DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters. They are the property of DC comics and the WB network. I'm just borrowing them for a short period of time.
MUSIC DISCLAIMER: Song lyrics don't belong to me either; no profit gained or infringement intended.
SERIES: Some readers were kind enough to point out that there are more than the traditional four elements which were covered in the original Elemental series (Landslide, Watershed and Windshear). This story is the third extension of the Elemental series following Veneer and Stainless.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
With the echo of the end-of-period bell still ringing in her ears, Barbara waited for the door to close behind the last student from her third period class before reaching into her bottom drawer for her insulated lunch cooler. She carefully shut the drawer and unzipped the bag, positioning her bottle of vitamin-enhanced water, a small thermos of soup, and a orange on her blotter.
For the moment at least, she'd leave the ziploc of Alfred's homemade oatmeal cookies -- Helena's addition she presumed since she'd not put them in -- inside the lunch bag.
Twisting open the cap of the water, she sipped slowly, reflecting on how difficult it could be to find the right time for some things. A perfect example was the discussion -- or not-quite conversation -- that she and Helena had skirted on Christmas Day.
In all honesty, Barbara couldn't decide why she'd been so surprised by the encounter three weeks before. Helena was hardly unobservant, and Barbara had known that her partner was aware of a... change in their physical relationship. And, even as myopic as she could sometimes be, Barbara hadn't been unaware of her lover's almost palpable desire for...
The redhead nodded slowly at that, recognizing that as passionately expressive as Helena was of course she would have to be the one to speak. Yet, while Barbara was eternally grateful to have her Helena back, while she was damned well determined to show her in word and deed everything that she meant, there were -- apparently -- some things that simply could not be rationalized or worked through logically.
Or, she had to admit, spoken.
Today, however, was another story.
With a sigh, the redhead settled the bottle on her desk and allowed her fingers to brush her abdomen, confirming what she already knew.
It was time.
Straightening her shoulders, she punched the intercom button and steadied herself for the invariably cheery response from the school secretary.
<"I hope you're having a wonderful day, Ms. Gordon. What can I do for you?">
Barbara pursed her lips, fighting the urge to cradle her stomach, to ignore or find a way to call the whole thing off. Then, she shrugged.
No way through it but to do it.
"Good morning, Linda."
Years of interaction with the perpetually peppy woman allowed Barbara to avoid even a hint of treacle. The woman really was amazingly efficient and thoughtful, and there was no need to fault her Pollyanna-esque tendencies.
"Can you find someone to cover my afternoon classes?"
She heard keys clicking rapidly before the other woman responded and, with a smile, dug into the side pocket of her chair for her phone.
<"That shouldn't be a problem, Ms. Gordon. If the sub can't get here until later, I can pull Ms. Stowe to cover your fifth period class.">
With her thumb hovering over the call button of her cell, Barbara felt herself smile.
Amy Brenner would undoubtedly be pleased if the substitute were a little slow for fifth period.
The sound of keystrokes ended as Linda chirped again.
<"All set, Ms. Gordon. Is everything all right? Do you need any assist--">
Deciding to nip things in the bud, Barbara interrupted.
"I'm fine, Linda. It seems that it's time to head to the birthing center."
Barbara was acutely glad that she wasn't wearing her comms headset when she registered the volume of the secretary's excited squeal.
<"Oh my goodness, it's time? Aren't you early? I thought that she--">
"Technically another two weeks," she supplied, resting the cell phone on her abdomen.
<"That's right. Do you need me to call someone? Helena? Or -- ">
Very conscious of time ticking by, Barbara allowed herself to interrupt again, smiling at the hint of fluster creeping into the bubbly woman's voice.
"No, thank you, Linda."
Automatically, she checked her watch, needlessly confirming that Helena should be at the lab for the Art Restoration class she was taking and undoubtedly up to her elbows in paint thinner and such.
When Helena had casually dropped the Spring course catalog on the coffee table several months before, Barbara had forced herself not to get too excited. She'd made certain to remind her partner that there was no expectation or need for her to continue classes if she weren't so inclined. The younger woman's seemingly off-hand mention of the Art Restoration course had persuaded Barbara that her interest was genuine; and, laughing at her desire to "balance things", Helena and she had then scoured the catalog for a complementary class, with Helena eventually deciding on -- of all things -- a chemistry class.
"Can't have you and D being the only ones who know how to blow stuff up," had been her rationalization, and Barbara had laughingly agreed. However, with Dinah already taking junior level biology coursework, she suspected that she'd soon have a household of mad scientists at work.
"Helena's in class right now, and the university has a Cell-off policy. I'll leave a message on her voice mail."
There should be plenty of time for her partner to meet her at the birthing center after she left the lab and checked her messages.
<"Good heavens! You need a ride, don't you? I'll call an ambu--">
"That's not really neces--"
The reassurance was swallowed by the next excited onslaught.
<"That's right, Barbara. You have something worked out with the police, don't you?">
With the velocity of the words finally slowing, Barbara puffed out her cheeks and smiled at the intercom.
"That's right, Linda. I should be all set on this end."
True enough, and exactly as she'd reassured her fellow faculty members at the not-quite surprise shower she'd rolled into in the teachers' lounge the week before. Somewhere between opening her second and third copy of "Great Books for Girls", she'd been buttonholed by Jessica and the principal to detail her planning.
"After all, you said that she has been kicking up a storm, so things are probably getting close."
Since Jessica had had enough children of her own to know, Barbara had taken the warning seriously. In just the last week, Baby Gordon-Kyle had turned, finally putting her very active feet into play against Barbara's diaphragm; and, while Barbara's enthusiasm for her child's budding soccer career didn't approach Helena's, she wasn't taking the shift lightly.
She and Helena had already re-reviewed all of their planning. Not to mention the contingency planning they'd put in place with the sober assistance of her father.
Which was, Barbara had to acknowledge, fortuitous, given that Helena was not available to drive her.
Finally extricating herself from Linda's eager solicitousness, she toggled off the intercom and raised her phone. Since the redhead estimated that she had perhaps two minutes before news spread throughout the school, she decided to wait to call Helena until after she'd contacted NYPD's dispatch for her ride.
The choice was wise.
Barbara had no sooner toggled off her cell when the door to her classroom flew open. Completely unsurprised, she looked up and smiled.
"Alethea, don't you have class during fourth period?"
The history teacher waved a liver-spotted hand dismissively and swooped in.
"Pish posh, Barbara. They can take care of themselves for a bit."
With a laugh, the redhead turned toward her desk and began to stuff her untouched lunch into her bag.
"Leave that, Barbara. For heaven's sake -- "
Barbara blinked rapidly when her visitor grabbed the lunch bag and took over her task.
"-- you have more important things to think about. Now,"
Feeling more than a little shell-shocked, Barbara suddenly found her lunch bag and her coat in her lap, Alethea striding purposefully to the door.
"I understand that Helena can't be here to drive you?"
Sliding her hand over her belly once more, Barbara dropped her cell into the pocket and released the brakes of her chair.
"I left a message for her to meet me at the birthing center, Alethea."
She nodded her thanks when her companion opened the door for her.
"And the police are sending a car to drive me."
Peripherally, she saw the grey head bobbing vigorously as they made their way down the hallway. When bony fingers landed lightly on her shoulder, she stopped by the water fountain and looked up.
"Would you like me to ride with you, Barbara?"
The older woman's nervousness was quite apparent, and Barbara found herself speechless when she continued.
"To keep you company? I can even function as your coach until Helena arrives."
Utterly humbled, she rested one hand lightly on the older woman's.
"Thank you, Alethea. That means a lot to me."
Considering the threat that circled her, it meant more than she could say. Making a mental note to consider a change in their daughter's middle name, she shook her head with a smile.
"But, I'll be in good hands with the police, and I'm sure Helena will be there very soon."
She reflexively checked her watch again, distantly surprised by how quickly the minutes seemed to be flying by.
There was simply no way to guess how much time she had.
Mercifully, when she reached the front of the school -- somehow having acquired a little processional of well-wishers from her classes, the Quiz Bowl club, and a half-dozen other teachers -- she saw a black and white already at the curb.
The sheer size of the burly officer who jumped forward to open the passenger door for her -- not to mention the size of the service weapon on his hip -- seemed to alleviate some of Alethea's concerns. Since she vaguely remembered the man, Barbara allowed herself a moment to hope that everything would go according to plan.
"Let us know as soon as she's born, Barbara. I have a cap to bring by for her."
Positioning herself in the front of the squad car while Officer Bollen stowed her chair in the trunk, Barbara managed a laugh and a wave. However, no sooner had they pulled out of the parking lot than Barbara realized that her giddiness had been premature.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement: purposeful, fast, and on a collision course with the car. Before she had time to shout a warning, her driver was hitting the brakes and fumbling for his side arm as a dark figure landed on the hood of the car.
