Harleen connected her phone to the Bluetooth as she pulled out of the studio parking lot. She drummed her thumb on the steering wheel as it rang and rang, until…
"You've reached Dr. Lillian Rose. Unfortunately, I am indisposed at the moment—,"
"Ha!" Harley heard her voice in the background of the recording. "That rhymes!"
"Harleen, honestly…"
She remembered how Pam had pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
"I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."
And then came the beep.
"Hey, Bay-bee!" Harley greeted. "I'm sure you went up to The Watchtower. I totally get why you left, but oh my God, I'm so flippin' proud of you! Like, I was this close to standing up and being all "that's my wife!" but…you know…cooler heads. Anywho…" she stopped at a light. "You want to take the kids out to eat tonight? Or maybe I could try to cook—ooh! I could eat a vegetable! And I don't mean that as an innuendo—although, I'm totally game—I mean like I'd eat some broccoli if you wanted me to, you know, as a show of good faith. I don't know," Harleen laughed at herself. "I'm just—I'm so proud of you and now I'm gonna cry because you're so brave, and ugh, just delete this message, alright? I sound insane. Not that there's anything wrong with that—or, not that I'm not, but—whatever, I love you, that's what I'm trying to say, so…yeah. Umm…we'll talk tonight, or…? Yeah, OK, love you, bye." She hung up quickly after that, giddily tapping her fingers on the wheel the whole way home.
It was odd, but it felt like…in that moment after you stick the final skill of your floor routine. That moment right after the crowd erupts into applause, and your heart just soars. It felt like a victory, and Harleen didn't quite know why.
She supposed she was happy for Pam. Yeah, that's right, good for her! That's who all of this was for anyway. Pam. It was a big moment for her, she finally owned all that she was, all the hardships she'd faced…there were no more secrets to Poison Ivy, and that was—healthy. It was Pamela's victory Harleen was celebrating, she just got to share it because she was her therapist and her wife and—yeah, this was about Pam. Harleen had helped her, yet again. This would be good for them, and it would be good for her.
Harleen pulled her car into the garage, shutting the door behind her and heading into the main house.
"It's peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly," She sang as she entered the kitchen, setting her purse down on the counter when she realized she'd missed breakfast. "It's peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly, peanut butter jelly with a baseball bat. It's—," she stopped short, startled, when she realized she wasn't alone.
Pam was slumped against the wall in the hallway, her knees pulled to her chest and her face wet with tears, still wearing her retired Justice League uniform (since her mutation, she'd reverted back to a variation on her old leotard).
"Pam!" Harley couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "I thought you were—shouldn't you be up at The Watchtower?"
The redhead sniffed and wiped fruitlessly at her eyes with her gloved hand. "I couldn't go."
"Well—Babe," Harley made her way over, coming to kneel down in front of her. "Isn't it sort of a requirement?"
"I couldn't go!" Pamela shouted, suddenly angry. "I know the way they'll look at me, Harleen. The men. With pity, like I'm broken. I couldn't—I couldn't stomach it." New tears fell down her cheeks.
Harleen sighed, Goddamn it. She sunk until she was sitting on the hardwood floor and reached her hands out to cup her wife's face. "Pamela…Honey…" she wiped the tears away with her thumbs. "After all these years, you deserve some pity. Or, actually, how about we call it sympathy? Empathy, even. One in five, that means there are a lot of women out there who know exactly how you feel. OK, well maybe not exactly," the blonde chuckled. "Exactly how you feel—sans superpowers."
Pam didn't respond or laugh, she just stared resolutely ahead…although she didn't remove Harley's hands either.
This is getting so redundant. Harleen had to take a moment to reassess, as she wasn't exactly prepared for this right now. She thought she'd have all day to come up with some strategies for how to deal with the fallout of Ivy's confession. How many different ways can I tell her this bullshit doesn't have to define her? How many ways can I call her brave and strong and beautiful? I'm out of fucking synonyms.
"You are broken, Pam." It's worth a shot, right? "Look at you. You're a 90-year-old woman, crying on the floor and hiding from your friends because you were attacked 60 years ago and you're afraid now that they know, your buddies won't think you're some all-powerful, celestial asshole anymore. Knock it off!" Alright, hey, that's a bit much. Try again. "Follow your own example, Pamela. Enough is enough! Take your fucking power back!"
