"It's an abuse of power, is what it is." Jo complained. "The fact that I'm 25 and have to drag myself to my parent's house to ask permission like I'm still 10 years old…Anthony didn't have to do that. Fuck—Anthony didn't even know!"

"Mhm," Damian distractedly acknowledged, his eyes on the road and his hands tight on the wheel.

"It's just—it's bullshit. It's a double-standard. And I'm sick of it."

"Mhm," Damian said again.

Jo narrowed her eyes, starring him down from the passenger seat. "Are you even listening?"

"Mhm."

Jo crossed her arms, sitting back against the seat with a huff. "You're not even listening."

"It's—uh—double standard and your Mom's a bitch and you're an adult," Damian lazily recited, clearly not completely 'with it'.

"What's your problem?" Jo wanted to know. "The space cadet thing is only cute when you end up handing me your credit card."

Damian snorted. "What do you think is my problem? It's not every day I have to jack-off in a cup and hand it to my Mother-in-law."

"I'll have you know that some people would be honored to jack-off in a cup and hand it to Poison Ivy," Jo informed him. "So count your blessings."

"Well, some people aren't married to her daughter." Damian pointed out, making the final turn towards his in-laws'.

"You'd be surprised how little that matters to some people," Jo mumbled, looking out the window.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh my God," Jo turned to him, laughing. "Did I never tell you that Jason had a pin-up of my Mom in his bedroom?"

"What?!"

"Yeah," Jo sat forward as they pulled into the driveway. "I mean…I made him take it down when we were—ya know…but yeah, my point is—don't assume the two are mutually exclusive. Being into me or my Mom, I mean."

"Jo," Damian shut off the car before turning to her, looking serious. "You willingly had sex—for three-fucking-years—with a guy you knew was probably picturing your Mom? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Shit," Jo exhaled. "I don't know, Man. It was—uh—not exactly a period of my life that I'm proud of. But it got me here, so…" she leaned over to kiss him. "It is what it is." Opening the door, she wrinkled her nose. "Eww, that almost made it sound like I had feelings or something. Or that I loved you or whatever."

"Consider me repulsed," Damian stated, climbing out of the driver's seat and heading towards the side gate. He was about 10 feet away from his destination when he heard Jo start at a run behind him, and in a moment she'd jumped onto his back. "Wh—Jo, why? Just—why?"

"Just keeping you on your toes, Batman," Jo giggled into his ear. "You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting."

"Well what's my alternative? Body-slam you onto the pavement?" Damian asked, continuing towards the gate. "That's called 'domestic abuse' and your Mother would disembowel me."

"Good call," Jo laughed, securing her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he opened the gate. "You're right, she'd totally Hannibal your ass."

Duke was in the backyard holding a staff in front of Harley, who sat on the small stone path that had recently been added to the lawn so that she could venture off of the porch in her chair. "And…strike!" she instructed, and Duke listened, whipping the staff around in the air and coming down hard on an attack dummy that had clearly been lifted from the Batcave.

He grinned after his follow through, retracting the staff and smiling up at Harley. "How was that?"

"So good!" she applauded. "Can always be faster, though. Always, always, always."

"I'm faster with the nunchucks," Duke pouted, looking down disappointedly at his staff.

"Yeah, but we gotta be well rounded, D. Thems the rules," Harley winked. "Plus, you hit yourself in the head last time and your Mama got angry with Nana, so we gotta lay off the nunchucks for a bit, alright?"

"OK," Duke was answering when he noticed Damian carrying Jo through the gate. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Aunt Jo, can you not walk anymore like Nana?"

"Nope!" Jo smiled. "Just wanted a piggy-back."

"And she's lazy," Damian added.

"And I'm lazy," Jo agreed. "Such a lazy superhero and gymnast that is still regarded as one of the best to ever compete despite never going to the Olympics or winning a world title and having retired 10 years ago. Lazy, lazy, lazy." She hopped down off his back. "Hey, Ma. Lookin' good," she chuckled, referring to the sweatshirt that said "Great Moms Get Promoted To Grandma" in big letters across the front.

Harley grinned. "Anthony got it for me."

"And my descent down the 'favorite kid leaderboard' continues," Jo exhaled.

"Well, that depends," Harley began, sagely. "Damian, will you be allowing your children to come over to Nana's house and play with nunchucks?"

"Of course," Damian assured her. "Nunchuck training is a vital aspect of the Bat-family curriculum."

