"Jo," Harleen whispered in the girl's ear as she slept cuddled close to her stuffed unicorn. "Jo, it's time for school."
"No, Mama…" she moaned, her voice gravely with sleep, eyes still tightly shut. "It's not time for school."
Harley sighed, sitting down on the bed now. "It is, and you need to get up."
"But I don't wanna…" the girl argued, unmoving.
"I don't want to do a lot of things, but sometimes you just have to." Harley pat her on the shoulder. "Those are the facts of life, Kid."
"Go away," Jo grumbled.
Harleen was about to remind her that if she left, Jo would go back to sleep again and they'd have to start this entire process over when her phone rang. Jesus, 6:45? And a number she didn't recognize… "Yeah?" She answered.
"Hello," a woman's voice said on the other end of the line. "I'm looking for a Dr. Harleen Quinzel."
"Well you got her." Harley stood up. She could hear Jo let out a contented celebratory sigh as she headed for the door. Pam was coming down the hallway, though, so Jo was in for a world of hurt.
"How can I help you?" Harley asked the woman on the phone before rolling her eyes at her wife. "What are you doing?" She silently mouthed to Pam, gesturing to her shirt: a button down she was wearing in the same style as she had in her cell, buttoned just twice below her bosom.
"What?" Pam mouthed back.
"Your—," Harley gave up, saying "One moment," into the phone before pressing it into her shoulder. "Are all your shirts broken? What are you doing?" She hissed.
Pam looked confusedly at her before turning her gaze down to her shirt. "Oh, I don't know. It's comfortable."
"And pants? Couldn't be bothered to put those on either?" Harley questioned, referring to her panty-clad lower body.
Pam looked down at herself once more and shrugged. "It feels like I am wearing them."
Harley sighed, moving forward with the phone still resting on her shoulder to button the other woman's shirt the rest of the way. "You're lucky you're hot," she grumbled. Then, when she'd finished, "Can you finish waking Jo up?"
Pam groaned, but pushed passed her towards Jo's room anyway.
"Just remember she's 50% you!" Harley called after her. When she'd disappeared into the bedroom, Harley turned and continued down the hall, putting the phone back on her ear. "I'm so sorry. My wife was having a fashion emergency."
"That's perfectly alright," the woman said. "And I wasn't aware you were married to a woman."
"Yeah, well, it's a lot like being married to a man, just it was illegal for a while," then Harley caught herself. "I'm sorry, who is this?"
"I'm Vicki Vale. From S.T.L.I. Publishing House?"
I knew I should have saved that number. "Right! Yes, of course. Hi, Sorry—and sorry again, for apologizing too much," Harleen laughed nervously.
Vicki chuckled too. "You're fine. I'm just checking in on that contract we sent you last month."
Fuck. "You're still waiting on my pitch, aren't you." Harley said it like she was disappointed with herself.
"I—I am, yes." Harley could hear the woman's smile through the phone.
"Alright," Harley sighed, closing herself into her bedroom. "I'm just going to level with you here, Vicki: I don't have one. And I also don't understand why you guys are even interested in my book, you're not exactly known for your works of academia. Don't you guys do like true crime and self-help books?"
"Well, yes…" Vicki admitted. "But see, you're an interesting case on your own, Dr. Quinzel. Former collegiate athlete turned one of the top psychiatrists in the country, worked for 15 years with Arkham Asylum's most dangerous patients…"
"And?" Harley prompted, knowing what would come next.
Vicki gave a little laugh. "And your work with Poison Ivy. Am I really that transparent?"
"No, it's alright," Harley sat down on the bed. "I'm just used to it at this point. And I understand, Poison Ivy is a fascinating case…"
"And you are still her doctor, correct? Her treatment is ongoing?" Vicki asked.
Harley cleared her throat. "That's a bit…complicated, but yeah. Regardless, I'm not sure it's a topic I feel comfortable writing about, especially seeing as she's still officially my patient."
