Pam quickly scanned the room, taking in her surroundings…the blood spatter on the cupboards…the body…and then Jolene, huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear.
"Jolene," Pam spoke, her tone even, but soft. "It appears you made quite the mess."
The girl scurried upwards to a standing position, and with tears streaming down her face said: "Mom, it's not what it looks like!"
"Hm," Pam squinted, giving the room another look over, slower this time. Noticing the bloodied crowbar and Jason's sunken in skull, his absence of distinct facial features…Everything above his chin was now, essentially, an indistinguishable pile of human…mush. "It looks like you bashed your boyfriend's head in with a crowbar."
"Mom, I didn't mean it," Jo sobbed. "He—,"
"—attacked you." Pam acknowledged. "Yes, I know. I saw. That's…why I'm here, but it appears you did my work for me."
"But I didn't mean it!" Jo repeated, desperately, running forward and grabbing Pam by the lapels of her overcoat. "Mom, it was just like the dreams!" tears were still falling in a steady stream down her cheeks. "He was on top of me and I could feel him pressing into my stomach and I couldn't move my arms and in the dreams I can never move—," she buried her face in the soft fabric of Pam's sweater. "I knew what he was gonna do, Mom," her voice was muffled now, and Pam could already feel the salty liquid beginning to soak through onto her chest. "I've seen it happen a million times."
"I know, Sweetheart," Pam soothed, rubbing calming circles on Jo's back as she held her.
"And I couldn't stop," Jo sniffed, her breathing becoming gradually more shallow until she was essentially hyperventilating. "My—heart—was—in—my—ears—and—I—was—so—scared," she heaved.
"I know," Pam reiterated, kindly, not letting her go. "I know exactly what that feels like."
"Everything—was—fine—and—then—he—pushed—me—against—the—sink—,"
"Jo, Honey…how about you take a few deep breaths first." Pam suggested, planting a gentle kiss to her forehead. "He's not here anymore," she murmured against her skin. "It's just you and me."
Jo took her Mother's advice, even though it was clearly very difficult for her. Her rapid breaths were replaced by full body tremors and then shivers before she finally attempted to speak again. "He didn't—he didn't mean it. He wouldn't h—hurt me like that."
"Well that's a nice thought, Darling," Pam granted. "But I find it's difficult to trust a man who chooses to be with a 15-year-old girl."
"It wasn't like that," Jo sniffed. "He wasn't like that. That wasn't him. He wasn't him."
Pam wasn't quite following, and Jo was likely in denial…but it felt so good to hold her again that Pam would have said almost anything to keep her in her arms. "Was he under the influence of an illicit substance?"
"No!" Jo rebuked separating slightly to look her in the eye. "No, he wouldn't! His Mom overdosed right in front of him, he would never…"
And now she was contradicting herself. Pam sighed, using her sleeve to wipe the blood off of Jo's cheek. "I think you should go home."
"But—I am home," Jo wiped the tears away from her eyes.
"Not anymore, Sweetpea," Pam whispered, this time kissing her on the top of the head. "Go home and explain to your Mother what happened. I'm going to stay here and clean up."
"You mean—like—Olivia Pope style?" Jo asked, her voice hoarse from crying.
"I have no idea who that is," Pam told her. "Are you OK to drive?"
Jo nodded silently, wiping her nose. "I really didn't mean to kill him."
"I believe you," Pam assured her, giving her daughter a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. "Now put that hoodie on and keep your head down, please."
Jo did as she was told, taking one more look around the apartment and then down at the body before grabbing the aforementioned hoodie from the couch and pulling it on over her tank top.
"I blame myself, partially," Pam sighed, kneeling down next to Jason's body after Jo had left. "Or—I suppose it's the first Jason who should shoulder the majority of it, seeing as it's he who provided her the anxiety in the first place…" she studied the man below her, contemplating how best to handle his disposal. In the old days she would have just fed him to her pitcher plants…but the Justice League had taken those away on her first day out of Arkham 36 years ago and never given them back. Pity…
She supposed she'd have to disintegrate, or melt him down, like Selina did with Joker's body all those years ago, meaning she'd have to transport him back to her lab.
Well, fine, Ivy sighed again, realizing that—anyway she sliced it—she had a long night ahead of her.
Hmm…dismembering him would make for easier transport…but goodness, that sounds exhausting.
"Oh!" she snapped her fingers, smiling. "Why chop when you can pull?"
