"You're happy? You're settled?" Pam asked, standing next to the bed she'd just tucked Harley into in her typical oversized t-shirt. "You're sure you don't need anything else?"
Harley sighed. "Yep. Happy as a clam. A paralyzed clam."
"Well," Pam began as she climbed into bed beside her. "Technically clams don't have legs, so I'm not sure you needed to amend your original statement."
"Read the room, Pamela," Harley exhaled, her eyes trained on the ceiling.
"I'm sorry," Pam mumbled, laying on her side to look at her. "May I put my arm around you?"
Harley could picture the quietly hopeful expression on her wife's face without even looking. "Yeah," she muttered.
And Pam readily complied, wrapping her arm around Harley's waist and snuggling close to her, her face nuzzling into Harley's neck. "If you need anything during the night, please don't hesitate to wake me."
"OK," Harley could feel Pam's long lashes flutter against her neck as her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Harley's remained open. The week since the spell wore off was the worst week of sleep she'd had since she said those awful things to Pam in the car after the party all those years ago. All those…18 years ago. Although, this time, her wife was sleeping beside her rather than in the green house, which was a welcome variation. "Pam?"
"Hm?" she hummed in response.
"Can you—umm…try to touch me?" Harley was embarrassed so her request came out shaky.
"I don't need to try," Pam mumbled. "I'm touching you right now."
"No, I—I mean can you try to, you know…touch me. To see if I can…the first time we figured out ways to…"
She felt Pam pull away from her. "Oh—yes, sure. Should I—would you like me to kiss you? Or…"
"I'd like you to not make it fucking weird," Harley snapped, coming off way harsher than she'd meant to. "You don't have to make it a whole production, I just—I want to know."
"I understand," Pam acknowledged, gently taking Harley's chin between her thumb and forefinger and turning her head to face her on the pillow. Pam's eyes flitted down to her lips momentarily before returning her gaze once more, moving her hand now to reverently stroke her cheek with her index finger.
"What?" Harley breathed, her chest suddenly tight.
Pam smiled serenely. "I just feel so…warm every time I get to kiss you."
On instinct, Harley thought to move towards her…until she remembered her catheter tethered her to that spot…meaning she'd have to pick up her bag to move…and use her arms to drag her lower body…and—luckily her increasingly depressing thoughts were cut off when Pam affectionately bumped their noses together.
"You'll always be perfect to me, Daffodil," she whispered, her breath warm against Harley's lips, and the blonde allowed her eyes to flutter shut. "Always. Even when it's just me in this bed. I'll go to sleep every night remembering the feeling of your body pressed against mine…I'll remember the curve of your lips and the blue of your eyes…" her hand languidly made its way under Harley's shirt below the covers. "And I'll be grateful for how you loved me…and for how you let me love you." Harley's breath hitched as Pam gently squeezed and swirled and pinched. "I'm so lucky," she murmured.
And Harley was pretty sure she was about to cry before Pam pressed her lips to hers, softly at first, but then gaining intensity in a transition only Pam could seamlessly manage. How she could be so tender and overwhelming all at the same time Harley would never understand, but it was always something she'd marveled at.
Her eyes closed tighter as Pam dragged her hand away from her breast down her stomach, and…
Well that was anticlimactic.
Again.
She remembered this now, how she could feel some pressure but no sensation. How hard she'd had to focus in order to feel the slightest twinge of pleasure anywhere below her waist. How an orgasm was really just visualizing one and then convincing herself that what she was feeling was real. "Pam, stop." She opened her eyes to find that her wife's had been closed as well.
They opened immediately after Harley spoke, filled with worry. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, it's—I'm tired…I can't." And then it hit her that she'd basically phoned it in the last time they'd been intimate…and that was the last time they were ever going to be intimate.
Pam leaned over her, wiping Harley's tears away as they fell. "Shhh…" she soothed. "Darling, be patient. We learned last time that this was a marathon, not a sprint."
"I don't have time for a marathon, Pam."
That reminder seemed to hurt Pam as much as it did Harley as she pressed their foreheads together. "I'll figure it out."
/
Jo flopped down on the couch in Harley's office with a groan, pressing the heels of her palms into her closed eyelids before dragging her hands down her face.
"There are beds upstairs, you know." Damian's voice came from the open doorway, startling her.
"Jesus," she jumped. "Take a fucking hint, Bro. I'm trying to sleep."
"You can't sleep on the couch," Damian reasoned.