"Well if you're worried about the legality of it, all it takes is a simply signature for her to allow you to speak on your sessions together." Vicki reminded her.
"Look—Ivy is…she's fragile." Harley said, not sure how else she could explain it. "And she's a very private person. I just don't see her going for it."
"Dr. Quinzel," Vicki began, her tone a bit more meaningful than before. "When people hear your name, they think of Poison Ivy. It was a major success, and that's what defines you now, for better or worse. People want to read about her, but they also want to read about this magical woman who somehow got one of the world's most infamous Eco terrorists to suddenly start fighting the good fight."
Goddamn it. "So what are you saying?"
She could hear Vicki's chair creak. "I'm saying you don't need a pitch because I just pitched you."
/
No, don't worry, Honey, she'd said. I'll water them. You just relax.
You idiot, Harley.
She had volunteered hoping that her helpfulness would put Pam in an amicable mood. One that allowed for some discussion…
See, Harley had made a mistake. Not a huge one, exactly…well, OK, maybe a huge one. A significant one, at least. Or it felt significant. The issue was that the decision didn't exactly belong to her…yet she'd still made it. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, if her life hadn't worked out so well (or so uniquely), perhaps then she would have had more say in this.
Harleen felt bad about it. Terrible, even. She didn't enjoy feeling like a villain, believe it or not. Actually, it was pretty shitty. But—she'd gotten excited. She'd been given an opportunity and she'd taken it. In the moment, she knew it was a mistake, but she also hoped that—maybe—just maybe, Pam would understand (eventually).
"Uh, hey, Red?" Harleen called out over the sound of the running hose to where Pam was sunbathing on the back deck. She didn't answer, which likely meant she either couldn't hear her or had fallen asleep, so Harley cleared her throat and tried again. "Pam-a-lam?"
…
"Babe?"
…
"Sweety? Sweetheart?"
…
"Pumpkin-Pie?"
…
"Bitch, wake up!" Harley yelled.
Pam slowly raised the brim of her sunhat and pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"No, but maybe you could help yourself!" Harley was passed exasperated at this point. Sweaty, overheating—she hated gardening, except for when it was a euphemism, which in this case it wasn't. "You have way too many plants! This is insane! I've literally been watering for an hour straight! You're a hoarder is what you are, Pamela Isley."
The redhead was either uninterested or unimpressed, Harley couldn't tell which, because she pushed her glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose and laid her head back once more. "They are my children, Harleen. You can't hoard children."
"Oh, you most certainly can!" Harley challenged. "Just look at Bruce! There's a reason we stopped at two."
Pam sighed. "Would you like me to take over?"
"No," the blonde huffed. "I started it, I'm gonna finish it."
"Will you continue to complain as you do?" Pam inquired, her tone nonchalant. "My brave martyr, so selfless. My knight in shining armor, come to deliver me, a poor, helpless maiden, from the—,"
Her sentence ended with a scream when Harley turned the hose on her. The blonde was doubled over with laugher at the look of complete fury on her wife's face. But soon after, a grunt of pain came from Pam and Harley looked up immediately to find the redhead squeezing her arms between her legs, her jaw clenched, her sunglasses clattering to the ground for how quickly she'd sat at attention.
"Fuck," Harley groaned, dropping the hose and grabbing onto the slats of the fence, yanking herself up, over the railing and onto the porch. "Hey, hey, hey, hey…" Harley knelt down in front of the other woman, placing her hands gently on her knees.
Pam's eyes were screwed shut. "I hate being so angry," she mumbled, her pronunciation poor as her jaw remained clenched.
"Oh, no you don't," Harley chuckled, peppering kisses up the other woman's legs, lingering in the places where the vines bulged and pulsed beneath her skin. "You hate that you can't just be angry. That it's this every time now."