She searched through the pockets of Jason's jeans. Men typically carry knives, right?
Her prize she found in his back pocket. The knife was small, but it seemed sharp enough to do the job.
A vine slithered down her thigh and Ivy watched as it exited through the skin of her ankle. Doing a quick measurement in her head, she stopped it once she felt it was at the appropriate length and bit down on the sleeve of her coat as she sawed through it.
Ivy repeated that process three more times before directing each length of vine into a separate corner of the room to search for something to anchor themselves on. She then instructed the free ends to choose the limb that corresponded to their position and secure themselves around a wrist or ankle.
"Oh, shoot," Ivy supposed she should have stripped him naked first, that way she wouldn't have to rip through skin, muscle, ligaments, tendons and fabric…
"Sincerest apologies, my darlings," she exhaled. "Just give me one moment."
They immediately obeyed, uncoiling themselves from his limbs and lying in wait as she yanked Jason's jeans off, then his boxer shorts and jacket before electing to cut his long-sleeved t-shirt off rather than try to pull it over the crime scene that was his misshapen skull.
When he was finally naked, Ivy cocked her head curiously at the dark welts sprinkled over his forearms, biceps, pectoralis muscles…and then these raised portions on his Gluteus Medius and abdominal muscles…they looked a bit like—nicotine patches?
Ivy dug her fingernail under the edge of one and gently peeled it back, finding that it left an identical welt to the others that littered his body.
Huh…
She got up quickly, walking to the kitchen in search of a plastic baggie. Once she found one, she closed the patch inside and slipped the bag into the pocket of her jacket.
"Go ahead," she told her vines, and they eagerly resumed their positions.
Pu—no wait!
Ivy took her own jacket off and laid it neatly over the back of a chair before pulling her sweater off as well, mumbling "I really should have brought some equipment".
After a subtle groan, she bunched up the sweater and put it in her mouth, picking up the knife again and slicing down her wrists, then kneeling on the floor once more and placing her open wound on Jason's shoulder and then hip joints.
His skin smoked as the poison began eating its way through.
Ivy exhaled, dropping the sweater from her mouth and wrapping it around her wrist (ruining perfectly good—and exorbitantly expensive—cashmere). "The things we do for our children…"
Pull.
/
"Where's Jolene?" Bruce asked, watching Karen as she set up her presentation.
"Carrie?" Damian turned the question over to her.
"Target practice," she told them. "Same as every night."
"God—what the fuck is her problem?" Damian asked, getting up. "It's clear we all hate her, but she didn't used to be this mopey on top of it."
"I don't hate her," Carrie dissented.
As did Bruce: "I don't hate her."
"She's still trying to process her breakup," Harleen revealed. "I'd suggest a little sensitivity."
That was like a month ago, she needs to get over it. Damian started at a jog towards the training room where he watched her for a moment through the window before shutting down the simulator and stepping inside.
Jo's immediate reaction was to spin around and whip a batarang at him. Damian ducked, and it sailed passed him, sticking in the wall behind him at eye level.
"You could have killed me just then," he gritted, trying to get his heartrate under control.
"Al Ghuls always manage to dodge these things," Jo said, tossing her utility belt aside. "Just keeping you on your toes."
"I'm not an al Ghul," Damian snapped. "I'm a Wayne."
"I'm not an Isley, I'm a Quinzel!" Jo mocked. "It's all the same difference. Now why the fuck did you end my simulation?"
"Because you've been down here for two hours and you're the one who encouraged Bumblebee to take on this project in the first place," Damian reminded her. "Now quit being a moody bitch because your boyfriend broke up with you and get changed."
"I'm being a moody bitch because it's my time of the month, and he did not break up with me," Jo set the record straight.
Damian rolled his eyes. "I could really give a shit less about the specifics, Jo. Congratulations: you broke up with him. Now get upstairs."
Jo took a sip from her waterbottle. "What do you know about Slappers?"
"Cheap steroid," he told her, not totally sure why she felt the need to start this conversation right now. "But the market is oddly far-reaching. They seem to be selling them on the club circuit too. Why do you ask?"
"Well…what if I told you they weren't cheap?" Jo asked. "And that—according to my Mom—Jason's violent behavior the night he attempted to rape me and I killed him was likely due to an overdose of a very special ingredient that's baked into those things."
"Wait—you did what?"
"You heard me," Jo intoned, somewhat casually. "He was wearing 5 Slappers when it happened. Now c'mon, you gonna guess the secret flavor or what? I'll give you a hint—it took my Mom back to the good ole days."
