Coffee…coffee…why does she put coffee in the fridge?

Harley shook her head as she grabbed the bag and shut the refrigerator door, shoveling four big scoops into the coffee maker…she was probably the only one who was going to drink it now that Anthony was gone, but she hadn't relearned how to brew for one yet. Although, shit, it had been…what? 4 years now? Going on 5? She should probably get on that.

He'd be home soon, though…so…maybe she should hold off…but he won't want to move back in with his parents once he returned to Gotham. Why would he? That's just weird, Harley.

And he won't be home soon. Just because it only took him 3 years to get his undergrad doesn't mean he'll be able to speed through a PhD too.

"Good morning…" Pam wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, placing a lingering kiss just below her ear.

"Mornin'," Harley smiled, watching the coffee fill the pot drip by drip.

"So…" she could tell Pam was smiling too. "That wasn't so terrible last night, was it?"

"Actually," Harley sighed as she turned around in her arms, leaning back against the counter as Pam moved her hands forward to bracket her hips. "Yeah, OK, it was pretty fun."

"Fun?" Pam raised an impeccably groomed eyebrow.

"Dynamo," Harley corrected with a giggle. "Pamela Isley: sexual dynamo."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "You make things gross so quickly."

Harley shrugged, a broad grin on her face. "What can I say? It's my superpower."

"That's…unfortunate," Pam hoisted her up onto the counter.

"Pam! What are you—Jo's home!" Harley exclaimed, nervously glancing up the stairs.

"Jo's asleep," her wife reminded her, muffling any further protests with a kiss.

"Mm—Pmm—Pam," Harley pulled away, panting. "What's gotten into you?" she laughed. "Did you poison yourself with your own sex pollen?"

"No…" Pam pulled the tie off of Harley's robe. "I'm just unfulfilled in other areas of my life…" she said it so salaciously that Harley was pretty sure she'd need to change her panties.

But—hey, wait! That wasn't sexy!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Harley placed a hand on Pam's chest to stop her. "I think we should probably unpack that."

Pam took 'no' for an answer, backing up slightly and watching her expectantly.

"I feel like I'm getting some mixed signals here," Harley began. "Because…last night you prefaced us having sex by saying you didn't like sex, and now it's 8am and you started to initiate kitchen sex like I was 35 again and we didn't have a teenager sleeping upstairs, so…what gives? Cuz, sure, it's hot and everything, but it's also super confusing?"

Pam cocked her head. "Is that a question or a statement?"

"Uhh—a statement." Harley decided.

OK…Harley thought, Jo's not talking to her so she's—actually, ya know what? Let's try it this way: "Usually I would do this stuff in my head," Harley admitted. "But maybe you could help me out with this one. You're feeling sad about the thing with Jo…you're feeling…disconnected, maybe. One of our kids is out of the house, the other won't talk to you, so…you're seeking comfort from me because you feel like I'm the only member of this family that hasn't abandoned you?"

"I—Anthony—Anthony didn't abandon me!" Pam stammered, lifting her hands away from the counter, her body language turning defensive.

"Oh, yeah, sure. I know that," Harley acknowledged. "Your rational mind knows that, but emotionally you're feeling a bit cut off. I get it." She shrugged. "And intimacy is comforting. It reaffirms I'm yours, that I'm not leaving, so…do you actually want to have sex right now or do you just want a hug? Because, honestly, I'm down for either, but if you don't actually want sex I don't want you to try and compensate with it, especially given your history with sexual abuse. I don't want to cross any wires."

Pam seemed to be at a relative loss for words. "W—,"

At that moment, Jo walked in through the kitchen door—fully dressed in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt, her cheeks rosy like she'd been walking at a brisk pace. "Hey," she mumbled, heading straight for the stairs.

Huh? "Umm…no, excuse me!" Harley stopped her. "Why weren't you in bed?"

"Because the sun is up," Jo pointed to the window. "Why is your robe untied? Why didn't Pamela ask me your first question?"

"You're familiar with human anatomy," Harley huffed, cinching her robe tightly closed.

"Eh, not really," Jo shrugged. "I'd probably have to be human to like, totally 'get it'."

Someone seemed to have switched Pam back on because she moved her focus from Harley to Jo and asked: "Where were you?"

"I went on a run," Was Jo's answer.

Harley put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. "In jeans?"

"Thought I'd switch it up," Jo informed them, continuing past them now towards the stairs.

"When did you leave?" Pam asked, following her to the foot of the stairs. "How far did you run? Because I was up at 5:30 and never saw you."

Jo turned back around with sigh. "I don't know what to tell you guys."