That was clearly the answer Harley wanted to hear because she smiled, almost bushing. "At the very least, Jo, Damian has jumped in front of Karen, which raises your combined score."

"Oh, great," Jo nodded. "Glad you put so much thought into this. Where's Mom?"

Harley snapped her fingers. "I'll give you a prize if you can guess."

"The greenhouse," Jo said. "What's my prize?"

"The word 'duh' because duh," Harley chuckled at her own joke. "Now off you go. If you want Duke in that Robin suit in the next four years you're gonna have to stop interrupting our training sessions. Can't get any work done in these conditions."

Jo rolled her eyes and grabbed Damian by the hand, pulling him towards the greenhouse. And with each step she could feel him resisting more. "Dude, suck it up. Your thing is fun. My thing fucking hurts. Plus, you didn't have to do the shots or anything, so seriously, stop your bitching."

"I'm not bitching," Damian grumbled behind her as Jo unlatched the door and stepped into the greenhouse's noticeably warmer climate.

"Good afternoon, Jolene," Pam greeted from where she sat behind her work bench, her focus aimed firmly at whatever medieval torture device she was holding in her hand.

Jo turned to Damian. "Are they being weird? They're being weird, right? Mom, why are you being all cordial and why did Ma barely give me the time of day out there?"

"I…am…finishing…this up," Pam murmured, keeping her bottom lip firmly between her teeth before letting out a contented sigh and placing the instrument on her workbench. "And as for your Mother—she's nervous and has reminded me about 17 times in the last three hours that I'm not a Medical Doctor. So there you go."

"Great, fine, thanks—that thing's not going inside me, is it?" Jo asked, immediately rerouting the conversation and pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at whatever the hell Ivy had been working on. "I mean, I—look, guys, I can put up with a lot of shit and my pain threshold is pretty damn impressive, but I think the fuck not."

Pam seemed confused on her meaning for a moment. "Oh, you mean…? No, this won't—not vaginally," she laughed. "Goodness, that would be…borderline acrobatic."

"Wait, that?" Damian was now the one confused. "I thought women—,"

"—only the ones who get paid to say they do." Pam cut him off. "What—,"

"—8," Jo answered the question Pam hadn't yet asked.

"Hm."

"Hey, wait a minute," Damian said, sounding suspicious and then offended. "Now you wait just a minute…"

Jo pat him on the back sympathetically. "Life comes at you fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. And the it in this context is the boat that topic just sailed away on."

"Damian," Pam tossed a cup at him to get his attention, the plastic bouncing off his chest before he fumbled to catch it. "You know what's required of you. I sincerely hope I don't have to walk you through the specifics of the task…"

"No, I—yeah, I got it," he said, his face reddening.

"Great," Pam smiled. "The second upstairs bathroom is open to you, as is Jo's bedroom. I'm afraid I can't provide you with any visual aids…" she sounded only slightly apologetic. "So you'll just have to use your imagination."

"That's…fine," Damian decided before raising an eyebrow at Jo. "You good? You don't—uh—need me here, or anything?"

"To watch my Mom reach into my uterus?" Jo wondered, plopping down on the table Ivy usually used for specimen examination. "Nah, I think I'm good. Have fun!"

"Yeah," Damian mumbled, taking one last look at Jo before ducking back out of the greenhouse, cup in hand.

Pam waited until the door closed behind him to clear her throat and lean against her work bench, her eyes scanning her daughter critically. "Are you eating enough?"

Jo laughed, that was such a Mom thing to ask. "Are you kidding? Of course I'm eating enough. My husband's a billionaire and I've got Supergirl's fucking metabolism. I have to reserve one of my suit's compartments just for snacks."

"Right," Pam acknowledged. "Which is why it's easy for you to become malnourished."

"Billionaire, Mom," Jo reiterated. "Billionaire with a 'b'. I'm not going hungry."

Pam sighed. "I never assumed it was thanks to lack of funds. You can sometimes get complacent, is all, and I know you're busy."

Jo spread her arms wide. "Do I look malnourished to you?" when Pam didn't respond, Jo exhaled, dropping her arms back down to her sides. "Turns out I'm sorta OK at being an adult. I feed myself, I sleep when I can, I always show up to work on time…umm…what else," she chewed on her lip, thinking a moment. "I would consider myself happy, at work and at home. But—see, Damian and I are both—for all intents and purposes—human, and that means all this shit could get taken away from us pretty quick, so we decided it would really suck if something happened to one or both of us and we hadn't…you know…done this yet. So there's the answer to the question you're not asking, but you really are asking. We're here because we're here. It's what we're doing."