"Excuse me for needing a little time to process…" he trailed off as she leaned into his ear.
"Venom," she whispered. "Bane's venom."
He pushed her away when her lips brushed against his ear. "Don't Poison Ivy me. Just say 'venom' like a normal person."
"Oh, you liked it," Jo snorted, pushing past him and heading for the door.
T—the ven—wait! "What are we going to do about it?"
"About the fact that I breathed on you and you blushed like a cherry tomato? Shit—I don't know, Man," Jo shrugged, turning around. "You might need to get laid.
"Shut up," Damian snapped. "You know that's not what I meant. And I know you think you're hot shit but…you're really not all that hot."
"Pfft, sure, Buddy," Jo chuckled. "You know there are women you can pay for that kind of thing, right?" Jo asked. "Lord knows you've got more money than God…"
"That's not—shut up," he repeated. "What are we going to do about the venom? The effects can be—,"
"Adverse?" Jo laughed. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Jason was a dealer, it turns out. Took me a bit, but I tracked down his boss. Paris Franz, you familiar?"
"Unfortunately."
"He's not smart enough to manufacture the stuff himself," Jo told him. "So how about I talk to him and you start looking for the source?"
"Are you just assuming the source is Bane?"
Jo shrugged. "You're free to prove me wrong."
/
"Let me just start out by saying that, Mr. Wayne—you have been an inspiration to me since I began in this field," Karen told him. "And everything I've done with this project comes from a place of respect. With that being said…perhaps it's time to go beyond Batman. Your designs and technology were—of course—advanced for their time…but we're entering into a new era of innovation, technological especially, and being that everyone in here is a superhero without powers, I'm sure I don't need to stress the importance of evolving along with it."
"But Batman has never been about just the suits or the gadgets," Damian argued. "It's about the skill of the wearer."
"I'm sure she's aware of that fact, Damian," Bruce assured. "She's worked with Tim before, after all. She understands our goals here."
"Yes, I—thank you, Bruce," Karen nodded. "And Damian, I absolutely understand your concern, Jo voiced a similar opinion. Honor the past, embrace the future. That was my goal here. So…Jo?"
Harley watched her daughter step out in front of them wearing the updated suit, her cowl remaining off for the moment, but the material framed her face, so none of her hair was visible. "That's…awesome.."
"Holy crap!" Carrie exclaimed. "That's awesome!"
Karen smiled. "As you can see, we've streamlined the design... the material is lighter and the majority of its functioning's are internal. It's intuitive, see. Like, this material is extremely breathable, but then when there's an attack incoming—," Karen stabbed downward at Jo's chest with her pen, but just before the tip made contact, thin metal panels slid out to cover the area, and so the pen glanced off, falling out of Karen's hand and down to the floor. "It's self-armoring. But if you don't trust it to know when or where to react, manual mode will automatically employ the defensive layer. Jo?" she prompted.
Jo raised her forearm and a panel slid back revealing a small display. When she clicked on the screen, the suit reacted just as Karen said it would, the panels sliding out of every surface (besides the green portions).
"You kept the solar panels?" Harley asked.
"Yes," Karen nodded. "And I want to apologize for copying off of your homework, Mr. Wayne, but I couldn't exactly improve on them. I did slightly increase their surface area so that the suit wouldn't need to charge for as long during the day, but otherwise…can't fix what ain't broke."
Bruce chuckled. "I appreciate that."
"So where's the utility belt?" Cass asked. "Because I only really see a buckle."
"Ah, yes, that too is mostly internalized." Karen told her. "Anthony programed the suit to recognize what you're reaching for and provide it for you."
"How?" Damian asked.
"Well, we had it memorize what you kept in each compartment of your typical belt. Jolene, you need your grappling gun."
Jo reached behind her back, and when she brought her arm back to the front, the gun was in her hand.
"Now a batarang," Karen instructed.
With her free hand, Jo reached to her right side and, like a disc player would spit out a DVD, a batarang was ejected from her suit.
"Good, but you don't need to use it."
Jo pushed the weapon back into the same hole, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come, the panel sliding back into place.
"Then where the hell did the gun come from?" Harley demanded, her mind sufficiently blown.
Jo turned around to show her the empty compartment before placing the gun back in. Like with the batarang, the suit reacted immediately, closing the tool inside, but this one didn't retract back into the suit. It looked like one of the utility belt compartments, just sleeker and without the belt.
