DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of these characters. I do this only for my sanity.
SPOILERS: I guess Books 96, 110, and 111 of the Birds of Prey Comic Series.
CHALLENGE: Written for Passion & Perfection's Big 5000.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Just . . .
Power Girl walked away from me.
Huntress never does that. Even when we were estranged, she came running to help me. And before that, even when she still wasn't sure of my identity, I called and she ran.
Now, she's just there, offering me her support, taking on my challenges, and my moods. She's this silent, strong partner that just is. Misfit calls her my rock, and I guess she's right; these days, without Helena, the Birds would be no longer.
Misfit told me, the other day, how Helena had come running, in full regalia, when she'd heard I was 'in the field', at a nerd's conference no less. Straight from her teaching gig to be there if I needed her, and I nearly did. Of course, I can handle myself perfectly well in those situations, but sometimes, it's comforting to know the back-up's there whenever I call.
Sometimes, just hearing the hint of worry in her voice as she checks my progress over the comm link is enough to give me the strength to do what I have to do, to get out and back to her waiting arms.
Ted Kord talked to me.
No braver, kinder man has walked this earth than Ted; he was an inventor, a philanthropist and my friend, but why I ever told Helena I cyber 'did it' with him, I'll never know.
Now, whenever she has a quiet few minutes in the field, she whispers things in my ear I never thought possible. Maybe, it's because she wants to prove Ted and me were only playing.
Misfit tells me that Huntress has this lovely green streak of jealousy running through her. Whenever they're talking about the past and Ted's name crops up, she says Helena automatically changes her focus to some of our other allies.
It makes me smile to hear some of Helena's foibles; Misfit is a great spy in that regard. Like that last fight with Calculator, when I joked I'd had to take him to dinner to keep him off my tail, and Misfit acted like a teenager, chorusing about my new boyfriend. She says Helena gave her a look to kill.
I can tell you, that night; Helena proved her cyber chatter wasn't as impossible as I'd thought.
Nightwing fucked me.
He, of course, thought that was what I wanted; that this little cripple just needed a guy to fuck her. And I did, sometimes.
The wonder of Helena is that she knows exactly when I'm in need of just a good fuck. She always knows, and she always appeases. Sometimes, I need to forget all this hassle, all the death and mayhem; sometimes, I just need to feel.
With Helena though, there's always that underlying understanding of why. Even when she comes at me hard with her favourite dildo, there's always that feeling that she's doing it because she cares; because deep down it's what she wants, too.
And every time, with her, it's real; she thrusts into me, and I look into her eyes and see the desire she has for me, and I want it harder still.
I can feel every thrust as if it's meant to take me there; you know that place where all thought centres onto one other person, the one who's taking you there. Does that make sense? I guess it shouldn't, because that's how a real fuck should feel, sense but nonsense.
Yes, I'm being fucked, but Helena's right there with me, in enjoyment. She's not hovering over me, trying to prove that only she can make me feel what I should feel.
It's never just a fuck with Helena.
Black Canary made love to me.
For want of being repetitive, she, of course, thought that was what I wanted. And I did, sometimes.
Dinah always wanted to give but was never willing to take. It was always so one-sided; she'd plump up my pillows and lay me down exactly how she wanted me, and if I tried to move, to join in, she'd whisper, "Just lay back, darling, I'll take care of you."
Fuck me, I'm Oracle. Inside, I'm still Batgirl. I don't need taking care of. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And often, with Dinah, that's what I had to do. I'm not proud of the fact that I used to go out on the town just to find myself someone to take, use, and then leave, on my own terms, when I'd had enough.
Sometimes, I just needed to be the one taking her fill, needed to know that I was capable of making another feel good, that I was capable of making another feel wanted. I suppose, deep down, it was all about me. I needed to prove to myself that I could take what I needed for me, both physically and psychologically.
I used to get a thrill from being able to throw someone else against an alley wall, to feel their heat and their wetness, and to know they desired me. It was enough to know that I could take care of that desire; that they didn't need to reciprocate for me to get that thrill.
I can't remember the last time I did that.
Huntress makes love with me.
And there's the emphasis, with; with Helena, it's all about the two of us. She sure can give, but I can honestly say she takes just as much in return. Sometimes, I wonder if she takes too much, but then I see her above me, below me, at the side of me, inside me, surrounding me, and I know, the balance is just about perfect.
We share our love, and now, we share our lives; the secret and the public. Like recently, I attended her end-of-term prom, and she, for the first time with my father's blessing, accompanied me to the GCPD annual ball. Then, yesterday, she took care of Paintman's minions while I blitzed his online warehouse with some nasty virus or other. Between the two of us, we put an end to his little graffiti scheme within days of him joining the circuit.
Together, we are capable of being just like any normal couple, trying to make a relationship work; at the same time, we are capable of bringing the criminal world to justice. We are able to be gentle and loving with Helena's children, and we are able to be strong, and, yes I admit it, full of hate with our enemies. Through it all, we gain strength from each other.
And that's the beauty of this, we do it together.
Helena loves me.
How do I know? I just do.
It's about all of the above, how we fit together. It's not perfect, how could it be? We're just two women, with different pasts, different paths to this place, but hopefully, the same journey onwards. She still drives me crazy, and I know I drive her up the wall more often than not. She might whisper words of seduction over the comm channel, but most nights, she's telling me when and where to get off her case.
But what we've learned as our relationship has developed is it's all about sharing.
We share the good times and the bad, the hard times and the easy, the family times and the alone times, and, being blunt, we share the sex. Neither of us takes the lead every time; it depends on lots of things, and it depends on nothing.
More than anything else, we share the words; I can't believe how much we talk. Most people who know Helena think she's quiet, sullen even. And, I guess, most people who know me think I'm insular, that everything I've endured has hindered my ability to be open. They're wrong; Helena and me, we talk, all the time.
That's what makes this work, having the ability to talk openly and honestly with each other.
And so, when someone asks how we are, how we're doing, I simply reply, "We just . . ."
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