Pamela came with a high-pitched cry, collapsing forward onto Harley, panting as she pressed wet, sated kisses into the crook of her wife's neck.

Harley ran her finger soothingly up and down Pam's spine, leaving the path to trace the vine patterns that ran like tree roots across her back. "Was that good?"

"Yes," Pam sighed contentedly, lifting her head to kiss Harley's lips, smiling as she did.

Harley brushed Pam's sweat-dampened hair out of her face, combing her fingers through it. "I don't want you to be late…"

Pam blinked to clear the lethargy away, and turned to look at the clock on their bedside table, shrugging as she read the display. "I'm already late. What's the harm in waiting a bit longer? The world's not going to end, is it?"

"It—," Harley coughed as Pam lowered her head once more, trailing kisses down her throat and chest, her warm tongue drawing circles around her n—"could! It literally could. And you're taking me to meet my friends, remember?"

"Oh, yes," Pam acknowledged, reluctantly climbing off of her. "Your playdate."

"Don't—ugh—don't call it that!" Harley pleaded with exasperation. "It makes it sound dumb. Just get in the shower, please."

Leaning against the bathroom doorway, naked as the day she was born, Pam said: "would you like to join me?"

"Pamela, no! we're late!" Harley rather forcefully reminded her. "And you'd have to get the shower chair out and stuff, that's not sexy. I'm not sexy. Seriously, why in the world are you still attracted to me?"

"Well, you're my wife," Pam answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I would look far worse than you right now if I'd been allowed to age normally. You're still attracted to me, aren't you?"

"Duh."

Pam grinned. "Well then why can't I still be attracted to you?"

Harley sighed. "I don't know, Babe. But can you take this thing off of me, please?" she gestured to harness fastened around her hips and the plastic that still stood upright between her legs. "Before you shower?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Pam apologized, flushing with embarrassment at her neglect.

/

Lois looked up from her coffee at the sound of the door opening, and her gaze traveled across the crowded café to find exactly what she was expecting.

Ivy—or Pamela, sorry—was holding the door open so that Harley could maneuver her wheelchair inside, wiggling the joystick on the arm rest to get herself up and over the small change in elevation between the sidewalk and the wood floor of the café. Pamela had to assist her just a bit, guiding her wheels gently away from the door stop and helping her glide safely inside.

The blonde then looked up with a smile, her eyes searching the nearby tables until Lena gave a friendly wave and she tugged on Pamela's blazer, pointing over at them.

Pamela nodded and took her sunglasses off, slipping them into her plunging neckline, and Lois sighed. "You think I would have had a chance with her? If I were a lesbian?"

"That's an awfully big 'if'," Lena chuckled. "But why in the world would you want a plant hybrid when you already have a Kryptonian?"

"Because plant hybrids evidently come with free nips and tucks," she nodded over in Harley's direction as she approached. "With Clark I've been forced to age…gracefully," she spat out the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth, and Lena laughed, turning her attention to Harley as she arrived at the table.

"Good morning, Ladies," Pamela greeted, her tone chipper. "You're looking well."

"We're looking old, Pamela," Lena corrected. "If we wanted a yes man, we would have invited your daughter."

Lois nodded in agreement and Pam sighed, placing her hand on Harley's shoulder, and leaning down to speak to her…only to notice the gentleman at the next table staring. So she corrected her body language just slightly, augmented it for a different relationship, and said: "Anthony will pick you up in an hour, Mother." Then she kissed her chastely on the cheek and straightened up. "Have fun, you three. Call if you need anything."

Harley held up her cellphone to show she had it. "Will do."

She was the only one that didn't watch Pamela leave, the redhead offering one more little wave back at the table before disappearing into the sunlight beyond the door.

Lois turned and furrowed her brow at Harley once they were alone. "Why do you smell like…?"

"Sex?" Harley guessed, reaching for the half-finished croissant on Lois' plate and taking a bite.