It was a moment before Pam reacted at all, but when she did, it was a simple nod. "Fine." She decided, reaching behind her to pull on a lab coat. "This is an externalized ultrasound machine, curtesy of Wayne Tech," she placed a hand on the instrument Jo was happy was not being shoved inside her body. "Typically, with a procedure like this, the physician would vaginally insert an ultrasound probe to guide the extraction needle, but instead, we'll be giving this a try. This is just a prototype, but the idea is that it should provide me the same visibility without penetration."

Jo detected some excitement in her voice. "You're pumped you get to use a new toy, aren't you?"

"I am," Pam smiled. "Now the needle, on the other hand, is both necessary and painful, so after you change into this…" she grabbed the folded hospital gown from her desk, "I'll get you some pain medication."

Jo bobbed her head, looking around the greenhouse. "Shouldn't we be in like a sterilized room or something?"

"To you and I, this environment is sterile," Pam explained. "I'll attempt to extract three eggs from your uterus, then I'll fertilize them with the sample Damian provides me. After that, they'll be housed in my incubation tank here, and if any of them take, then I'll eventually transfer them to the larger tanks at Wayne Manor. Your body is, of course, not conducive to housing a fetus, so external maturation is our only option."

Jo furrowed her brow. "Why three?"

"Because the estimated likelihood of success is between 8 and 12%," Pam told her. "It's a fickle thing, your physiology. But I will do my best. That, I can promise you."

Deep breaths. "OK," Jo offered a small smile…that she knew likely wasn't convincing anyone.

Pam smiled back, a reverence in her expression that reminded Jo of…of that time Pam came to her flag football game—the only one she ever went to—and she leaned forward and gently kissed her on the cheek and told her to have a good game. It was odd, how Pam could make anything sound important. That was one of her more underappreciated superpowers, but Jo remembered how her heart had swelled at hearing that, how she'd repeated it over and over in her head: 'Mom wants me to have a good game, Mom wants me to have a good game'. Jo had wanted to have a good game too…and she did. And she got to have that good game in front of her Mom and Pam was happy and Pam smiled and Pam was proud.

Jo's hand clenched around Pam's now, and just like on that day, her Mom leaned forward and gave her a kiss—this one on the forehead. "OK," she whispered against her skin.

And it was OK, Jo decided. It would be OK.

/

"Alright, I can't—just wait, just wait."

"No!" Harley shouted. "No, no, no!"

"Just pause the goddamn—ugh," Pam took matters into her own hands, getting up to snatch the remote away from her wife. "I have questions!"

"No, you have complaints," Harley pointedly corrected, scowling at her. "It's sci-fi, Pamela. Quit trying to apply it to the real world."

"Harleen, I am the plant-human hybrid result of a mad scientist's experiment. I AM sci-fi," she forcefully reminded her. "All I'm asking for is a bit of consistency! And to know why the FBI doesn't have actual pathologists employed. Why is Scully doing all the autopsies?! That's not her job!"

Harley raised an eyebrow. "You done?"

"No, I'm not done!" Pam caviled. "How is she still a skeptic? I'm asking honestly, like—look, I was a scientist too, one who had every textbook on my subject memorized, one that always stuck to strict experimental procedure, but at the point that I was abducted, strapped to a table and turned into something other, I fucking realized that maybe everything isn't so black and white. DOES SHE NOT REMEMBER BEING ABDUCTED? Because I sure as hell remember her being abducted. The fact that you made me sit through those solo Mulder episodes, was…I know torture, Harleen. And that, was torture."

"OK, it was literally like two episodes, so calm yourself," Harley snapped. "And no, she can't remember being abducted, they wiped her memory or whatever. And she's a woman of science! Let her have her doubts, she always comes around in the end."

"And that's the problem!" Pam argued. "She gets proven wrong and shown things that she didn't think were possible every goddamn episode. Where's the character development?! And is she—," her demeanor changed to genuinely inquisitive. "Is she a lesbian? Because it seems like they're pushing the will they, won't they thing pretty hard, and yet...blazers. Harley, she has so many blazers. And I don't remember 90s fashion well enough to gauge whether or not that was normal."

"I mean…" Harley frowned, thinking that over. "I started working at Arkham in '97…I don't think I had any blazers, really, and I still ended up married to a woman."

"Yes, well, if Scully was wearing neckties every day, I wouldn't need to be asking this question," Pam laughed, sitting back down on the couch.