"Well the truth would be awesome," Harley came to join Pam at the bottom of the stairs. "Sorta what we were asking for in the first place."

Jo seemed to be at somewhat of a choice point. Harley could see some trepidation on her face before she crossed her arms, leaning a shoulder against the stairs to say: "I was meeting someone."

"I'm sorry?" Pam looked surprised.

"Yeah," Jo decided, nodding. "Yeah, I was meeting a boy—a guy."

"A friend?" Harley tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Jo laughed at that notion. "No. Just some guy I've been seeing."

"Seeing?" Pam repeated the word, seemingly horrified. "What happened to gymnastics being the only relationship in your life?"

"Umm…ya fucking ripped it out of my chest like my still beating heart."

Harley wasn't sure if Pam meant to roll her eyes, but she definitely did…and it definitely didn't help.

"Who is he?" Harley asked, trying to find a way to calm the situation before Jo blew her top.

"You don't know 'im." Jo spat.

"OK, well…how about a fucking name, then?" Harley demanded, losing her patience.

"Oh, ya know, ironically…" Jo laughed with noticeable cruelty. "It's also the name of Mom's first boyfriend."

Pam looked confused…but Harley knew where she was going with this.

"It's 'Jason'," the girl said. "Aww, Mom! We finally have something in common!"

Harley wasn't sure what she was expecting Pam's reaction to be…straight to anger, maybe?…and it was clear Pam herself didn't quite know how to react either because she just looked legitimately shocked. And then, for a moment, she seemed like she might cry, her green eyes wide as they stared up at her daughter, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"J—," Pam began, but was unable to finish. "Y—,"

Harley was surprised Jo was still standing there. She'd expected her to mic-drop and leave…but no…she was still watching Pam intently, her nearly identical green eyes betraying something Harley recognized as concern.

"Y—you've seen what he did to me, from my perspective, you've—s—seen it." Now Pam was blatantly holding back tears, her shaky voice betraying her emotions. "And you st—you still? You must be very angry with me…"

"Pam…" Harley started to reach out a hand, but the redhead moved further away, nodding as she did.

"No, it's alright," she wiped her eyes, although her tears had yet to actually fall. "Perhaps you could be a psychiatrist, Jolene. You," she cleared her throat. "You knew just what to say. I'm sure you must be very proud, Harleen."

"Pamela, stop. She's just angry," Harley soothed. "She's just lashing out."

"Yes, I understand." Pam painted on a forced smile. "And I can—I can take it because I'm the adult. I'm the parent and I am well-adjusted. I am a hero."

"Mom…" Jo descended a step, her shoulders heavy and her eyes watery, 'I'm sorry' written all over her face.

But Pam just shook her head, backing up a few more feet until she bumped into a wall. Her reaction to that (unlike to Jo's comment) was instantaneous. She turned and punched through it, leaving a fist-sized hole in the drywall.

"Pam!" Harley shouted, honestly not sure if she should be angry about the wall, afraid of her violent reaction or worried about her hand.

The redhead laughed as she yanked her arm out of the hole. "I think I broke this." She held her hand out in front of her.

"Jolene, go to your room," Harley said quickly.

"But, Ma," Jo was crying now. "Ma, I didn't mean it."

"I said go to your room!" Harley yelled, pointing up the stairs until Jo ran that direction, disappearing from sight and slamming her bedroom door.

"Shoddy craftsmanship," Pam was mumbling, examining the hole in the wall.

/

"The goal, as John McCarthy so eloquently put it, is to create machines that behave in ways that would be intelligent if a human were so behaving, or to make them perform tasks that would require intelligence if done by men. That's the basis of an AI—the bare minimum. In order to pass the Turing test, your AI must not just present as being capable of intelligence, but as being capable of human intelligence. Here we'll be looking at how the microcosms of human expression contribute to the perceptions of humanity. Reactionary—yes," Dr. Beecher interrupted herself. "Mr. Quinzel, go ahead."

"I've always found humanity to be a bit overrated, honestly." Anthony lowered his hand. "In a world with all knowing extraterrestrials, animal or plant hybrids with PhDs, and fully functioning human cyborgs, who cares about the microcosms of human expression? Why do we want to create robots in our image? Why do we want them to pass as human? To help us feel comfortable? Because—I don't know if any of you have seen Ex Machina—but there was nothing comfortable about that experience."

That comment drew a few snickers and Dr. Beecher sighed. "What's your point, Mr. Quinzel?"

