Pamela fastened the mandarin collar on her jacket, wrapped her hair up in a high bun and descended the stairs for the third time that morning, checking her watch with each step.
Harley had been unduly stubborn with their morning routine, hanging like a dead weight when Pam moved her from her chair to the shower, refusing to let Pam touch her hair, being indecisive with her outfit…it had been exhausting—and honestly reminded her a lot of having to rally Jo and Anthony for school when they were little—and now Pam was late.
"Harl, have you seen my keys?" Pam asked after not finding them in their usual place on the table near the front door.
"Nope." Harley answered plainly from where she was grazing on a bowl of cereal in the kitchen
After a few more moments of searching and coming up empty, Pam looked over at Harley…where she immediately located the keys as they were sitting right in front of Harley on the counter.
"Honey, they're right there," Pam pointed.
"Oh?" Harley prompted rhetorically, making no moves to help Pam get out the door any faster.
"Ah, yes," Pam acknowledged, snatching the keys off the counter. "I see. You're still upset with me over our disagreement last night and you're passive aggressively punishing me by methods of extreme unhelpfulness."
Harley smiled condescendingly. "You know me so well."
"Should I attempt a kiss goodbye or will you just turn your face away?"
Harley leaned over her chair, offering her cheek…but made a pointed evasive maneuver just before Pam's lips made contact.
Pam rolled her eyes, shaking her head and grabbing her purse. "I should be back around 5 or so. Call Anthony if you need anything." But just as Pam was reaching for the door handle, the bell rang, startling her rather severely. It was only 8:30 in the morning. Who rang doorbells at 8:30 in the morning?
Going through her mental list, Jo was fairly close to the top, so it wasn't terribly surprising to see her standing there on the front porch, her children strapped into a stroller.
"Shit," something like realization dawned on the younger woman's face. "I'm sorry, I should'a called. You're headed to work."
"I am," Pam confirmed, as Harley yelled "Who is it?" from inside. "It's Jo!" Pam shouted behind her before stepping outside and closing the door. "What are you doing here?" she didn't mean to sound unkind, she was just late.
"I'm…well—I'd like to sleep," Jo admitted. "I don't…get to sleep anymore and, umm—my body hurts?"
Pam was confused. "You want to sleep here?"
"I—yeah," Jo nodded. "I—," Pam honestly wasn't sure if her daughter's voice was raspy from crying or exhaustion, but she didn't exactly look well. "I asked Damian to make a choice and to come home and he—he didn't choose me and now it's like my chest hurts, and I'm so angry and I just—I'm tired."
"He didn't choose you?" Pam asked for clarification.
But Jo just shook her head, her bottom lip quivering and her words coming out in a strangled whisper. "I chose him, Mom. I—look," she indicated her children. "He wanted them. Remember? He wanted them. And then he made me all these promises and said we'd do it together and he'd be there for me and for them and then—," she wiped her eyes, which had begun to fill with tears. "He didn't come home."
Pam nodded slowly, the picture beginning to come into focus. With a tentative step, she moved forward, cupping Jo's face in her hands before wrapping an arm around the back of her neck and pulling her into a hug.
Jo braced against the contact at first, her body rigid, like the touch of another person was somehow foreign. Pam understood that better than anyone, and she could feel Jo's heart beating against her chest as she held her close.
Pam felt the shoulder of her jacket become wet where Jo was resting her head, and as the small tremors of silent sobs vibrated through her body, finally she returned Pam's embrace, gripping her far tighter than Pam was holding her.
"I'll call Anthony," Pam told her, her tone gentle. "And he and your Mother will watch the children while you get some rest. And Jolene?" she separated so that she could look her daughter in the eyes once more, their green glistening like moss-covered river rocks below the surface of a lagging stream. "Asking for help makes you a good Mother, not a bad one."
"No, I—I hate em' sometimes, Mom," Jo cried.
"Oh, Darling," Pam chuckled, running a hand lovingly through her daughter's hair. "I hate you to this very day."
"Yeah, yeah," Jo smiled through her tears, sloppily wiping her eyes. "I'm the worst, I already know."