Lois watched her with eyes squinted as she returned the croissant. "I was going to say Gardenias…"

"Oh, well that's what it smells like with Pam," Harley revealed, motioning to the barista, who looked at her strangely before she pointed down at her chair. That seemed to jolt him into action. "And of course she waits until I can't actually fuck her put her ass in gear."

The barista was at their table now. "Can I help you, Ma'am?"

"Can I have a hot chocolate?" Harley asked, widening her eyes to make herself look feebler, and reaching into her purse to hand him her debit card. "Just a small one?"

"Oh, Ma'am, I…I'm sorry," he said, seemingly genuinely apologetic. "We don't do table service."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Harley said, grabbing a napkin from the center of the table and taking the pen out of his front pocket to quickly jot down a phone number. "You saw the redhead that came in here with me?"

The man nodded, blushing slightly. "You have a…. beautiful daughter, Miss."

Lois could tell Harley was fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she handed him the napkin.

"That's her phone number. Now can I please get my hot chocolate?"

The barista glanced down at the napkin in his hand, before smiling shyly and taking a cautious look over his shoulder. "OK," he acquiesced. "Just this once."

Lena raised an eyebrow as he left them. "That isn't really your wife's number, is it?"

"God, no," Harley laughed, waving her off. "…it's my actual daughter's number."

Lois' coffee threatened to rather ungracefully spill out of her nose as she snorted. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Harley grinned, sitting back contentedly in her chair. "She hates it and it's hilarious. But seriously, I don't know how the Hugh Heffner's of the world do it. How can anyone in their right mind look at those gorgeous, 20-something women and be like 'yeah, this make sense, I deserve this'."

"If it's any consolation, your wife looks more like she's in her early 30's," Lena assured her. "20 would, indeed, be stretching it."

"Remind me how old your daughter is, again?" Lois asked, a slight smile playing on her lips over the brim of her coffee mug

"37," Harley muttered, massaging her temples.

Lena wrinkled her nose. "And Pamela is…?"

"Permanently 33."

"Mm," Lena cleared her throat. "That's…unfortunate."

"Yeah," Harley smiled at the barista as he set her hot chocolate down in front of her. "It super-duper is."

"I suppose I won't run into that problem," Lois realized. "I'll be long gone by the time Jon surpasses Clark."

Lena stared down at her saucer, gently tapping the edge with her index finger, and Harley evidently realized she may have made a mistake, because she apologized, saying: "Sorry, I didn't mean to start us off on mortality. That's—uh—read the room, Harl."

"No…" Lena subtly shook her head. "That's…what we're here for. The only three women on the planet who will ever understand what this feels like."

"Until they remarry," Lois pointed out. "Which is…almost a more depressing thought, so shame on me. In any case, Lena's right, Harleen. We're just a…unique support group. Three powerful women who chose people that will always be infinitely more powerful than us."

"And who frequently forget it," Lena added.

Lois chuckled, raising her coffee mug. "To our sweet, beautiful, all-powerful head-cases."

"Cheers," Harley grinned, waiting for Lena to join in before clinking their cups together.

/

Ivy watched as Supergirl unloaded the last of the aid packages from the plane, placing them gently onto the craft that hovered a few inches above the sandy desert terrain.

Rope-like vines slithered out of Ivy's wrist and Supergirl used her heat vision to singe them off at the appropriate length, so that Ivy could use them to fasten the materials down on the craft's bed.

Ivy was wearing a suit Anthony had made for her—one that utilized the same Aqua-layer technology that Mareena's did, meaning she was able to not only survive in these harsh conditions, but thrive. Dehydration wouldn't be a factor.

"We ready?" Kara prompted, motioning with her head towards a dark smudge on the horizon that Ivy knew was their desired destination.

"Ready," Ivy nodded, waiting as Kara circled around her back, wrapping her hands around her waist.

They weren't allowed to park their plane any closer to the village, as J'onn had determined that invasion of privacy would be too severe. These people needed help, the drought having crippled their village, but too much intrusion from the outside world was deemed frightening and counter-productive by The League.