"My point is that we waste a lot time trying to get robots to smile. Time that could be better spent incorporating alien intelligence, or drawing from other species' technological or intellectual advancements. Of course, that would mean accepting humans might have something to learn. That maybe there are some areas—a lot of areas, actually—where we're inferior." Anthony finished.

Dr. Beecher rolled her eyes. "This isn't AI Ethics, Mr. Quinzel. This is Appearance Engineering, and if you're so concerned with wasting time, why do you waste yours here?"

"I come for the view," he grinned.

"And to interrupt lectures with lectures?" She raised an eyebrow.

"That too."

"Yeah, I get paid for mine, you know." The doctor shook her head, drawing a few more snickers as she smirked and turned back to her digital model.

Anthony made his way down the steps towards her after she'd released the class, slinging his book bag over his shoulder as he went.

"Didn't your Mommy ever teach you that's not a nice way to get a lady's attention?" Dr. Beecher asked, rhetorically, shutting down the simulator.

"She sure did," he smiled. "And that's why I came down to apologize. I shouldn't have drawn attention to your looks, it wasn't my intention to undermine your authority or intelligence in front of your class."

"Oh…" she furrowed her brow at what Anthony assumed was a wholly original pick-up line. "I thought you were going to hit on me again."

"Well, sure, that was next. But I needed to get that other bit out of the way first," he admitted, biting his lip in what he hoped would come off as bashfulness. After running a quick hand through his hair and then pursing his lips, he realized he'd burned through his entire arsenal in the span of about 8 seconds. Way to go, dude. "Can we start over? Like…maybe over dinner?"

Dr. Beecher looked like she was attempting to starve off a smile, but forfeited in the end, smirking as she said: "I don't date students."

"It's a good thing I'm not your student, then," Anthony smiled, leaning against the display table. "I really do just come to listen to you."

"And look?" she wondered.

His smile took on a slyer quality. "And look."

It took her a moment to calculate, but she narrowed her eyes at him then. "You've been sitting in the last 4 weeks. You seriously want to tell me you wasted 16 hours of your time listening to me drone on about this stuff just to be in my presence?"

"Well, my Mama taught me only to waste time on things that were worth my while." Anthony told her. "Because…if you're enjoying yourself, where's the waste?"

"Is that right?" she chuckled, crossing her arms. "So then what did your daddy teach you? Entitlement? Because, in my experience, the only kids that can afford to mess around in a class they're not taking are the ones whose daddy's are paying their way."

"Ah—see, I don't have one of those, so…it's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Beecher, I'm the exception," Anthony offered his hand.

"Karen," she amended, shaking it.

"Karen," he repeated, smiling. "I'm Anthony." It felt good to finally be on a first name basis. "So what do you say? Dinner?"

"Won't that interfere with…" she gave him a thorough look over, "Crew practice or something?"

"Ah, come on now, no need to resort to ugly stereotypes," he smirked.

"Ugh," Karen sighed, looking like she thought she should know better. "Alright—look, I'm—," she cleared her throat, shifting to a more confident stance. "I'm recently divorced and I'm really not looking to get into anything right now…"

"But? I'm sensing a but." Anthony tried not to come across too hopeful.

"But…you're cute and look like you could slam me against a wall and help me forget that I'm 32 and already divorced for an hour or two," she decided. "So, sure. Take me to dinner, just don't come to my class anymore."

Anthony stepped off of campus in a relative daze, having been deep in through since he left Dr. Beecher's—Karen's—classroom. When he'd made it a safe distance, he plopped down rather unceremoniously on a wooden bench. And after sitting in reflective silence for a moment, pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his khakis and quickly dialed a number, sitting back as he switched it to a video call.

He smiled, relieved, when she answered on the 4th ring. "Hey, Mom…"

Pam was in her greenhouse, naturally, her arm preoccupied off camera and her body oddly close to the phone. "Anthony, hi," she greeted quickly. "I'm sorry, I know the point of this is to mimic a face to face conversation, I was just a bit preoccupied before you called. Just give me a moment to readjust."

His Mother's awkwardness reminded him of home…and that helped to alleviate some of the tension in his shoulders.

He waited patiently as Pam fumbled with the phone, finally finding a place to set it where she could fit into frame, but when she finally settled somewhere, Anthony squinted at the full image. "What are you doing?" He asked, referring to her right arm which was submerged in what Anthony recognized as her transparent incubation tank, the one she used to speed the growth of aquatic plant organisms.

"I've set the bones in my hand, I am now attempting to repair them," she replied, nonchalantly, copying some readout from the digital display into the notebook that sat on her left.

"Did you break it?" He asked, confused. "How?"