"What the fuck's going--"
Swallowing furiously in the hopes of moving her heart back out of her throat, Barbara shot out a hand and grabbed her protector's forearm.
Her hand shaking only a bit, she lowered her side window and leaned out to address their unexpected hitchhiker.
"Helena! What in the hell are you doing here?"
She felt Officer Bollen relax a bit and released his arm, her concentration fixed solely on her panting partner.
"I saw your message when I ducked out for a soda and -- "
Barbara rolled her eyes when the brunette hopped lightly from the car and approached with a shrug.
"-- well, I hoofed it over top-speed."
She kept the acknowledgment brief since there was no reason for Bollen to know that her partner had just flown sixty blocks in less than ten minutes.
"Hey - "
The dark head poked through the window, and Barbara jerked back to allow the younger woman to speak to her driver.
"-- mind if I hitch a ride?"
Seriously tempted to suggest that her partner "hoof it" back to the birthing center -- odds were good that Helena would get there first -- Barbara rolled her eyes, then nodded at the uniform. He put the car in park and stepped out to open the back door.
"Okay, but you'll have to ride in the cage."
Apparently, the idea of riding in the enclosed back seat didn't bother the younger woman, who hopped in with an easy grin.
"I've been here before."
The words were light, but Barbara fought back the urge to retch.
It had been Helena's last ride in a squad car that had caused her to end up with court-mandated counseling and had brought her to Quinn's attention.
She pushed that memory -- and the sensation that someone had just walked over her grave -- aside, when she heard Helena pipe up from the back.
"Hey, where's Officer Nash? I thought he was gonna drive you."
Barbara poked her tongue into her cheek, unsurprised by her partner's question. When they'd made their backup plans, her father had recommended the young officer that he'd mentored through the academy and had gone to the trouble of arranging for him to be the first driver dispatched if possible.
"He was on a call," was the clipped response, and Barbara attempted to catch her partner's gaze in the rearview mirror to circumvent any other questions.
Her attempt failed.
"Hey, this isn't the way to the birthing center!"
The steel cage separating the front seat from the back rattled with the force of her partner's blow. Instinctively, Barbara worked to twist herself around, to attempt to calm the younger woman; however, when she saw the large police issue weapon unholstered and trained at her abdomen, she knew she was too late.
"Sorry, ladies, but this car doesn't go to the birthing center."
When the squad car pulled into a warehouse and their driver stepped from the car, there was no question that they'd reached the end of the line. Not a pretty end of the line either if the presence of what appeared to be a dentist's chair -- and nothing else -- in the cavernous space were any indication.
"Fuck, Barbara. What are we gonna--"
With "Officer Bollen" circling the front of the car, Barbara didn't waste time.
Their luck had been so spotty, but there was no way that it should play out like this.
She twisted in her seat and threaded her fingertips through the metal cage separating the front and back of the car. Instantly, her partner reciprocated the gesture, placing her fingers lightly atop hers.
"We'll just have to play the hand we're dealt, Helena."
"Wish I had a weapon," the brunette smiled crookedly, "but I've only got my paintbrush from lab."
Barbara managed an answering quirk of her lips and lifted her lunch container.
"Indeed, and I don't think my soup spoon will do much good eit--"
The click of the car door being opened cut short her attempt at humor, and Barbara only had time to smile before the burly man dressed as a police officer lifted her from the car. Automatically, she wrapped a hand around his broad shoulders, contemplating a rabbit punch. As if reading her mind, he turned his head and met her eyes.
"Don't even think about it if you want your friend to make it out of here."
Since having both of them -- all three of them -- making it out was very much at the top of her list of priorities, the redhead smiled brightly and inclined her head toward the trunk.
"While I appreciate the lift, it wouldn't be necessary if you'll just get my chair--"
"Ah ah ah, Barbara. You have too many tricks in that chair of yours."
The trilling sing-song tone set Barbara's teeth on edge, perhaps mercifully distracting her from the realization that Quinn's crony had just settled her into the dentist's chair. Judging from the volume of the growl echoing from the still-open door of the car, her partner was equally unhappy to hear the voice.
The blonde pixie moved into view, and Barbara schooled her features to neutrality.
"Barbara, how lovely to see you again. If you'll allow the observation,"
Quinn tilted her head to the side and smiled.
"...you're looking absolutely radiant."
Instinctively, the redhead moved her hands to her abdomen -- marginally surprised to realize that she was still clutching the strap of her lunch bag -- and confirmed the movement under her fingers.
"As delightful as it might be to catch up, Quinn, perhaps we could arrange a later meeting?"
Of course, Quinn didn't go for the suggestion, simply laughing gaily.
"After all of the trouble I went to sneaking into the city in a garment bag in the trunk of my car?"
The blonde shuddered violently. Resisting her own urge to smile smugly at the image, Barbara unzipped her lunch bag and fished out her water bottle, raising it in silent question. Their host waved a hand in invitation, her next words confirming Barbara's suspicions that they were in this for the long haul.
"No, I think we'll do our chatting now, Barbara. But first --"
Recapping the bottle after a long swallow, the redhead held her breath when Quinn turned to the squad car.
"Bollen, why don't you ask our other guest to join us?"
The big man unholstered his side arm again and strode to the back of the black and white. There was no way to miss the click of a round being chambered before he opened the door, and Barbara shook her head minutely, hoping that her partner would heed the warning.
"Cuff her arms around the pillar there, Bollen."
Any cooperation that Helena had been planning on evaporated at that, and the brunette lunged toward the tiny woman.
"Like hell --"
The appearance of another weapon -- a .45 if Barbara weren't mistaken -- in Quinn's hand, aimed directly toward Barbara's abdomen, ended the dark figure's bravado. Glaring daggers, the young woman allowed herself to be cuffed.
"Behave yourself, Helena."
Quinn strolled over to the brunette, twirling the gun around her index finger.
"As much as threats pain me -- "
Barbara rolled her eyes when the blonde moued dramatically.
"I believe we'll need some sort of incentive to be sure that we have Miss Kyle's cooperation. Let's see, Bollen..."
The madwoman tapped two fingers against her mouth, then beamed.
"Let's plan to break one of Barbara's fingers any time Helena acts out."
Instantly, Helena jerked against her cuffs, and Barbara clutched at her water bottle.
"You goddamned psycho bitch! I'm gonna rip off your head and stuff it down your neck."
The threat didn't get a rise out of the blonde, and Barbara felt a shiver creep up her spine when Quinn turned to look at her.
"Tsk, tsk, Helena, you never did learn quickly. Bollen -- "
Brown eyes glinted, and Barbara's stomach sank when the madwoman gestured toward her.
"-- you know what to do."
Her stomach rose a notch, twisting sourly when the big man approached. Being tortured had never been her favorite activity, however when she pried her hands free of her water bottle, she was absurdly pleased to see that they were not shaking. Likewise, her voice didn't quaver when she raised her hands and met Bollen's eyes.
"Right or left, Bollen?"
Not so her partner's voice when she cried out.
"NO! Shit, Harley, I'm sorry. I'll--"
The blonde spun, cocking her head toward the younger woman, appearing for all the world like a bird listening for worms beneath the earth.
"Ah, Helena. I always have had a soft spot for you. So, just this once..."
Barbara released a slow breath while her partner sagged against the concrete pillar. When their captor smiled sweetly, she realized that their relief had been premature.
"But, just to show you that I'm serious."
The blonde snapped her fingers at her henchman.
"Bollen, break Helena's left index finger."
The snap of bone and Helena's soft grunt echoed painfully through the empty warehouse, and Barbara was suddenly very grateful that she'd not eaten any of her lunch. As it was, she found herself swallowing furiously against something rising in her throat. To her dismay, the reprimand didn't silence her partner.
"You're a real fuckin' piece of work, Harley."
The psychotic therapist seemed less angered than amused, sauntering slowly toward the brunette.
"Helena, how I've missed our phone calls and long chats since you've returned to your dear Barbara."
The brunette's response was instant.
"S'at so? I've got the number at Arkham. How about I call you there?"
Barbara covered her snort of amusement under the guise of taking another sip of water.
No need annoy their captor further.
Still, Quinn remained calm, shaking her head sadly.
"Tsk, tsk. Your manners have deteriorated in the last few months."
Carefully recapping her water, Barbara didn't blink when Quinn turned to her.
"It appears that you've been a bad influence on Helena."
In an heart stopping moment, Quinn was before her, leaning in threateningly.
Deliberately, Barbara put aside her reaction to the accusation for later. Painfully aware that Bollen had his gun firmly fixed on Helena, she remained calm.
"What do you want, Quinn?"
The mad sprite stepped back, then in a display of completely unamusing whimsy, flung out her arms and spun in a circle.
"Family, Barbara," she trilled before coming to a stop. "It's all about family, isn't it?"
The redhead chewed at her lower lip for a beat.
"I'm not following you, Quinn."
