Pam exhaled with discernable annoyance, rolling over to grab some reading material off the nightstand.

Harley thought she'd try to prop herself up on her elbow, before she decided it wasn't worth it, as Pam had already snuggly tucked her in and her pillow was fluffed just right. "What'cha reading?" she asked.

"Botanical Journal of the Linnean Society," Pam distractedly recited, flipping the page.

"Umm…why?"

"Because it's interesting," was Pam's curt response.

"Oh," Harley nodded subtly. "How about you read it out loud then? If it's interesting…"

"You won't find it interesting."

"Try me," Harley steeled her resolve, looking over at Pam with determination. Right here, right now, I will take interest in her interests.

Pam sighed again before lightly clearing her throat and starting mid passage: "The origin of flowers, for instance, ostensibly requires the concerted function of various MADS box transcription factor complexes, and the evolution of such transcription factors has been attributed to ancient (i.e. as a result of palaeopolyploidy) and recent gene-specific duplications, with subsequent subfunctionalization of paralogous gene copies."

"Oh my God," Harley snatched the journal away from her, throwing it off the bed and towards the door. "That was awful. I just aged another 10 years listening to that. Please don't ever read out loud again."

Pam rolled her eyes. "You know, I really hate it when you do that, Harleen. I really fucking hate it."

"Pamela, language!" Harley scolded. "Be honest: how many times have you read that article? Because I happen to know that journal's three months old."

Pam just shook her head, staring up at the ceiling. "She's not sleeping, Harley."

The blonde narrowed her eyes. "Are we…referring to ourselves in the third person now? Because…I'd really rather we didn't."

"They just cry all night long," Pam murmured, rolling onto her side away, from Harley. "There's too many of them. She's outnumbered. She wasn't ready."

"Oh, you're talking about Jo," Harley realized. "Hey, wait, are you spying on Jo?" she reached over to wave a hand in front of Pam's face. "Are you even here right now?"

The redhead pushed her hand away. "If she didn't want me to spy, she shouldn't have left the plant in their room."

"Pamela, that's ridiculous," Harley informed her—sincerely wishing she could sit up so her talking to came off sterner. "She has autonomy. She's a grown woman. Leave her alone."

"She's suffering, Harleen," Pam mumbled, delivering her words to the wall. "She's alone, and she's suffering, and you'll never understand to what degree."

"OK," Harley was preemptively defensive. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Anthony was easy and you weren't there for Jo," Pam told her, plainly, like it was a fact rather than an argument.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" OK, now Harley had to sit up. Pam turned at her exasperated grunting, automatically putting her hand behind her back to help her. "No, I don't think so," Harley slapped it away. "Say that shit to my face, Pamela."

"Anthony was an easy baby," Pam repeated, slower. "And you weren't there for Jo."

"I wasn't there for Jo?" Harley's anger was mounting quickly. "Is that seriously how you remember it? I quit my fucking job for you. For us. I gave up my fucking career at 38 years old. You remember that little tid-bit, right? Or is your memory seriously that selective."

"No," Pam shook her head, considerably calmer than Harley at this point. "I remember that. I also remember you leaving me with the children every night to work for Bruce."

"Wh—," the balls on this woman. "I was doing my duty. Following through on my promises. Some feminist you are, guilt-tripping me for wanting to keep working. How dare you, actually. Especially since you were gone all fucking day! That was the point of our trade! Sorry that Jo was more of a bitch at night. That's not my fault."

"Did I ever, for a second, claim that it was?" Pam wanted to know, heating up a bit. "What time is it, Harleen?" she pointed at the clock. "It's midnight. You would have been gone by now. Just like Damian is gone. That's the parallel I'm referencing. Though you are awfully defensive."

"I'm defensive because you're attacking me!"

"That's false. Absolutely. Categorically false," Pam pushed the blankets away to get out of bed. "I would never demonize you for working. Never. And the insinuation that I would is disgusting, frankly. Also," she was standing now. "Don't call me a bad feminist just because you're angry. There is nothing more important or integral to my identity than that ideology."

There were few things Harley disliked about her wife more than the woman's ability to say inflammatory statements with absolute emotional detachment…and then somehow turn it back around on Harley. "Where are you going?"

