"Did you—,"

Bzzt

"Did you see—,"

Bzzt

"Jolene!" Pam shouted. "Will you put that thing away? Who in the world are you talking to that's so important they can't wait for 30 minutes while we eat dinner?"

Jo snatched her phone off the table. "They're tweets from all the people that think I have cancer. Have a little sensitivity."

"For your fictional cancer diagnosis?"

Harley just continued with her meal. First off, she liked burgers, and for once in her life she hadn't turned them into hockey pucks. These ones could conceivably be eaten without a gallon of water, and the fact that no one was appreciating it was sort of pissing her off. But secondly, she'd learned that it was best to only intervene in Pam and Jo's arguments when it was absolutely necessary. She'd decided to wait a bit on this one.

Currently, Jo was texting and Pam was glaring, so…things were calming back down. "Did I see what?" Harley prompted.

Pam slowly turned her attention back her way. "Did you see Barbara's press conference today?"

"Oh," Harley smiled, saying: "Yeah. She looked pretty cute—," at the same time Pam was saying: "—she sounded competent."

"Hotter than her Dad and a more engaging speaker," Jo was the tie breaker. "There. We all win. Plus, having a Police Chief who used to be a vigilante is sort of the best case scenario. For us, anyway."

Pam cleared her throat as she picked at her salad. "How has it been? Working with Damian."

"Mmm…how would you describe his friendship with Anthony?" Jo asked.

"Flimsy." was Harley's answer.

"Oh, good." Jo grinned. "Because, at the rate we're going, I doubt the Wayne-Quinzel relationship will survive this generation…. unless this is his baby I'm carrying."

Harley laughed, but Pam was a little harder to please.

"Ooh, teen pregnancy jokes, those are fun," she said, facetiously, as she popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

"Humor is subjective," Jo sneered.

"So they say…" Pam sighed as she got up from the table to put her plate in the sink. With her back turned, so asked: "Are you still seeing that Jason boy?"

Harley slowly sat at attention. This was one of the subjects that she put herself on alert for, and she was ready to step in if it got too heated, like, if anyone decided to punch a wall or anything.

Jolene's gaze was even and cold, her expression a bit haughty. "When I can. Been sorta busy this last month."

Although Harley couldn't see her face, she did see Pam's shoulders visibly relax. "Well, I'm…glad to hear you're learning to efficiently budget your time." She said as she turned the faucet on to clean her plate.

Jo pushed away from the table. "Yeah, you bet. Good talk, guys."

"Plate, Jolene." Pam reminded her as she headed for the stairs.

"No, I got it," Harley said, hoping to avoid Jo storming down the stairs and then leaving again in an angry huff.

"Thanks!" she shouted over her shoulder as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Pam's sigh was long, and loud, so much so that Harley would describe it as 'straight up aggressive' rather than passive aggressive. "I really don't think it's too much to ask that she brings her plate to the sink. She doesn't do any housework, she doesn't help me in the garden…she has literally one chore and it's that. We don't even ask that she washes it, just that she sets it on the sink. Is that really so hard?"

Harley stacked her plate on top of Jo's and brought them both over, planting a kiss on Pam's cheek when she arrived. "No, it's not hard."

"Then why do we demand so little of her?" Pam asked in a tone that made the question sound not at all rhetorical.

"Because it's easier?" Harley laughed. "And according to JFK, that's the best way to go about parenting."

Pam furrowed her brow in confusion.

"You know, not because they're hard, but because they're easy." Harley clarified.

Now Pam's eyes were narrowed critically. "OK," she began, calmly. "Firstly, you've got the quote backwards, he was encouraging taking on what seemed impossible. And secondly, it was about space travel, not parenting. But it's good to know you paid such excellent attention in school."

Harley snickered as she leaned forward to give her a proper kiss. "Thank goodness you're here to educate me, then."

Pam rolled her eyes as she kissed her: "I know you only say things like that to stroke my ego."

"Hey, 32 years, I must be doing something right," Harley winked.

"I'm serious," Pam said, wrapping her arms around Harley's waist to pull her closer. "And I love that she seems relatively fulfilled by her new position and her inclusion into that world, but it seems like the only thing her being Batgirl didn't fix was our relationship. She seems perfectly chipper around just about anyone else, you included."

