Harleen sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, her face in her hands. "OK…" she tried to keep herself calm. "For future reference—you know—when your next wife wants kids—maybe you should explain all this shit up front."

"Oh, would you stop with that 'next wife' garbage?" Pam groaned. "I assumed this particular wrinkle was implied."

"Implied…" Harley repeated, slowly, rubbing her temples, her gaze fixed on her wife's bare feet. "Pamela…"

The redhead was nervously flexing her toes into the rug. "You—Harleen, you have to stop that."

Harley let her hands fall away, turning her gaze upwards. "Stop what? You don't think I'm entitled to a little processing time?"

"No, with your skin," Pam clarified. "It doesn't have the elasticity it once did, and your aggressive ministrations—,"

"Pamela!" Harley's jaw dropped in angry astonishment. "Read the room! You really think this is the time to discuss the elasticity of my fucking skin?" To Harley's surprise, Pamela quieted then rather than defend herself.

Harley got up to pace, and Pam sat down gingerly in the space she'd abandoned on the bed. "I don't understand," Harley said, finally. "This is such an insane oversight."

"And I don't understand how you don't understand!" Pam shot back, sounding more frustrated than angry. "I mean—Gaia, have you seen our son?" she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, unlocking it and thrusting it forward so that Harley could see the background image of Anthony in a Stanford t-shirt giving Jo a piggy-back and smiling cheesily at the camera. "He looks like a G.I. Joe."

"Yeah, I'm—aww!" Harley's tone changed quickly, her face melting into stupid grin at the picture. "When did you take that?"

"Oh, umm…last summer," Pam had to bite her lip to keep a smile of her own contained. "It was the last day before he went back to school, remember? At the beach?"

"Right, right, right," Harley acknowledged before pulling herself back on track. "Hey, nuh-uh, don't distract me. This is a huge deal, Pam."

"I know it is!" the redhead snatched her phone away. "The reason I left it to you in the first place is because I knew I'd find a way to say the wrong thing or upset her. I thought you were just waiting for the right time to talk to her!"

"The right—," Harleen was honestly surprised at what she was hearing. "The right time, Pamela? I've been encouraging this in her since the day she could walk. You really think I would have let it go this far if I'd known?"

"G.I. Joe." Pam repeated. "You know what I am, you know what they are. Don't play dumb, Harleen."

"Yeah," Harley let out a strangled laugh. "They're too human to be super, and too super to be human. How is that supposed to make sense to her, Pam? She went to practice every day, just like the normal girls, before school and after school. She bled and sweat and cried along with all the rest of them—and you want to sit here and tell me it's not fair to them? No, it's not fair to her."

Pam rolled her eyes. "This isn't about fairness, Harleen. This is about her not being able to pass a blood test. They'll check for performance-enhancing substances and what they'll find is that she isn't even fully human. Do you really want our daughter to be the figurehead of the 'should meta-humans be allowed to compete alongside mortals' debate? Because it's a fight we're sure to lose, and one I don't even think we should win. Let the humans have their petty competitions."

Harley opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut, aiming to stop any flow of vitriol. Dis bitch… "Petty?" she asked, her jaw tight.

Pam seemed to realize her mistake…but it was too late. Far too late. "No! I mean—not for you. It was a worthwhile aspiration for you…"

"Oh, because I'm one of those stupid humans, right?" Harleen spat.

"Harl…you know that's not what I meant." Pam sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"How come I always have to give you the benefit of the doubt when you say shitty stuff, but then when I'm a bitch you take everything personally?" Harley demanded.

"Can we keep this about Jo, please?" Pam calmly requested.

Harley scoffed. "How classic that you would leave this to me. Why do you keep bad-copping me? I'm a terrible bad cop."

"I'm not—bad-copping you," Pam scrunched her face at the phrase. "I'm inherently the bad cop in this scenario, seeing as I donated the genetic material that disqualified her. You're simply the messenger."

"Sure, and do you know what happens to the messenger?" Harley prompted. "They get shot. That's what."

Pam rolled her eyes. "You're being overly dramatic. Of course she'll be upset, she has every right to be, but you sound almost afraid of her wrath. We're the adults here. We'll take responsibility and then we'll move on."

"Pamela…" Harley sat down next to her on the bed, taking her hands and looking her intently in the eye. "Do you—by any chance—remember my reaction to this particular set back? Do you recall me handling it well?"

"There were mitigating factors in your situation," Pam reminded her. "This is a much simpler case. And Jo isn't you, despite the physical similarities."