"To call Selina," Pam said, pulling on a bathrobe. "Cass, Carrie and Karen all agreed to cover for them so that both Damian and Jo could take parental leave. There's absolutely no reason for Damian not to be helping her right now—aside from cowardice, of course."

"Pam, stop. Jo's gotta learn how to take care of it on her own. You constantly intervening when she's struggling isn't helping anyone." Harley told her, her delivery matter-of-fact and more stable than the anger she displayed earlier.

Pam did stop…but it clearly wasn't for the reason Harley wanted. "Oh, I'm sorry, Harleen, are we in need of a refresher about the last time you encouraged me to let our daughter 'make her own mistakes'?"

"If you ever rebrand yourself, I suggest 'Condescension-Girl'."

"I had to go to her apartment and dispose of her boyfriend's remains," Pam reminded her. "The one whose head she smashed in with a crowbar."

"You know, I don't remember you spying on Anthony like this," Harley remarked.

"Because I trust Anthony," Pam told her. "He's given me every reason to—for his entire existence. What incentive has Jolene ever provided us?"

"Maybe it's time to give her the benefit of the doubt," Harley suggested. "She loves those kids. Can't see her smashing their heads in with a crowbar. She's grown up a lot, Pam. And we gave her every tool she could ever want. All she needs to do is pick up the phone. Jo knows that. And speaking of that body—by the way—she didn't try to dispose of it herself. She called you. She comes home when she needs to and she's willing to admit when she's made a mistake. She's better at that than both of us. Don't call Selina, Babe," Harley softened. "Jo will land on her feet. It's what she's best at."

/

"Morning," Selina greeted over her coffee mug, her eyes glued to the news.

Jo didn't respond, just headed straight for the coffee pot.

"Amatuers," Selina muttered at the story about the attempted jewel heist downtown. "Never get old, Jolene," she sighed. "It'll take all the fun out of life. Stop you from doing things you love."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jo mumbled, setting her coffee mug harshly down on the table, spilling at least a quarter of it. "Fuckin', b—," she snatched the kitchen towel from in front of Selina and sopped up the mess before tossing it aside and then full on slamming her head down on the table.

"Oh my God!" Selina jumped in surprise. "Jo, are you OK?"

The younger woman raised her head once more, wearing an oddly placid smile. "Super duper, Trooper!"

"You look terrible," Selina realized.

"Ha, that's so funny. I feel like terrible too, hm…" she looked wistfully out the window. "Crazy how that works."

Selina was studying her closer now, moving from intrigued to concerned. "You've lost weight."

"Mm," Jo acknowledged, drinking her coffee black. "Turns out being a single parent to triplets is a real calorie burner."

"Jolene, you're…not a single parent," Selina reminded her, an eyebrow arched. "You're married to Damian."

"Oh, am I?" Jo laughed, humorlessly. "So where is he, then?" she raised her arms, gesturing to the greater kitchen. "Did he get his hands on a fucking invisibility cloak? Because I don't see him."

"Is he…not in bed?" Now Selina was confused. She could have sworn she'd heard him come home last night.

"Nope," Jo revealed, essentially gulping her coffee at this point. "Hasn't been for the last week. Came home for lunch yesterday, spent a combined 8 minutes with the kids, 6 of which he devoted to Terry. Then he left. He had to check on something at the office or whatever. Asshole," she muttered, getting up to pour herself another cup. "You think adding some weed killer to this would mimic the effects of alcohol?"

"Jolene, you need to eat something," Selina told her, getting up as well and following her back to the counter. "I'm serious. You've got some nice cheekbones, Kid, but you're looking downright gaunt. And when was the last time you were outside? Why are you so pale? Don't plants need sunlight?"

"Appreciate your concern," Jo replied distractedly, crossing the kitchen to the fridge where she pulled out three bottles full of the growth formula Pam provided. "God, I still have nightmares about this shit. Tastes like cough medicine on steroids with a dirt chaser."

"Jo, the kids can wait," Selina grabbed a muffin from the plate on the counter, holding it out to her. "Eat this. Before you feed them. Please."

"Uh, no thanks. I already have a Mom, Selina," Jo informed her. "Two, actually. I get that you're—mmpff!"