"No," Pam shook her head. "You, Jolene, are just about my favorite thing on the planet. And, honestly, it's perfect that you came. Your Mother is extremely cross with me at the moment, and nothing brightens her day like getting to see her grandkids. Really, you're doing me a favor."
/
Damian trudged into the shuttle, feeling like his feet were dried into cinderblocks, each step heavier than the last.
He just…he needed to be here. He needed to be Batman. Batman was easy. Batman made sense. He was good at being Batman—exceptional, even. Just as he'd been an exceptional Robin. The rules were easy to follow, and he'd been given the tools to succeed.
Being Damian…being just a man…without the mask—without the authority and the respect that was guaranteed to you when you wore it…that was hard. Hard enough to be accountable just to himself, let alone another person. Let alone four other people.
Suddenly, Damian was stumbling backwards, a strong slap having landed solidly across his face. And then hands were fisting in his shirt and he was being slammed against the body of the shuttle.
…which would have been erotic if it were Jo in front of him rather than Poison Ivy.
"Get your shit together, you stupid fuck." She spat. "Just once, would it kill a man to prove me wrong?" then she literally spat…down on his shoe, and her saliva quickly ate through the leather, leaving a smoking hole through which he could see the toe of his sock.
/
Jo blinked her eyes open as she sat up, her Simone Biles poster the first thing that came into focus, followed by the cactus she kept on her nightstand, and her medals, which quietly clinked against the wall where they hung thanks to the light breeze whispering through the open window.
I'm late for school, was all Jo could think, observing what looked like the light of early morning seeping into her bedroom. Jason should be here to pick me up. I don't want Mom to see Jason.
It wasn't until she rubbed her eyes and felt the metal of her wedding ring against her skin that she was transported back to reality.
"He's dead," Jo mumbled aloud to herself.
She thought back to that time almost fondly now, when her Mom chastising her for her shitty boyfriend was her biggest problem.
Now her Mom got to chastise her for her shitty husband, and it wasn't her plant DNA keeping her from doing what she loved, it was her—wait, why is it so quiet? Where the fuck are my kids?
Pulling the blankets back, Jo found she was still fully clothed—complete with shoes and all. Yeah, I'm a wreck.
She stumbled as she took her first steps, feeling lightheaded and disoriented. If this is how a hangover feels, then fuck that. Steadying herself on her old dresser, she was able to get her feet under her and eventually headed for the stairs.
The first thing Jo noticed was that all the lights were on—meaning maybe it wasn't morning at all. In fact, it made a lot more sense that it would be evening. She didn't know where her phone was so she couldn't check to make sure, but if she'd arrived here in the morning, she sincerely hoped she'd only slept through the day rather than through the night as well.
"Yahtzee!" Harley's voice carried up the stairs, and Jo heard something like a grunt of frustration come from Pam.
She peaked her head around the corner to find them in the living room, Harley, Pam and Anthony gathered around the table playing, well…Yahtzee.
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Anthony greeted, glancing up briefly from his scorecard. "Now we know where your kids get it, I guess."
Jo looked around confusedly. "What—umm—what time is it? Where are the—,"
"Children?" Pam prompted.
"They're asleep," Harley answered, proudly marking down her score and sliding the dice to Anthony.
"But they…No—they don't sleep," Jo told them, bewildered. "Only Daisy sleeps."
"I guess we got lucky," Anthony shrugged, shaking the dice in his hand before letting them spill out over the table. "Uh—ha!" he stood up excitedly from his chair after determining his score. "Large straight, Bitch!"
"Don't call your Mother a bitch," Pam calmly requested, ready to take her turn.
Even through his green skin, Anthony's face turned bright red. "No I—Ma, I just got excited, I meant it as an exclamation, not a pejorative—,"
Laughing, Harley grabbed him by the arm, pulling back down into his chair. "I'll be calling you a lot worse once I win."
Pam glanced back at Jo, who was still standing awkwardly just inside the living room. "Sweetheart, if you're nervous, you can go check on them. Though I can see everything that's going on in that room, and I can assure you they're all fast asleep."
"You hungry?" Anthony prompted. "I made dinner."
"He burned dinner," Pam corrected.
"It was still edible," he grumbled. "Lilah was being cute. I got distracted."
Harley snorted. "Clearly."