Harleen groaned, getting up and snatching her car keys off of the dresser.

"Where are you going?" Pam asked, watching her apprehensively.

"To get ice cream," duh. "She's gonna need it."

/

"OK…" Jolene narrowed her eyes at her paper. "So maybe that's a little ambitious for a second pass…" But…I've done it before…but only in practice…BUT if there was ever a time to go big or go home…

Her ears pricked up at the sound of the stairs creaking. "Yeesh, took ya long enough." Jo scolded without looking, knowing it was her parents. "What were you guys doing up there? Making out?"

Harley was first down the stairs, moving at a pretty quick pace, actually. Jo raised her head and then and eyebrow along with it. "No? Nothing hot and heavy?"

Pam was following after her, a look of worry on her face as she watched Harley pull on her jacket. Her words, when she finally did speak, sounded distracted. "When you talk about your parents in a sexual context, it makes future sexual occurrences less enjoyable for your parents."

"Sexual occurrences?" Jo laughed. "You make it sound like it happens on accident."

"I'll be back," Harley mumbled, clearly not listening to the conversation going on around her. She shut the door loudly behind her when she left.

Jo furrowed her brow at the closed door before she allowed her gaze to drift to Pam, who stood, shifting uneasily three stairs up. "I guess menopause is rough?"

"Be nice," Pam warned, sternly.

Jo just smiled and shrugged. "Hey—how come Anthony is allowed to make menopause jokes but I'm not?"

"Because we like him better," Pam deadpanned, moving to sit across from Jo at the table.

Jo watched panic flash across the woman's eyes when she didn't respond right away. "That was in jest. You know we love you equally, right?"

Jo laughed, shaking her head and returning her attention to her paper. Sometimes she wondered if it was even possible for parents to love their kids equally. Sure, they could say they did, but didn't everyone secretly have a preference about everything? Sometimes Jo wondered why is was so important for Pam that she and Anthony knew they were on equal footing. On cop shows, usually the most defensive person was the one who murdered their mistress because she was pregnant or something. BUT, it was also sometimes the jealous landlord with a peephole. And he would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for those meddling kids and their dumb dog. But like, if he can talk, how is he dumb? And he always finds the monster, even though his mental processing is obviously regularly impaired by illicit substances. Wait, what?

Jo shook her head to save herself from her own thought process. "You don't look like a 'Pamela'," she said, suddenly—maybe a bit too loudly—startling her Mom. "But you look even less like a 'Pam'."

"It was a very fashionable name at the time," she was assured.

Weird conversation starter, Jo. "And you never thought about changing it?" Jo asked, setting her pen down. You doing this cuz you're uncomfortable, or…what's your deal?

"Well, I have." Pam reminded her. "I was Paula, and now I'm Lillian."

"Nah, you're still Pam." Jo decided. "Ma still calls you Pam, Aunt Selina still calls you Pam, Babs…Bruce…you're still Pam."

Her Mother shrugged. "It's the name my Mother gave me, and I would prefer you didn't change your name, so…what kind of example would it set if I did?"

Jo held in a snicker. "'Pam' makes you sound like an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat."

Pam rapped her fingers on the table thoughtfully. "I am an old lesbian whose only friend is a cat."

Jo narrowed her eyes, mulling that over. "Yeah, alright. Touché. But'cha don't look like one."

"Fine." Pam was amused, judging by her smile. "What do I look like, then?"

"Well, 'Sasha Fierce', obviously."

Pam laughed—a genuine laugh that seemed to surprise her. "You think I should legally change my name 'Sasha Fierce'?"

"It's the obvious choice," Jo reiterated. "Or, I don't know—something sexy. Like 'Selina' is way sexier than 'Pam'. So is 'Harley'."

"Mmm…" Pam sighed, wistfully, biting her lip. "I suppose I'll just have to continue subsisting on my feminine wiles, then."

It took a moment before Jo realized what was happening. "OH MY GOD, is that how you flirt? You cruel, evil seductress. Is that how you got Ma in the sack?"

Pam sat back with a laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"No—I wouldn't," Jo tied to look stern, but it was hard when her Mom was being playful like this. She could be funny if she wanted to. She just…sometimes didn't want to, but Jo always appreciated it when she did.

Pam's laugh faded into a smile. "Did you—did we ever tell you why we named you 'Jolene'?"

Jo shrugged. "Because you're from the south or something?"

"No, I'm from Seattle, Jo. You know that."