"Weird, since I'm laying on the couch, about to go to sleep." She shut her eyes once more, attempting to tune him out.
"How was the meet?"
"Fine," Jo mumbled. "The team placed second, but one of our girls won the all-around. Anyway, can I help you?" she still wasn't looking at him.
"I…you haven't…you've been different since the thing with Harleen," he told her, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. "And Carrie said it might help if I was—uh—there for you. So…I'm doing that."
Jo squinted at him. "Doing what?"
"Being there for you." He told her. "I'm, umm…here." He awkwardly pet her head.
"Umm…OK?" Jo acknowledged. "Thanks, I guess?"
He came around to sit at her feet on the couch, his movements strange and overly measured as he gently placed her legs across his lap.
Propping herself up on her elbows, Jo frowned at him. "Why are you wearing a tux?"
"It's after 6. What am I, a farmer?" Damian answered, sounding mildly scandalized.
She snorted, kicking him in the leg. "You're such a prick." He didn't smile then, rare was the occasion he let slip an external example of happiness, but Jo could tell he wanted to, and that was good enough for her as she laid her head back down.
"Have you talked to her?" he asked after a moment of fairly comfortable silence.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I'm afraid. Obviously." Jo answered plainly.
"Why?" Damian asked again.
"Umm…because Ma's in a fucking wheelchair again and she's the strongest person I ever knew and she raised me and took care of me and the idea that I now have to help take care of her is fucking terrifying?" Jo blurted out. "Yeah, probably that."
"Oh," Damian mumbled.
"Oh," Jo agreed, closing her eyes once more and rolling onto her side.
"…well I think fear is useless except for as a motivator," Damian told her.
"Thank you," Jo mocked. "I feel very consoled."
"But, I think…" he continued. "Perhaps, if my legs were suddenly taken away from me after a lifetime of relying on my physical prowess…I might…allow myself to feel afraid for a moment. Especially if I felt like I was letting down people who relied on me by needing to ask for help instead of providing it."
/
Pam frowned at her phone, not liking the findings in the last article and moving on, her feet casually up on the table in the rec room.
"I did it on accident!" Kara suddenly said from the other side of the table. "Really, I meant to accept it."
The redhead looked up from her screen. "Come again?"
"Your friend request, on Facebook." Kara clarified, setting down her apple juice. "I swear I meant to accept it. It was a total accident. You can request me again if you want. I'll totally say yes this time."
Confused, Pam said: "I don't have a Facebook account."
"Oh," Kara adjusted herself uncomfortably in her chair. "But I could have sworn 'Pamela Isley' sent me a friend request."
"Then it was either a fake account or a fan page as the 'Pamela Isley' name is blatantly synonymous with Poison Ivy, and I wouldn't use it to conduct affairs outside this skin color or my immediate family." Ivy told her.
"Oh," Kara said again. "So then what are you frowning about?"
"The female orgasm," Ivy answered plainly.
Kara choked on her apple juice, her last drink having been poorly timed.
"Dr. Isley, would you kindly report to the conference room?" Martian Manhunter's voice rang out in her head.
"Goddamn it, Zatanna," she muttered, handing her phone to a vine reaching out of her leotard and pulling her feet back from the table. "Remind me to conduct my next warranted assault out of view of the security cameras."
"Wha—uh—OK," Kara sputtered, likely still recovering from hearing the word 'orgasm', which had apparently traumatized her.
Ivy exited the rec room, heading down the hall towards the conference room, which she found was full of some of her higher-ranking colleagues.
"Pamela," Wonder Woman welcomed her as the heavy door shut her inside. "Please, have a seat."
Ivy obliged, starring Zatanna down the entire time. The brunette swallowed, averting her eyes as Ivy bore holes into her with her gaze. "If this is about my conversation with Chris Angel's mistress in the hallway last week…"
"It's not," Black Canary assured her, though not too kindly.
Superman cleared his throat, clearly understanding the reference, but moving past it. "No, Ivy, we've decided you now qualify as a senior member. And we wanted you to sit in on this meeting with us because all senior members get a voice in recruitment."
Diana pressed a button that turned on the screen in the table in front of Ivy, everyone else with a seat at the table had one as well.
"Recruitment?" Ivy asked.
"Every year we have a meeting to weigh in on candidates for new membership into both our organization and our various other training and junior programs." Diana explained. "Some of us have chosen to champion a candidate, some have not, but all testimony given will be entered into the hero candidate's file and be factored into our individual assessments of him or her."