"Oh, knock it off," Anthony rose from his chair once more, heading for the kitchen. "It's lasagna. Better if the top is a little crispy anyway."
"I l—I love lasagna," Jo realized as Anthony walked past her.
"Yeah, no shit," Anthony laughed. "Thought you'd be awake in time for dinner."
They never answered my question. "What time is it?" she asked again, directing her question at her parents as her brother had left the room.
"Umm…" Harley checked the clock on her phone. "Almost 8. We're old. We eat dinner at like 5 now."
Anthony reentered then, carrying a plate full of food, which he used to motion towards the table in a silent suggestion that she sit down.
Jo gingerly obeyed, taking the vacant seat where her food was then placed in front of her, Anthony sitting back down to join them in the next moment. She stared down at her plate, realizing—maybe for the first time since the triplets had been born—just how hungry she was. "Where's Duke?" she asked her brother as she picked up the fork he'd provided.
"Training with Cass until 9," he answered.
"You're outsourcing?" Jo raised an eyebrow at Harley.
"Well, just for today," she smiled. "My hands were a little full."
I should have called. "I'm sorry," Jo mumbled, taking her first bite. "Didn't mean to fuck up everybody's plans."
Anthony scoffed. "Jo, we got to hang out with a bunch of babies all day. You didn't ruin anyone's plans. I had the day off anyway."
"And Cass would'a beat the crap out of me even in my prime." Harley added. "Duke's learning from the best of the best."
"And we got Mom to play Yahtzee with us," Anthony piggy-backed.
"It's a game of chance, not skill," Pam stated, crossing her arms defiantly. "I prefer a game that requires some degree of strategy."
"Right," Anthony nodded. "Because you're unlucky."
"And a loser," Harley added.
Jo let a smile slip at that. She appreciated they were being nice, acting somewhat normal around her, pretending it was all business as usual…Jo needed that, though she was also painfully aware of the elephant in the room.
…which went untouched and unmentioned throughout the rest of the evening. Even after Anthony left and Harley said goodnight and was carried up to bed. Even after Terry and Delilah woke up and Pam helped Jo to put them back down. Even after the lights had been turned out and Jo was once again left alone in a dark room.
Did my husband leave me?
/
"You're home late," Selina remarked from her chair in the darkened kitchen, startling Damian into banging his shin on the cupboard.
Bruce flicked the light on…and it was becoming clearer with each passing moment that this was an ambush. "Evening, Son."
"Uh—Father?" Damian greeted awkwardly. "Can I help you?"
"You can answer some questions for us," Selina suggested. "Well, one, in particular."
Bruce leaned back against the counter, leaving his cane to stand upright so that he could cross his arms. "Where's Jo?"
"And the kids?" Selina seconded. "And what happened to your face?"
Damian brought his hand up to gingerly gauge the swelling around his eye, which evidently hadn't gone down much since this morning. "I'm fine."
"I didn't ask how you felt, I asked what happened," Selina pointed out. "And I'm honestly hoping the answer is 'Jo'."
"Ivy," Damian muttered, moving towards the freezer to grab himself an icepack…though his path was quickly obstructed by Bruce, who moved faster than he had in years to stand in his path.
"I asked you a question," Bruce said, his tone stern and none-too-kind.
Fucking Christ, Damian had to fight the urge to punch his Father in the face for the audacity to judge him as a husband and a parent. The man hardly had a leg to stand on. "She left."
"Left left?" Selina asked, concern in her voice.
"No," Damian answered quickly. "No, she's just at her parents' house. They're at her parents' house," he amended. "They're staying there."
"Why?" Bruce wondered. "For how long?"
"I—I don't know, OK?" Damian was trying hard to exit the conversation. It hurt to talk about. He didn't…want her to leave, he didn't want her to be gone. He should have come home. He'd meant to, but...he couldn't. Or he didn't.
"Jo was pretty upset the last time I saw her," Selina remarked, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "Said you weren't pulling your weight as a parent. She talked to you, didn't she? Went to your office?"
Damian was moving quickly into anger. "What do you know about pulling your weight as a parent? Either of you."