"Oh, right." The girl acknowledged.

"My Mother was, though. From the South." Pam told her, clearing her throat. "My father was from Seattle, but he attended the University of Virginia—law school. My maternal Great Grandfather founded one of the most respected firms in Charlottesville, which my grandfather took over when he died. My father wanted a job there out of law school so he began courting my Mother in hopes of marrying into the family." She looked almost relieved when she was through.

"Then how did they get back to Seattle?" Jo wondered.

"Oh, I don't know. My father likely felt emasculated knowing that his new bride was the only reason he got a job, he didn't exactly graduate top of his class, you see." Pam divulged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "So he took his prize and moved back home."

"He sounds like a real…butthead." Jo decided.

"He was a real butthead," Pam agreed with a chuckle.

"Did you…" Jo sat forward slightly. Her Mom didn't talk about her parents all that often, and when she did it was usually to tell some sad story about her Mother not letting her outside or something. "Did you hate him?"

"Oh, yes." Pam nodded ardently, recognizing Jo's interest. "He cared so little about me it was almost humorous. Until I was about…mmm…" she squinted, searching for the memory. "15, maybe. And then he started bringing me to meetings with potential clients and parties and galas…"

Jo was almost afraid to ask. "Why?"

"I was good for business," Pam answered, plainly.

Yeah, that's what I thought. "You're tellin' me he pimped out his own underage daughter?"

"Well pimped is a strong word." Pam corrected. "I was only required to be charming, gracious, and to humor them…my father was the first man I ever killed, but he certainly wasn't the first man I thought about killing."

Jo nervously cleared her throat. "That's—heavy, Mom." Jo recently had it pointed out to her that she tended to discuss murder a bit too casually, so she decided it would be a good start to keep her Mom accountable to the same issue.

"Yes, I know…" Pam looked apologetic. "But according to your Mother, the way they raised me wasn't their only disservice. Naming me 'Pamela' wasn't great either. But her reasoning was because I look like the woman that singer describes in the song, and she was worried you'd grow up looking like me and we'd miss another opportunity, so…you're Jolene." She smiled.

"Solid segue." Jo tried to make a joke in hopes of lightening the mood…but her Mom's eyes were glazed over slightly, her gaze wistful…and it occurred to Jo (as it sometimes did) that her Mother was an old woman. Older than some of her peers' grandparents. She grew up during the depression, how weird is that?! She was like a human time capsule, and there were so many questions to ask, so many Pam could answer…but these times, the just the two of them times were rare, and sometimes Jo's questions put Pam in a bad mood, and she didn't want to ruin anything…but she couldn't resist. "Do you think pretending to seduce those guys was what taught you to be Poison Ivy?" she ventured, bravely.

Pam blinked at the question, as it seemed to catch her off guard. Jo was just about to rephrase when Pam finally decided to answer. "I think...my mother taught me to hate myself, my father to hate men, and Woodrue to hate humanity. Between them they provided me the method, means and motivation for what I became."

Jo sat back to think on that for a moment, but Pam (evidently) had more to say.

"Trust me when I say I understand all too well the profound effect a parent can have on their child. And I—," Pam cleared her throat. "I want you to know that I have done my very best to inspire and support you, and I am truly sorry for what is out of my control."

A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Jolene's mouth. "Are you…worried about getting murdered?"

Pam ran a hand through her hair, swallowing as she did. "No," she said with a slight smile. "Although I'd love to see you try.

Jo giggled, turning her attention to the door as the knob twisted and Harleen pushed it open. Her eyes fell quickly to the plastic bag the woman was holding, and to the unmistakable silhouette of an ice cream carton within.

"Hey, what gives?!" Jo shouted, affronted by the purchase. "You guys are just gonna have an ice cream party without me?"

"No…" Harleen sighed, setting the bag down on the counter and freeing the ice cream from its plastic confines.

"And Rocky Road, too?!" Jo shot up from her chair. "That's just plain vindictive. You know I'm on my prep diet."

Silently, Harley got a bowl down from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawer, opening the carton and scooping until the bowl was nearly overflowing with ice cream. With a sigh, she turned around and slid the bowl over to Jo. "Sit down, Honey."

Jo glanced at the ice cream, and then at Harley's face. She looked…weary. "OK…" Jo lowered herself back into her chair. "Did…did somebody die?"

"No," Harley said again, taking a seat next to Pam at the table. "Eat your ice cream."