"So let's get started." Clark smiled. "Our first candidate for League Membership is Superboy." The displays all changed simultaneously, going from the generic Justice League logo to a picture of dark haired, blue-eyed boy with that signature Kryptonian boy scout smile. Next to the picture was a list of his physical characteristics, powers and abilities, estimated IQ, and a laundry list of his various qualifications and heroic acts. "Given name, Jon Lane Kent—he's my son," Clark said proudly, blushing slightly. "Half-Kryptonian, half-human, his powers are very similar to what you've seen from Kara, Connor and me. As a young boy he had issues with consistency and power fluctuations, but that hasn't been an issue in some time. He joined the Young Justice program at 16 and was—by all accounts—a valuable member of the team until he transitioned to the Titans."
"I can vouch for that," Dinah confirmed. "In his file is my letter of recommendation, if any of you are curious. He's deeply caring and wants to protect anything and everything, which has caused him a little trouble…but I think we can continue working on his decision making once he's here."
"Thank you," Wonder Woman said. "Does anyone else have an argument for or against they'd like to make?"
"Not an argument, just a question," Ivy spoke up. "It says here he's 24…wouldn't that be considered a man? Why are you still calling him Superboy? Is this a Neverland type situation?"
The woman who Ivy recognized as Raven snorted, and Diana let a barely noticeable smirk slip before she said: "if that's all, let's take it to a vote. Majority rules. For Mr. Kent's approval, raise your hand and say 'aye'."
Everyone raised their hand…Ivy being the last. "I'm sorry, shouldn't Supergirl be included in this meeting? I haven't been here much longer."
"She doesn't want to be," Clark told her. "Having to choose upsets her. She just wants everyone to be included."
"Ah," Ivy understood as a virtual "APPROVED" stamp was placed over Jon's face and a new file came on screen.
"Aquagirl," Aquaman took over. "Mareena Curry, my daughter, is seeking entrance to the Young Justice program."
The girl in the picture was only 10, according to her file, despite having white hair. "Isn't she a little young?" Ivy asked.
"She's mine and Mera's biologically, and we're having a hard time harnessing her abilities, to be totally honest." Arthur told them, sounding almost ashamed. "She has more potential than both of us, and she wants to do good, but keeping her down in Atlantis…she craves a look at the outside world. She's getting restless. Kaldur'ahm found the program very helpful, and I think Mareena might be more responsive to coaching from someone other than Mera or I."
Pam smiled at the picture now, deciding she reminded her of Jo at that age. 10 was such a wonderful age.
"Understood," Diana nodded. "Dinah? Your opinion obviously matters here. Anything to say for the record?"
"I'm up for the challenge," the blonde smiled.
"For Aquagirl's approval." Diana prompted.
There were a few holdouts this time, but Ivy raised her hand high. She liked Mera, and Arthur was more than adequate, as far as men went. She was sure their daughter would be successful if given the proper tools.
"APPROVED" was stamped atop the girl's face and her file was erased from the screen.
"Next…Batman." Clark said. "This is Bruce's biological son, Damian. Mother: Talia al Ghul. Damian has worked closely with my son before, so I can personally vouch that he's every bit as talented as his father."
"And every bit as stubborn," Arthur added.
"Right," Clark chuckled.
Pam forced her eyes to keep from rolling. Sure, Damian. What else do you want? You already haunt my holiday's and my phone calls with my daughter…why not fuck up my professional life as well?
"Bruce included a letter of recommendation, and despite his reputation, he served as a valuable member of the Titans all throughout his adolescence." Diana reminded them. "He's more than qualified for membership. That's my personal stance."
"If he can get his attitude under control," Arthur began.
"He's improving," Pam mumbled.
All eyes turned to her. "What?" the brunette Arrow guy with a stupid name that Ivy could never remember asked.
"Damian is improving," Ivy said, a bit louder. "I—," she cleared her throat. "As a hero…on a professional basis…I trust his skill. And although he's truly detestable, he does attempt to conduct himself—to some degree—in the image of his Father. Bruce wouldn't have turned over the mantle to him if he didn't believe Damian would act in the best interest of the human population of Gotham City."
There was a moment of silence as everyone thought on that before Clark spoke up. "For approval, raise a hand."
I hate myself, Pam thought over and over again as she slowly raised her hand.
"APPROVED".
Ivy's stomach turned in disgust before Damian's file gave way to the next.
"Hellbat," Arthur said before the digital file opened, evidently reading off a list Ivy hadn't been provided with.