Pam grumbled something incoherent, and when she opened her eyes, her pupils consisted of only the faintest outlines of black, her sclera taken over completely by the green that should have belonged solely to her irises.
Yeah, that will never not be creepy. Harley smiled as warmly as she could manage and kissed her on the cheek. "You gotta separate the physical from the emotional, Babe. I know it's a thought process thing now, but every time I get pissed I don't reach my arm out and punch somebody. This," she tapped her fingers gently on the vines in Pam's arms. "Can't be autonomic. But blah blah blah, you already know all that shit," Harley mocked herself. "You wanna play golf today?"
"What?" Pam's eyes were beginning to fade back to normal. "Golf? Why?"
"Well…we're old." Harley answered, simply, moving to sit at the foot of Pam's lounge chair. Fun, pleasant small talk. She hoped that would do the trick. "And retired. That's what old retired people do, right? They golf?"
"Or garden."
"I already did." Harley grinned, wiping at some of the water that had splashed onto Pam's chest.
The redhead rolled her eyes and released her arms, getting up and walking down the steps towards the hose Harley had abandoned.
"Ugh, you're no fun." Harley pouted, haughtily crossing her arms.
"This needs to get finished one way or another," Pam told her.
"Oh my God," Harley laughed after watching her for a moment (seeing an opening). "I just realized something."
"Congratulations?" Pam offered.
Harley took a big gulp from Pam's water glass and jumped back down off the porch. "We were—like—crazy busy people."
"Yes…" Pam agreed, unsure where this was going.
"And now we're…just…we're not anymore, really. I mean, you still work, but we just went from four jobs between us to one."
"You are correct." Pam splashed a bit of water on Harley's leg in what the blonde perceived as a purposeful offense.
Harley grinned and grabbed the other woman around the waist, lifting her off of her feet.
"Harleen! Put me down!"
The blonde was giggling. "We're gonna get so sick of each other." She hugged her close, like a giant teddybear Jo might beg them to buy her from Costco.
"Plants prefer to be rooted, Harley." Pam complained, kicking until her wife returned her to her feet.
"I'm so excited!" Harley clapped before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "We're gonna be old and bickery and it's gonna be awesome."
Pam finally allowed herself to laugh. "You're so strange."
"Oh yeah," Harley agreed, nodding ardently. "And you get to deal with all of this jazz 24/7."
"Lucky me," Pam smirked. She then turned the hose on the other woman without further warning.
"Hey! No, stop!" Harley was laughing, her hands up in hopes of defending herself against the spray. "That's not fair!"
"Yeah, well, life isn't fair." Pam shrugged, attempting to maintain an austere expression, even if she was failing miserably.
"OK, you have to promise not to get mad," Harley warned. But before Pam could answer, the blonde was tacking her to the ground like Jo would in a flag football game.
"Ow!" Pam complained.
"Bullshit," Harley laughed, straddling her waist and leaning over to pin her studded arms above her head. "With all the crazy stuff that rips out of your skin, you think I'm really gonna believe that hurt?"
Pam rolled her eyes. "You know I could get you off of me in a heartbeat, right?"
"I do…" Harley bent down and ghosted her lips across the other woman's. "But I don't think you will."
"You're getting me all wet," Pam complained, avoiding her wife's assertion, as it was clearly true.
Harley giggled. "You bet I am." She added an overzealous wink for good measure. "I picked out a favorite flower today."
"Oh?" Pam raised a curious eyebrow.
"Mhm," Harley nodded. "It's real pretty…"
"Is it the Blue Bell Tunicate?" Pam asked, noticeable excitement in her voice. "I just got it in from—wait a minute," she squinted up at the woman on top of her. "You're going to say it's me, aren't you?"
Harley bit her lip guiltily. "Maybe…"
Pam sighed. "This is why Selina hates us, you know."
Harley scoffed. "Selina's just jealous. She told me she had a big ole' fat crush on you, ya know."