"So then what's the buckle for?" Damian asked. "Why have a buckle when you don't have a belt."
"Well," Karen smiled, "It's not so much a buckle as a button." She prompted Jo with a nod.
Smirking, Jo pressed the button and a pair of wings—with an obvious bat-inspired design—unfolded from her back. "No capes," Jo said proudly, putting her hands on her hips.
"So we can fly now?" Damian was incredulous.
"It's more like extended gliding." Karen corrected. "But with a decent wind, you should be able to stay in the air for a while. Now, as for the cowl…" she leaned over and clicked the screen again on the inside of Jo's forearm, and the cowl began to close into place, coming from the top and bottom before it shut completely over her face.
To say Harley found the finished product jarring would be an understatement. The eyes of Jo's cowl glowed the same green as the solar panels…but more alarming than that was the panel spread like a giant, green smile where her mouth should be. But it was exaggerated, stretching from ear to ear and glowing eerily just the same as the other highlighted portions on her suit.
"Are we—um," Harley cleared her throat. "Feeling inspired by certain dead psychopaths?"
"I just want people to know I'm happy to be kicking their ass," Jo said, and when she spoke it was through a voice modulator that sent a chill down Harley's spine.
"Is that really necessary?" she asked.
"Oh, right, yes, I also plan to equip everyone with a voice modulator," Karen told them. "I find it odd only Batman's suit had it before. Were you just banking on people not paying enough attention when women speak to be able to identify them by voice?"
With a begrudging sigh, Harley pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to type a text message.
"What are you doing?" Bruce asked.
"Texting that to Pam," Harley told him before setting her phone on the desk in front of her. "She'll love it." A moment later, the phone vibrated and Harley grinned at the reply.
"What did she say?" Karen asked.
"She just discovered emojis, so it's just a crying face, and then a laughing one and a thumbs up." Harley snickered. "She's so cute."
"God—get a room," Jo groaned, although it sounded oddly menacing through her cowl.
"I will!"
Bruce cleared his throat pointedly, attempting to get everyone back on track. "Does the cowl have any other features?"
"The typical accessories you would need to carry around, like night vision equipment, are incorporated into the eye sockets and can be switched on at any time using the control panel." Karen explained. "Jo's base color for the eyes is green because she has an entire solar layer beneath the suit's exoskeleton. That's unnecessary for Cass and Damian, so their eyes should glow white…or…whichever color they choose, I suppose."
"Mm," Bruce grunted, nodding sagely. "How long will it take to get the other suits produced?"
"Well I have the designs finished," she said. "So…I'd like to meet with Cass and Damian individually to look those over and see if they have any input or wish to personalize them at all like Jo did with her cowl. Once we're through there, if you give me the go-ahead and the funds are provided I should have these done by this time next month. If this little guy doesn't pop out and ruin my momentum, that is," she chuckled, placing a hand on her stomach.
Harley grinned. "I think it's all fantastic, Karen. Amazing work, really. And how you managed to incorporate all that stuff and still make it—you know—sexy, is beyond me."
Karen laughed. "I did place a special burden on keeping it aesthetically pleasing, yes. I've always been a fan of the Batman and Batgirl suits myself. The robins could probably use a little work, but lucky me, you all don't have one of those right now."
"We're looking," Bruce assured her. "But I think the answer is yes, you've got the green light, and lab space if you need it."
/
Jolene stood on a rooftop watching the side door of the Iceberg Lounge. Franz had arrived a half hour ago tailed by two bodyguards, but from her week's worth of stakeouts she knew that both liked to take a cigarette break around this time, before they actually had to start performing their duties.
It was 10pm now, and most of the business the lounge saw came after midnight, especially the sort of business that required bodyguards.
"Any leads yet?" Jo spoke into her microphone.
"I've only been on the clock for an hour," Damian reminded her. "This job requires some patience."
"Oh my God, really? I had no idea." Jo's sarcasm was palpable. "Not like I've been working here for three years or anything. Women—when will they ever learn?!"
"Let me know how it goes with Franz," Damian growled before shutting off his microphone.
"Bitch," Jo mumbled, watching as the first guard and then the second stepped outside, assuming their positions at either side of the door and pulling their stupid e-cigarettes out of their pockets. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she saw someone smoke an actual cigarette…not that they should, but God those things looked fucking dumb.
"Here goes nothing," Jo took a deep breath and pressed the button that shut her cowl over her face.