"Wait, what do you…what do you mean?" Harley asked, sounding almost fragile as she turned her chair to face her fully. "You—I thought you liked my neckties."

"Oh, I did," Pam confirmed. "…because I'm a woman who likes women. Liked your vests too," she laughed.

"But they…they fit me well…" Harley muttered, her mind reeling. "When did you know?"

"Well," Pam sat forward with a smile. "There had only been one other doctor who'd worked at Arkham with Joan before you, so when Joan told me I was getting a new doctor and it was a woman I was excited because my game was much too easy to play with men, and honestly the whole 'I seduce them, they let me out, I kill them' thing was growing tiresome."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Why'd ya have to kill them, again?"

"Because Arkham guards are famously brutish and sexist and would regularly make comments about what they'd like to 'do to me' as they walked past my cell…so instead, I'd do what I wanted to them," Pam smiled contentedly. "In any case, attempting to seduce women was a far more enjoyable challenge seeing as how my pheromones are ineffective on the fairer sex."

Harley was growing impatient. "Will you get on with it?"

"I was all set for a challenge…and then I saw you walking down the hallway in that tie and I thought…"

"What?!" Harley demanded. "What did you think?"

"I thought 'damn it, too easy'," Pam laughed, ducking backwards to avoid the action figure Harley was volleying at her.

"You're such a bitch!" Harley exclaimed, hitting her in the side with another one as she laid there laughing on the couch (Anthony had brought over an entire case of them because they'd finally made an action figure with Kara wearing the costume he'd designed). "You're a predator, is what you are. You preyed on me."

"Yes," Pam acknowledged, trying to contain her laughter to just a smile. "It was my evil lesbian gaydar that convinced you to come onto me, and then sleep with me, and then marry me, and then have children with me."

"Nah, your gravity-defying tits did all that," Harley grumbled (though her resolve was breaking), throwing the last action figure she could reach.

"Understandable," Pam granted. "Regardless, we've come no closer to understanding Scully's sexuality, and I maintain that this show has enough plot holes to strain pasta," she stopped, furrowing her brow as she read the alert on her cellphone that had just buzzed beside her. "Huh…"

"What?"

"Well, today's the day we learn if any of Jo's embryos are viable…"

"Yeah…" Harley prompted. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'm…not sure," Pam admitted, getting up. "You can press play, if you want. It's obvious the townspeople are cannibals."

"Ugh, leave!" Harley waved her out the door. "You're ruining it for me."

"You've already seen it!" Pam shouted over her shoulder before exiting the house and crossing the backyard to the greenhouse.

She unlatched the door quickly, closing it firmly behind her before approaching the monitor attached to the incubation tank.

Pam was sure the readout she'd received was in error, there was just no way that… "Fuck."

/

"—I was successful because the opportunities were provided for me. Because I had the means and motivation to reach my goals," Jo was wrapping her speech up. "But there are too many children out there with every ounce the motivation that I had, but no way to get there. No path to success. The Wayne Foundation wants to open those paths. And that starts with this community center." She smiled as the crowd applauded. "Growing up, my husband and I were opportunity takers—accepting what was given to us and working hard to prove we deserved it. Now we're ready to be opportunity makers, and this one is for you all. So without further ado—the man, the myth, the legend. The mastermind behind this project—my husband, Damian Wayne."

She clapped for him, stepping away from the microphone so that he could take her place. When he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek she whispered: "Don't you dare say anything gross."

…So of course he began his speech with: "I may be the mastermind, but believe me when I say my wife is the heart and soul."

Asshole, Jo thought before her phone vibrated in her pocket and she turned away to check it.

Mom: Please come by the house at your earliest convenience.

"Why does she have to be so cryptic?" Damian asked as they left the event.

Jo sighed, staring blankly at the back of their driver's head. "If it's a yes, it means we're going to be parents and that's probably something she wants to tell us in person because she's my Mother. If it's a no, I'm guessing she'll want to come up with a contingency plan as to how we'll go about it differently next time—how we can tweak the process to make it more successful." She glanced sideways at him before changing the subject. "You think they'll ever promote me? Or will I be commuting to San Francisco for the rest of my life."

"I don't know," Damian admitted, absently tapping his fingers on the seat between them. "Ivy's a better person to ask, I'm not even in those meetings."

"I asked what you thought, not what you know."

"When a spot opens up and they feel like you've earned it, then yes, I'm sure they'll promote you," Damian assured her.