The redhead's previously critical expression soon morphed into a smile that wasn't even attempting to be sly. "I knew it." She said.
"What?" Harley laughed.
"Ha!" Pam exclaimed. "I fucking knew it."
"Umm…you know what's not a great thing to do when your wife is on top of you?" Harley asked, facetiously, climbing off to come lay beside Pam in the grass. "Celebrate your hot friend being into you."
Pam just chuckled, looking up at the clouds with that shit-eating grin still plastered on her face. "Sorry…the confession has just been a long time coming."
There was a lull in their conversation as Harley too turned her gaze upward. "Hey…" she ventured, after a moment. "Who do you think has aged better? Me or Selina?"
"Well, as I'm administering you both identical dosages of serum on the same treatment schedule, as well as supplying you with the same skin care regimen…I sincerely hope you've aged at the same rate." Pam answered, truthfully.
Harley was affronted, turning onto her side and propping her head up on her elbow to get a better angle on the redhead. "That could not have been an easier question. I literally just handed you some wife points on a silver platter, and you pissed on them."
"I did what?" Now it was Pam's turn to be offended.
"Come on, Pam!" Harley complained. "That's marriage 101! If your wife asks if she's the hottest chick in the room, you tell her she's the hottest chick in the room."
Pam sighed, turning to face her with an overly-patient expression. "You are superior to Selina in every regard, Daffodil."
"Aww, you're just saying that," Harley giggled, bashfully, playfully punching the other woman in the shoulder.
Pam rolled her eyes. "You're very lucky I love you."
"I know," Harley grinned, moving forward to kiss her. "But seriously, Pam-a-lam, what the heck are we gonna do with ourselves? We can't just garden and have sex all the time. It's repetitive." She tried to press the point casually. It had come up somewhat naturally, after all
"Well what about that book?" Pam reminded her. "You never told me if the deal with the publisher went through."
Oh, thank God. "I don't have a pitch!" the blonde lied. "Turns out publishers don't pay you advances just because you're a doctor."
"You don't say," Pam mocked, before receiving another punch in the arm. She chuckled. "You need to write something academic…a unique avenue of psychology with your voice. Use it as an opportunity to educate the public."
"Mmm…" Harley furrowed her brow, pretending to think. "And on what subject do you feel the public needs to be educated on?"
Pam shrugged. "Your specialty is in abnormal psychology, right? How about you write something thoughtful on the subject? Something that does more than just label us 'psycho killers'."
"Huh…well…I'd need a specific example of a case I worked on…insight into a truly abnormal psychology," the blonde slowly walked her fingers over the grass between them, inching them up Ivy's green arms, along the patterns etched into her skin. "One that I know—intimately."
"No," Ivy said, firmly, pushing her hand away.
Damn it. Ya whiffed it, Harl. "Oh, come on!" Harley pleaded. "Psycho Killers and The Women That Love Them Too Much," she pitched the title, humor in her voice…Pam evidently wasn't in the joking mood anymore, though.
"No, Harleen. Absolutely not." Pam sat up. "I will not have you exploit my mental illness to remedy your boredom."
"You're the one that suggested it!" Harley argued (so grateful that was at least somewhat accurate, as it gave her a leg to stand on), sitting up now too.
"I suggested you write a book, not a book on me."
"Red," Harley moved onto her knees, an excitement in her eyes as she took Pam's hands. "This could be good for us! Give us both something to do. I could play therapist again, just like old times."
"Why would you want to go back there, Harleen?" Pam questioned. "Why would you want to go backwards? We finally made it somewhere. We're happy, we're out of the woods."
"Oh, stop." Harley had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "We always happen to find ourselves new woods, Pam. It's just our nature." Ignore the pun, Harley. Ignore the pun. "We could get through it again. I'd help you."
