."

"Whatever you say." Pam pulled on a pair of black leggings and started out of the bedroom, walking down the stairs and into the kitchen towards the fridge, hoping they had the ingredients for pancakes.

She was setting things on the counter when she heard Harley approaching the stairs, and not slowly, either. Pam turned just in time to see her wife vault over the banister on the second landing. She tucked into a roll as she landed, turning once head-over-heels before popping back up to her feet, her arms spread out wide. "Ta-da!"

"You're a fucking idiot."

Harley laughed, walking over to the speaker she kept in the cabinet under the record player and plugging her phone in. "Toss me that." She instructed Pam.

"Toss you what?"

"That." Harley pointed to the wooden mixing spoon Pam was planning on making the pancake batter with.

"You're going to lip sync, aren't you?" Pam realized, disappointed. "Please don't lip sync."

"How about you just hand me the microphone and we'll see where that takes us."

"It's a spoon," Pam grumbled. Despite her obvious protest, though, Pam handed the spoon to a vine she'd summoned from the plant near the couch, which in turn handed it to Harley.

Pam crossed her arms as the music began, looking deeply unimpressed when her wife immediately began lip syncing.

"How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable / so condescending unnecessarily critical—"

"Hey, how about you take it down a notch?"

"—I have the tendency of getting very physical / so watch your step cuz if I do you'll need a miracle—"

"I have beat you in literally countless physical altercations."

"—you bleed me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here—"

"Yeah, I think that's enough." Pam directed her vine to snatch the spoon away. "Could you get started on the eggs, please?"

Harley wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out to articulate her protest to the request, but went to the fridge none-the-less and grabbed the carton of eggs. "You know what your problem is, Red?"

"I'm condescending and unnecessarily critical?"

"Pretty much," Harley placed a frying pan on the stove. "I think maybe Adam Levine should be our marriage counselor."

Pam measured out her flower, dumping it carefully into the bowl. "I very much doubt Mr. Levine has his master's degree."

"Such little faith," Harley tsked. "I'm sure most people forget you have a PhD."

"Yes, but I actually have my PhD." Pam argued. "Mr. Levine's degree is completely fabricated and—why are we still talking about this?"

Harley shrugged, smiling as she cracked— "What do you think? 6?"

"I'm not eating."

6 eggs into her bowl and scrambled them with a fork. "You still planning to go off planet next week?"

"Just a day trip," Pam assured her, adding the buttermilk to the nearly finished batter. "J'onn found a cluster of embryophyte he's having trouble identifying."

"Ah, yes, well…in that case," Harley pretended to understand, although from Pam's smirk, it was clear she wasn't exactly selling it.

They continued their cooking in a comfortable silence until the song changed.

Pam sighed, "Really, Harley?"

"What?" Harley laughed. "Not a Bon Jovi fan? It's my life," she sang along. "It's now or never /I ain't gonna live forever!"

"These song choices feel very pointed," Pam mumbled, pouring a measured scoop of batter onto the hot skillet.

Harley rolled her eyes and changed the song. "Not everything has a deeper meaning, Red."

Pam scoffed. "Says the psychiatrist." She was just about to flip the pancakes when the next song arrived at the chorus.

I don't know who's gonna kiss you when I'm gone,

So I'm gonna love you now like it's all I have.

Pam set the spatula down on the counter, turning to the other woman. "Why are you doing this?"

"I know it'll kill me when it's over," Harley mumbled along with the music. "I don't want to think about it, I want you to love me now."

Pam sighed, coming up behind the blonde and wrapping her arms around her middle. "So you're just being a bitch, then?"

Harley shrugged as she stirred the eggs.

Usually, Harleen wasn't all that into non-verbal communication, so to Pam that response meant the was done with the conversation and uncomfortable with an emotion she was having trouble expressing. So Pam kissed her neck and smiled against her ear. "I think a hike sounds fantastic."

Harley cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely," Pam affirmed, nodding against her. "And, can I be honest?"

"Yeah, yeah, I need to take a shower. I know." Harley grumbled.

Pam chuckled warmly, "Well sure…but that's not what I was going to say."

Harley turned around in her arms. "If you say some over-the-top romantic shit right now I'm going to punch you."

"OK, Selina," Pam mocked, otherwise ignoring her warning and lifting her up onto the counter. "49-year-old you is my favorite one."

Harley seemed to be fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Why?"

Pam grinned, enjoying this as their more typical dynamic was the inverse. "Because she's the one I have in front of me. The one I get to touch…" she trailed her hands lightly down Harley's arms, leaning forward as she did so. "And the one I get to kiss." She made good on that promise, softly pressing their lips together.

Harleen was smiling almost shyly when they broke apart. "88 years old and still puttin' the moves on me. I'm impressed."

"If I remember correctly," Pam's hands bracketed Harley's hips on the counter. "That was a promise I made you on our wedding night. That I would forever be smooth as 'puddin'."

Harley furrowed her brow, "Did I make you any promises? Other than to have and hold and all that trash."

Pam laughed, "Not that I recall, although it's wonderful to know you refer to our marriage vows as trash. Not as if we've built an entire life and family on those promises or anything."