Harley wished there was a quick fix. She really did. She could see how much Pam was hurting…and there were a million strategies she could employ, if she thought about it. Ways to convince Pam to see the situation in a different light or perhaps convince her to adjust how she was handling it…but Harley felt a bit tired, quite frankly. She liked games, she always would…but at this point, it didn't seem worth the toll it took on Pam, not when she was already getting so much shit from Jo.

And…OK, like…this is going to sound stupid, probably, but sometimes Pam wore her glasses. That's not—ugh—it was difficult for Harley to explain. But—see, Ivy's superpowers gave her 20/20 vision. Without them or before them she wore glasses, and when she paled her skin her vision tended to lose its sharpness, so while they were part of her human disguise, they were also largely necessary. And now, sometimes, when Pam got home from the Watchtower in the evenings, she would come inside and keep her glasses on…keep her skin paled…and honestly Harley wasn't sure if she did it on purpose or what, but she liked the idea that Pam felt comfortable like that. Relating to her family as human, it was…well it was just really cute and sweet and tended to remind Harley that while, yes, she was married to an immortal meta-human, Pam was still a human being—was now, had been…and that human that came before was like…wonderful.

Harley knew their connection wouldn't have been as instantaneous if she'd met Pamela rather than Poison Ivy. And of course the fact that Ivy needed fixing was a big draw for her, for better or worse (worse, probably for worse). And yeah, so it had taken some time for Harley to fall completely in love with Pamela rather than just be excited by Ivy or excited by the challenge and danger of being with Ivy…but, in any case, long story short, yeesh, was that a tangent, Harls…occasionally Pamela was comfortable just being Pamela now at the end of the day and that made it extremely difficult to see her sad or hurt, especially when it came at the hands of she or Jo. Pam just had such an incredible idea of female comradery…it was like the last hope she held on to, the one subject she wasn't completely jaded about…so anyway, it broke Harley's heart seeing Pam realize that perhaps she had (and would always have) a stronger and easier connection with her son than with her daughter.

Pam was looking at her oddly now, her head cocked to the side, and it was only then that Harley realized her eyes had welled up with tears thanks to her internal monologue. Great…

"I didn't mean it to sound like I blamed you," Pam said, softly, likely thinking that was what the tears were about as she moved her sleeve to wipe them away from Harley's cheeks. "I'm sorry…"

"It's OK," Harley whispered, suddenly wrapping her up in a tight hug. "I'm sorry about Jo. I don't…I don't really know how to fix it."

Pam seemed a bit surprised by how tight Harley was now gripping her, so her voice was slightly higher than usual when she said: "It's not your fault."

Harley loosened her grip slightly when she felt Pam's hand begin to slowly trail soothingly up and down her spine. "She's just—she's different from me where it counts," Harley told her. "She's angrier, and she holds onto it a whole lot better."

Pam sighed as they separated. "Your highs and my lows," her smile was tinged with sadness. "How charming."

/

9…that's when he said he'd be here.

8:58…that's what time it was.

But Jo couldn't make her legs move.

No! she wasn't scared, pfft. He was just a stupid boy, one she didn't even really like.

I mean…he's enjoyable to look at, and sometimes he says things that could be interpreted as charming…

Honestly, this was the first time she'd see him face to face since their chance encounter, but they'd been messaging a lot—like, a lot—and talking on the phone too…but no, she wasn't scared. There was nothing to be scared about.

She straightened her hair in front of the mirror, zipped up her jacket and slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then descended the stairs quickly. 9 would mean they'd have…what? 3 hours before she had to report to the Batcave? That should be enough time.

Enough time? Enough time for what, you perv?

Fuck it. She'd figure it out.

Her parents were sitting on one of the couches in the living room, Pam reading a book with Harley asleep on her lap.

"Where are you off to?" Pam asked, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

"Oh, umm—Carrie's." Jo lied, taking on a similar volume as clutched the doorknob in her hand. "We're gonna watch—Carol."

Pam didn't look terribly convinced. "Carol…"

"Yeah," Jo affirmed, nodding. "Carrie wants to explain the weird-ass cinematography to me because I found it super distracting but evidently it's art, according to her anyway." She shrugged. "Then she'll drive us both to the cave."

"Fine," Pam waved her off. "Have fun and be safe tonight, please."

"Will do," Jo opened the door. Carol? Fucking Carol? Selling it a little hard there, aren't'cha, Jolene?

"I love you!" Pam said as Jo stepped onto the porch.

