DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters in this story. They are the property of the WB Network, and DC Comics, I'm not intending to make any money off these wonderful characters, I'm merely borrowing them for a moment, I'm a lowly IT major in college, and don't have much money anyway, so please, dont sue me!
WARNING: This story contains mention of rape, reader discretion is advised.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

And She Was
By KelleyGaither2000

Cold. That was the only word that came to Helena's mind that could describe the New Gotham winter night that she was so readily exposing herself to. As she sat Indian-Style on the cold, damp, snow encrusted cement ledge that constituted a "front porch" of sorts for the Clock Tower, she was kept company that night only by the grotesque, winged demon gargoyles that served both an aesthetic and practical purpose. The aesthetic being that it "beautified" (Helena often said only half-jokingly that she wondered what the guys that came up with the idea that gargoyles could beautify anything were smoking at the time, and "Why the hell didn't they share, 'cause it must've been some good shit") the building, and served a practical purpose, in that it provided a drainage system for the Tower when it rained.

Right now, though, it was snowing, a weather state that usually drove Helena Kyle indoors, she hated getting wet. Tonight was different for her, though. Tonight marked a week she had been home from the hospital, tonight marked a day a month ago that she had almost lost her life, saving someone else's, someone who didn't even stop by her room to acknowledge what she had done for them, or even say "thank you." For that matter, they didn't even bother to stop by to tell her to "go to hell". That part was okay, she was used to having being the Huntress, protectress of the innocents in New Gotham, be a thankless job. No, tonight, she was alone with her thoughts for a different reason. Tonight, she mourned something precious she had lost that night a month ago. She had lost her sight, permanently blinded by a street punk that got lucky, a street punk that put a bullet in her head as she tried to wrestle with him for control of his gun. The last thing she would ever see, was the woman the punk had tried to rape running away, screaming bloody murder, dress in tatters, not that much of it had existed beforehand, it consisted of what looked to be panties and a wife beater, and then, the kid, he looked no older than sixteen, he couldn't have been older than Dinah, was on top of her, forcing himself inside her, laughing at her feeble attempts to fight him, while trying to keep the darkness surrounding her from closing in, trying to stay conscious enough to call Oracle, and she vaguely remembered hearing Barbara's frantic, commanding voice in her ear, Oracle losing protocol by screaming Helena's real name into the comm. In her ear. But after a while, even that faded, and the darkness claimed her.

She thanked whatever god cared to listen that Reese had been on his toes that night, in constant communication with Barbara, because if he hadn't, well, she wasn't even going to give that thought credence, because it was too horrible to contemplate. He had found her, and Barbara told her once she regained consciousness, that he had beaten the pervert to within an inch of his life.

What made life worth living now, though, was what had happened between herself and Barbara in the hospital. One night, not long after being moved out of intensive care, and into a private room, her birthday came. She had spent her entire day learning the essentials of how to navigate with a cane. She came back to her room that night, truly expecting that no one, not even Barbara, who had left earlier in the day, would be there.

The moment she entered her room, she knew she was wrong. She didn't have to see to know Barbara was there. Her heightened sense of smell told her everything she needed to know. She grinned coyly, though, willing to play along with her friend's game. Sightless ice blue eyes staring straight ahead, she called to her.

"Barbara, where are you?"

The voice that belonged to the one woman she had wanted ever since she figured out what wanting in that way was, called to her, a lilt of the laughter that filled Helena's soul behind it.

"Uh-uh, Ms. Kyle, you've gotta find me. I'll give you a hint, I'm somewhere in the room."

A snort, followed by a slight sarcastic grin came from Helena.

"Well, no shit, Sherlock, I know you're somewhere in the room. I can hear you, for Christ's sake. Give me a little more leeway than that, Babs."

"Uh-uh, use what you have left to find me."

Helena feigned shock, her right hand shooting to her gaping mouth.

"Not funny, Gordon. Didn't your momma ever tell you it's not nice to taunt disabled people? Honestly, Barbara, I'm appalled."

"C'mon, I'm not teasing you, Helena Alexis Kyle, and you know it. I'm merely, shall we say, making therapy more fun."

Helena grinned coquettishly.

"Ohh, do I get a sucker if I'm a good girl?"

"Well, let's just say you're about two letters off, Helena."

Realizing what Barbara meant, she decided to cut the small talk and find the redhead. She groped wildly for a few moments, and then, decided to listen for the sound of Barbara's breathing. As she got closer, she even smelled what faintly resembled Barbara's scent, but was mixed with something else she couldn't at the moment ascertain. When she reached the bed, she felt a hand smoother than her own grab hers. It was a hand that had bandaged her physical wounds countless times when she had been the Huntress. The hand, now though, sought to soothe so much more with its touch than physical wounds. It sought to heal deeper, psychological wounds, with a salve that only those digits, attached to that woman, could provide.

Barbara's hand made its way up Helena's neck, and traced her jaw line faintly, tenderly, with butterfly kisses replacing the fingers immediately after they left each spot. Helena moaned at the touch, so light it came out as a whimper, and, for a moment, Barbara thought she might have hurt her. That question was nullified when Helena ground her lips into Barbara's, forcing the redhead's mouth open for Helena's inquiring tongue by mere surprise alone. Tongues dueled for dominance, until finally, both women had to come up for air.