"No!" Pam shouted. "I'm done asking for help! I'm done being angry, Harleen!" she got up from her place on the grass, standing over Harley now. "I want this this to stop being so complicated. I'm done with you having to walk on eggshells around me. It makes me feel absolutely disgusting, like I'm your abuser or something. I'm maybe the happiest I've ever been in my life, and even now I can barely control my temper."
"Pam…" Harley sighed, pulling herself to her feet as well. "I'm not afraid of you. I never have been. I know you're not going to hurt me."
"Well good for you," The redhead let out a humorless laugh. "Because I don't. I can't know that for sure. And yet you sit there, asking that I allow myself to be dragged back into that shit? That's what you want to do with the time we have left? Take a fucking time machine to back before I knew I could be an asshole?"
Yeah, she was not in the right mood for this. Miscalculated that one, Harls. "Honey, no…" Harley reached out to take her hands again, but Pam ripped hers backwards preemptively.
"Don't 'Honey' me." Pam spat.
"OK, fine." Harley huffed. "Look—just—fine. If you don't want to participate in new sessions, that—fine. But could I at least use what I know already?"
"W—," Pam seemed to be at a momentary loss for words. "What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?"
"Those rights can be waived, if the patient so chooses," Harley informed her, careful to keep her tone even. See…Pam was sometimes so worried she wouldn't be able to control her temper that she rarely allowed herself to get angry at all anymore, swallowing all her rage down even when it was warranted. It wasn't exactly helpful, therapeutically speaking, but it did aide Harley in situations like this. Yeah, she felt a little guilty, but she also didn't want to die, so…
Pam's eyes were screwed shut once more, her hands clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that Harley knew was meant to lull her back off the ledge. "No," she gritted.
Harley sighed, wishing very much that she hadn't signed that contract already. What had she said about big life decisions, again? Yikes, six years seemed like such a long time ago. She sort of regretted being such a bitch to Pam back then…now that she was faced with a similar backlash. "Just think about it, OK?" Harley offered, her voice soft, kind. "Your answer doesn't have to be yes," but it would be—eventually. "But, hey, I don't think the public getting to know the real you would be such a bad thing. Maybe they'll start to understand your—early career choice."
Pam's eyes shot open, blazing green once more, tears falling from them down her cheeks. Harley knew this wasn't a response to hurt or sadness so much as a physical response to pain. It took a lot out of her to control her mutated reactions.
And…Harley felt like shit. She was expected to, but not to this degree. Is this why you don't marry your patients? Fuck.
Harley was honestly surprised Ivy hadn't stormed off yet. To her, that meant she didn't want to go. She needed something from Harley, some reassurance.
Finally making a decision, Harley cleared her throat. "Come here, Pam."
The meta human just shook her head angrily.
Harley sighed and decided to move towards her instead, holding her hands out ahead of her so Pam could see her coming well in advance. Pam's head shaking became subtler as the blonde approached, until Harley was gently ghosting her fingers down Pam's arms, watching her eyes to determine when it would be OK to make her next move. Eventually, the redhead seemed to calm down and Harley felt comfortable wrapping her into a tight hug. Placing a kiss in her hair, she whispered, "All I want is for you to think about it. That's all I'm asking."
Pam nodded against her, and Harley blessed her lucky stars she hadn't procured the ability to read minds during her recent mutation.
/
Pamela hated when she looked at her like that…her eyes wide, nervous…like a deer caught in the headlights, or caught by a hunter, more accurately.
Harleen was chewing on her bottom lip in the leather armchair by the fireplace. It was late, the clock having struck midnight some time ago…Harley had (impressively) maintained her silence, allowing Pam to just watch her. Take her in.
After a while, Pam tapped the tip of her pen on her notepad and stood up, looking away from Harley's alluring blue eyes and getting back to the task at hand.
This was the least she could do for her, really. For all that Harley had given her, was this really such significant kindness? Pamela's mind for Harleen's unconditional love. A fair trade, yes? Pamela liked feeling fulfilled, having a support system of people she could trust around her. Going to bed every night with the woman she loved snuggled against her…she didn't want to give that up. She—she needed it, at this point. It was as pertinent as water or sunlight; it was the fuel that allowed her to thrive in this environment.