Mmm… "I know," Jo called behind her, closing the door and starting off down the street.

Jason was waiting on his motorcycle on the corner, his hair tousled and his…yeah, he's hot, OK? "Hey," he said, offering her a helmet.

"I think you're supposed to zip up the jacket when you ride," she said, nodding to the t-shirt that was visible through the open zipper of his leather jacket. "I think that's sorta the point of it. To protect you."

"Thanks for the safety tip, Officer." He nudged the helmet into her hand. "This is for you."

"I got it." Jo grabbed it from him. "Where are we going?"

"There's this takeout spot by my place, thought we could go there." He told her.

"T—to the takeout place?" Jo knew what he meant, but her insecurity was showing.

"Nah, the foods already at home. Let's go." He gestured for her to get on behind him.

Yeah, Jo, let's go. Just hop on the back of that motorcycle with a boy who you've had like three face-to-face conversations with and who's made his intentions super-duper clear. Just…go ahead and do that.

All in one quick motion—before she could think better of it or chicken out—she pulled the helmet onto her head and fastened the strap below her chin, getting on and tentatively wrapping her arms around his ribs. OK, so yeah, he's muscular. But he wasn't like the Anthony-underwear-model archetype, and not like any of the male gymnasts she knew—not like Damian. Like a mechanic, he was muscular like a mechanic and what the fuck, Jo? Quit being a perv!

The ride was quick and somewhat painless…he only ran one red light and, really, Jo couldn't say she wouldn't have done the same, so…no harm no foul, she supposed. And who was she to talk? She went out at night and assaulted people—criminals, but still. She'd felt a little guiltier about breaking laws since her Godmother became police chief, though.

Jason didn't help her off when they arrived outside his building, but whatever, she didn't need help anyway. Jo was totally capable of getting off the bike by herself. In fact, yeah, thank you, Jason, for not patronizing me. Mom would like him.

…or, would she?

Who cares? Fuck Mom.

No, don't fuck Mom.

Like, fuck you, Mom!

Yeah, OK. Good.

Jo was nodding to herself as Jason opened the front door to his building and lead her inside. "You good?" He asked.

"Who, me? Never better." Was Jo's (hopefully convincing) answer.

"I hope you like phad thai because it's all I ordered." Jason told her as he tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter in his sparsely decorated, ground level, one-bedroom apartment.

"This is—uh—nice," Jo offered as he shut the door behind her. "It's…umm…who's your decorator? I'll have to give them a call."

"Ha, good one." His word's dripped with sarcasm. "I know it's lame. But it's got a TV and a fridge and a bed, and that's really all I need." He said, plopping down on said couch. "Besides, it's a whole lot better than the shithole I grew up in."

Well that…sounded mildly interesting. "Oh?" Jo prompted.

"Yeah," he didn't elaborate, but pointed to the plastic bag on the counter near where Jo was standing. "Wanna hand me one of those?"

"S—sure," Jo turned, grabbing the two to-go containers out of the bag. "Umm…utensils?"

"Should be chopsticks in there."

There were. Good. She grabbed them too, carrying everything to the couch and handing Jason one of the containers.

"So…" Jo began as she sat next to him and opened her food. "How long have you been living alone?"

"Since I was 12," he told her, after he'd swallowed his first bite. "Well, for a year, anyway. Then the foster care system got a hold of me and I got out like two years later."

"Oh, were you adopted?" Jo asked.

"No," he laughed. "No, I ran away. Got a job…the rest is history."

Jo sat back into the cushions just a bit, feeling slightly more comfortable now that she knew a bit more about him. "What—umm—what happened at 12? Why did you need to go into foster care?"

"Shit's a little heavy…"

"Oh, I don't mind." Jo assured him. "I've seen my fair share of 'heavy shit'."

"That right?" he mumbled, looking like he needed to convince himself. "Well my Mom OD'd, and left me to fend for myself for a bit. Ended up stealing some hubcaps off of Oswald Cobblepot's car—,"

"Penguin?"

"Yeah, that's him. They caught me…thought they were gonna kill me, to be honest, but instead they said I owed em' a debt. So when I broke out of the foster care system, that's where I went."

"But he's like a mobster," Jo reminded him once his story was finished.

"Yeah," Jason chuckled humorlessly. "I didn't care. They took me in when I had nobody and employed me until I could stand on my own two feet."