"Yeah, I don't feel like tap dancing, Kiddo," Selina said after shoving the muffin roughly into her mouth. "You're going to eat the carbohydrates and you're going to enjoy them. Then I'm going to take the kids to your parents', you're going to take a shower, and you're going to talk to your husband because this…" she gestured to Jo's strung-out aesthetic. "Isn't a good look for you."

Jo squinted, running a hand through her greasy hair, her mouth still half full. "This isn't doing it for ya?"

"No," Selina handed her the muffin. "So how about me and you end that complacent father trope, huh? We both know Damian's just a little boy with mommy issues behind that chiseled jawline—just like Bruce. And you're a sarcastic bitch with a heart of gold—like me."

"So…" Jo swallowed a mouthful of muffin. "What are you, imparting wisdom or something?"

"That's what old women do, isn't it?"

"Can I buy you a rocking chair?"

"Fuck no."

/

Hair washed, makeup applied, and dressed in a tight skirt and a nice blouse, Jo headed for the office…in Damian's most expensive car because fuck him.

The bright afternoon sun hurt her eyes, and her grip on the wheel felt weak, but she was determined. Selina was right. This was unacceptable.

Leaving me at home with three fucking kids like I'm some sorta…woman who isn't me. I'm Poison Ivy's goddamn daughter. I don't have to take this shit. Trapped in that room, pacing the fucking floor, crying, talking to myself—not whispering, full on fricken talking. Bitch, I don't belong in Arkham. That shit's on him.

You're my best friend, Jolene. Marry me, Jolene. Let's have kids, Jolene. I'm not about to repeat my parents' mistakes, Jolene.

Bullshit. Fucking men, I swear to God.

I'm Jolene Quinzel!

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Wayne," the security guard at the front gate greeted.

Fine, I'm Jolene Wayne, but that will never not sound stupid.

"Good afternoon, Reggie," Jo smiled back, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. "Just bringing my husband lunch," she held up the paper bag from the passenger seat.

"You're a good woman, Mrs. Wayne," he remarked as he opened the gate for her.

"Aww, I really am, aren't I?" she moved her sunglasses back into place and sped into Wayne Enterprise's private lot, taking one of Damian's two reserved spots and heading immediately for the elevators, clutching the paper bag in her hand.

"Jolene!" Luke greeted almost immediately upon the elevator opening at the top floor.

"My gosh," she put a hand over her heart. "Luke Fox himself? And here I thought I'd have to talk my way past a secretary."

"Nah, we pull out all the stops for you," he chuckled warmly. "Reggie told me you were heading up; thought I'd say hello."

"Well it's great to see you," she smiled. "How's Tiffany?"

"A straight-A student this semester, if you can believe it."

"Ah, I sure can," Jo assured him, maintaining her good-natured expression while she changed the subject: "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where my husband is, would you? I got a baby sitter and—,"

"Right! How are the kids?" Luke interrupted to ask, his muscular form planted firmly in front of her. "Three, that must be a handful. Got any pictures?"

"Oof…" her smile turned a little crueler as realization dawned. "You were doing so well, Luke! But I'm not an idiot, Sweetheart. No one asks to see baby pictures. Looking at photos of other people's children is a civic duty we all perform to maintain social connections, unless the kid is—I don't know—wearing a sombrero and a fake mustache or cuddling with a puppy, which mine are not. I'm going to guess Damian was also made aware of my arrival, and because he's been avoiding me for some time now, sent you out to intercept me."

"Ha—well, Jo, see…" Luke was attempting to stay in character…but it was a poor attempt.

"You'll get em next time, Tiger," she pat him sympathetically on the arm. "Now where can I find the Cowardly Lion? In his office? Or is he in a 'meeting'."

"He's absolutely swamped Jo," Luke said with his mouth…while subtly gesturing to the glass walled office behind him…where Damian had rolled his chair into the furthest corner.

"Ah, thank you," she said. "I'm going to angrily brush past you now so he knows you tried your best. Always great to see you. Come to dinner sometime, meet the kids in person."

"I'll have to take you up on that," he smiled as—true to her word—she pushed passed him, making a b-line for Damian's office.

"Didn't Luke tell you I was busy?" Damian asked once the door had swung shut behind her.