Harleen would have continued had Pamela not surged forward then. Had she not captured her in a desperate kiss, her lips hungry and her tears pressing against Harley's face, leaving her skin moist as well. It wasn't the reaction Harley was expecting as a result of her admonishing pep talk, but the fact that it was the one Pam provided made Harley very sad for some reason.
"Pamela," Harley tried to break away. "Pam—Ivy," but she was being pressed onto her back now, the redhead crawling over her, kissing like she was a teenager rather than a senior citizen—all tongue and teeth and soft whimpers. She cried all the while, even as she left Harley's lips and began a sloppy trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck
"Pamela, stop." Harleen tried again, wrapping her left arm around her wife's back and placing the other hand on the back of the woman's head, steadily applying pressure until Pam stopped moving, resigning herself to resting all her weight atop Harley, her sobs now muffled into Harley's chest. "Shhh…" Harley soothed, gently carding her fingers through her hair. "It'll be OK, Pammy."
The redhead tensed then, Harley could feel her trying to pull away, but she just gripped her tighter.
"No…" Harley cooed. "That's mine now. That's ours. He can't have it anymore. He can't have anything anymore." She placed a gentle kiss in the woman's hair. "I love you, Pammy. You are loved. It wasn't your fault. You were never his. You are mine and you are yours. That's it."
As Harleen lay there on the hardwood floor, all 130lbs of her wife's lean form collapsed on top of her, shaking with her sobs that eventually turned to sniffles and then just tremors from the exertion of it all, she was finally able to answer her question from the car. She hadn't done this for Pam. Not the book, not the interview…none of it had been for Pam's benefit, really. Harleen was still playing the game they'd started 26 years ago, only Pam was done, having run out of steam that day on the grass in front of the hospital when Harley told her she needed her…when she said she loved her for the first time. This wasn't a game to Pam. This was the first relationship she'd ever had. This meant everything to her.
…and of course Harleen knew that. She'd known it for some time. She'd known it even back then. It's why she'd said those things in the first place, it's how she knew they'd work.
The blonde stared up at the ceiling, imagining elaborate images in the textured paint as her wife was overtaken by exhaustion, eventually falling into the kind of deep slumber only a trauma victim would ever experience.
"I'm not an asshole," Harley mumbled as her eyes began to fill up with tears. "We're just not as similar as I thought."
/
Anthony glanced up at the clock. If he left now, he could be at his civics classroom in 5 minutes. Less foot traffic…and he'd be a comfortable 10 minutes early.
…But Carrie was still talking.
"So then he goes, 'hey, you should get your brother to try out for water polo', and I'm like 'my brother? I don't have a brother'." She was laughing now. "Long story short, he thought you were my brother, I think he was more into you then he was me, and he thinks you should try out for the water polo team."
Anthony narrowed his eyes, sizing up his friend, taking in the way her green eyes sparkled with mirth, magnified by her thick rimmed glasses. "You look like the lesbian version of me."
Carrie's giggle turned into a snort. "I am not a lesbian! And the lesbian version of you is just your Mom, dumbass."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Anthony got up from the table, ruffling her short hair.
"Rude!" She complained. "Do you have any idea how long it takes for me to put this look together?"
Anthony cocked his head in thought. "Throw on an ironic t-shirt, maybe a bowtie, Justin Beiber your hair a bit…I wouldn't exactly call your look sophisticated."
The glare he received in return was intense. "And I wouldn't exactly be taking pride in the fact that you take longer to pamper yourself than I do." Carrie intoned.
Anthony shrugged, shouldering his backpack. "Action expresses priorities."
"Yeah, Gandhi was a pedo, you know!" Carrie yelled after him as he exited the cafeteria.
"A racist, too!" He called back over his shoulder before beginning his jog across campus.
He slowed his pace as he approached the classroom, the door was closed, which was a bit unusual… "Ms. Kane?" He knocked, opening the door a crack to see her sitting at her desk watching a video on her computer.
She didn't hear him, or at least didn't acknowledge him. She seemed rapt by—"And so to those who did speak out and were still cast aside like it was their fault, like they should have known better or were asking for it, like they were less than human—"
Anthony's ears pricked up. Mom? He stepped further into the room, watching over his teacher's shoulder. The interview…
"—let me just tell you that in 1966, I stayed too late in my lab one night. He wouldn't let me leave. He pressured me when I said no. When I resisted him verbally and physically, he implied that I owed him because he gave me a promotion, so I forfeited. But that night was no different than the nights that proceeded it, when he had me strapped to a table with a dirty rag in my mouth. It was rape, it was always rape, and it wasn't my fault."