Her new wings allowed her to glide right over to them, and they would have smacked her right into the building had she not used the first man's soft body to pad her landing, using all of her momentum and weight to slam his head into the brick wall.
The second guy was a little tougher to take down. For one, he was at least a foot taller than her—she wasn't exactly short at 5'6", but this guy looked like he could squash her with his boot if he lifted his leg high enough. But...see…he also had testicles, and Jo was the type of combatant to exploit that.
A quick knee to his groin and then one to his forehead once he bent over, then a swift jab to his trachea and a metal-knuckled blow to his temple and he was done too.
Jo moved quickly inside, walking down the long hallway to what she knew was the manager's office (Pam had provided her a basic layout of the interior. Evidently she and Selina had spent a lot of time there in their villain days).
She thanked her lucky stars the door was unlocked, and after bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet for a moment, slipped inside.
Franz was sitting behind his desk and looked up from his phone more annoyed than afraid or upset when he saw her. Clearly, he'd had more than a few run-ins with the Bat-family in his time. "Which one are you?" he asked.
"I'm sure it's cliché to say 'your worst nightmare', but…that." Her typical upbeat back and forth sounded far more threatening when filtered through her new modulator.
"Nightmare?" he raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "No, Baby Girl, I see you in my dreams."
Are you fucking kidding me right now? "I'm wearing a mask, Jackass."
"Your body's all I need to see," he assured her, leaning forward, propping his elbows on his desk.
"Unbelievable," Jo laughed, cynically. "I can't even threaten a man without getting hit on." And then…an epiphany. "I think I finally understand my Mother."
"Well…congratulations." Paris granted, although he was clearly confused. "Now what can I do for a distinguished public servant like yourself on this fine evening?"
"The Slappers," Jo said, getting to the point. She really had no interest in being in this man's presence for longer than was strictly necessary. "Who's your supplier? Who's manufacturing them?"
"Oh, come on now," he smiled. "I'm not just going to roll over like that. You're going to have to provide me a bit of incentive."
Fine. "Shoot."
"How about you let me see that pretty face of yours?"
"Oh, sure," Jo deadpanned, pressing the button to open her cowl. In her normal voice she then asked: "Should I get on my knees and suck your cock next?"
Now that—yeah, that surprised him, but he pulled his lips into a smirk anyway. "Depends. Do you know what you're doing?"
"Boy, do I," Jo grinned. "Is Bane your supplier?"
"Wait a minute…" Paris narrowed his eyes. "Don't I know you?"
Jo shrugged. "Probably. I was a pretty famous gymnast."
"No…" he shook his head. "No…you're Jason Todd's girl."
"Yes," Jo acknowledged. "And that's how I prefer to be identified. Bane," she changed the subject again. "Where is he? Where are you getting the venom to make these things?"
"You…" Paris chuckled, pointing an index finger at her. "You are a woman of many talents."
"I really am," Jo agreed. "And it's a bummer you're psychotic, because actually, you're sort of my type."
"Really?" he looked almost excited at the confession.
"Yeah," Jo smiled. "Tall, dark, and—," she reached behind her back and pulled out the 9mm she'd substituted for her grappling gun, pulling the trigger and leaving his brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. "—dead now."
Jo reached for her finger-printing kit, and her suit provided her the plastic baggie containing Jason's fingertips that she'd kept frozen for the last month while she tracked down this lead. Carefully, she planted his fingerprints on the gun before returning the baggie to its designated compartment and tossing the gun on the floor.
It had been a birthday gift from Jason, which she found laughable at the time because she was Batgirl and spent her nights defending neighborhoods a lot shittier than theirs…but she'd kept it anyway because he'd gone through the trouble of getting it registered (in his name) and—why not, you know? Just because Bruce didn't like guns didn't mean she couldn't own one.
Jo looked up at the ceiling. "That one's for you, Jay." After a deep breath, she closed her cowl once more and pulled herself up and out through the ventilation shaft above Franz's desk.
A few minutes later, she was on the roof, and then after a run and launch, back where she started, watching the lounge from a rooftop across the street.
The bodyguards were inside by now…they'd find Franz, but they wouldn't call the cops, or talk to them when they arrived. But—if they did, Jolene was willing to bet the GCPD would go off the murder weapon marked with fingerprints by a known delinquent than the word of some thug telling a crazy story about some Batgirl from hell.
