Over and over again, Pam trailed her fingers tenderly down Harley's cheek. Feeling the warmth of her skin disappear below her fingertips.

"You look like you're sleeping," she whispered, dragging the soft pads over her wife's lips.

The body of her wife.

The real Harley was gone.

And no matter how hard Pam pressed their foreheads together, no matter how many times she kissed her lips or her cheeks or her forehead, and no matter what she whispered softly in her ear—

She wasn't coming back.

"I'm so sorry," Pam said again and again until the words lost their meaning, "Please, come back. I love you, please. I'm not ready for you to leave. I'll…please, I'll do anything."

Her insides felt like they were screaming. She wanted to rip her own heart out of her chest and give it to Harley, like somehow that would make it better. She just wanted Harley back!

Pam wrapped her arm around Harley's waist and pulled her closer, until the blonde's limp head lay in the crook of her neck. "Daffodil…"

She wanted to cry, but her body hurt too much for tears to come. She just…wasn't ready to be sad or angry. Wasn't ready to do anything but plead to whatever Gods or Goddess might be watching over them. And hate herself. That came easily, it turned out.

Ivy hated herself, in that moment, more than she'd ever hated any man. More than she'd hated Booster Gold, more than she'd hated her Father…more than she hated Jason Woodrue. She'd jump back on that table in a heartbeat, tie herself down with leather, submit to his every sadistic whim, for just one more minute with Harley. Just one more smile. One more wink. One more giggle.

Every single hardship she'd ever faced. Any one of them, or all at once. Didn't matter to her. She'd burn down an entire forest herself. Bring gasoline and a match, and watch it all go up in flames. Just for one more…moment, second, millisecond.

"Just please come back," Pam whispered into her hair. "Please!"

She'd missed her so much on the trip. Just 14 days had felt like a death march by the end of it. A lifetime without Harley? A thousand, million, billion lifetimes until the end of time itself? Impossible.

Anthony eventually had to approach the bed, his eyes bloodshot, face tear-stained. He rested a comforting hand on Pam's back. "Mom, we're going to have to leave her be pretty soon."

Pam clutched the body tighter to her chest. "Tell her I'll be better this time, Anthony. Please, I—just give me another chance, I'll do better, I swear!"

"Mom," Anthony knelt down beside her. "You are the best parent, the best friend, and the best partner anyone could ask for. This has nothing to do with you. It was…" he had to clear his throat to get his words out, "just her time, and she left this world feeling loved, and feeling fulfilled. I know that." He assured her. "She told me. Your videos? They're what sustained her until you got back. She watched them over and over again, and talked to them like you were really there in the room with her. She loved seeing you happy, I promise. And she was so glad you made it back in time to say goodbye. She was waiting, patiently. And when you came?" Anthony leaned over to kiss Pam on the cheek. "Relief. That's what I saw."

When the hospital staff entered a half hour later to clean the room, Anthony had to pry her away from Harley as she screamed. He picked her up in his arms and held her close to his chest, letting her lean down and kiss Harley's lips one last time before he carried her out of the room, whispering: "I love you, Ma," as he passed through the doorway, and then: "I'll be OK, Mom," to Pam, holding her tighter, like the thought of letting her go was just as terrifying as it had been for Pam to let Harley go.

/

Anthony entered the house first, carrying his Mother's equipment over the threshold. Pam was still in the car, sitting, shell-shocked, in the passenger seat.

There was nothing to say, nothing to do…there was just a hole in Anthony's heart the size of his Mama and the only thing he could think to do was to bring his Mom's bags inside. Thinking maybe if he just moved. Got out of that enclosed space…maybe he would open the front door and find Harley sitting in her wheelchair, grinning up at him. So happy he'd come to visit…always so happy to see him.

He'd have to call his son, he realized. And his w—Karen. Duke should have been there, but it all happened too fast. And at the end Harley needed it to be about them—about she and Pam. And that was…

—Anthony wiped yet another tear from his eye (he was surprised his body had more to give).