"What?!" Harley pretended to be alarmed. "Is that what marriage is? I assumed it was just a contract that assured me sex I didn't have to work for."

Pam pushed away from the counter. "You're batting 1000 this morning. Just…firing on all cylinders, really." She flipped the pancakes.

"Hey!" Jolene was suddenly standing in the kitchen, and both women jumped as her high, childish voice cut through the air. "How come Mama gets to sit on the counter but I don't?"

"Because Mama is a delinquent and a terrible influence," Pam stated, plainly, turning the burner under the eggs off and moving the pancakes off the stove and onto a serving plate.

"Uh oh," Jo giggled. "Do you get to ground Mama because you can be her wife and her grandma?"

"Jolene…" Pam turned around with a sigh, "There are 38 years between your Mother and I, just as there are 38 years between Anthony and your Mother…" her words puttered out towards the end of her sentence as realization dawned on all three of their faces.

"Oh…God…" was all Harley could muster as her face scrunched up into something nearing disgust. "Babe, let's not ever phrase it like that again, OK?"

Pam nodded silently, turning back to the stove and Jo sat down at the kitchen island in some sort of daze. The kitchen was quiet aside from the sizzle of pancake batter on the pan until Jo spoke up. "Why are we awake so early?"

"Hike," Harley slid off the counter. "We're gonna go on a hike before Mom has to go to work."

"I thought she didn't work anymore."

"No, her other job."

Wordlessly and ignoring Harley and Jo's conversation, Pam dropped her spatula again and cupped Harley's jaw in her hands, kissing her in a way that was meaningful but also appropriate for public consumption. She nodded when she pulled away, as if the kiss had confirmed or reassured her of something…and then she moved back in front of the stove, mumbling "good" as she went.

Jo raised a curious eyebrow, but ultimately couldn't keep the smile off her face as she saw Harley making the same expression. "Moms are weird."

/

"Harleen, she's going to trip!" Pam called down the trail as Harley chased Jo around the bend. "Why must everything be an athletic competition with them?" Pam asked…although she was speaking to herself, really, even with Anthony following close behind.

Anthony understood that, and so when he spoke it was with a private grievance of his own. "I hate hiking."

Pamela did not extend him the same courtesy, stopping in her tracks and addressing him with a look of utter puzzlement. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't like hiking," he repeated after brief deliberation on whether or not he should brave it. He knocked her with his shoulder as he passed her by, continuing down the trail.

She stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. "Anthony, I—" she shook it off, starting at nearly a jog behind him. "I don't understand. This is our true domain. Where home isn't just a feeling, but a biological inclination."

"No, it's your biological inclination." He stabbed his stick into a rotting log. "For me it's just an auditorium with a concert that I didn't buy tickets for." He left the stick there, standing upright in the log. "I don't know these guys and they're not on their best behavior."

Pam furrowed her brow at his back, trying to understand the true basis of his complaint like Harley would. Oh! "You feel pulled between two identities, but stuck in the middle somehow."

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, "I guess," and kicked a rock.

Pamela peered up ahead in search of her wife, knowing Harley would probably know exactly how to handle this conversation. But she was long gone. Preoccupied. So Pam picked up her pace a bit until she was walking in stride with her son. "I killed people."

Anthony stopped. "What?"

"When I felt what you are feeling," Pam clarified. "I killed people. Bad people. People who I thought deserved to die. But yes, that was my coping mechanism for emotional powerlessness."

Anthony shook his head and began walking again. "Some role model you are."

"Oh, I'm not." Pam assured him. "Never claimed to be. It's the media that pushes that image of me. I'm not suggesting that you follow in my footsteps in that regard, I'm just saying what you're feeling is completely valid and difficult to deal with. Believe me, I know."

"Mm," he grunted. Although, by the slightly unfocused look in his eye, Pam could tell he was letting that sink in. "Do you wish you still killed people?"

Pam cleared her throat, buying herself a moment of consideration. "I hold no moral or ethical objection to killing humans, but if we were to look at life as a weighted scale, a series of sums and balances, I can state with absolute confidence that my love of you all far outweighs my hatred for the rest."

"Why?" Anthony asked. "Why do you even love us? You're a plant. You don't have to."

Pam took another moment to formulate a response, listening to the clapping of their footsteps against the packed dirt. When she did speak, her voice was quiet. "We fertilized four embryos during our first attempt to have a child. You were the 4th—our only hope for a boy." She fought the desire to put an arm around his shoulders. "I once told your mother you were like a weed who couldn't be stopped, couldn't be dug out. You wanted to be here and so you are. Thus is the case with my humanity. I've tried countless times to remove it from my psyche, from my physiology. To let it wilt and die within me giving way to something far less complex. But it won't. No matter what I do, I will always be human to a certain degree. I wanted to have a family that loved me, but it needed to be on my terms. So I have you. Therein lies the unflappable nature of humanity, an overriding principal that contradicts our better judgment more often than not."

Anthony didn't respond right away. He kept his gaze aimed at the path only a few feet in front of his shoes. "Why do you talk like that?"

"How do you mean?"

He kicked at a clump of dirt. "Like you're always giving a keynote address."