At that, the blonde waived toward Helena.
"I meant what I said: that I've missed the little family I had with Helena before you somehow reclaimed her."
Feeling her eyebrows creeping upward, Barbara watched her captor as she looked heavenward and tapped her index finger against her chin.
"Fascinating, really, the fact that you broke the hypnosis. I've been considering that, you know?"
Barbara blinked when she was pinned by brown eyes, blonde lashes batting coyly.
"The bond must be stronger than I'd thought, or perhaps you've imprinted yourself in her blood or something, Barbara."
Somehow, Barbara barely held back her own hypothesis, suspecting that Quinn wouldn't be interested in thoughts of love and genuine commitment.
"On the bright side,"
The tiny woman took two quick steps closer and smiled brittlely.
"-- I do believe that I'll be able to get a paper out of this for the Journal of the American Psychiatric Association."
Fearing whiplash, Barbara forced a smile of her own.
"How wonderful for the field of mental health."
Quinn narrowed her eyes, but apparently decided to let the sarcasm slide.
"Too true, Barbara. However, as gratifying as career might be, I still feel that there's something lacking."
"Yeah, most of your mind."
Instantly snapping her gaze to her partner, the redhead offered a glare that she thought could have cut through Helena's cuffs. Mercifully for their continued manual health, Quinn simply laughed gaily.
"No, Helena, it's something else."
Wearily, Barbara returned her attention to the blonde and worked to breathe shallowly through her gritted teeth.
Somehow, she suspected that they didn't have much time left.
"Perhaps it's that pesky biological clock tick-tick-ticking."
The blonde tittered and then continued.
"Or, it could have been the unfortunate loss of my dear Mr. J," Quinn trilled on, "or perhaps it was my happy time with you last fall, Helena. However, I seem to be suffering from an acute case of empty nest syndrome."
Entirely certain that she couldn't be hearing correctly, Barbara blinked. Twice.
There was simply no way that she could have kept the incredulity from her voice, and instantly all of Quinn's maniacal cheer disappeared.
Again, Barbara held her breath when the madwoman stalked over to Helena. Almost casually, she raised the .45 and sharply rapped the young woman's broken finger.
"Why should you have everything and I have nothing, Barbara?"
Although she suspected that the question was more than rhetorical, the redhead could only swallow convulsively when their host waved her weapon toward her midsection. Finally, she found her voice.
"You realize that you'll never be able to control Helena, Quinn."
While she appreciated her partner's support, Barbara frankly wished that Helena would stop bringing the madwoman's attention to her.
Suddenly, the blonde was gaily cheerful again, strolling in a wide circle through the warehouse. Warily, Barbara tracked her progress.
"During the long dull months after you reclaimed your little pup here, Barbara, I had a lot of time to think about this. And -- "
With Quinn directly behind her, Barbara couldn't see her; however, her tone raised the fine hair on the back of her neck.
"-- to catch up on my movies."
A protracted silence suggested that the lunatic expected something from her captive audience and so, with a mental shrug, Barbara obliged.
"Watching movies, Quinn?"
The woman truly was mad as a march hare.
The sensation of the tiny woman's lips brushing her ear caused the redhead to abandon that line of thought and nearly sent her scrabbling out of the dental chair.
Forcing herself not to move, Barbara focused on her partner's deep violet eyes, hoping that Helena wasn't about to try anything.
"AMC's Top 100, to be precise."
Quinn was beside her, the gun twirling around her finger again.
"And while I was watching a particularly awful tour de force from the 1980s -- "
Green eyes blinked when the blonde interrupted herself with a cackle.
"And, honestly, just who told Meryl Streep that she could do accents?"
Suddenly terrified that she knew what Quinn had in mind, Barbara clenched her jaw. Sensing her partner's growing tension, she managed a minute shake of her head as Quinn shrugged.
"Well, let's just say that I'm offering you your own little Sophie's Choice, Barbara."
Horrified and furious beyond belief, the redhead ground out her only possible response.
"You can't be serious."
That earned a long, grating laugh. When Quinn settled herself, she nodded at her henchman who raised his cocked gun to Helena's temple.
"Quite serious, Barbara. Either I have Bollen put a few bullets into Helena's brain or -- "
When a scalpel appeared in Quinn's free hand, directed toward her abdomen, Barbara instinctively reared back against her chair, hoping not to hear the remainder of the ultimatum. Unfortunately, Quinn was not to be deterred.
"-- You can give me that child."
"What the hell?!"
Caught up in her horrified shock at the choice that had just been presented to her, Barbara snapped her attention to her very agitated partner. Gesticulating as best she could with her wrists cuffed around the thick concrete pillar, the brunette appeared to be gathering steam.
"I mean, come on, Harley."
Mercifully, the blonde psychopath appeared more intrigued than put out by the little display of temper.
"What seems to be troubling you, Helena?"
Grateful for the reprieve, even as she feared its outcome, Barbara cradled her stomach with both hands and fixed the younger woman with a pointed stare. Her nonverbal warning was either missed or, more likely, ignored.
"Well, shit, Harl -- "
The redhead winced at the mocking emphasis that her partner put on the name, but Quinn let it pass.
"-- did it ever occur to you that I might be getting a little tired of being treated like your personal chess piece?"
Not altogether unfamiliar with the sentiment, Barbara shook her head in amazement even as Helena rattled her cuffs against the concrete.
"Some kind of fucking pawn or something."
Quinn's laughter was bright, and Barbara thought it sounded as genuine as anything she'd heard from the not-so-good doctor.
"Oh, Helena, you've always been one of a kind."
The blonde strolled close to the young woman, and when she ran one hand down Helena's arm, Barbara clenched her jaw in fury at the familiarity of the gesture.
"I do so hope that Barbara chooses to offer me the baby so that I won't have to have Bollen dispatch you."
Although she agreed wholeheartedly, when Quinn's pistol whipped across Helena's face, dropping the brunette to her knees, Barbara wished that her partner had kept her thoughts to herself.
"S'at the best you can do...?"
The words were thick, a trickle of blood running from the young woman's lovely mouth. The blonde head tilted quizzically at the taunt, and when brown eyes turned to her, Barbara wondered if she were about to have a finger mangled.
At the moment, it seemed like a very small concern indeed.
"Perhaps, dear Helena, but there you have it."
Smiling brightly, Quinn stepped away from the brunette.
"Barbara. One child --"
The redhead inhaled sharply when Quinn waved the big gun toward Helena. She was unable to breathe at all as their captor stepped briskly toward her and pointed the scalpel at her abdomen.
" -- or the other."
Faced with the tiny woman's malevolent smirk, Barbara cast about for options. With Bollen's handgun fixed firmly at Helena's head, using her lunch as a projectile didn't seem feasible. Likewise, uncapping her water and suggesting that Quinn and she share a drink seemed equally improbable. Accordingly, she went with her best weapon.
After all, she was able to reason with high school students; perhaps a homicidal lunatic wasn't out of reach.
"What on earth does it gain you to kill Helena?"
The steadiness of her voice was a source of pride bordering on amazement. Quinn however did not appear impressed, huffing in exaggerated dismay.
The blonde snapped her fingers.
"Has anyone been listening?"
Noticing Bollen perking to attention, Barbara filed the reaction away for later use and attempted to appear suitably nervous.
Not much of a stretch.
"Quinn, I simply don't understand what-- "
Chocolate brown eyes rolled in what was almost a parody of evil villainy.
"Your understanding -- "
Malevolence impregnated the word.
"-- is entirely irrelevant to this little endeavor, Barbara. However, it's very simple, Barbara. As I asked not five minutes ago, why should you have everything?"
With very little recourse, the redhead risked a response, gesturing loosely toward her lower body.
"I scarcely think that -- "
Quinn was having none of it, slashing her gun hand through the air.
"Forget it, Barbara. You took Mr. J from me, so if you want the pup in your womb, then it stands to reason that you shouldn't have Helena."
Bafflingly, the madwoman's tone gentled, becoming sing-song.
"And, since you toooold me that Helena would never belong to me, well..."
Barbara's heart clawed into her throat when Quinn turned and sighted down the barrel of her handgun toward Helena.
The letters were spelled out in a bright chirp that turned harsh as Quinn lowered the .45 with a shrug.
"She has to die."
The letters blazed in neon across the redhead's forebrain as she worked to make sense of matters.
Quod erat demononstrandum.
She knew that Quinn's logic was flawed; she was equally aware that she had no chance of persuading Quinn from her reasoning. Still, she had to try, to buy time and space for Helena -- who was just dragging herself up from the floor -- to pull herself together.
"Then -- "
Barbara swallowed with difficulty and gestured toward her abdomen.
"-- what are you..."
Quinn's long, pained sigh cut short the question.
"Oh, I suppose that the birth mother always wants to know."
Twirling the scalpel between her fingers, she took two steps closer.
"I can raise her and offer her all sorts of love and devotion. Not to mention the special tutoring I offered Helena."