"Son," Bruce began in a clear attempt to calm him down. "We understand the incredible stress three newborns can place on a marriage, but—,"
"But what?" Damian asked, his tone combative. "What do either of you know about marriage? What do you know about parenting newborns? Nothing. You don't know jack-shit. Fuck—you guys are, what? 75 and 70? And you're still not fucking married. This life you built—it's half-assed, all of it. You didn't build shit, just collected what other assholes didn't want. What fucking example have you ever set for me? Who am I supposed to look up to? You, Bruce? You, who fucked around, sleeping with every goddamn floozy in town? Or you, Selina? Who treated your entire life like a fucking game?" his parents seemed genuinely surprised at the vitriol he was spewing, but he wasn't done.
"How old was Selina when you met her, huh, Bruce? 18? Yeah, that's how old Jo was when she and I got together too, the difference being I fucking committed to her. Didn't take me 24 years and a thousand other women, or her a million near-death experiences and a substance abuse problem. So before either of you—or worse, you two together—try and lecture me about my fucking marriage, how about you take a look in the goddamn mirror and tell me why you failed to provide me a fucking blueprint!"
Bruce could only blink, so it was Selina who took the reins. "Damian, this isn't about us," she started slowly. "This is about you and how you're navigating this world as a man…"
"Yeah, as a man in whose image?" Damian laughed mirthlessly. "His?" he pointed at Bruce. "He never taught me how to be a man, he taught me to be Batman, and Batman isn't a man at all, he's a fucking mirage. Batman's married to justice and this godforsaken city. Batman doesn't have to come home to a wife and three kids. His night is over when he takes his mask off, it's—,"
"—his mistress," Selina interrupted to correct. "Justice is his mistress, not his spouse. His spouse is Bruce, or Harleen, or Dick, or Barbara, or Cass, or Steph, or Tim, or Jo, or you, Damian." She smiled kindly. "Mine is Catwoman. Pamela's is Ivy. They're coping mechanisms and they're relationships, Damian. No way to escape it. We can laugh all we want at those 'is Selina Kyle having an affair with Catwoman?' tabloid articles, but I think it's time we choose to look at them like a metaphor."
"At the end of the day, our other selves—our heroes—they have to mean to us what they do to other people," Bruce added. "Like a marriage, it's supposed to be a partnership. And there were plenty of lessons I learned wearing the cowl that helped me as a man. That's what I attempted to impart to you. For me, Batman was always the man Bruce Wayne couldn't be—the one Bruce Wayne wanted to be. And now, Bruce is all I have left."
Selina sighed, sounding legitimately remorseful. "I miss Catwoman every day."
"So…what?" Damian questioned. "How about you direct me to the nugget of fucking wisdom."
Bruce raised his cane, using the end to poke Damian in the chest. "Be the kind of man you can live with after he's gone. When you can't put on that mask to hide from your problems anymore."
"And go write your own fucking blueprint," Selina added. "That way, in 30 years, Terrence won't be standing in your shoes, saying you failed him. History is doomed to repeat itself…until someone takes it upon themselves to make a change. I highly suggest you be that someone."
/
Harley felt a bit guilty, honestly. She knew the circumstances that brought Jo home weren't exactly something you should root for—especially as a parent—but Harley got lonely during the day, when Pam was gone, and Anthony had work, Duke had school, Selina didn't feel like coming over…and there was nothing she could do about it, either. She couldn't go anywhere. Her enjoyment seemed to come at the mercy of others.
So, yes, Harley liked having Jo home. Bite me. And she liked being around the kids. More than that, though? She liked watching Jo around the kids. It was sweet, seeing her figure things out. Jo observed them curiously, with a mixture of wonder and apprehension that reminded Harley of herself when they'd first brought Anthony home. Anthony, himself, reminded Harley of Pam with how he related to his son. It seemed natural for him, his movements fluid, his words soothing, and Duke had responded to him just as Anthony had responded to Pam—quickly and completely, bonded from day 1.