Pam laughed. "And what a poor address that would be…" she glanced over at him and found his lips remained in a hard line. He truly wanted an answer. "Do the flowers speak to you with words?" Pam asked.

"No, not exactly." He told her.

Pam nodded, "It's more an intricate feeling, yes? Almost as if you've been tasked with translating the petals of a flower as it's just bloomed."

"Yeah."

"Well when I communicate using the English language, I attempt to convey that same phenomena." She explained. "It will never truly translate, but I try my best.

"Alright," Anthony shrugged. "Comes off a bit pretentious, is all."

"Anthony," Pam laughed, "You're wearing a wool, turtleneck sweater on a hike."

And here, a smile finally did crack his lips. "Touché."

They watched as Jolene's head popped up from behind a boulder aways up the path. She squealed when Harleen came into view, and they could see the wide grin on the woman's face as she chased her daughter in a circle around the front of the rock.

Anthony picked up a pebble from the trail and threw it off the side into the gorge. "Why do you love Ma?"

Pam looked at him curiously. Love. "Well why do you love her?"

"Doesn't matter." He said. "I didn't choose her. I'm asking why you did."

"Mmm…" Pam turned those words over in her mind. "I think Harleen Quinzel is quite possibly the most human person I've ever met. I don't want to sound too romantic, but perhaps there truly is a yin to every yang and your Mother is mine. Perhaps it's that simple."

The boy looked up at her like he was deciding whether or not to accept that answer. "Perhaps." He granted.

"Anthony, darling." Pam came to a complete stop and took his hands in her own, facing him straight on. "Did you ever, for one moment, doubt that I loved you, or that I loved Mama until last night?"

He couldn't hold the intense sincerity of her gaze, so he looked down at his feet and shook his head.

"Nothing has changed," she told him. "Not a thing. I was every bit as immortal on Thursday as I am today, the only difference is that you know now. I'm here to answer any question that might arise about our physiologies, but what's most important for you to understand is that you are my son and I am your Mother, and that comes before and after every obstacle we've faced so far and every obstacle we'll face from this point forward. Got it?"

Anthony scuffed his sneaker on the ground, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. "Yeah, I got it."

Pam smiled at that.

"Howellia aquatilis," Anthony murmured.

"Come again?"

"Howellia aquatilis," he repeated, pointing this time to a white flower just outside of the trail markers.

Pam turned to look, and a beaming smile soon spread downwards from her eyes. "Anthony, that's an incredible find! They're endangered, and—"

"Not native to this region." The boy finished for her. "Yeah, I know."

Pam turned her smile towards the flower. "Hello, precious. What in the world are you doing this far east?"

/

Batwoman took a kick to the stomach and another to the chest, the second of the two forcing her backwards on her heels. She couldn't regain her balance, so she fell, catching the edge of the building with one hand to save her from becoming street pizza.

She hung there as Batgirl picked up where she'd left off. "You're a nightmare, Talia! And I don't mean that in a cool 'I'm your worst nightmare' kind of way." Batwoman yelled up onto the roof. "And your kid's a dick!"

She heard a grunt that she didn't recognize as Batgirl's, meaning the younger woman had landed a solid blow. With some renewed strength, the blonde grabbed the ledge with her other hand too and pulled herself upwards, swinging back up onto the roof with a kick in the air for momentum.

"Honestly, Talia," she breathed, watching as Batgirl got the woman into a headlock. "All we're asking is for you to not be an asshole for like two seconds."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Talia choked.

"Let her go." Batwoman instructed.

Batgirl looked at her curiously.

"Let her go," the blonde repeated. "Bruce can deal with her."

Batgirl eventually obeyed, but her reluctance was clear. Talia gasped for air once she was free, her eyes quickly narrowing at the ginger. While Batgirl's attention was removed, she kicked her—hard—in the groin and flipped both women off as she jumped down off the backside of the roof.

Harleen spat in the direction she left and looked to her teammate. "You good?"

"Yeah," Batgirl's answer was curt. "Glad you didn't die."

"Same to you," Batwoman agreed in what had become their ritual. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Aren't we all?" Barbara let out a pained chuckle.

"Maybe to be 'Batgirl'," Harleen acknowledged. "But you've still got a few good years on ya, and I think you'd look pretty alright in red."

Barbara looked from the yellow emblem on her chest to the red one on the other woman's. "You serious?"

Harleen rested her hands on her hips. "50's gotta be a respectable retirement age, right?"

"Well, I…I guess…" Barbara had never really thought about her mentor retiring. She knew the products Pamela equipped her with gave her a false appearance of youth…Barbara supposed she'd just been lulled into that image of her.

"Just…" Batwoman sighed. "You ever get fed-up with having to chase Bruce's jilted lovers around all night?"

"Literally all the time." Barbara confirmed. "But that's a relatively small portion of the job."

"Yes," Harleen acknowledged. "You're right, but…do you think you would be? Ready, I mean. For this." She indicated her suit.

"Of course." Barbara crossed her arms over her chest, attempting not to feel emotional at what Harleen was actually asking her. "I prefer you in it, though."

Batwoman smiled. "Your charm will unlock many doors, my Padawan."