In that moment, Helena parted from Barbara long enough to take off the sweat drenched white wife beater she'd been wearing at therapy all day, and she then positioned herself on top of the woman she intended to make her lover. She kissed her way down Barbara's already perspiring neck, 'til she found her pulse point. She licked it in a circular motion, as though she were licking dripping vanilla ice cream away from a saturated cone, though at this point, the sweat that was coming from Barbara's desire for her was so much sweeter than any ice cream that could ever be dreamed up by mankind . This woman, this moment, was truly a gift sent directly from the gods, and what made it all the more a blessing, was that so much more of the woman she was loving right now was left to be tasted.

As Barbara moaned her name, squirming with unfathomable desire for the woman claiming her, Helena cupped one of Barbara's breasts, and began to gently tease the outer rim of it with her tongue stud, not enough to really satisfy either of their desires, just enough to let her know Helena was there, just enough to keep her wanting ever more. As she finally gave in to Barbara's plaintive pleas for relief by fully engulfing the engorged red nipple in her mouth, and sucking on it as a babe that needed pap from its mother, she began tweaking the other playfully with her thumb and forefinger, and then she changed nipples, taking the other in her mouth, and tweaking the now sopping wet one.

She then gently kissed and nipped her way down to the wild red tangle of hair growing at the apex of Barbara's thighs. When she reached down to bury herself in their splendor, she tasted something she hadn't expected. It, for all the world, tasted like chocolate. She ran her tongue along it, not believing what she thought she was tasting. She felt the chocolate dip into fancy lace patterns. Dear God, Barbara Gordon was wearing edible underwear! Barbara Gordon, Miss Conservative herself, was wearing chocolate edible underwear!

Helena smiled, and she heard Barbara laughing as she spoke.

"What? Did I surprise you?"

"Let's just say that I'm at a loss for words, for once in my life."

"I've dreamt of this moment, really I have."

"What, us doing this?"

"Well, that, and the part about you finally not being able to say anything."

Helena's answer was a quick, maniacal grin, and, lowering herself back down to Barbara's nether region, quickly severing Barbara's panties with her teeth, and eating them. She then noticed the "crème filling in the middle", as she liked to call it, and began lapping it up with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue, and, feeling Barbara about to climax, thrust three fingers into her molten core, and Barbara's inner muscles tightened, and clamped around Helena's fingers, she shouted Helena's name loudly as she hit her climax.

Having removed her hand, Helena scooted her way up the bed, and found Barbara more than ready to return the favor. She, much to Barbara's disappointment, would have none of it, merely wanting to hold her, saying that reciprocation would come later.

Deep down, Helena knew Barbara wasn't going to hurt her. Wouldn't dream of it, couldn't fathom it. She also knew that right now, Barbara wanted a part of her she just wasn't capable of giving. Her heart, sure, she could give that to her, had given it to her a long time ago. Her soul, well, it went without saying that that belonged to the redhead. Her mind? There wasn't a moment that went by that she wasn't thinking something Barbara – related. She just couldn't give her her body. Not right now, not after what happened that night. Maybe not ever. But she knew Barbara, and she knew Barbara would wait until she was ready.

It seemed funny to Helena, her mind returning to the present, as the cold snow began piercing her favorite black leather duster, and she pulled it ever tighter to her athletic frame to keep the marauding snow out, and what little heat that was being produced by said duster in, it was funny that someone who had treated the act of sex so non chalantly before that night, that, before that night, if it had two legs, and looked good, she'd screw it for kicks, pat it on the ass in the morning, tell it as she practically pushed them out her door, "thanks, that was great, don't call me, I'll call you", which she never did, that that act could become a serious choking point for her. She was going to send some therapist's kids, hell, their great grandkids, to Harvard on all the money she'd have to spend talking about trust issues, first about her mom's murder, and now, just when she was beginning to open up to people again, this happens.

She felt the air shift, and the snow lightened slowly, and then, moments later, stopped altogether. She heard the whir of the motor and wheels of Barbara's electric wheelchair come directly behind her, and stop inches away, she felt an afghan throw gently encompass her shoulders, and Barbara's touch never leaving her right shoulder as she wrapped it around her. Barbara spoke.

"The stars are out, and the moon's even starting to peek out from behind the clouds. Looks like its gonna be a beautiful night after all. Guess the weathermen don't know everything, huh?"

Helena could envision the moonlight capturing Barbara's face as its prisoner, even making her emerald eyes seem to shimmer, in a way that always took Helena's breath away. She could just see Barbara sitting there behind her in her usual pose, right hand tucked thoughtfully under her chin, propped up by her elbow, positioned on her right knee, looking at the moon, as she always loved to. Helena knew what she was thinking. She was thinking the same thing Helena was. About how much she wanted to be skirting those rooftops again, she as Batgirl. Helena knew she missed it, because she missed doing the same as the Huntress. But as she stood, and grabbed the open mouth of a gargoyle for support, and took hold of Barbara's left shoulder, pulling the afghan ever tighter around herself, she told Barbara that she wanted to give herself to her totally that night, that she no longer saw herself as a victim, she saw herself as a survivor.

And she was.

The End

Return to Birds of Prey Fiction

Return to Main Page