Ivy felt her feet lift of the ground as Kara carried her into the air—not too high, they needed to stay close to the craft, but high enough for Supergirl to cover the open space rather quickly—the craft following behind them. They had to stop roughly a mile short of the village, as obviously flying wasn't much subtler than arriving in a plane.

Ivy's feet sunk into the hot sand, and she closed her eyes to focus on finding a heartbeat for the green. It was faint, but there was life. There was always life, somewhere below the Earth it was struggling, wishing to be freed and nourished. That's why they'd sent Ivy.

Slowing their walking pace to a stop just on the outskirts of the village, Ivy pulled a climate-controlled metal case off of the craft, opening it to reveal the Nopales pads from the units she'd grown in The Watchtower's specimen garden. Prickly Pears were already impressively resilient plants, but these Ivy had specially engineered to survive the harshest of conditions, meaning the villagers would be able to utilize them without having to take extra care.

Kara peered over Ivy's shoulder as she went about her task, digging into the sand with gloved hands. "Do you, um, need any help there?"

"No, thank you," Ivy answered distractedly. "You can deliver the other packages."

But Kara didn't move right away, and from the shadow she was casting, Ivy could tell she was still watching her. "Your powers…are so cool," Kara murmured as Ivy expelled some water from her suit, dampening where she planned to encourage the pads to take root. "But you know what's even cooler?"

"What's that?" Ivy asked.

"You're really smart," there was a smile on Kara's lips, Ivy could hear it. "Seems like people either have really awesome powers, or are smart enough to pretend they do. But you have both. That makes you special."

Ivy smiled to herself. There were few people as…relentlessly earnest as Kara Danvers. It was almost too much, her goodness. Almost overwhelming in its intensity…but when her sunshine shone on you? It was impossible not to appreciate. "Thank you."

"I'm so happy Lena and Harley get along," Kara said as she climbed back into the self-piloted plane sometime later. "I know she doesn't want me to see because she knows it'll make me sad, but she just cries sometimes. It started back up a few years ago, and she would never tell me why…but ever since she and Lois and Harley started getting together more, it's like she has an outlet or something, I don't know. Was retirement hard on Harley?"

Pam buckled herself in, as the seatbelts had to be fastened before the plane would take off. "Harley was 38 when Anthony was born," Pam told her. "She didn't realize she had retired until after Jolene was born 4 years later. So she had sort of an awkward, angry, delayed reaction, aimed at me, specifically. In short, yes, it was hard on her. I imagine it should be hard on anyone that loves their work, us included. How has it been taking a break from reporting?"

"Umm…" Kara frowned, deciding what her answer should be. "Well, I know I'll go back to it someday. I know I have time. I guess that makes it a little easier to deal with."

Pam agreed with a silent nod, her gaze moving out the window, eyes tracing the swells and dips of the rolling dunes below them. "I've been subjected to a lot of pain in my life," she quietly admitted. "But nothing hurts worse than knowing I've hurt her. Unintentionally or no, I regret every tear of sadness she's ever shed, on my behalf or otherwise."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," Kara said, her hands twisting in her lap. "I don't like making anyone sad, but Lena, I just…I love her so much…when my sister died I thought I would never be able to feel happy again, it was like the world was crashing down on top of me, but Lena…she saved me. She always saves me. It's like we—you and me and Clark and the rest of us…we've gotta be heroes for everybody. But that can be hard because stuff doesn't always go our way or the people misinterpret what we're trying to do…so we need our own heroes. People to pick us up when we fall down and remind us why we're here, and all the good we have inside us." A smile brightened her face, and she pressed herself happily back into her chair. "It's good to be in love. It feels good."

Ivy smiled softly, watching Kara out of the corner of her eye. "It does."

/

Harley waved Anthony over when he entered the café, almost exactly an hour after Pam had left her there. Her son was nothing if not punctual.