The enraged growl from the other side of the warehouse masked Barbara's own gasp, but Quinn allowed no respite.
"And all we have to do is cut you open and take her out. If you're good..."
A sickly sweet smile warned the redhead to prepare herself.
"-- I may even leave you your uterus. Of course..."
Red lashes fluttered down, attempting to shut out the image of her tormenter cocking her head -- very birdlike -- to the side.
"-- that means that I may have to come back and raid your nest aga--"
"Goddamn you, Quinn!"
Helena's growl cut short the blonde's insane rambling. Unfortunately, it also seemed to remind her about the business at hand.
"Hurry with your decision, Barbara. I do have a perfectly timed escape plan to execute, you know."
As if she weren't tightly wound enough, the redhead felt her teeth set on edge by the diminutive woman's giggle.
"Execute, indeed. If you don't make a decision, I'll take them both."
Flexing her fingers against the padded steel arms of the chair, Barbara found herself considering the irony that the Halmos symbol used to symbolize the end of a proof was a tombstone.
"Tick tock, tick tock, Barbara."
She clenched her jaw and ground out the only words she could.
"Quinn, I can't -- "
Brown eyes rolled dramatically, and her tormentor turned to face her partner.
"Bollen, it appears that we have a two for one special today. Whenever you're--"
Barbara made her decision.
Clearly there was no room for negotiation.
Deliberately, she ignored Quinn's gleeful cackle and locked eyes with Helena, attempting to communicate everything.
"I didn't want this for you, Sw-- "
She cut herself off, unwilling to share the endearment with the woman who had hurt them so.
Who continued to wound them so.
"I didn't want this."
Her lover's ghosting smile, almost hidden by her quick nod, caused her heart to contract painfully. The young woman's words almost broke her.
"Fuck it, Red. Do me."
Blinking furiously, Barbara looked at her friend, her partner, her lover.
Of course Helena would make the sacrifice. She always did.
Her next words were barely a whisper, but she knew that the amazing young woman would have no trouble hearing her.
"I'm so sorry, Hel."
Again, full lips quirked.
"It's okay, Barbara."
Almost numb, Barbara looked away, shaking her head even as she tugged her shirt up.
They'd come this far. Clearly, there was only one option.
She met Quinn's dancing eyes and dipped her chin toward her bulging abdomen.
Silence filled the warehouse for a full five seconds, then Quinn nodded briskly, suddenly all business.
"A wise choice, Barbara."
The redhead had never been much of a believer in the power of wishes, or prayers for that matter; however, at this moment, she found herself fervently hoping, wishing, and praying that her choice was, indeed, the wise one.
"Perhaps," she managed.
Helena's cry was the howl of a wounded animal, raw and primal, and Barbara and her tormentor jerked when the brunette struggled violently against her cuffs. The sensation of cold steel against her temple drew Barbara's attention from the anguish in her partner's eyes. When she looked up, she was unsurprised to find the muzzle of Quinn's .45 against her skin.
"Calm your bitch, Barbara, or I'll take you both from her."
There was no malice in the madwoman's voice. Indeed, the threat was all-the-more chilling for its matter-of-factness.
Wearily, she turned back, biting her lip against the tears running down the younger woman's face. Somehow, she found her voice.
Words, however, escaped her, and she ended up lifting her brows in supplication. There was little doubt that the younger woman understood: her futile struggle against concrete and steel stilled, and Barbara clenched her jaw when Helena sank to her knees.
"Please, Barbara, don't let her do this."
For the hundredth time since their driver had diverted from the birthing center twenty minutes earlier, Barbara weighed the odds.
Neither she nor Helena were any strangers to perilous situations, even situations in which an unexpected rescue was the best chance of escape. However, today, in this warehouse, with both her lover and her child at risk, the redhead had to admit that there would be no last minute rescue, no sudden arrival of the cavalry in the form of the police or Jesse or Dinah.
Not even Alfred or Bruce.
In a moment of matter-of-fact practically, she'd decided not to notify anyone, except Helena, until she'd gotten settled at the birthing center. Now, faced with the consequences of her choice, Barbara realized that she was honestly relieved that Dinah, at least, wouldn't be exposed to the scene.
The fact that Helena was present was hard enough.
Nevertheless, the fact remained: unless Alethea were suspicious for some unknown reason and came storming through the metal doors with her knitting needles at the ready, she and Helena -- and their child -- were truly on their own for this one.
It only took her a split second to lay it all out again. Slowly, she shook her head and tore her eyes from her partner.
"Do it, Quinn."
Quinn's gleeful cackle almost masked Helena's ragged whine.
"I think not, Barbara."
For a second, the redhead thought she might faint.
Quinn cut short her croaking attempt to make sense of matters.
"And have you take me unawares while I operate?"
The blonde shook her head and pursed her lips.
"Head butts are so terribly painful, after all."
Allowing her own extravagant eye-roll to express her feelings on that, Barbara managed not to flinch too much when Quinn extended the scalpel with a flourish.
"You'll just have to birth your own baby, Barbara."
She did, however, blanch when she saw Quinn nod briskly at her henchman, who dutifully directed his handgun toward Helena's head. Squaring her shoulders, she opened one hand and accepted the glittering blade that Quinn dropped into her palm.
"No funny ideas, or Bollen will pull the trigger."
Barbara looked into the tiny woman's dancing eyes and dismissed her first instinct to inform her that the warning was entirely redundant.
"I wouldn't dream of it," she allowed before turning her attention to the scalpel.
A bit dubiously, the redhead eyed the sharp steel, absently noting that it at least looked moderately sanitary.
Of course, in her madness, Quinn never seemed to forget her medical training.
"Baby -- don't..."
Ignoring Helena's broken whisper was easier than Barbara might have expected; it wasn't that she had much choice, after all.
Her own reaction to performing the... procedure herself was another matter.
It certainly shouldn't be squeamishness: she routinely performed basic triage on her partner and, back in the day, had been able to stitch herself up without blinking. In addition, not too many months ago -- in the happier days of Helena's return from her brainwashing -- she'd actually half-joked about the possibility of performing her own Caesarean at the Clock Tower.
Still, abstract jokes and the reality of the scalpel in her hand were two entirely different matters.
Even more grateful that she wasn't nursing a few broken fingers for the procedure, Barbara stripped off her shirt, then pushed the elastic waist of her pants and underwear down to her hips. She managed a nod when Quinn extended a large towel and draped it across her lap.
"Do we have any sponges? Antiseptic?"
The blonde's dismissive wave did little to leave Barbara sanguine about the outcome.
"Pish, posh, Barbara."
The redhead sighed slowly when Quinn beamed.
"There will be blood. Deal with it."
The words tickled at her, and as she ran her fingertips lightly over her belly, it clicked. She was remembering a quote from a forgettable gore-movie that Helena had gleefully brought home a few weeks before. With a mental nod to better days, she decided to follow the scar from her near hysterectomy.
No need to reinvent the wheel.
Steadying herself, she balanced the blade between the first two fingers and thumb of her right hand and placed the tip on the left edge of the scar. As she'd expected, there was no pain when she made the first cut.
Rather, there was no physical pain.
The ragged hiss from the other side of the warehouse, in combination with a sharp kick to her solar plexus from within, needlessly reminded the redhead that there were worse agonies than physical discomfort.
For a moment, she watched the sticky redness seep sluggishly from her first shallow incision until something white hot crept through her. Throwing aside layered strokes, she drew the scalpel across her midriff one more time, determined that the second cut would be the last.
The empty warehouse was suddenly deathly still. A quick flick of her eyes confirmed it: her audience of three was rapt, each focused intently on her work, the blood, her fingers creeping to the edges of the wound to function as makeshift retractors. It was possible that all three had ceased to breathe.
Taking a deep breath, Barbara pulled the tissue back, readying herself for what had to follow. Even focused on her work, she sensed Quinn leaning close in fascination. There was no way to miss the psychopath's screech of outrage.
"What the hell is that?!"
The tiny woman leaned close -- very close, and knowing that she had no other option, Barbara unhesitatingly released the scalpel. It flew through the air, winking silver and red under the stark bulbs in the ceiling, and came to rest in Bollen's throat. The burly man fell to his knees with a grunt, blood spurting in a two foot arc in the air. Before he hit the ground, Barbara snapped one crimson-stained hand to the side to grab Quinn's wrist.
It was a risk: battling for possession of the large caliber gun in her lap, her hands slick with viscous fluid; mercifully, however, in her distraction over the surgery, Quinn had allowed her finger to stray from the trigger. Still, for a few agonizing seconds as the battle waged in silence, Barbara feared that she'd miscalculated. Quinn was wiry and possessed of the strength of an enraged madwoman; yet, Barbara had been handling her own weight plus a growing child for almost 10 months.
The gun was hers.