"Oh…" Jo looked down at her lap. OK, so yes, he was sort of an asshole…but he'd also endured a lot of fucked up shit. Ma always said there's a reason for the way everyone turned out…the fact that he's even halfway decent after what happened to him…that's almost impressive, right?

"Whatever," he was shrugging. "It is what it is, we all have our little tragedies. Nobody cares."

I don't—no, I care! "Don't say that," Jo implored, leaning forward to grasp his hand and look at him meaningfully. "Don't sweep that shit under the rug."

"Yeah, I don't really tell anybody about that," he mumbled.

The realization that he'd trusted her enough to share it, even though it may have made him feel vulnerable, gave Jo a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Without much thought or foresight, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She was a bit embarrassed by the fact that she was now blushing a lot harder than he was, but her mind quickly became occupied with other thoughts when he reached for her food, setting it down on the stack of magazines he used for a coffee table along with his own food, and moved toward her…so close that she could feel his breath on her lips and hear her heart pounding in her ears.

…and then his lips were pressed against hers.

Jo had been kissed before…she'd kissed other people too, boys and girls, she honestly didn't have much of a preference. But none of those had ever felt this—real? It was all cursory, or just a game, or on a dare…but this time it felt like it meant something. Probably because they were alone in his apartment and like…he'd already sent her a dick pic…she knew what she was getting into, she knew it from the beginning.

But he wasn't a bad kisser, that was something she could comment on definitively. And she…was attracted to him…otherwise why did she come here? Certainly not to eat sub-par Thai food.

Jason was pressing her down into the couch now, his weight on top of her…that didn't exactly feel bad either, but things did feel like they were moving a bit fast, she'd only had one bite of her noodles and she was actually a bit hungry. Maybe she could finish them after. After what, Jo?

"You good here or do you wanna move to the bedroom?" He asked, separating for a moment but keeping his hand under her shirt.

Am I good here? Do I want to lose my virginity on a couch? Oh God, is that what I'm about to do?

"No, let's—bedroom," hey, at 15 Ma was sleeping with her grown-ass gymnastics coach. This is a huge improvement.

Jason got up, helping her this time, which she did happen to like. He led the way, her hand in his into one of the apartment's two internal doors. This one wasn't the bathroom, although it was so small it almost could have been. There was a bed, though, and it was made, which she found oddly endearing.

Jason was kissing her again and walking her backwards towards the bed, but as she went she caught sight of a poster on the wall over his shoulder and ripped her mouth away immediately.

"What the fuck is that?" She asked, pointing.

He stopped, although his annoyance was clear, and turned to look. "It's a pinup. Aren't you bi or whatever? What do you care?"

"No—it's—she—no," Jolene was starring her Mother straight in the face. It was one of those stupid "I Want You!...to recycle" posters she'd posed for during one of her first ad campaigns.

"Not a Poison Ivy fan?" That seemed to surprise him. "She's a feminist, right? Thought you'd be into that."

"She's—it's gotta come down." Jo said. "Just for a bit, just while we…take it down."

"Why?"

BECAUSE I DON'T WANT MY MOM WATCHING ME HAVE SEX. "I just—uhh—inadequacies and beauty standards and—look, buddy, do you wanna fuck me or not?"

"Alright, damn…" he pushed past her and took the tacs out of the poster, rolling it up and setting it on the floor. "Happy?"

Jo scanned the room, and shook her head once more when her eyes landed on a plant. "That guy too. He's gotta go."

"Who? My plant?"

"Yep, your plant." Jo nodded fiercely. That motherfucker will tattle on me so quick…

Jason huffed at that, but ultimately caved, picking up the plant by its pot and setting it outside the bedroom door. "Better?"

"Um—," Jo cleared her throat, smoothing her hands nervously down her legs. "Yeah."

—

Jo walked as quickly as she could down to the Batcave, pressing her thumb to the keypad that opened the main entrance. She was about 20 minutes early, which was perfect as she knew that getting into her suit would help some of the current discomfort she was experiencing go away. She sincerely hoped her accelerated healing applied to soreness as well—it usually did, after all, but this feeling was new.

Damian was sitting at the monitor next to Carrie, looking over some area statistics, but he looked up when she entered, his expression portraying something Jo thought almost looked like…pity? "You have a visitor," he intoned.

"A vi—," but Jo couldn't even get out a full word before: "JOLENE QUINZEL," echoed through the Batcave.