"I'm sorry, who?" Ivy asked…before the file opened and answered her question. "Oh, God," she covered her face with sudden embarrassment.
"Given name: Jolene I. Quinzel," Diana read aloud. "Was recommended to the Young Justice program by Damian Wayne. She's served the Bat-family for four years now, in her file is another letter of recommendation from Bruce. In it he acknowledges past morality concerns, but says there's no reason to fear an alignment switch."
"No," Ivy said, crossing her arms. "First of all, 'Hellbat' is an extraordinarily stupid name, and secondly: No, absolutely not. She has far too much on her plate right now and she's easily overwhelmed. Her coping mechanisms are regularly reckless and immature…no. She's good where she is."
Brunette-Arrow scoffed. "You sound like her Mom."
"I'm sorry, what's your name again?" Pam asked.
"Roy—Arsenal."
"He yours?" she nodded at Canary.
"Oliver's protégé," the Canary explained.
"Well I preferred the blonde one," Ivy told her.
"He's retired."
"And why aren't you?" Ivy inquired. "What fountain of youth have you been sipping on?"
Dinah cleared her throat. "I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Oh, I see how it is," Ivy scoffed. "Next time you see Talia, tell her I said she could choke."
Diana lightly cleared her throat to interrupt them. "She is Jolene's Mother, Roy. And as such, her concerns are valid as well as biased. So, please, everyone take Pamela's assessment with a grain of salt."
"Wh—you all advocated for your children!" Ivy loudly reminded them. "I took your recommendations as the unimpeded truth, but suddenly because I wouldn't recommend my daughter be inducted you all choose not to listen?"
"Well I disagree with your assessment, Pamela. I don't think she is reckless," Diana told her. "She comes off as calculating to me, and to Bruce as well, according to his recommendation. And if anyone is going to make the 'but she's killed before' argument, I challenge you to find a hero among us who hasn't. You're certainly no exception, Pamela. Bruce came in here 40 years ago and vouched for you, told us not to define you by your past, but by your potential. And you panned out rather well, I'd say. I think we can all agree on that."
There was some unorganized head nodding around the table.
"I've watched her training tapes, I've seen her aptitude scores, I've read Bruce and Damian's assessments of her," Diana continued. "And like you, or like Aquagirl, given the right environment and coaching, she could be an asset to us for years to come. That's why I'm recommending she be assigned to the Titans. Damian and Jon moving on means there's room on the team, and Ms. Quinzel has the skills and experience to fill it."
"Everyone in favor, say 'aye'." Superman prompted.
/
Harleen started her 14th consecutive round of Candy Crush.
Pam was late. She'd said she'd be home by 8 and it was already 9 o'clock. So much for Scrabble night…
See, the worst part about being paralyzed, besides—you know—being paralyzed, was having to live according to other people's schedules.
Harley was tired. Dead tired. Why? She had no idea. Not like she'd fucking done anything that day. Just sat in her electric chair and wheeled herself around the house. Regardless, she'd have to wait until Pam got home to go to sleep. Her catheter needed to be emptied, she needed to be carried to bed, Pam needed to help her with those pointless atrophy exercises…but Pam wasn't here, and Harley wasn't about to send another text so that she could sound more needy.
Her ears pricked up at the sound of a knock at the door. One that began with confidence, but then quickly trailed off into reluctant.
Great, Harley thought, wheeling herself in the direction of the door. Maybe I'll be murdered by a nervous burglar. A fitting end.
But when she opened the door it was Jo standing on the porch, soaking wet—presumably from the rain that was beating down on the pavement. In her hands she was holding a bouquet of roses, a pizza and a DVD.
"Hi," Jo said, starring down at her feet until she gathered the courage to look Harley in the eye.
"It wasn't over for me!" Harley said. "I waited for you for 7 years!"
And immediately, all the worry melted off of Jo's face, replaced by a wide grin. "I wrote you 365 letters."
"Not on paper, I hope. Your Mom would throw a fit." Harley smirked.
"No, no. Email. Don't worry." Jo assured her.
"What's with the dismembered corpses?" Harley asked, nodding at the flowers, her heart beating fast in her chest in an unexpected reaction to seeing her daughter. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed her this past week.
"Oh, Umm, Damian didn't get me anything for Valentine's Day, and Selina found out and got these for me then said they were from Damian," Jo explained. "And they're still alive, so maybe I've got plant powers after all."
Harley bit her lip to keep from laughing. "You re-gifted me your Valentine's roses."
