The best part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They didn't even have to talk most of the time (although Harley liked to), they just understood what the other person was thinking…feeling…it was comfortable.

The worst part about Harley and Pam being married for as long as they had was by this point, they were totally in sync. They could understand what the other was thinking, feeling…when they weren't sleeping.

When they weren't sleeping.

Hint, hint, Pam. When they weren't sleeping.

Harley was attempting to telepathically communicate to her wife that she needed to shut her fricken eyes and quit shifting around.

By the 4th passive aggressive sigh in as many minutes, Harley was fed up. "Pamela!" she hissed. "Will you knock it off."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Pam murmured. "Did I wake you?"

Harley rolled her eyes. "Sort of hard to wake me up when I haven't gone to sleep," she exhaled, rolling onto her other side to observe Pam on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

"She hates me, doesn't she?" Pam murmured.

"If the 'she' in this scenario is a feeble old woman named 'Harleen', then yeah, 'she' hates you."

Her wife was clearly unamused, so Harley sighed, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "She's 15 years old and she had something really important taken away from her. Yes, she hates you. She hates the whole situation. Probably the whole world right now, honestly. But it will blow over. I promise, alright?"

Pam's jaw was set, her mouth a hard line. "Harleen, it's been a week. She still hasn't left her room."

"Well…part of that is strategic," Harley reminded her. "Remember? She ran into that reporter and didn't know how to handle it."

"Right," Pam turned to her, speaking in earnest now. "Have we decided on a disease yet, by the way? Now that she's committed herself to having one?"

Harley groaned as she moved onto her back, shifting her gaze from Pam to the single chip in the ceiling's paint. "Huntington's, maybe? Neuropathy? Lambert-Eaton? I'm not sure she's got the acting chops required for Parkinson's or ALS. I don't know, but I'm leaning autoimmune."

"Not neuropathy," Pam decided. "There's no way we're selling Type 2 Diabetes and she probably would have required a pump by now if she had Type 1. Huntington's is just too degenerative, I think, besides juvenile onset is so rare we might be under tougher scrutiny. And I don't mind the LEMS idea, aside from the fact it's usually indicative of another underlying disease, so…are we prepared to give our daughter a fabricated cancer diagnosis on top of a fabricated autoimmune disease diagnosis?"

Harley was almost physically fighting off sleep at this point. "I don't know—but we've got all my chairs and ramps, the van…so…if she needs to pretend to be paralyzed, she's in the right family."

"Except for it's recently been brought to my attention that Jolene is somehow the highest scoring gymnast in the world right now, and as such, her suddenly forfeiting her spot on the Olympic team is reasonably suspicious. Announcing she has some rare disease won't help her disappear quietly. Doctors from all over the country will volunteer their services." Pam, by comparison, didn't sound the least bit fatigued.

Ugh, she's right, Harley had to mentally regroup. "And even if we go with something more common she'll still be required to give an inspiring speech at the ESPYs." She realized.

They lay there in silence for a moment before Pam asked: "What did you tell the coach when she withdrew?"

"Personal issues." Harley turned the phrase over in her mind. "She could be pregnant?"

"Absolutely not," was Pam's immediate response.

"Well, fuck, Pam!" Harley threw the blankets off of her upper body, exasperated as she sat up. "We can't win. It's obviously impossible."

Pam shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. "OK," she said, finally. "How about Leukemia, and we have someone over at S.T.A.R. Labs say they're treating it. We just announce that up front to deter anyone from volunteering."

"Alright, fine." Harley agreed. "What stage is it in? When did we find out?"

"We caught it early," Pam proposed. "And found out just before she received the invitation. After her diagnosis, she decided the trials would be her final showcase."

Harley squinted, running a few scenarios in her head… "Yeah, good." She decided.

"Great," Pam smiled as she pushed the blankets away and began to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Harley questioned.

"To run it by Jo," Pam informed. "I want her to feel like she has some power in this decision."

"Hey—umm—no," Harley grabbed her hand, pulling her back down. "It's 2 o'clock in the morning and didn't you kill an alien today? Why aren't you tired?"

"Well, just one," Pam reasoned. "And he fell, I didn't kill him."

Harley raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Did you push him?"

Pam cleared her throat as she reluctantly settled back into bed. "I wasn't aware that particular species couldn't fly."

"Mhm, likely story," Harley snickered, scooching down off her pillow and placing her hand under Pamela's lower back, coaxing her upwards. Though blatantly puzzled, Pam obliged her, allowing Harley to strip off her underwear and toss them to the side of the bed.

She sat up once more to peer over the edge at where they'd landed. "Now look what you did," Pam complained. "They're face down and I'll have to find a clean pair before…" she trailed off as Harley pushed her down into the pillows.

"Sorry," Harley kissed her. "Is there a panty drought I'm not aware of?"