It hadn't been like that for Harley, exactly. There'd been a learning curve, and she'd tried her best, but like Jo, she'd felt overwhelmed. Being responsible for a human being was a lot to shoulder. Something so helpless, that looked at you like you were the sun and the moon and every single star. A parent is a child's entire universe, but as they grow, the dynamics tend to reverse, so this—getting to watch her own daughter—fully grown now, a woman—experience that same curve. Make those same mistakes. Feel that same love and excitement…it was surreal, and rewarding and wonderful—and bittersweet as well, but Harley didn't want to think about why. Didn't want to think about the fact that with each day that passed, with each year her children grew, and her children's children matured, she was growing older too. And she couldn't press pause, she couldn't rewind…it was like she was binge-watching the greatest show ever made, and she wanted to stay up for another episode, she wanted to know how it all ended, what happened to all these characters she'd grown so attached to…but once it was done, it was done. There wouldn't be another season—not for her, anyway.
"No, no, no, no, no," Jo was guiding the straw back into Terry's mouth. "C'mon, Bro. You gotta drink it." She groaned when he refused to latch on, dramatically resting her forehead on the table. "This is gonna sound weird…" Harley brought herself back to the present moment to listen. "But did you ever wish you could have nursed us? Breastfed, I mean." She turned her head, laying her cheek on the table now so that she could look up at Harley. "As a psychiatrist you must have an opinion on it."
"Yeah, I hated that I couldn't," Harley admitted. "Felt terrible about it, actually. But I did as much skin-to-skin contact as I could to supplement the intimacy. And you guys didn't need breastmilk you needed—uh—plant juice," she gestured towards the bottle in Jo's hand.
"Special juice for special kids," Jo chuckled, sitting up slowly to rock Terry's bassinet a few times before trying again to feed him. "And then you'd tell me that's how Batwoman got so strong, which takes on a whole new meaning now that I know you were Batwoman. I hope to Gaia 'drinking plant juice' isn't a fucking euphemism."
"Well, seeing as I told Anthony that's how Kid Flash got so fast, I sure hope it wasn't," Harley laughed. "Otherwise you Mother has a lot of explaining to do."
Jo snorted, relief watching over her face as Terry finally latched on.
Harley allowed for a moment's silence to pass before asking the question she really didn't want to. The one Jo probably didn't want her to either. "Any word from Damian?"
"Nnnope," Jo answered, pointedly keeping her focus on her son. "Two weeks—Not a call, not a text, not an instant message, a facebook status, a tweet, a snapchat, an Instagram DM or a fucking email. Complete radio silence from the man I intimately shared the last 7 years of my life with and who's responsible for 50% of these adorable bastards."
"And you…haven't tried to talk to him either?"
"Nope," Jo repeated. "I stated very clearly what I needed from him. Told him I was leaving if he didn't deliver. He didn't deliver. I left. That shit's on him, and he knows where to find me should he eventually grow some boobs."
"You mean balls," Harley corrected.
Jo squinted, taking that under consideration. "Mmm…no," she decided. "I definitely meant boobs."
/
"Alright," Anthony lolled his head on the grass to look at her, though he had to sit up slightly because his view was presently obstructed by Daisy who was sleeping quietly between them. "Baiji White Dolphin."
Jo held her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. "2002, I think. But shit started going downhill for them in the 1950s when China industrialized."
"I'm not giving you bonus points," Anthony haughtily informed her.
"Yeah, whatever," Jo scoffed. "Passenger Pigeon."
"Gone in the wild by 1900," he answered, rolling back to stare up at the clouds again. "And 1914 in captivity."
"1914 would'a done just fine, thanks," Jo teased. "Uh, Tas…" she trailed off mid-word when someone stepped in front of her sun. "Hey, what gives? I'm tryna get my tan back." Her eyes were closed, but she still groaned as soon as Damian cleared his throat. "The fuck do you want?" She asked him opening one eye, then the other, finding that it was—indeed—Damian standing above her, basked in the glow of the late July afternoon. "What's with the tux?"
"What's with the flannel?" he countered.
"I've been indoctrinated," Jo answered plainly, sitting up.
"But…it's July."
Jo pulled her shirt up in response, pointing to her abs. "My bodyfat is nonexistent. I'm always cold." She shoved it back down. "And my summer wardrobe is probably the least important thing on the planet right now."
"And you're wearing a tux, Dude," Anthony pointed out. "Built the wrong house to throw rocks."
Damian briefly glanced at Anthony, his jaw tightening, perhaps at the other man's obvious comfortability around the baby that lay next to him in the grass. "Can we—umm—talk?" he directed his question at Jo. "Alone?"