"It wasn't over. It still isn't over!" Jo said with a dramatized sincerity. "No, it's just—you've got roses on your engagement ring, so I figured you liked em."
"Right," Harley smiled, trying to hide the PLEASE STAY that was probably hiding in her eyes. "Do you want to—umm—come in?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Jo smiled nervously, moving forward as Harley backed up into the house.
"You brought pizza?" Harley asked, wheeling into the kitchen, hearing Jo follow behind her—but not too closely.
"I—yeah. Canadian bacon pineapple. Best of both worlds." Jo set the pizza down on the counter as Harley turned her chair to face her. "Mom's not here?"
"She's working."
"Ah, good—I mean—cool, that's, umm…" Jo was obviously struggling here. "I don't mean it's good she's not here, I just mean—I came to talk to you, so…I'm glad you're—yeah."
"Good sentencing." Harley chuckled. "I can see you're putting every point of that genius IQ to good use."
"Yeah, you bet," Jo laughed nervously. "Uh—look, Ma…I love you."
Harley nodded slowly. "But you're so tired of disappointing me?" Jo's face went white, her smile falling immediately, and Harley panicked. "Oh, no, Honey, I was quoting The Vow. I thought we were doing a Rachel McAdams thing."
"Fuck," Jo exhaled, visible relief washing over her. "Thank God. No, I—remember when I was little? And I'd squeeze too hard when I hugged you or—like—overwhelmed you with kisses? That's how much I still love you. I love you lots and I just…I don't ever want anything bad to happen to you because I'm so happy you're my Mama, you know? And I—I freaked out, and I'm so sorry. I was just scared and I didn't know what to do with it and then I was angry—not at you, just like…I sorta wished I was raised with a religion for a second so that I could have a God to be mad at besides Wonder Woman's Dad or whatever."
Jo ran a hand through her hair to soothe herself and it suddenly hit Harley how similar to Pam Jo could be. And not just in terms of physical resemblance, which was making more and more sense with each passing year, but also their energy. How nervous Jo got, how stressed and overwhelmed. How she overreacted or underreacted to things…and how quickly she too could cross over into Ivy territory.
"—you know?" evidently Jo had continued talking and Harley had completely tuned it out. Oops.
So she just nodded silently. Can't go wrong, right?
…which, according to the smile that spread over Jo's face in reaction, seemed to be the right answer.
"And I try my best not to listen to anything he says because he's the worst and sucks at life," Jo continued (?), opening the pizza box and then the cupboard to get them both plates. "But he does occasionally say stuff that doesn't make me want to punch him, which is nice, and this happened to be one of those times. I was just scared you'd be different and I was scared I'd have to be strong, and sometimes…I mean, I try, but—it's been so weird being with him—,"
—wait, who? Damn it, I knew I should have listened.
"—and just…it makes me realize how special you guys are. Like, did you know that he'd never heard 'I love you' before I said it to him? Literally no one had ever told him they loved him. Not Bruce, not Selina, definitely not Talia—,"
Oh, Damian. She's talking about Damian. Wait—she said what?
"And it made me so sad, but then when I told him it was like—I don't know—like a piece was falling into place. Something he'd been missing before, something I'd always had. So yeah, I brought you roses because love is…love is good! It's great and it's important and I used to think it was overrated…but then I gave it to someone who hadn't had it before and it's…it's just good. So I love you and I love him and I just—umm...I see how much Mom loves you and that's—it's wonderful, I think."
Whaaat is going on right now? Harley was moving into alarm as the observed the bright pink in her daughter's cheeks.
"And—fuck—it must be—Christ—it must be so fucking scary not being to walk." Jo was—wow—still talking. "But Mom…Mom loves being able to love you, ya know? Like…I see her, still! Now! After all this bullshit and me and Anthony, she still lights up every time she sees you. You two are a team. For my whole life I've seen you guys work through everything as a team, and I think—that's the only way to handle something like this. So, I think…yeah, you're scared…but deep down I think maybe you know you don't have to be because you still have Mom and she's never leaving and she still loves you and to her you'll always be the woman who helped her get out of Arkham or rolled down the aisle or—whatever! It's just…you're you and that's what she loves. You." Jo happily took a bite of pizza, leaving Harley at a loss for words.
I mean…I guess she's right? Somewhere in that word salad she made some sense? But hold up—I wasn't even down with her sleeping with Damian, loving him is a whole new sandpit of shit.
"Whhhat's the movie?" was all that Harley could come up with.