Her hands absolutely steady for the first time in what felt like hours, Barbara fixed the blonde in her sight and waved her back. Appearing almost comically dazed and furious, Quinn took a few steps back.
"That's far enough."
Carefully, Barbara wiped her left hand on the edge of the towel, then transferred the .45 to her relatively dry hand, She held the gun easily, aiming right between the brown eyes that were fixed on her abdomen and raised the towel to blot at the edges of the wide incision she'd made.
She didn't look over, simply inclining her head in acknowledgment.
"I'm fine, Helena."
The redhead felt what seemed to be an indignant thrust against her ribs and tacked on an addendum.
"And she's fine, too."
Her partner's sigh spoke volumes, but when Barbara lowered the towel, Helena's tone changed.
"What the hell is that, Red? That can't be norm--"
Fighting a smirk, Barbara addressed her answer to her prisoner. She pulled at the edge of her wound again and prodded at the grey mass within.
The tiny woman appeared ready to launch into a tirade of some sort, however Helena's whoop of delight came to the rescue.
"Hot damn! The kid's one foot tall and bullet-proof."
Unable to deny the truth of that, Barbara fished into her pocket and tossed her key ring across the warehouse, placing it within inches of Helena's boots. After some snarky comments from Helena years ago, she'd stopped carrying her standard issue police cuff key; however, she still always kept a tiny lock pick attached to her key ring.
One never knew when there would be a need to access a criminal headquarters or a student's locker.
"Kevlar!? What kind of game are--"
Brief moment of lightness disappearing, the redhead narrowed her eyes and spoke very clearly.
She waited while the blonde snapped her mouth shut. She counted the seconds as she watched the gears almost visibly turning behind cunning brown eyes.
"What on earth are you talking about, Barbara?"
With Helena busily working at her cuffs, she moved the gun to aim at her prisoner's chest.
Smiling without humor, she changed her aim, this time targeting Quinn's stomach.
Peripherally, she saw the dark head across the floor look up; however, she remained fixed on her prey, swinging the gun upward to bead directly between Quinn's eyes.
She heard Helena's soft grunt and opted to consider it later. For the time being, she remained focused on Quinn. Never lowering the gun in her left hand, she slid her right index finger into the incision, gripped the edge, and began to pull.
It took more effort than she'd anticipated to rip a strip free; however, once she held a two inch strip of the latex she'd molded from the cast Helena had made two months before, she smiled grimly and tossed it on the floor beside her. Wordlessly, she crooked her index finger, beckoning her prisoner to step closer until Quinn stood by the thin strip of pink latex.
"On your knees."
She pointed the muzzle of the gun.
"Now," she added when she saw the hesitation.
Although Quinn was many things -- homicidal, insane, crafty, evil -- Barbara would never have characterized her as stupid. The blonde, possibly correctly reading the intent -- the desire for a reason -- in Barbara's eyes, dropped to her knees. The clink of Helena's cuffs hitting the concrete seemed to applaud the movement.
"Would you get my chair, Hel?"
The normalcy of the question was almost jarring.
When the trunk of the squad car popped open, Barbara finally moved the gun to her right hand and placed the muzzle under her tormentor's chin.
"What are you doing?"
Helena -- too quickly -- was beside her with the chair. Verifying that the brunette had Bollen's weapon firmly fixed on Quinn's head, Barbara transferred herself to her chair and then resumed her previous position.
"Open your mouth, Quinn."
Again, the calmness of her tone surprised the redhead.
She noted Helena rocking lightly from foot to foot, but kept her eyes focused on Quinn. She almost regretted her scrutiny when faced with the wild, almost ferret-like expression, followed by sheer mad glee that filled the madwoman's face.
"I've sucked on far bigger than that, Barbara. In fact, my dear Mr. J --"
Ice hot fury ran through her when she saw the brown eyes tick over to Helena and then back to her.
"Well, you know all about that, don't you, Barbara?"
Refusing to be bated, she remained cool.
"You've never had a load like this shoot in your mouth."
That earned her a sneer.
"Let me wring her neck, Red."
Never taking her eyes off the blonde, Barbara shook her head and cocked the big weapon.
"Open. Your. Mouth."
So focused was she that, when Helena's hand came to rest lightly on her forearm, Barbara almost misfired. Green eyes ticked down to the soft touch, and Barbara felt herself wince at the misshapen finger angled away from her arm.
Slowly, she looked up and met blue eyes.
"Don't do this. It won't change anything that happened."
For a long, breathless twenty seconds, she considered the advice. For a full, painful third of a minute, she recalled everything that the madwoman had inflicted on them, everything that Helena had undergone. For twelve leaden heartbeats, she weighed how much her influence had impacted others.
Finally, Barbara made her decision.
The blonde bounded to her feet, her sneer sorely threatening Barbara's resolve. The sneer faltered when Barbara raised the gun and took aim.
Still, Quinn retained her bravado, flinging her hands expansively outward.
"You can't shoot me: I'm defenseless."
In the silence that followed, Barbara heard her partner's slow exhalation. She thought she heard the slick whisper of the oiled gun metal against her hand.
Very deliberately, she pulled the trigger. Then, just to be certain, she took aim at the figure on the ground and fired again.
Is this the real life-
Is this just fantasy-
Caught in a landslide-
No escape from reality-
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see-
As deliberately focused as she was on the simple, repetitive movements she was making and on the music resonating softly through her headphones, Barbara still didn't miss the shadow that crossed the threshhold of the big room. Since the familiar crackling energy that usually accompanied Helena's stealthy approaches was absent, she took a guess and worked for an easy smile as she looked up.
The junior-most member of their little team bounded closer.
"Barbara! Are you okay? I came as fast as I could when I got Helena's call and I guess she kind of filled me in on everything but -- "
The redhead slipped the headphones down to her neck and tapped the pause as her ward zoomed along at a mile a minute.
When Helena had cheerfully presented her with an iPod two months before -- "For chanting during labor" -- she'd not been overly impressed. However, at this point she had to admit that the convenience, not to mention the quality of the sound, was quite remarkable. Were it not for the fact that she'd grown fond of the unit, she'd considered canibalizing some of the components to improve their own comm sets.
"-- And why aren't you at the hosp -- uhm, birthing center anyway?"
Finally, the blonde came to a stop, parking her fists on her hips with what Barbara supposed was meant to be an intimidating glare. However, since she'd just faced down someone far more intimidating, the redhead only felt her smile growing.
"I'm fine, Dinah."
She gestured loosely towards her stomach, which was revealed to the harsh lights of the training room as she worked at the latex encasing her.
With a grimace of distaste, she rolled a bit more pink latex from her fingers and added, "I'm afraid that Helena got the worst of it of the three of us."
The blonde bobbed her head, but before she could fire off the question that was clear in her eyes, Barbara cut her off.
"Where is Helena?"
After Barbara had painstakingly attended to her partner's injuries, the brunette had hit the phone and then disappeared into the shower while Barbara had parked herself at the Delphi.
The teen tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and jerked a thumb toward the living area.
"I think she's following the police on the Delphi."
Barbara nodded and ran her hands lightly across the Kevlar she'd been painstakingly exposing.
"So, uhm, did your labor stop or something? Is that gonna hurt her or--"
"The Peapod's fine."
The dulcet soporano caused both Barbara and Dinah to start, but the speaker continued as if she'd not noticed.
"Or, didn't you hear, D? The Kid's freakin' bulletproof."
One crimson brow crept upward a few millimeters, and Barbara decided to take a try at explaining.
"With Quinn on the loose, I couldn't take any chances."
A noisy exhalation was the brunette's only response, and Barbara watched her warily as she circled the training room. A restless shifting from the other member of their little party drew her attention back to Dinah.
"But, you were on your way to the birthing -- "
She felt a flicker of heat creep into her cheeks but kept her gaze steady.
"I haven't gone into labor yet, Dinah."
Corn silk brows furrowed, then rose almost comically.
Merely nodding, Barbara risked a glance across the room, finding Helena lazily draped against the pommel horse.
Perhaps Dinah had seen the covert look. Perhaps her telepathic ward was picking up on some of the undercurrents.
More likely, Barbara allowed wearily as the girl backed toward the living room, Dinah couldn't miss the tension that was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"-- I'll just be at the Delphi."
The teen disappeared with remarkable speed. Barbara considered re-attacking the latex covering her lower body but forced herself to remain still. Eventually, Helena roused herself and circled the horse.
"So why aren't we at the hospital, Red?"
Barbara knew that laughter was a bit disingenuous, but after the day they'd had it simply felt too good to hold back.
"Because I'm not really hurt, Helena."
She waved lightly at the thin gel packs of red corn syrup that she'd had tucked between the latex and the kevlar.
"It was a sticky situation, but -- "
The impatient shake of a dark head ended her flirtation with levity.
"Yeah, I know. So it was all a set up?"
The redhead took her time, considering not just the question but her partner's tone, the defensive set of her body.