"Well no, but—,"

"—nuh-uh-uh, no buts," Harley silenced her with another kiss, this one considerably less chaste than the last. "Please," she moved down, planting kisses as she went. "You're gonna lay there, I'm gonna help you out, and then we're gonna go to sleep. Deal?"

Pam looked at her with some reservation, like maybe she had something to say but was holding back? But she did eventually lean her head back and close her eyes. "Deal," she mumbled, folding her hands neatly over her stomach.

Aside from a quiet sigh when Harley first made contact, Pam was basically completely silent…and motionless, too, aside from her breathing. In fact, she was so unresponsive that Harley just assumed she'd fallen asleep.

…until Pamela suddenly sat bolt-upright to ask: "Why don't you ever want to be with me anymore?"

Harley had to check and make sure she wasn't currently in between her wife's legs and…yup. "What are you talking about?" she ended up sounding more critical than she'd meant to.

"I'm just…" Pam sighed, maneuvering herself onto her knees. "I'm aware that there are far more pressing issues to deal with, and maybe…you're still unhappy with me too? Or is it that you…" she had to laugh preemptively at the notion. "Do you no longer find me attractive? Because we used to do things that required two engaged participants."

Oh… "No, Babe—that's not—look, I'm—I'm 60 years old."

"Yes…" Pam acknowledged like it was an odd thing to bring up. "And I'm 98. What's your point?"

"Pam…" Harley sat up as well. "Can you just, for a minute, try to understand what it's like to be with someone who literally has not aged a day since you met them? I have a lot of really awesome memories of us, and—I don't know, the point of growing old together is that you both start getting saggy at the same time. And then who cares? You're both old so it's all kosher. But now I just feel gross," shouldn't have said that… "and it's a lot easier to forget when we're just looking at parts instead of—you know, the whole damn puzzle."

Pam sat there, silently listening until she was finished. And even after, it was clearly taking some time to make sense of what had just been said, or maybe she was trying to find a way forward. Regardless, she was quiet for long enough that it made Harley uncomfortable.

"I have memories of us together too," was how Pam finally broke the silence. "And in them, my skin is smooth rather than teaming with…" she trailed off to run her fingers down the vines in her thigh. "I have memories of us in my bed when that first house was just mine…and, umm, up against the wall in your apartment…in your chair, on the counter, in the car, in our bed, in our bed trying to be quiet so the kids could sleep, or—you know—pointedly not trying to be quiet that summer we sent them to Space Camp."

"Holy shit that was expensive," Harley remembered.

Pam had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. "So expensive," she agreed. "But, you know what all those moments made me realize?"

Something annoyingly sweet that's gonna make me want to make-out with you? "What?"

The redhead leaned forward until their lips were nearly touching to say: "I don't really like sex."

Uh—Whh… "33 years of having sex with me made you realize you don't like sex?" Oh, yeah, that's not the most offensive fucking thing I've ever heard or anything.

"Yeah," Pam smiled, continuing her advance until Harley's head was laying at the foot of the bed, Pam over her. Her smile broadened after a languid roll of her hips. "But I like sex with you."

OK, well…yeah, OK, fine. Harley had to admit she found that enticing.

"And every time you speak negatively on your appearance, it admonishes my scientific achievement," Pam reminded her.

"Oh, so I'm a scientific achievement now, is that right?" Harley chuckled, running her fingers through Pam's hair until they trailed down her back.

"Well…only some parts," the redhead conceded, leaning down to rest her lips gently at the hollow of Harley's neck. "I have sex to be with you, not because I need it. I'm more plant than animal now, after all." She said more seriously. "But I do need you. So if you want to be with me, fantastic, but don't just do me a favor."

How this woman was ever a supervillain, Harley would never understand…OK, actually, she totally did understand, that's sorta the question Harley had spent most of her life answering at this point. But, uh, God, she loved her.

"OK," Harley whispered.

/

Jo lolled her head to the side, grabbing for her phone on the nightstand. 4:26am.

Damn it.

Without thinking of the time (or without caring), she opened up a blank message and typed quickly: U up?

The fact that there was a reply at all surprised her, let alone one that came so quickly.

-You spell?

Jo smiled at that. Sometimes. but y did they make words that sound like single letters if they didn't want us to write them that way?

-Yeah, Jo. I'm sure that's what the forefathers of the English language were thinking about when they conceived an entire lexicon: how to make texting easier in the future.

-Or foremothers. U don't know, ya sexist pig.

-Mom? That you?

Jo had to snicker at that.

Anthony followed up soon after with: Weird how you follow capitalization and grammatical rules but can't be bothered to spell out "you" or "why". It's almost like you're doing it on purpose or something.

Nonsense! Jo grinned as she sent the message. When he didn't reply, she asked: Why are you still awake? I thought you couldn't come home this summer cuz u were working on your PhD or whatever

-"Or whatever", pfft. You're just pissed because you know I'm gonna make you call me "Dr. Quinzel"

"He better not," Jo mumbled as she typed. We already got one of those in the family. How about you figure out how to be an individual?