Uhhh… "Ma, I don't want it." Jo was just plain confused at this point.

"Fine," Harley grabbed the bowl from her, taking a quick bite before sliding it back.

Pam reached over to place a supportive hand over Harley's on the table, and that evidently helped Harley gather the courage to say: "Jo…we need to talk…"

"Alright…" the girl repeated, sitting back and crossing her arms, regarding her parents critically. "I'm all ears, I guess."

Harley rubbed her eyes briefly before setting her gaze hard on nondescript spot on the table. "Jolene, you aren't human. You are a plant-human hybrid, and that will disqualify you from the Olympic trials."

Come again? "W—wait, what?" Jo laughed…until she realized Harley still wouldn't meet her gaze and Pam just looked sad. "What do you mean?"

Harley bit her lip rather than answering, and Pam picked up the slack when she noticed. "Your genetic markers and physiology are unique, and the drug tests the Olympic committee performs search for anomalies. You are an anomaly."

"Wha—no, I—I'm not like you," Jo sat forward. "I don't have any powers or anything. I can't even hear the plants like Anthony can. I just have those dreams sometimes is all. And look! I mean, I don't even have the skin thing." She held up her naturally pale wrist.

"We know," Harley murmured. "But the fact that you present as normal doesn't change your DNA."

"But, but I've been competing against normal kids my whole life! No one ever knew the difference." Jo sputtered.

"And they wouldn't," Pam granted. "Until they ran your blood."

"Ha! No, that's bullshit. Total bullshit," Jo stood up, what the hell is this shit? "I earned my spot! You saw, I'm the best kid out there, who the hell cares if I've got some plant in me. Survival of the fittest, right? I'm the fittest."

"Jolene, the Olympics aren't some fight to the death. It's not about survival, it's a game." Pam reminded her, calmly. "And according to the rules, you're cheating."

CHEATING? "Cheating? How am I cheating?" the girl demanded. "It's not my fault my mom's a superhero. I'm not a superhero. I'm just a kid who happens to have a little plant in me."

"Just—sit down," Harley quietly pleaded.

How about you go fuck yourself instead? Jo obliged, slamming herself back into her chair.

Harley waited patiently, then said: "You are 'super', Jolene."

"Well, you're elevated." Pam corrected. "Your metabolism is accelerated due to how your body processes solar energy. You also heal a bit faster than a typical human, your skin won't be able to permanently scar…"

"Oh, fantastic." Jo scoffed. "So my superpowers are: I can't get fat, don't need Band-Aids and if I Two-Face myself, no biggie?" some consolation prize.

"You're also naturally more agile, a bit stronger and faster too." Pam assured her.

"That is—this is—no." Jo shook her head. "No, I'd rather be totally human and get to compete."

"I am truly sorry for what is out of my control," Pam recycled her line from earlier.

Jo's jaw went slack as realization dawned. You mother— "Wait, so…basically…that entire conversation we had was just so, when you told me this, I'd realize that, hey! So my parents curb-stomped my life goals, but at least my Mom's not a total cunt all the time?" Jo felt a twitch of satisfaction when both women flinched at her word choice. "Or—damn—so even though I deserve to represent my country on the world stage, I should appreciate I don't have a dad that treats me like an escort so it's all OK? No." she decided. "Fuck that and fuck you."

"Jolene," Pam started, obvious hurt marring her fair features. "I don't expect you to understand—,"

"—No, you know what?" Jo interrupted, roughly snatching the ice cream bowl from the table and shoving her chair backwards to stand. "I don't have to listen to this shit. You're not a philosopher. Stick to plants, asshole. And by that, I don't mean me."

/

Pam watched Jo storm up the stairs, ice cream in hand. That went downhill quickly…

And she continued to watch, even after they heard Jo's bedroom door slam.

"I guess that went about as well as it could…" Harleen mumbled.

Pam silently rose from the table, moving to the counter to return the lid to the ice cream. Harley's phone vibrated in her pocket while Pam was placing the carton in the freezer.

The blonde had to put her glasses on to read the text message. "It's Jo," she said, waiting for Pam's undivided attention, which she was soon granted. "She says 'testing is less stringent at the trials. Coach will vouch for me. I just wanna know I could make it'."

Pam leaned back against the counter with a sigh as the phone vibrated once more. "What does it say?" she prompted after Harley had been silent for a moment.

The blonde cleared her throat. "It says… 'Mom's not invited.'"

"Well at least she didn't shoot the fucking messenger," Pam muttered.