"I hardly could have set something like--"
Perhaps she'd not considered long enough. The rough slash of Helena's hand cut her short.
"Don't bullshit me, Barbara."
Blinking, she tried again.
"It was a ... trial run, Helena. I simply had to see if she would --"
When blue eyes snapped to gold, Barbara knew how very agitated the younger woman was. Still, the brunette spoke slowly, her words deceptively calm.
"And you couldn't let me in on this 'trial run'?"
The phrase was encapsulated in such anger and mockery that the redhead was hard-pressed not to wince.
"I didn't know that anything would--"
"Stop it! Just... just don't."
The words were hissed through clenched teeth, and Barbara tightened her jaw as her partner scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, visibly working to get herself under control. Her approach was so sudden that Barbara nearly flinched. When the younger woman slowly leaned in, she was eternally grateful that her nerves had held steady and she'd not compounded matters.
Golden eyes fixed on her -- No, on the side of her face. The redhead felt her brows knit at the scrutiny, then held her breath when Helena licked her thumb and gently rubbed at her temple. She blinked to focus at close range as Helena straightened, a small smear of crimson staining her thumb.
Again, quite deliberately, her partner raised her hand, sniffing at the droplet before sucking her thumb into her mouth, and a shiver crawled down the redhead's spine.
"You missed a drop."
Dry-mouthed, Barbara nodded, not at all surprised.
After their return to the tower, her own clean-up of the blood that had splattered over her when she'd fired the second time had been brief; she'd been too eager to set Helena's finger, to log into the Delphi to monitor the police response to their anonymous call, to ask Helena to contact Dinah and Alfred.
Unthinking, she waved one hand, startled when the movement started her iPod again.
Mama, just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head,
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead,
Mama, life had just begun,
But now I've gone and thrown it all away-
Didn't mean to make you cry-
If I'm not back again this time tomorrow-
Carry on,carry on,as if nothing really matters-
Probably mercifully, the music broke the mood, and the brunette rolled her eyes extravagantly. Quite cognizant of the fact that Helena's meta-enhanced senses could pick up every note from the earphones draped around her neck, Barbara worked not to blush, embarrassed by her closet Queen fetish. Bowing to the inevitable, and perhaps her own predictability, she finally grinned before gesturing at the growing pile of latex.
"I'll shower when I finish getting this off."
The other woman nodded slowly, then gestured toward one of the gear lockers.
"Do you need spirit gum remover?"
That elicited a laugh, even if it was a bit rueful.
"No, thank you, Helena. I stuck with rubber cement."
Not that she'd dismissed spirit gum out of hand when she'd been molding her own latex disguise from the cast that Helena had made. However, by the time she'd wrapped her entire mid-section in kevlar and then covered the entire mess -- front to back -- with flesh-colored latex, there hadn't been much need.
"The Kevlar acts a little like velcro," she tacked on.
Finally, she got a quick smile -- more of a grimace actually -- from her companion.
"You should have let me wring her neck."
Peeling off another tendril of latex -- hopefully she could melt it down and recycle it -- Barbara sighed silently.
Clearly, Helena had things on her mind.
"We -- "
The brunette interrupted herself and waggled her splinted index finger toward her abdomen.
"She's never gonna be safe with Quinn alive."
Unwilling to be sucked into a conversation that she wasn't ready for, the redhead just shook her head and attacked a particularly recalcitrant bit. When the imprint of a little fist thrusting against her abdomen appeared, she blinked, then smiled.
"I didn't want that on your hands, Hel."
Peripherally, she noted her partner's slow nod.
"You knee-capped her."
The words were soft, ghosting over her fingers as Helena knelt and began to assist in her exfoliation process. Barbara truly couldn't decide if the tone had been wondering or admiring or regretful. A beat later, she leaned toward the last option.
"Now she's gonna be more pissed off and limping."
Suspecting that no reply was expected, Barbara straightened and rolled her neck, working to relieve the tension of the last few hours.
"You should have killed her."
Too late,my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine-
Body's aching all the time,
Goodbye everybody-I've got to go-
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth-
Mama ooo- (any way the wind blows)
I don't want to die,
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all-
Very slowly, she met her partner's eyes.
She caught herself, refusing the easy lie.
"It wasn't something I could do."
The dark head bowed, and eyes that were, for the moment, blue were hidden behind dark bangs.
"Because I was there?"
Again, she couldn't take the easy way out. Neither could she answer.
Shaking her head, she peeled the kevlar from around her waist, still amazed that it had required almost four feet of the material to circumnavigate the growing life inside her. Helena's next question neatly distracted her from all thoughts of her waistline.
"What the hell is she gonna think if she ever learns you were gonna give her up to save me?"
The words were so quiet that Barbara knew that she could pretend not to have heard them; however, she had heard them. Utterly baffled by the question, Barbara blinked a few times then spoke very clearly.
"Giving her up was never an option, Helena."
Carefully, to be certain that there could be no misunderstanding, she added, "Giving up either of you was never an option."
She set her jaw and met her partner's gaze.
Helena's nod was grudging.
"How are we gonna keep her safe? We know Arkham can't hold the bitch."
Barbara tossed the kevlar onto the exam table -- she'd clean it later -- and tugged her shirt down. Since she wasn't certain how she could find the words, it was something of a relief when Dinah stepped quietly into the room. However, when she saw the expression in the younger woman's face, relief was the last emotion that came to mind.
"Dinah, honey, what is it?"
The teen leaned heavily against the door frame, her eyes wide and oddly unreadable.
I see a little silhouette of a man,
Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango-
Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me-
But I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me-
He's just a poor boy from a poor family-
Spare him his life from this monstrosity-
Easy come easy go-,will you let me go-
"Do you think she did it?"
At a loss, Barbara looked up from her monitor, raising her brows and allowing her glasses to slide down her nose.
"I'm sorry, Sweetie."
She offered an apologetic shrug, trusting that her partner wasn't about to unleash some version of "Who's On First". Since she had been fully engrossed in her latest task, she was willing to concede that she might have missed whatever Helena might have said before parking herself next to her mouse pad.
Her trip to the morgue that morning, accompanied by Jesse Reese and Helena, hadn't been pleasant in and of itself. Neither had been witnessing Helena's movements when she'd flipped the sheet back from the diminutive figure in the storage locker, watching as she'd silently bent close -- so very close -- to the dead woman's neck, fighting not to look away when the brunette had scented the body before them. Still with Helena's absolute certainty, in combination with her own DNA tests against samples she'd kept on hand since the clock tower invasion, it was official.
Or, as official as these things could get in their line of work.
Accordingly, Barbara had decided not to waste any time in ensuring that all of her facial recognition 'bots were withdrawn from the net.
Due dates and labor waited for no one.
"Who did what?"
Her companion wiggled a few inches further back on her table and smoothed her jeans -- needlessly, in Barbara's opinion since the faded denim fit like a glove -- and drummed her fingers against her thighs.
For some reason, the movement was inordinately distracting.
Perhaps, she allowed as she forced her eyes back to Helena's face, it was the tape wrapping the younger woman's rapidly healing index finger.
"Dinah?" she repeated, not altogether brilliantly.
Collecting the threads of the pseudo-conversation, she added, "Do I think that Dinah did what?"
Helena's own shrug seemed curiously offhand.
Possibly because of the words that accompanied it.
The redhead snagged one of the bows of her glasses between thumb and forefinger and carefully removed them. Tapping the free stem against her lower lip, she gave the apparently casual question due thought.
"It's certainly a possibility, Helena," she finally allowed.
Internally, she had to concede that it was even a reasonable possibility: Dinah wasn't oblivious to the risks that Quinn presented to all of them; she wasn't without means or, given how engaged Helena and she had been in the training room the day before, opportunity. Indeed, given the weight of responsibility that the teen carried, such an action truly couldn't be termed surprising.
The dramatic rolling of bright blue eyes eloquently suggested that Helena might have already entertained similar thoughts.
"I know that, Red."
Barbara worked not to roll her own eyes when she heard her companion's tone take on an overly patient timbre. The tone was, in fact, one she heard frequently during her day job, one that she'd long ago dubbed the "Slow it down for the old folks" dialect of adolescents everywhere.
"That's why I asked, you know."
Again, slender fingers drummed lightly against denim-clad thighs.
"Or, maybe I should be asking if you did it."
Exhaling slowly, Barbara crossed the earpieces of her glasses at a precise sixty-degree angle before placing the little equiangular triangle on the other side of the keyboard.
She met her partner's gaze without blinking, very aware of the fact that Helena had not asked.
"And, technically, I suppose one could ask the same about you."
Which, she had to admit, succinctly distilled the nonconversation the three of them had shared the night before.
When Dinah had appeared in the training room and delivered her news, the silence that had followed had been overwhelming. Eventually, Barbara had found her voice.
"She was at the hospital. Having her -- "
She'd stumbled just a bit over the words.