That was fine.

He'd always been enamored by his parents' relationship. How they held each other so tenderly…listened…bickered, or just…looked at each other. Always with such admiration. Such…affection.

All he ever wanted was a wife. A wife like they'd had. Someone whose love for him was never called into question. Someone with no second thoughts, no regrets. Someone who…wanted him, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard. He wanted a wife to wear a ring that matched his. Rings that symbolized their belonging to each other—until the end of time. Long after they were dead and buried.

And that was what it looked like, Anthony realized. At the end of it all…what he'd seen today between his parents…that's what it was supposed to look like. You were supposed to choose each other.

…he wished Karen still loved him like that. He wished that their bond had strengthened instead of weakened.

…he wished she'd marry him. Desperately wished they had wedding pictures to display, funny honeymoon stories to share…

But he—

—Anthony wiped his nose on his sweater—

He didn't get to demand that. Wasn't entitled to it. To marriage, to her, to…love.

He was a man, and men break things just because they can. He didn't want to break Karen. He didn't want to break anyone.

So what did he deserve?

Anthony could put anything he wanted back together. Could hold anyone up. Could love with every fiber of his being.

But he would always be a man. And the privilege that came with that was inescapable. He would always be a white man, too. He'd never be able to fully relate to his son. His wisdom was rarely useful, as the world would always look different through Duke's eyes. And no matter how deeply he attempted to empathize, he would never be able to truly comprehend the even more abundant obstacles Karen had to deal with, navigating this world that was built for him—built for Anthony and men that looked like him.

He would always be an outsider, looking in to his family from his pedestal. And no matter how he tried to kick it out from under him, it would remain, nailed to his feet.

On her deathbed, when his Mother had looked at her children, she'd seen a reflection of herself…and a boy.

A sweet boy.

But not something she'd pinned her hopes and dreams on the way she had Jo.

Jolene.

The serial disappointer.

Of course she'd run away. Of course she couldn't handle it. Anthony had spent years defending her and her behavior—"she just gets overwhelmed, "it's not personal, you know that,"—but when does it pay off? When is the moment its she who steps up for him?

He thought it would be that moment, when he stood, shivering in the hospital hallway, while his parents kissed each other goodbye. But he was alone. Completely alone. Was his sister truly so self-absorbed she didn't think—even for a moment—that maybe he needed her there? Maybe her presence would have been of some comfort? Maybe the idea of spending his Mother's last moments with his arms wrapped around his sister—a woman who would never cease to remind him of their Mother—was what he needed to make everything OK?

Anthony pressed his back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders shaking as he surrendered to another onslaught of tears.

/

Jo's legs swung back and forth where she sat on the balance beam, her eyes out of focus as she gazed down at the mat below.

"Mama, look!" Jo planted her arms on the beam, pushing herself up into a handstand, grinning the entire time…until she noticed Harley was distracted by another parent. "Mama! You're not watching! Look at me!" she said, without dropping from her position.

"I'm totally watching," Harley called back over. "Point your toes, Baby. Push your legs together."

Jo pouted, but did as she was instructed. "Did I fix it?"

Harley clapped for her, grinning proudly. "You think you can manage a walk-over?"

"Yuh-huh! I sure can! I—," in her excitement, Jo lost her balance, toppling off of the beam and flat on her butt.

Jo glanced over at that spot now—the spot where Harley had been, then. Critiquing. Always with a critique and an encouragement—to find it empty.

She'd always found Harley so…pretty. Been so proud to call Harley her Mama when she stood next to the other parents. There was just something about her. Something people liked. A warmth that seemed natural. You could see it in her smile, see it in her eyes…and Jo knew—she always knew—when those eyes looked at her, that she was loved. That had never come into question. Harley loved her…to a fault, maybe. Just like Harley loved everything.