Anthony was frozen in place, his heart thrumming in his ears. Mom…why?
He watched as she stormed out of view of the camera, his other Ma remaining in her chair next to the hosts.
The video ended then, but Ms. Kane didn't turn around. Instead, she continued to stare at the now blank screen, and her voice was thick with emotion when she said, "She has PTSD, you know."
"Y—yes, I—I know," Anthony acknowledged.
Tuesday and Thursday were Mom's days for pickups, as Ma tended to train later with Selina. But today, when the window of Pam's Audi rolled down, it was Harley in the driver's seat.
Mr. Wayne enjoyed gifting Anthony's Mom fancy electric cars. This one, a charcoal gray Audi R8 e-tron, was just the latest model, but Anthony's personal favorite, as it was one of the few his parents had ever owned that had any leg room. This wasn't a problem for them, of course, as Harley—the taller of the two—was only 5'7", but Anthony was quickly closing in on 6'0", and as a result, riding as a passenger in sports cars wasn't one of his favorite activities.
Mr. Wayne was working on developing self-driving cars at his company, although it was clear the mass production of fully functional units wouldn't be a reality for some time. Anthony may have preferred this car be self-driving, though, as he didn't consider Harleen the safest driver on the planet, and there really weren't many material objects that Pam was attached to. This car just happened to be one of them. If Harleen hadn't grown up to be a doctor, Anthony could have seen her becoming a stunt car driver (or a getaway driver, maybe).
"Where's Mom?" Was the first thing he asked as he slid into the passenger seat, giving a wave to Carrie before shutting the door.
"Nice to see you too," Harley scoffed.
"She take Jo to gymnastics?"
"No…"
"She at work?"
"No, Anthony, she's sleeping." Harley exhaled. "She had a big day."
"Yeah, I saw that," Anthony sulked. "But you'll be happy to know that in the locker room game of 'Justice League: Marry, Fuck, Kill' at PE today, Mom moved from 'kill' to 'fuck'. Easier to degrade her now that they know she's a victim, I guess."
"Aww, good for her. Movin' on up." Harley chuckled. "Who were the other options?"
"Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl—but does it really matter?" Anthony turned to her, a bit offended.
"I'm assuming they killed Kendra?" Harley guessed. "I don't know…I think they might be better off trying to get with her than Wondy. Amazons are intimidating. Can't imagine Diana would show any of those boys a good time."
"Jesus, Ma," Anthony groaned, closing his eyes and slamming his head back against the headrest. "Can you just be appropriate for two seconds?"
"I'm sorry," she snickered, patting his knee. "Anybody ever tell you laughter is the best medicine?"
"You're a doctor," he reminded her. "You know that's not true."
"Well fine…if we're going to be all literal about everything…" she grumbled, flipping off the school bus she was stuck behind.
"Did you know she was gonna do it?" Anthony asked after a long moment of silence as they picked their way through the residential streets of Gotham City. "Was that the plan or did she just let a rant get out of hand?"
"I—I had an inkling she might discuss it," Harley confessed. "In fact, I encouraged her to. I'm sorry it's put you in a more difficult situation at school, but I need you to do me a favor and tread lightly around the subject in front of her for a while. I'm just gonna level with you here—she's having a really hard time."
"Yeah, I'm not planning on victim blaming my own Mom," He ridiculed. "It just seems like so much all at once…and she was so secretive and protective about that. I can't believe she just—told everyone. I mean, everyone."
"It's not for us to judge," Harleen told him. "She made a choice, she did what she needed to do…so, we support her. That's all there is to it."
Anthony didn't respond until they'd pulled into their driveway and Harley shut the car off. They sat there in drawn out silence until he finally ventured: "My civics teacher bought your book."
"Oh?" Harleen raised an eyebrow.
"Mhm…" Anthony nodded slowly. "She used to be a Marine…and she—she said it was important for people with PTSD to have someone to look up to. Someone strong who can also be vulnerable. Who isn't ashamed of transparency. She said she's happy Poison Ivy is a hero, and she wanted me to thank you for the way you speak frankly about these issues, especially your sexuality."
Harley cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. "Is she gay?"
"I guess it's why she was discharged," Anthony told her, a slight shrug in his shoulders. "That felt good. To hear, I mean. To hear you really have made a difference." He had to shift his gaze out the window. "So—I just wanted to say—I'm glad Mom has you in her corner because I guess Mom helps a lot of people, and I don't think she could do it without you."