"Oh," Jo swallowed. "Well I'm not totally sure about it, OK? If it makes things worse or upsets you I can just trash it."
"What is it?" Harley's curiosity was piqued and she tried to sit up straighter in her chair to see the cover.
"Well…" Jo cleared her throat. "It's you. Every one of your gymnastics meets that was ever recorded and every news clip that ever showed you as Batgirl or Batwoman. People say all the time how they wish they could go to their own funeral…"
"So this is a funeral for my legs." Harley realized.
"It's dumb." Jo said quickly. "I'm sorry. It seemed like a better idea in my head. Carrie got all the clips together and even she said it was a stupid idea. I'm sorry. It's offensive, isn't it?"
Harley wasn't quite sure, honestly. Just reliving everything she'd never be able to do again? Not that she was still jumping off of buildings or doing backflips when the spell wore off… "OK." She said, her voice quieter than she'd expected. "Let's watch it."
"Yeah?" Jo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised (and excited). "Cool. Do you…want some pizza first?"
"I think we can multitask." Harley smiled.
"Right duh," Jo grinned as she piled their plates full of pizza. "After you."
Harley led the way to the living room, so happy to not be alone, coming to a stop in front of the couch as Jo set the plates down on the coffee table.
"Is that—umm—do you have to stay in your chair?" Jo asked. "Do you want to?"
"Uh—no but you'd, umm…" Harley scrambled just as awkwardly as Jo had in the kitchen. "You have to move the bag too, and—uh—me."
Jo nodded in understanding, putting the DVD into the player before crossing back over to the chair, looking calmer than she did before. Silently, she leaned over, slipping her right arm beneath Harley's knees and her left across her upper back. "I think maybe you should grab on?" she murmured.
Instantly, Harley flashed on Jo gnawing on the slats of her crib. On attempting to feed her cheerios and watching Pam bounce her happily on her hip. On watching Jo take her first stumbling steps and do her first handstand…to kissing her cheek before her flag football games and watching her tear off across the marble floor into Pam's waiting arms, nearly toppling them both over…this was Harley's baby. Harley's little girl…but now it was Harley being carried and set gently down on the couch, just like she'd sat Jo down on the couch a million times, trying to convince her to sit still so they could enjoy a movie.
Jo set the bag from the back of her wheelchair beside them, minding the hose and grabbing for their pizza and the remote before sitting back and snuggling in next to Harley, helping to keep her upright by offering her shoulder.
/
Pam knew she was late, and she absolutely hated it.
But fuck them, approving my daughter without my consent.
The guilt was heavy in her gut, pulling at her with each heavy step up the driveway and onto the porch.
Unlocking the door, the first thing out of her mouth was: "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry, honestly. I tried to get home sooner, I really did.
Silence.
"Harls?" I hope she didn't try to get in bed herself…
But her relief spread quickly as she stepped into the living room to find Harley asleep on the couch…Harley asleep on the couch with Jo.
The two were snoring peacefully, Harley's head resting on Jo's shoulder and Jo using Harley's head as a pillow in return.
Blinking at the strangely tranquil scene laid out in front of her, Pam turned to see the TV was playing what looked like old home video. Of Harley, she realized.
She looked around 15 in the video, wearing a shiny red leotard, the bangs spilling out onto her forehead extremely appropriate for the year denoted in the corner of the screen: 1986.
'86, so this was the year that…but she was so young, and her smile was so innocent…who would hurt that child? Why?
Pam had to turn it off, her stomach ache too severe at the thought of her wife being preyed upon at such a young age. Just like Jo…well…different, but they did have a similar essence. The girl on that tape and the one sleeping on the couch.
Why was Jo here?
That was the question Pam knew she should ask…but looking at the girl's expression now…the only one she wanted to ask was why did she ever leave?
Pam hated to disturb them, but it was late and Harley's catheter needed emptying and changing, her muscles needed moving…there was a routine in place that couldn't be deviated from. So, as quietly and as steadily as she could manage, Pam moved Harley away from Jo, picking her up, along with the bag, and heading for the stairs.
Jo didn't seem to mind, laying down in the spot Harley had just vacated…or at least Pam thought she didn't mind, until Jo spoke, her words slow as she'd just woken up. "You need help?"
And the guilt in Pam's stomach was suddenly overtaken with something warmer, something kinder…something like gratefulness. "No. You just sleep; I'll see you in the morning."
"K," Jo mumbled, surrendering herself to sleep once more.