…and handsome. Punctual and handsome, what more do you need in a person?

"Hey, Ma," he smiled, approaching the table. "Lois, Lena…I hope you didn't tire her out too much."

"Yes, well, we have been playing some pretty vigorous bridge," Lois told him, her tone facetious. "Knitting, too. She'll probably need to take a nap and drink some prune juice to recuperate."

Anthony leaned against his Mother's wheelchair. "What did you win that Pulitzer Prize for, again? Being a smartass?"

"According to Perry White? Yes," Lois chuckled. "But he's dead now and villains don't even bother kidnapping me anymore, so what does it matter anyway?"

"You're a legend, Lois," Anthony gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "Don't let anyone tell you different. As far as I'm concerned? You saved journalism. Almost single-handedly."

"Anthony Quinzel, I'd like to kiss you on the mouth," Lois laughed, fanning herself.

"And I'd love for my excuse to be that I'm a married man," Anthony replied good-naturedly. "But I'm 20 years and a kid into a relationship, and it doesn't look like that's ever going to happen."

"Aww," Lena pat his back sympathetically. "Do you need to vent? Your Mother tells me you've been given an honorary woman card."

Anthony laughed. "Yeah, I'm a card-carrying member of the fairer sex, it's true. And I'd love to take you up on that, but my son has a basketball game, and Gotham State is actually ranked in the top 25 this year, if you can believe it."

"Did you bring my sweatshirt?" Harley wondered.

"Yep," Anthony smiled. "It's waiting for you in the van. You ready to go?"

Once outside, Harley rolled up the ramp, into the van, and waited for Anthony to fasten her chair to the floor.

"We're a little early," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. "But I thought heading there now couldn't hurt, since they have to escort you and everything."

Harley was about to say that was fine, when Anthony's cellphone rang out of the van's speakers as he'd already connected it to the Bluetooth system.

"Ugh, hold on, it's Jo," he said, clicking the green button on the touchscreen to accept the call. "What?"

"Christ—who pissed in your cheerios?"

"Karen," Anthony told her.

"Goodness gracious, trouble in paradise?" Jo chuckled. "I obviously want to hear all about that at a later time, but right now I need a favor."

Anthony sighed. "What is it? Ma and I are on a time crunch."

Harley squinted in the back, deciding whether or not that was true.

"For some reason…all three of my kids are in the Principal's office and someone has to go pick them up because they're being sent home for some fucking reason. That tight-ass was hella cryptic on the phone, so I truly have no idea why." Jo explained. "It shouldn't take long, though."

"What are you doing right now that you can't do it yourself?" he asked.

"Um, right now? At the beach house, in a low-cut dress, trying to convince some creepy-ass Russian dude to give us his money."

"As one does..." Harley piped up.

"As one does," Jo agreed. "But I seriously overdid it on the pheromones, it's getting real gross, real fast."

Anthony frowned. "Well, are you OK? Is Damian there?"

"Oh, Sweetheart, you make it sound like I've never killed a man in cold blood before. And husbandless to boot! Who'da thunk it?"

Rolling his eyes, Anthony groaned: "Could do without the condescension, Jolene. We're doing you a favor, remember?"

"Right, right. My bad," Jo apologized. "Let me know how it goes." She hung up rather unceremoniously after that.

"Sorry, Ma," Anthony sighed. "Looks like we're taking a detour."

Harley grinned, watching excitedly out the window. She loved it when people took her to do stuff. And what a busy day she'd had already! Time with her son and three of her grandkids? After lunch with her friends and sex with her wife? Everything was comin' up roses for ole' Harleen Quinzel.

It only took them 10 minutes to get to the school, meaning they were still doing pretty good on time. This little favor shouldn't make them late to the game.

"OK, sit tight, I'll be right back," Anthony instructed, leaning back through the driver's side window.

Harley gave him two thumbs up. "Aces."