"Nice try, asshole," she said, wearing an expression that didn't match her words in the slightest. An expression that would communicate happiness to the onlookers who could plainly see them through the clear walls of the office. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Damian glanced outside, catching his receptionist's eye, who was pretending not to be watching. "Did you actually bring me lunch?"

"Yep," Jo smiled, setting the bag down on his desk. "It's a steak. Kobe beef. Medium rare…and I slathered it in ketchup."

"You what?" Damian gritted, attempting to mask his horror.

"I put ketchup on a $75 steak," Jo reiterated, taking the container out of the bag and pulling back the lid so that he could witness the carnage. "And I would very much like you to eat it…in front of me. Right now, preferably."

"I'm not going to—,"

Jo leaned over the desk. "Eat the fucking steak, Damian. It's your penance for promising me we'd enter this stage of our lives together…and then immediately abandoning me. So, how about you take your punishment like a man, huh?" she slid him the utensils she'd brought for him—all plastic.

"I didn't abandon you," he mumbled, grabbing the knife and fork from her. "I had to come back to work."

"No you didn't," she managed to snap at him, while somehow maintaining her warm smile. "You told me we'd have 8 weeks for it to just be the five of us. It's only been 6, and you've been gone for the last three. Completely MIA."

Damian cringed as he took his first bite, chewing as quickly as he could and then swallowing it down. "They needed me here."

"No—I need you," she sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "At home. With the three fucking infants we now get to call ours. Oh joy!"

"I thought you liked the kids."

"You thought I—," Jo was actually taken aback. "Of course I like the kids, Idiot. They're my kids. I love the kids. But that doesn't mean you can just leave me alone to do the woman's work or whatever. I agreed to this because I was under the impression that you were actually going to help out. My Mother is Poison Ivy, and she still managed to make time to co-parent with her wife. Why. Aren't. You. At. Home?"

Damian cleared his throat, sitting back away from the steak, but starring at it none-the-less. "They…cry, when I hold them. They always cry. Especially the girls—especially Delilah. They…you're better at it. They want you."

It took a moment for Jo to respond, as she hadn't expected him to get vulnerable this quickly. "Well…" she began. "I don't really care what they want, honestly. They're 6 weeks old." She reminded him. "Can I tell you the truth?"

"About what?"

"About me," Jo prefaced. "Damian, I'm not…I'm not sleeping. I'm not eating. I'm not…stable. I am overworked, overstressed, and I snap, Damian. I've been known to snap. And when I snap, I do things I regret. I don't feel comfortable being left alone with the kids in continually stressful situations."

Damian didn't reply, just swallowed, so Jo continued.

"This isn't a cry for help. This is me sitting here, in front of my husband, telling him that he needs to come home." Her peppy demeanor was beginning to droop. "I can't do the single parent thing. I'm just not built for it. And right now, I'm only 6 weeks in and barely hanging on. The kids need their Father," she told them. "Not a nanny, and not me when I'm like this—when I'm unpredictable. Don't be an absent parent," she pleaded. "This is exactly the kind of shit that I was worried about you repeating. You have to do better. You have to be there for me, and you have to be there for the kids or else I'm going to move back in with my parents. That's not a threat, and I'm not saying that because I don't love you—I do, Damian. I really fucking do—it's just the reality of the situation. I can't do this alone. So you need to step up, or we need to make a different arrangement."

"What? No! You can't just leave." Damian was suddenly desperate—angry, those abandonment issues rearing their ugly head. "You can't just…just pack up and leave because we're fighting. That's—that's ridiculous! Ridiculous and immature."

"Damian," Jo sat forward, tears gathering in her eyes despite herself. "Please. I'm trying to be better and do better, but it's like everyone keeps shoveling sand on top of me. I can't breathe and I'm overwhelmed and I'm suffocating and I hate my life and I hate the kids and I hate you right now, honestly. And that's not right. That's not what a Mother is supposed to be. That's not what my parents were, and I still turned out like this."

"You just said you loved them and you loved me," Damian's throat was full of the emotion he couldn't express with words. "Stop contradicting yourself."

Jo got up from her chair, smoothing down the lines in her skirt. "I really hope I see you at home tonight." Then she cleared her throat. "Enjoy your steak."