But she…disappointed her. She disappointed Harley, and she knew it. That fact was just as obvious. Harley's poker face had many tells, and Jo knew them all.

"Yeah, that's her," Jo smiled as she stood in line for warmups. "She used to be a gymnast too, ya know? A really good one. Did you see her picture in the trophy case?"

"Did she go to the Olympics?" the girl asked, her eyes wide as she too looked at Harley where she sat, watching them.

"No. But she could'a, though," Jo assured her. "I'm gonna go instead, and I'll let her wear my medal so it's like she won it too."

Jo's Mother had spent their last moment together forgiving her. That's the kind of child Jolene had been. The kind who required forgiveness from her Mother on her deathbed because she'd been such a fuck-up. Such a loathsome disappointment that her Mother was still thinking about things she'd done when she was a teenager 22 years later, as she was about to cross the threshold into the afterlife.

Jo had…she'd wanted to say how much she loved her. How much she meant to her. How life just wouldn't be the same without her. She'd wanted to tell Harley that her grandchildren loved her—and that Jo, herself, still thought she was the sun, and the moon and all the stars in the sky. But she'd missed that chance. And now it was—

"Hey."

Jo jumped at the voice behind her, it echoed through the empty space.

There was a sad smile on Damian's face as he approached her, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder.

"How'd you—," Jo had to clear her throat, as it cracked mid-sentence. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

Damian shrugged, leaning against the beam, his hand resting a few inches from her thigh. "Call it husband's intuition."

"I can't," Jo mumbled, her eyes now staring at the buttons on his shirt. "Because that's not a thing."

Damian breathed out a little laugh, nodding as he took a quick look around. "This was Harleen's gym too?"

"It's ours now," Jo told him distractedly, not quite feeling like any part of her was connected to the Earth. Feeling like she was floating. Feeling numb. "I just bought it. Think I'll name it after her…"

"Mm," Damian hoisted himself up on the beam beside her. "Are you going back to coaching?"

"Maybe," Jo shrugged, before letting a thick silence descend between them. She had felt the shift, maybe a half hour ago. Felt the weight of the loss descending upon her. But she…had to know for sure. "Is it done?"

Damian nodded subtly, his cellphone clutched in his left hand. "Anthony just called me."

Jo rest her head against his shoulder, waiting until he'd wrapped his arm around her to burst into tears.

/

The world looked different from underwater.

It shimmered, shook, stretched and rippled.

…and it was quiet.

Every voice, every sound like it was emanating from the basin of a canyon far away. Nothing was immediate. Nothing was necessary. It was an illusion.

…or so Pamela liked to think.

The water had dropped from hot, to warm, to room temperature some time ago, but she didn't care. Never again would she care about something so trivial. She wondered if she could stay in this bath forever. Absorb the water until she was sick and bloated, and drown, like one of her plants if overwatered.

She'd waited until it was dark outside to leave the car in an attempt to avoid facing an empty house in the daylight. Anthony was asleep on the couch by the time she entered, and she'd headed straight for the stairs, closing her eyes as she passed the photographs that lined the wall of the staircase.

Now the thought of leaving the bath, or slipping into an empty bed with no one snoring lightly beside her, no warm body to wrap her arm around, no sleepy mumblings to smile at…it made her physically ill.

Pam heard the bathroom door creak open, and her first thought was to tell Harley she'd only be another minute. But, of course, it wasn't Harley. Harley was…dead. Although the face now peering down through the water at her did bear a striking resemblance.

The redhead gasped involuntarily as she finally broke the surface, her lungs screaming their appreciation for the new oxygen. She grasped her knees, staring down at them for a long moment, before finally addressing her daughter. "I'm taking a bath."

Jo just nodded silently, unmoving, green eyes still trained on her.

"I'm poison," Pam murmured, pulling her knees closer, curling into a tighter ball. "Leave."