"-- her wounds treated."
Dinah had nodded, unnecessarily confirming the intelligence that Barbara had gathered when she'd been at the Delphi earlier.
"Uh huh. They were transferring her to Arkham and, uh, the police ambulance was hit by lightning or something and blew up."
A soft sniff had drawn Barbara's attention to the other person in the room.
"Finger of God, huh?"
Helena's comment had been surprisingly subdued, and sparing a second to glance through the skylight in the training room, Barbara had had to agree with the hint of question in the pronouncement: It had been an unusually cloudless day in New Gotham.
Not to mention that coincidences were few and far between in their fair city.
She'd felt two pairs of blue eyes fixed on her and nodded briskly, leading a little procession to the Delphi. The two younger women had hovered near her workstation as Barbara had dutifully hacked in to various police and government sources, the city's news sources, and eventually a score of satellites.
"Not lightning," she'd finally confirmed.
She'd pushed back from the terminal and turned ninety degrees.
"It was a laser from a Department of Defense satellite."
Again, silence had reigned as she'd watched the minute hand on the big clock jump, incongruously finding herself wondering just when she'd learned to read the time so effortlessly backwards.
"It was triggered through a series of satellite hops that appear to have originated with -- "
Here, she'd paused again and chewed at the inside of her cheek, debating which details were truly necessary. With a mental shrug, she'd laid out the facts.
"A Wayne Industries satellite that was programmed through -- "
Still focused on the clock, she'd gestured toward the Delphi.
Peripherally, she'd seen two heads bob and had continued flatly.
"It was programmed with heat recognition, geared to trigger when the guards exited the police ambulance."
"No innocent victims."
Dinah's words had been hushed, and the three had exchanged looks. Against her own instincts, Barbara had attempted to read her proteges faces.
Helena's had been hard, almost stony, possibly considering that Quinn had deserved far worse. Dinah had been focused on her fingernails, appearing almost sulky.
Typically, it had been Helena who'd pointed out the tiger in the room.
"Unless there's something you've been keeping from us -- "
A hard look from deep blue eyes had suggested that Helena hadn't been referring just to computer operations.
"--there are only three people with access to the Delphi."
The redhead had nodded once, speaking carefully.
"That's true, Helena."
Then she'd waited, curious as to which would give voice to the question that hung heavy above them. The continuing silence had revealed a great deal.
"I'm glad she's dead."
Barbara blinked and pulled herself back to the moment when her companion abruptly scooted from the table. The brunette stretched extravagantly, her thin muscle tee leaving nothing to the imagination.
Deliberate, the redhead supposed when Helena leaned close and warm breath teased her cheek.
The younger woman turned with a smile and hopped lightly from the platform. Watching her head to the kitchen, Barbara allowed one hand to come to rest on her stomach and finally allowed her own response to bubble to the surface: Although she could not honestly claim satisfaction with how it had occurred, she had to admit that she, too, was very, very glad.
Nevertheless, her feelings on the matter underwent a slight correction the next day when the subject returned to haunt her.
"So, did you?"
Since she was less engaged than she'd been the day before -- she'd almost mastered the knitting pattern and barely had too look at her work -- Barbara felt less at a loss. She finished counting the row, then lowered the pink and purple striped baby blanket.
Or, if it kept growing, perhaps it would be a cape for Helena.
"Did I kill Quinn?"
Just because she was certain that she knew what Helena was asking was no reason to assume.
Still damp from two hours at the free weights, the dark figure prowled close, the tan skin revealed by her minimal workout shorts and tank dotted with sweat.
"I know you wanted to, Barbara."
The redhead managed to open her mouth before realizing that she had nothing to say. Feeling more and more like a fish out of water, she snapped her mouth shut.
"You killed that fake cop."
The reply to that was easy. Or, as easy as it could be to justify taking a life.
"That was unavoidable."
The brunette dropped lightly into the wing chair and nodded.
"Yeah. He had a gun on me, right?"
Barbara suspected that her own nod of acknowledgement was, at best, wary. Seemingly oblivious, her companion toed off her Nikes and crossed her legs camp-style in the chair.
"I've been trying to figure the whole thing out, you know?"
Although it was one of the last things she wanted to do, Barbara had always been a slave to her curiosity. She felt her eyebrows lift in unspoken invitation to continue.
"Yeah. If it was a trial run like you said, why not clue me in? At least -- "
Absently, Barbara found herself wondering when she'd agreed to board what seemed to be a train speeding toward an unpleasant destination.
"--to shadow you in case something went wrong. But,"
The brunette shrugged, all too casually.
"--maybe you were afraid I'd become the hostage-du-jour, right?"
Again, the redhead's nod was wary.
If one boarded a train in New Gotham that was traveling to Los Angeles at two hundred miles per hour with stops in...
"But, then, you figured you had to call me in case nothing happened and I found out about you going to the birthing center, right? So you could cover your bases and say it was a false alarm or something?"
Feeling the heat of a blush touch her cheeks, Barbara worked to explain.
"I didn't want to deceive you, Helena. I--"
The brunette snort of amusement cut her off.
"Like hell, Red."
Still, somehow, Helena's tone was mild. Almost lazily, the younger woman uncrossed her legs and stood.
"You didn't want me there 'cuz you wanted to kill her."
If two more acute accusations hop on the train in Chicago and the conductor refuses to let anyone off the train...
"Helena -- "
Somehow she found her voice.
"She was threatening--"
The dark head shook once.
"No. You were planning to."
Nearly dizzied, Barbara instantly decided that another tact was in order. Allowing an indulgent smile, she peered into her partner's eyes.
"Have you been in the catnip again, Hel?"
The smile they shared was a welcome respite. Unfortunately, Helena was not to be distracted.
"Not since Quinn fucked with my head last fall."
The reminder sobered her, and Barbara held her breath as her partner prowled softly around the perimeter of the living area.
"But yeah. You were gonna kill her."
The redhead clenched her jaw in expectation when Helena came to a stop behind the sofa and fixed her with a long look.
"At least until I showed up anyway."
Obviously the train was picking up speed somewhere around the continental divide.
"How on earth would I do that, Helena?"
She didn't try to keep the exasperation from her tone.
"Oh -- "
The brunette waved airily and resumed her pacing.
"-- not lying in wait or anything. But, I thought I smelled cordite in the cop car."
Barbara ran her tongue around the edges of her lips when Helena disappeared into the kitchen, her voice becoming just a bit muffled. Cursing her partner's keen intellect and her meta-enhanced senses, Barbara steeled herself, awaiting the inevitable.
Clearly this train was rocketing into L.A. during an earthquake.
That hypothesis was confirmed when the other woman returned, the strap of Barbara's lunch sack hooked over her first two fingers.
"And then again when I brought this up when we got home."
Barbara threw in the towel, accepting the insulated bag from her partner and unzipping it.
Clearly this train ride had come to an end.
"I had to test it," she explained as she pulled her thermos from the bag and extended it -- cap first -- to the other woman who accepted it carefully. A low whistle distracted her from wishes that she'd had Q, from the James Bond franchise, on retainer.
Barbara managed a quick smile as Helena peered at the small hole in the bottom of the thermos then brushed her finger lightly over the handle of the screw on plastic cup.
"Careful, the trigger's a little -- "
Gravely, she accepted the rather awkward weapon and carefully popped the cap to dig inside. Her partner's next question froze her mid-motion as she worked to retrieve the chambered .32 caliber bullet that she'd primed two days before.
Wondering just how deliberate Helena's final word had been, Barbara realized that her little train ride was becoming a train wreck.
"So why didn't you kill her then?"
"I never dreamed that any mere physical experience could be so stimulating."
With Rose Sayer and Charlie Allnut safely through the whitewater in their none-too-secure African Queen, Barbara smirked and forced her attention back to the elegant little laptop perched on a typing table in front of her abdomen. Nevertheless, she found her thoughts wandering, bringing to mind so many experiences that were most definitely stimulating: her first international gymnastic meet; setting a grappling hook and sailing off the Central Bank building the first time; seeing a genuine spark of interest in a student's eyes; hot-rodding her Ducati through the dark streets; emerging victorious from a battle.
Even, she had to admit, when such a victory involved the death of another.
Idly, she drew her index finger across the track pad and faced the truth of matters: In their line of work, death was sometimes inevitable, and, in the words of her former mentor, any fight that you could walk away from was a good one. Over the years, she'd shared that bit of wisdom -- with no little irony -- with her own proteges.
This afternoon, still mulling over a death that had been anything but inevitable, she had to admit that the homily was still valid. And that thought, naturally -- and rather maddeningly -- brought her squarely back to the reason she was probably allowing herself to be so easily distracted by one of her favorite movies: Wirelessly connected to the Delphi, with several terminal screens up and running and a host of batch programs ready to comb the log files, did she really want to find traces of the person who had programmed the satellite that had taken Harley Quinn's life?