She'd thought she'd feel some great weight lifted off of her chest after she killed this guy…Jay complained about his boss all the time, but Jo didn't know who he was until she went through Jason's phone, trying to figure out what those strange patches were that Pam brought home along with Jason's dismembered body.
Franz was in Jason's phone under "Prick" and after meeting him, Jo was inclined to agree with his assessment. Franz was a prick.
She'd devised this plan to solve two of her problems: 1) covering up Jason's murder, and 2) exacting some sort of revenge. Underlings who killed mob bosses usually wound up disappearing, so mission accomplished there. As for the second thing…yeah, it would have to do.
Jo wasn't sure why she was crying now, or why she still felt that anger burning in the pit of her stomach…or why she wasn't more upset at the fact she'd just taken a human life…but for some reason she also didn't react at the sound of Damian's voice behind her.
"You just wanted me away from here for the night."
"Your absence was an integral part of my plan, yes." Jo confirmed. "Couldn't have you ruining my fun."
"Did you kill him?" Damian asked, coming to stand beside her.
"I did…" Jo nodded, still watching the club, but wishing that she could take her cowl off to wipe her tears without him seeing. "Am I fired?"
Damian didn't answer right away, but she could feel his gaze on her during the silence. "My father didn't kill because he believes everyone is worthy of a second chance, and because murder drags you down to their level," he nodded towards the club. "Your Mother didn't kill because she believes in reformation. Poison Ivy is her daily reminder that you can find a light in the darkness." He took a long pause. "I don't kill because I choose to honor my father rather than my Mother. And…" he tentatively rested his hand on top of hers. "I don't mind you needing some time to discover your motivation."
"Are you giving me the greenlight to murder people?" Jo asked, pulling her hand away.
"No." Damian shook his head. "I'm giving you the greenlight to make a mistake or two."
She turned to him. "It wasn't a mistake."
"You're right," Damian agreed. "This was revenge for your initial mistake, no? or his initial mistake, maybe?"
Jo didn't answer, mainly because she wasn't totally sure if she'd ever heard Damian speak with legitimate sincerity before.
"Can I see your face?" He asked.
"No, there's a mask obstructing it."
Damian rolled his eyes. "Can you take your mask off?"
Why would I want to cry in front of Batman? Even if it's Batman lite… but Jo gritted her teeth and obliged, already missing the smile and the voice modulator when the cold night air hit her wet face.
Swallowing, Damian removed the glove from his right hand and reached out, gently wiping her tears away from her eyes with his thumb. "I don't…like it when you cry," he told her. "It makes me...just…" then, as if riding a sudden swell of courage, he moved forward and kissed her. Not on the lips, but just…awkwardly at the corner of her mouth.
Jo was too stunned to react right away, but when she did it was a full bodied: "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"
"I don't know," Damian said quickly, turning away from her.
"Did you just—did you just kiss me? Why did you just kiss me?" Jo demanded. "Not all crying girls want to be kissed, Damian. It's not some magic cure like in the movies."
"Well maybe—maybe I didn't do it for you," he shot back. "Maybe I—did it because I wanted to, OK?"
"What do you mean you wanted to?" Jo asked, following after him as he walked towards one of the large chimney stacks in the center of the roof.
"I don't know what I mean," he said. "You—you frustrate me! All the time! You just—frustrate me."
And that's when Jo stopped walking. "Wait a minute—Dude—do you, like, like me?"
"Oh, fuck you." He stopped too. "Don't—no, I don't—no. I mean, whatever."
"Damian," Jo laughed. "I didn't even know you liked me! Like, just as a human being that you found me even tolerable."
"I don't!" he affirmed. "I think you're awful! I honestly can't even stand to look at you, and every time you talk I have to restrain myself from punching you in the face."
"Then why did you kiss my face, Crackhead?!"
"Because you were sad!"
"Because I was—what? Since when have you cared about my emotional well-being?" Jo wanted to know. "Every other word out of our mouths are typically cuss words, and 95% of them are aimed at each other. I thought your goal was to make me cry. It's definitely mine!"
"Whatever," Damian shook his head. "Fuck you. Your pheromones came in or some shit. This isn't—I don't want to kiss you—I didn't. I didn't kiss you."
"No, you're right," Jo granted. "You really didn't." she pushed him backwards into the chimney stack and pressed their lips together…and he let it go on for waaaaaaayyyy too long to not be into it. "You're so full of shit," she whispered, pulling apart just slightly before looking up at him, a sly smile stretching her lips. "Holy denial, Batman."