-You know that The Rock eye roll gif? OK, imagine I'm doing that

Jo had to take a moment to look that up…and it was definitely worth it. Impressive eyeball dexterity. Seriously, tho, y r u awake?

-…that was so dumb I'm almost embarrassed for you. But if you must know, I'm at some girl's apartment that I would really rather not be at, so…if anyone asks…you're really sick

Jo followed in The Rock's example and rolled her eyes hard. She cute?

-No, not really. And I can't exactly get drunk, so it's all so visceral

"What an asshole," Jo laughed. Need a call?

-Nah, I'll handle it. Be a man, and all.

-aka, bite the bullet?

-We'll see ;)

"Uh—bleh!" Jo spat. No winky faces

-Fine ;)

She received another message before she could type one herself.

-Are you feeling better about everything?

Jo sighed, she was sort of hoping to avoid this conversation. They'd talked just after the trials and he'd sounded so sorry for her it bummed her out even worse. Oh, yeah. It's been a whole week. Totally over my crushed dreams and ready to move forward in life without a purpose.

-Do you need a call?

No. Jo sent that one quickly. I'm going to bed 3

-OK. If you're sure. 3

Jo tossed her phone back onto the nightstand, hearing it clatter on the wooden surface.

It was a pleasant night. Gotham summers were usually pretty decent aside from the occasional and super crappy humid heatwaves. Tonight wasn't so bad though…68 degrees, she probably wouldn't even need a jacket.

Pulling herself out of bed, she grabbed the pair of jeans she'd tossed on the floor the day before and yanked them on over her boy shorts before tying her hair up into a ponytail and exiting out the window. She stood on the roof for a second before climbing down the lattice into the backyard where she jumped a fence to get her off her parent's property.

Jo wasn't quite sure where she was headed, but she decided most anywhere was better than staying in bed for another minute.

Before she knew it, she was on a bus (using the loose change she'd found in her pocket), and then she was in South Gotham, starring at her gym from the parking lot.

Yeah, real fucking subtle, subconscious.

The sun was beginning to rise now, and she was sure her parents would be pissed regardless, so…fuck 'em. Let 'em worry.

She plopped down on the curb to watch the sunrise over the building she usually spent around 8 hours a day in…but now had no reason to enter.

"Hey," a male voice shattered the tranquility of the moment. "I know you."

Jo jumped up and spun around to find…ugh, this dickhead?

"You're the girl who doesn't want a ride on my bike."

He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, his red t-shirt tight on his muscular chest and his dark hair styled like he was pretending not to care.

"And you're the douche who doesn't know how to take no for an answer." She hoped her tone communicated his need to fuck off.

"Yeah," the boy smiled. "Jason."

"I was told to stay away from boys with that name. Pleasure to meet you, though." Jo pushed passed him in the direction of the bus stop.

"Hey, hold up now," he jogged to catch her. "We were just getting acquainted!"

"Actually…no, we weren't." Jo snipped, tapping her foot impatiently where she stood hoping the bus would come soon.

"Alright," Jason chuckled. "I'll try the old fashioned way…nice thighs, I bet they'd look even better with—"

"Your head in between them?" Jo guessed.

"I was gonna say 'my dick', but sure." He laughed. "I'm not opposed to that first."

"Charming," Jo rolled her eyes. "You know—I didn't actually come here to be sexually harassed, so…"

"Alright, sorry, sorry," he sighed. "A little early for that, I get it. So why did you come here, then?"

Good question. "It's…my gym." Was her mumbled response.

"Ah, a gymnast, I should have known." He smirked.

"What about you?" She asked…not that she was actually curious or anything, but it was better than being creepily leered at. "You don't exactly strike me as a morning person."

"Mmm…well…gotta make money somehow." He casually leaned against the bus stop.

"So you're, what? Prostituting yourself?" Jo guessed.

Jason laughed. "I'm a mechanic, but I don't mind a girl with a sense of humor."

"Noted," Jo nodded, cordially.

"Do your parents know you're out here?" he asked after a minute or so of silence.

"Do yours?" She shot back.

"Don't have any," he admitted. "But I've seen yours pick you up from school, and in some nice cars, too." When Jo didn't answer, he asked. "You need a ride home? It'll be quicker than the bus."

"Oh, umm…let me think. Should I get on a motorcycle with a strange boy who mentioned his dick 30 seconds into our first conversation? Yeah, sorry, Bud. I think I'm gonna wait it out." Jo sneered.

Jason just shrugged. "Suit yourself, I guess. It would make me late anyway, so…how about this…I'll leave you alone if you tell me your name. Or would you rather I keep calling you 'Legs'?"

Jo looked up to the sky, hoping for the rapture, but exhaled "Jolene" when it didn't come.

"See?" Jason crossed his arms, that smirk still playing on his lips. "Not so hard, huh?"