/

Anthony crossed campus quickly, following the signs for the principal's office, laughing internally the entire way at the fact that his sister—arguably the most blasphemous woman he'd ever met—sent her kids to Catholic school.

He glanced at his watch as he rounded the final corner, 40 minutes, you're fine, and stepped into the air conditioned space. Actually, the over-air-conditioned space would have been a better descriptor, as Anthony felt like he'd just entered the arctic tundra. Even so, the thought of the likely horrendous energy output was what sent a shiver down his spine.

"Hi," he greeted the woman at the front desk. "I'm here to pick up my nieces and nephew? Terrence, Daisy, and Delilah Wayne."

She pointed silently down the hallway behind her.

"Umm…great, thank you," he offered her a subtle nod as he started in the direction she'd indicated, knocking on the door that read 'Principal'.

"Come in," a sharp female voice answered.

The kids were sitting in a uniform row in front of the principal's desk, Terry in between the two girls, which wasn't a formation Anthony was used to seeing. They glanced up, all in unison, when he entered.

"Hey, Guys," he smiled before turning to the woman standing behind the desk. "Hi, I'm Anthony Quinzel, their uncle," he held out his hand to be shaken, but she ignored it, sitting back down in her own chair.

"I would have preferred to speak to a parent," she told him.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. My sister wanted to be here, but she and her husband are busy people," he attempted a good natured shrug and a slight smile…that worked on most people.

…but clearly not this one.

"The charge here is physical violence," the woman continued, tersely. "Delilah here sent one of her classmates to the hospital today."

Daisy snorted and Delilah had to hide her smile behind her hand, all of which earned them a sharp look.

"Well that's…terrible," Anthony said, glancing over at them. "I'm sure Delilah didn't intend to hurt the boy so severely."

"I didn't tell you the student's gender," the principal pointed out.

"Just a hunch," he said, putting a hand on Delilah's shoulder. "So how do we proceed? Will his parents be pressing charges? They're 13, so I can't imagine that would stick, especially seeing as the Wayne family is…perhaps your biggest donor?"

"No charges have been filed…"

"Will they be suspended?" Was Anthony's follow-up.

"We're not—,"

"Actually, you know what? I'm late," Anthony interrupted her. "You're right, this is probably a conversation you should be having with their parents. Whatever the punishment is—suspension, expulsion…type it up, send it in an email, that's how my sister is most reliable. Let's go, Guys." He helped Delilah up first, noticing she had a cut on her cheek, and Terry and Daisy followed.

Anthony waited until they'd all climbed back in the van, and he'd once again pulled onto the road to say: "The hospital, Delilah?! That is too far! What in the world were you thinking?!"

"Umm…probably that he had it coming?" Daisy guessed. "Prick deserved a lot worse."

"And he's such a faker!" Delilah chimed in to defend herself. "Seriously, Uncle Tony, I didn't even break a single rib! Didn't even break his nose! He got a nosebleed and started freaking out, that's all."

"A nosebleed you caused?" Harley wondered.

"Pfft, well, yeah!" Lilah exclaimed. "He called Terry the f-word!"

"Guys," Anthony looked at them in the rear-view mirror. "I know who your Mom is. There's no way you should be offended by that word at this point. You're 13 years old, almost in High School. That's a ridiculous reason to send someone to the hospital, even if he was overreacting."

"Not that f-word," Terry mumbled.

"We mean the gay one," Daisy clarified. "Which makes it even more ridiculous because Terry isn't even the gay one, I am! Like, Terry is bi, at the most, so would it kill the dude to do a little research before throwing out homophobic slurs?"

Terry scoffed. "Evidently."

"Plus, the kid's a total closet-case," Lilah piggybacked. "I'd sorta feel bad for him if he didn't have such a punchable face."

Anthony quietly pulled to the side of the road, shifting into park and just sitting there a moment before he slowly turned around in his seat, his movements measured, expression calm as he could manage. "Ma, what is happening right now?"

"I don't know," Harley laughed. "But I love it!"