"Uh—nah," Jo decided before nodding at the paper he was clutching in his hand. "Those divorce papers?"
Damian seemed confused for a moment, until he followed her eyes and realized what she was talking about. "No, it's a…well," he was clearly embarrassed to be saying this in front of an audience. "I missed you. And there were all these little things I missed. Things I didn't even think about before because I just—you know, I love you, so I wrote them down. Some things I love." He thrust it out to her like a child would show his Mother a report card.
Jo took it from him, noticing the envelope was marked with her name and parents' address on the front. Clearing her throat, she freed the letter from its constraints (almost laughing at the fact he'd used the official Wayne Family stationary). He'd written in bullet points, and there were a few different pens represented, which signaled to Jo this had been a running list he'd updated throughout his days.
"Reasons Why I Love You" it was titled in Damian's blocky print.
· you smell good naturally (I don't like perfume)
· you're a good kisser. Thought that the first time I kissed you and I still think it now.
· calling you 'my wife' makes me feel proud
· you're pretty. I think about how pretty you are every time I see your face
· when you've got headphones in at the gym, you sing every song out loud, even the instrumentals, and I don't think you realize it
· based on how much you listen to it; there's a chance your favorite song is Trumpets by Jason Derulo
· your eyes make me crave lime jello. I know it's weird, but they're really green
· you learned my name in Arabic
· funny
· your laugh makes me smile
· …no gag reflex
Jo snorted at that one.
· I don't always have to talk for you to know what I mean
· freckles
she stopped, folding up the paper and slipping it back in the envelope despite there being at least two more pages. "What do you want me to do with this?" Jo asked, looking back up at him where he'd been nervously watching her. "This is cute, but it doesn't help me. I haven't heard from you in three weeks. My brother has been more of a Father to our kids than you have so far, and like—he's hot, i get it, but I'm not into that. So that's great that you love me—really, I appreciate hearing it because you made me feel like utter shit letting me leave, but it's not enough, Damian."
"I know," he murmured, looking down at his shoes.
"You asked me to grow up, remember?" Jo prompted. "Said I had to do it fast, and I did. Sounds awfully hypocritical now."
After a brief moment of indecisiveness, Damian got down onto his knees, making no move to take her hands, but kneeling in front of her—more than likely ruining his pants. "Jo, I think you really were unconscious."
Out of all the things to—, "What?"
"The day the kids were born," he clarified. "I think you were knocked unconscious when you hit the water. I did the math—ran some scenarios, and with your exposure to the impact, there's really no way you weren't."
This punk-ass motherfucker… "What's your point?" Jo spat.
"I don't know why you lied," he said. "Why you pretended it was all fine—maybe you didn't want to scare me, maybe you didn't want to scare yourself, I don't know, but I do know that it didn't really matter to me. I went back for you, and I'd play it the same way every single time. And that's the kind of husband I want to be too. One who helps you even when you don't ask for it or pretend you don't need it. Who's there for you because you're my partner. And I—it took me three weeks to come and get you because I didn't understand why I let you leave in the first place."
"Was it…because you're scared?" Jo wondered, her tone conveying how obvious it was.
"Well, y—yeah."
"Mm," Jo nodded. "Yeah, I'm scared too. Outta my fucking mind. I'm terrified. The difference is I didn't run. Never even crossed my mind as an option. Not in a million years did I think about abandoning ship. But you did. You peaced out for three weeks. How can I ever trust you again? I'm serious. How can I trust I won't end up alone?"
"Because Batman would never leave you alone," Damian stated definitively. "Batman would never let you drown. And I'm Batman."
Daisy chose that moment to wake up and begin crying. "And what about them?" Jo asked, picking the girl up in her arms. "I'm glad you want to be a better husband, but I'm honestly a little more concerned with you being a father to our children. I believe you love me. Do you love them?"
Damian's gaze slowly drifted downwards from Jo to Daisy. "I'm afraid of disappointing them," he admitted. "So much so it keeps me up at night. The only other person I feel that way about is you, and I love you…so I suppose I must love them too." Then he held his arms out. "Can I hold my daughter, please?"