After a week of consideration. A week full of anger and denial and what felt almost like betrayal—she'd decided this was all trivial. She was part of a family now, and to succeed, families had to function like ecosystems: each entity aiding one another to common and individual goals. This was Harleen's goal. She wanted to write a book, she wanted to help people, just as she always did.
The night before, as they'd watched their children load their dinner plates into the dishwasher, Harleen had told her that, if Pam would allow it, she would write an entire section just on Pamela's childhood. She told her she would speak directly to the parents of gifted children. Children like Pamela, ones whose passion and curiosity made them difficult to handle sometimes. The ones labeled with 'behavior problems' just because they were too intelligent for their own benefit.
Pamela liked the idea of helping to spare children like her from a childhood like the one she'd experienced. It felt good, and noble and important and relevant and so…
Pam cleared her throat, reading from the notebook in her hands. "You will give each chapter to me immediately after finishing it so I can look it over. I reserve the right to edit and censor as I see fit."
"Alright," Harley was nodding. "That's reasonable."
"And Woodrue—about Woodrue, I don't want that in the book. What he did. I don't want people to know." Although Pam was trying to come off firm, she knew her voice was shaking.
"Pam…" Harley sighed. "So much of your psychology can be traced back to that situation. It was a major moment for you. It was when Poison Ivy was born."
"You can talk about the experiments," Pam muttered. "But not about the rape. That's not yours to share."
"I—," Harley began to protest, but stopped after Pam glared at her harshly. "OK, you're right." She acquiesced. "It's not mine to share and it's not my place to pressure you."
Pam began to pace back and forth across the wool rug, her toes digging in whenever they could "I'm having a hard time trusting you," she admitted, finally. When Harley looked up at her in surprise, Pam pressed on, worried she would lose her edge for some reason. She was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to her wife these days. "I told you about him…about what he said, when we were in the hospital after Joker—,"
"Yeah, I remember." Harley helped her out.
"I'd never told anyone before. Not anyone." Pam reiterated. "I mean, I'm sure those who saw the police report understood what happened…but I—I told you, and you said I could trust you, lean on you…and then you didn't use it to help me, you used it to hurt. And then again, just a few months ago. So, you'll excuse me if this subject is a difficult one to broach with you."
The blonde rubbed her eyes, fighting the sleep that threatened to overtake her. Pam could tell she wanted to be present, but it was late… "Red," she exhaled. "Look, I know I don't exactly have the best track record on this, but I promise I don't like hurting you any more than you like hurting me. I'll stay away from it, alright? Now let's—can we go to bed?"
They were both tired. Pam would have honestly rather just gone to sleep, but Harleen initiated, so…It was careful and gentle and a bit awkward, if Pam was being honest. After almost a quarter of a decade together, it shouldn't have really been awkward anymore. That part of their lives was still healthy and frequent, but on this night it was uncomfortable. Harley was trying too hard to give…and yet she was timid, checking with Pam every step of the way, which was something she typically welcomed, but it was too measured this time around. And Harley didn't allow herself any attention, either. She felt guilty about something, Pam could tell.
Afterwards, Pam let Harley be the big spoon, the blonde's strong arms wrapping around her middle…Pam liked that. It felt safe and nice, and she thought back to their earlier conversation. How could she not trust this woman? Everyone makes mistakes, she'd apologized…this time would be different.
Pam smiled then, happy to have found someone who loved her for everything that she was. Who challenged her to be better every day. Who had her best interests in mind.
"I love you, Harleen." Pam whispered. To no one in particular, really, as she was fairly certain her wife was asleep. She just wanted the universe to know that it got something right, finally.
But Harley was awake, because she nuzzled into her neck and whispered, "I love you too."