"Fine," Jo mumbled in response, looking out the window at the passing cars until she recognized her parent's street.

Damian helped her out of the car and told the driver to wait and that they'd "be back shortly". They then headed straight for the greenhouse.

It was evening, the wind was picking up and Jo's jacket was meant more for fashion than function, making the trip up the driveway and across the backyard more unpleasant than usual.

When they did get inside, though, Jo was relieved to find Pam had maintained the steady humid climate—not that she'd ever let it drop below 'tropical' in there, but it was exactly what they needed.

Pam was sitting behind her desk, her hands clasped in front of her when they entered. "Evening," she said, trying a smile that looked a bit unnatural.

Jo could tell by her body language something was weird. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"That…depends on your definition of 'bad'," Pam told her. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to the two chairs she'd placed in front of her desk, and Jo had to chuckle at her Mother's attempts to make this appear official.

Damian obliged, taking a seat, and Pam waited for Jo to do the same before beginning.

"So…the procedure was successful," Pam told them. "So very, very successful."

Jo was excited at first, sitting up straighter at the news, a smile stretching her lips…but as her Mother's expression remained…weird, she slowly deflated once more, watching Pam critically. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Pam cleared her throat. "I mean that—at this stage—it appears as if…all three embryos are viable."

Damian's jaw went slack, but Jo just nodded. "Cool, cool, cool," she said. "Got'cha. Very cool. Say, Mom, you wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?"

Pam, clearly surprised by her daughter's seemingly positive reaction, said: "Of course!" and reached into her desk to hand Jo a mug that appeared to have been painted by a child. "That's filtered," she pointed to the sink to her left and Jo smiled cordially, taking her mug to fill it up.

"She made that for me, you know," Pam was proudly telling Damian. "Can you believe her hand was ever small enough to make that little print?"

Damian came to as Jo began to drink. "No, Jo—don't…don't do the thing."

…and in the next moment Jo was spewing out her entire mouthful of water. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN ALL THREE?!"

Pam jumped, but recovered quickly, trying to appear unshaken. "In more common terms...triplets."

Jo launched her cup at the wall, shattering it into a million tiny fragments.

"Jolene!" Pam stood up. "I liked that mug! If you needed something to angrily throw—," she yanked one of her drawers completely off its track, dropping it atop the desk. "Here."

Jo and Damian peered inside to find it was full of…Rubik's Cubes. Just…chalk full of em.

"Mom," Jo cautiously began, abandoning what was now clearly the less important discussion. "Do you buy Rubik's Cubes in bulk just to throw them?"

"Well, yes," Pam said like it was obvious. "I'm convinced that's what they were manufactured for anyway. That and tricking children into playing and losing an unwinnable game."

"Unwinnable?" Damian asked her to clarify.

"Yes, I've been drafting a letter to the manufacturer," Pam assured them. "It's cruel, selling a puzzle to children that is impossible to solve."

"Jiminy Christmas," Jo muttered, snatching one of the cubes and plopping back down in her chair.

Pam watched, rapt, for the entire 3 minutes and 48 seconds it took Jo to solve it.

"Honestly," she slammed it down on the desk in front of the redhead once she'd finished. "You're overthinking it. It's about colors and patterns, it's not genetic engineering. And the fact that Poison Ivy's nemesis is a puzzle from the 80s is just—look, I can't do triplets, alright?"

Pam was staring, shell-shocked, at the object in front of her. Her green eyes wide, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.

"I think you broke her," Damian remarked to Jo, and when Pam still didn't say anything, he decided they needed to move on with or without her. "Obviously we'll have to terminate at least one of them. Two, preferably."

"But what if we end up aborting Amelia Earhart and keeping Hitler?" Jo was beginning to panic.

"Two girls and a boy," Pam mumbled, still in her state of severe depression.

"Then we'll keep one of the girls and the boy," Damian amended. "Fair?"

"Fa—no!" Jo shot back. "No, what if we abort Amelia Earhart and keep Aileen Wuornos?!"

"Then she'll still be Charlize Theron somewhere under there," was Damian's rebuttal.

"That's—ah, touché," Jo stopped to laugh. "No, hey, wait a minute, this isn't funny.

Pam seemed to have collected her wits, or was close to it at least because she sounded more present when she said: "You have time to make the decision. And—realistically—they might not all survive to term anyway. I just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page…the page that, as it stands, says you can expect three children."

"Two girls and a boy," Jo repeated.

"Two girls and a boy," Pam confirmed.