But Jo didn't leave. Instead, she slipped her shoes and her jacket off, kicking them into the corner of the room and approaching the tub, stepping in behind Pam one leg at a time, still wearing her jeans and blouse.

"Jolene, what are you doing?!"

"Calm down," the younger woman's voice sounded tired as she reached around Pam's body, pushing her legs down and wrapping her arms around Pam's rib cage below her breasts to pull her close. "You created me in a lab. Nothing I haven't seen before."

Harleen drummed her fingers on the counter for a moment before exhaling and lifting her shirt over her head, slipping her underwear off and stepping into the water.

She sat in the back of the tub, not pulling Pam close like she'd hoped she would, but instead dipping her hand into the water and lifting a wet finger to draw designs on the green skin of Pam's back.

Pam shut her eyes tightly, like closing off the world could close her off from her memories. Like if she could just shut out reality, she wouldn't have to continue living it. "Jo, you have to go now."

"No," she murmured against the wet skin of Pam's shoulder.

They were silent for a long moment, Jo's arms tightening around her, holding her fast in the lukewarm water that surrounded them. Pam could feel Jo's head resting on her shoulder now, her lips still pressed to the skin.

"I'm happy you're home," was how Jo broke the silence. "Ma really, really missed you."

Pam's stomach clenched, and she tried to pull free of her daughter's arms, but Jo didn't budge.

"And Damian said all you talked about on the trip was her," Jo continued, her voice muffled, before she adjusted her chin, propping it atop Pam's shoulder. "Said you nearly ran off the ship, armed with your camera, excited to see us all at the welcome home party…to show Ma all your pictures…"

Pam's chest tightened, her eyes slamming shut once more.

"We had a really awesome first four days, though, Mom," Jo murmured, "We walked Tyson…Mom got to walk him herself, in her standing chair. And man, you shoulda seen her smile. She loves that guy," she chuckled, though it was obvious tears weren't far behind. "And I took her to Delilah's soccer game with me…she was the best cheerleader, Mom. Just the best. Lilah scored two goals, and we went and got pizza afterwards, at that place you used to take me after Football? Remember? Ma insisted on it." She sniffed. "It's amazing, isn't it? How many different things someone can be to different people? She was my Mama, she was your wife, she was my kids' Grandma, Barbara's friend, Carrie's doctor…but it all matters. And fuck, she mattered to so many people. But at the end of the day? You were all it came down to. You were her person."

Pam's body began to shake. "56 years, I was with her…" she whispered, raising her knees to her chest once more. "56 years I woke up next to her." She tried to swallow…but she knew there was no stopping this. "I need her. I don't…know how to exist without her, I don't. I need her, Jolene."

Jo nodded silently. "But how many years did you love her?"

"All of them," a tear finally fell down Pam's cheek. "Every single one. 56 years and I…I left! Right at the end, Jolene. I left, and I…I want it back—those days, our life—why did I leave?!"

"Ma told you to go," Jo gently reminded her. "And I promise you she wasn't alone. You have to believe me when I say me and Anthony took care of her."

"But I should have been there!" her tears were falling steadily now. "And she was scared. She told me she was scared." Pam sobbed, rocking forward and backwards in the tub, the water splashing over the sides. "I want to die…I want to die…I want to die…"

"Mom," Jo cried behind her, trying to stop her rocking by tightening her grip. "Mom, you gotta listen to me, alright? Just—please." She forced Pam to slow, before whispering in her ear, "All my life, you have made me feel so safe. I know, wherever I am, that you're watching over me. My guardian angel. And you were there for Ma in the same way. I know you were, and I know—wherever she is now—she's not scared anymore because you're there with her. I don't know how, but—she took a little piece with her. She just had to. You can't love someone as much as Ma did you without taking something. A piece of your heart, it's going with her on her next adventure."

"You don't—know that," Pam heaved, tremors wracking her body.

"Yes, I do, Mom." Jo soothingly carded her fingers through Pam's hair. "I've never been more sure of anything. I promise."