"I redirected my anger at your sister into the wall," she informed him, calmly. "Because I was in pain I decided to prioritize this over the necessary construction. I suppose I'll need to call a contractor…"

"Wait—you punched through a wall?" Anthony tried to pull her back in before she got distracted. "What did Jo do?"

Pam just shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You look upset." She rerouted the conversation. "Why are you calling at noon on a Wednesday?"

"Oh, umm…it doesn't matter, really. Doesn't seem all that important anymore." Anthony was apologetic. "I just talked to Jo last night and she seemed—I mean—she seemed sad, but—,"

"—I don't want to talk about her right now," Pam snapped, before quickly softening. "Please, Darling, I'm so happy you called. How are you?"

"I'm fine," he suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.

Pam wasn't sold. "You don't look fine, you look lost."

Ugh, maybe this was a mistake. "There's this girl…"

"Is she under the age of 18?" Pam asked, an eyebrow raised in judgment.

"God, no, she's like 12 years older than me."

"Then she is a woman," Pam corrected. "Anyway, go on."

"Well, I…" Anthony swallowed. "I think she's pretty great. She's smart and pretty just really passionate about her work…"

"She sounds fantastic," Pam offered, not seeing the problem. "Have you asked her out?"

"I did."

"And…she said no?" Pam guessed.

"No, she said yes…but then she made it sound like she just wanted to use me for sex. Like she was only interested in me because I looked like I could 'slam her against a wall and help her forget about her ex-husband'."

Pam looked confused for a moment before her eyes lit up with a smile that she contained by biting her lip. "There's someone who wants to use you for sex because you're pretty?"

"Well, ye—," Oh, goddamn it. "Will I be receiving a 'honorary woman card' in the mail?" he sighed as realization dawned.

"No," she attempted to rein in her grin. "Anthony, Darling…I'm truly sorry she doesn't find you as interesting as you do her. And really, that's a ridiculous notion because you're fantastic. But although you are deserving of any woman on this planet, you are not entitled to any of them—their bodies or their hearts."

"So…" Anthony prompted, hoping there was more to this "pep talk".

"So take her out," Pam told him. "Be the wonderful, kind, charming man I know you are. Make your case to her, and if you are still uncomfortable with the arrangement she proposed, then say no and walk away."

"You make it sound so easy…" Anthony mumbled.

Her smile was kinder this time. "Much easier for a man to say 'no' than for a woman. She was clear in her intentions; you need to be clear in yours as well. And…if she's still not interested in anything more: consolation prize-You get to continue living as a white male."

"A handsome, healthy, wealthy white male," he amended, feeling an almost painful pang of homesickness as he stared at his Mother through a phone screen, very much wishing he could break the divide to give her a hug.

"Lucky you," she smirked, shutting the machine off and pulling her arm out of the gelatinous, green liquid.

Anthony knew it was silly to worry about an immortal meta-human, but how could he not? She was his Mom; he'd always worry about her. "OK, I showed you mine…now do you want to tell me what happened with Jo?"

"She's your Mother's daughter, that's all you need to know," she told him, curtly, grabbing a towel to wipe her arm off. "I'd very much like to chat longer, and I absolutely love hearing from you whenever you can spare a moment, you know that…but unfortunately, I'm late for work at this point."

"You all good there?" He questioned.

Pam held up her right hand, wiggling her fingers to illustrate. "Just like new."

/

Harley watched Pam exit the backyard through the gate, and then moved to the living room to watch her get into her car, leaving for The Watchtower without saying goodbye.

That's fine, nothing wrong with needing space…Harley reminded herself, and then, with a long, drawn-out sigh, she started up the stairs. Someday one of these kids is gonna get pissed at me and Pam will have to console 'em. It was odd how that thought excited her.

Harley didn't even knock before opening Jo's door. Consider your personal space invaded.

"Fuck off," Jo murmured, laying sprawled out and face down on her floor.

"No," Harley said, matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and standing her ground. "We obviously need to talk."

"I'm sorry, OK!" Jo turned and sat up, her face stained with tears. "I didn't know she'd get so mad!"

"Yes you did. Yes, you absolutely did." Harley countered. "That's why you said it."

"It's just a name!" Jo exclaimed.

Harley rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what made her angry. You called him her boyfriend, Jolene."

The girl ignored her, climbing up onto her bed to curl up with a pillow.

"How long have you been laying on the floor?" Harley asked.

"None'a'ya business," she mumbled, her voice muffled by a blanket she'd pulled up to her nose. "Just ground me for sneaking out or whatever and then leave me alone."

Ground her? How does that even work? "No," Harley decided after a moment's deliberation. "No, get up, you're coming with me."