In the week since their rather revealing discussion, neither she nor Helena had broached the topic with each other.
Letting sleeping cats lie, perhaps.
Helping Dinah fold what must have been the laundry from the entire dorm two nights before, she'd skirted the topic, discovering that her normally loquacious ward had become abruptly conversationally-challenged.
However, Barbara had always been a slave to her curiosity, and the possibility that there were clues sprinkled throughout the Delphi was nearly an insurmountable temptation.
Not to mention her own boredom.
With her anticipated due date now four days behind her, she'd finally ceded to the pleas of her family and coworkers and begun her maternity leave that very morning. Unfortunately, she'd rapidly discovered that sitting around like a broody hen was of decidedly limited appeal.
She only hoped that she wouldn't go out of her mind with boredom when her maternity leave began in earnest after the birth.
With a shrug -- perhaps she owed it to all of them to be certain that there was nothing that could be of use to a computer forensicologist -- she clicked to one of her terminal screens. The ding of the elevator mercifully saved her from the temptation of her own curiosity.
"Hey, Red. You still pregnant?"
Reaching for the remote, Barbara neatly muted her movie and spoke primly.
"No, Helena, this is a new one."
The younger woman's laughter as she shrugged out of a knee-length coat was bright and full.
"Well, you are efficient once you get the hang of something."
Barbara's own, she thought when she saw what was under the coat, was a bit breathless.
"Good heavens, Hel, could that skirt go any higher?"
When she saw her companion's eyes dance impishly, she prepared herself.
"Sure, but then it would be a belt."
Again, Barbara heard her own laughter echo through the great room, and with a blink realized that it hadn't been an uncommon occurrence in the last week. Considering the charged conversation that she and Helena had engaged in, Barbara was frankly surprised that her sometimes volatile younger partner hadn't been more visibly upset. When she'd as much as asked Helena about it, the brunette's smile had been stiff.
"I get it, Barbara."
As cryptic and unsettling as that had been, Barbara had opted to embrace it, supposing that some of her partner's forbearance was due in no small part to her own delicate condition. Helena certainly had taken pains in the last week to check on her several times a day, at work or at home. The younger woman had been solicitous in the extreme, breezing in with samplings of her favorite delicacies, spending hours rubbing the tension out of her lower back and upper arms, keeping close at night, and all the while demurring at Barbara's attempts to reciprocate.
"What's the occasion, Hel?"
Barbara corralled her laughter long enough to gesture toward the brief outfit.
"That is a lot of skin to reveal in the first days of February."
The younger woman moved smoothly into the living area, dark head shaking once as she pushed the typing table aside.
"Nah. It's just to see if I can still catch your eye, Red."
Quite certain that she was having her tires yanked, the redhead rolled her eyes indulgently and caught her partner's hand.
"I assure you,"
She tugged, pleased when the smaller woman dropped gracefully into her lap.
"--catching my eye is never an issue, Hel."
Instead of the quip or sly grin that she expected, Barbara received a long, curiously vulnerable look. Unable to read her lover's face, unwilling to guess at an atmosphere that had gone from playful to pointed in a heartbeat, she squeezed the other woman's hand lightly.
"Hel? Is there something -- ?"
"You hide it."
She felt the shoulder resting against her chest shrug as Helena continued.
"You've been hiding a lot, Barbara."
Somehow suspecting that going on the offense was not in her best interests, Barbara managed to swallow her own sharp retort. Angling her neck, she sought to catch her partner's eyes.
"Helena, it's not--"
The other woman cut her short, and Barbara blinked when she heard the clipped hardness of her voice.
"You think I don't know what you're doing? Hiding your plan with Quinn? Pulling back on sweeps? Enticing me to stay here?"
Even as her blood began to boil, Barbara heard her voice remain very, very calm.
"Let me make one thing very clear, Helena."
She waited a full twelve seconds after that. She waited until blue eyes rose sulkily to meet green.
"I've never feigned wanting you near me."
Setting her jaw against the acid in the two syllables, Barbara followed one slender hand as it slashed through the air.
"I guess you don't fake it. Hell, you love me and touch me and -- "
Her instinctive anger began to give way in the face of the tightness of her lover's voice, the brightness of her eyes.
"-- and it's all hearts and flowers and soft touches until I'm so fuckin' crazy I forget my own name."
There had to be more.
Utterly at a loss, Barbara worked her mouth, finally managing, "And, is that a bad thing, Hel?"
At least that earned a sheepish smile.
A fleeting, sheepish smile, followed by the younger woman twisting in her arms to bring them nearly eye-to-eye.
"Don't go all Kelly Clarkson on me, Barbara."
Blinking at close range, taken aback by the apparent non sequiter, Barbara frowned. Given that she was one hundred and two hours past her due date and as uncomfortable as all hell with a permanent beach ball in her lap hindering her access to everything, she knew this wasn't the best time for puzzles.
"You know -- "
That adolescent whine of impatience colored the words, and then Helena burst into song.
"Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk?"
The serenade ended with a rough slashing movement of the young woman's hands.
"Only, it's you, Barbara. About me. Treating me like I'm glass or something."
Suddenly getting it with the force of a jackboot to the solar plexus, Barbara worked for words. Her partner beat her to it.
"But, I'm not, Barbara."
The impossibly soft skin of her partner's cheek brushed her face, and warm breath teased her ear.
"I'm flesh and bone and blood and nerves, and I don't break easy, Red."
Never, ever, able to deny the other woman's reality, her vitality, her humanity, the redhead nodded slowly, gathering her courage.
"I know, Hel."
Unwilling to hide in the anonymity of proximity, she gently raised one hand to the younger woman's jaw and guided her back until bright blue eyes came into focus.
"It's me," she managed before words failed her.
How could she explain that she wasn't enough... or, more accurately, was more than the other woman should have to deal with?
She was torn between vexation and relief when Helena shook her head with a sigh and leaned out to snag the remote from the side table. Somehow -- as always -- almost preternaturally aware of everything around her, the brunette thumbed up the volume for another round of bickering between Rose and Charlie. This time, if Barbara were recalling the film correctly, it was during their sentence of death at the hands of the Germans.
From movies to songs to movies.
In media res didn't begin to sum up this conversation.
Puzzled she quirked her brows at her partner who merely inclined her head toward the screen as a distinctive patrician voice silenced Humphrey Bogart's attempts to protect her.
"I'm certainly not going to outlive you, and that's all there is to it."
The exasperated sigh was her own. Barbara waited just long enough for her companion to mute the movie again before responding to what was entirely too low a blow.
"Helena, don't you see? I'm not the person you think."
When a doting smile was her only answer, she lowered her voice and tried again.
"Helena, I am not fair and rational and just and all of those heroic qualities."
Exasperated, she brushed a strand of flyaway hair from her cheek and let her temper fly.
"Don't you understand, Helena? I'm a goddamed vigilante."
Contrary to her expectations, the shouted confession neither provoked her partner to anger nor sent her screaming. Instead, Barbara watched with something bordering on disbelief as the brunette leaned back, resting her hands lightly on the arms of the chair.
"Don't you get it, Barbara?"
She saw one slender hand raise, perhaps to touch her, then descend almost abjectly.
"I'm okay with that. Better than okay."
Flummoxed and quite positive that Barbaras were from Neptune and Helenas from Venus, she opened her mouth to go on the counter attack. A warm mouth brushed against hers, stealing her will to fight.
"I fell in love with all of you, Red."
She turned away but couldn't escape the other woman's rumbling whisper.
"Teacher and mentor."
Her hand was brought to soft lips, tingling against the ghosting kiss.
"Friend and hero."
A deeper kiss to her palm accompanied the description before her hand was raised and turned, brought to rest against her partner's chest.
Utterly humbled, Barbara heard her own voice before she knew that she would speak.
"I thought you called me a human computer."
Hearing the hint of petulance, she winced, but her lover only laughed softly, the rumble in her chest tickling Barbara's palm.
"That, too, Red."
The seduction, Barbara realized later -- much later -- was so subtle, yet so blatant; so soft and sudden that she had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to collect herself.
One moment Helena was balanced with her knees on each side of her legs, leaning over her belly, pressing the softest of kisses to her skin. The next, sharp teeth were at her throat sending ribbons of pain-pleasure coursing through her; her hand was being moved to the younger woman's chest and ground roughly; her partner was hissing her pleasure.
Even as she reacted, Barbara knew that her body was moving with an instinct of it's own.
Without thought, she moved to the side, catching her lover in a breath-stealing kiss.
Barbara hadn't known she'd speak the word -- much less think it -- until she heard it pass her lips on a growl. Bowing to the moment -- in her opinion, retraction had always lacked sincerity -- she abandoned regret and fumbled frantically beneath the short skirt. Impossibly her pulse skyrocketed as her lover arched against her.
Needing nothing more, she plunged into the younger woman, Helena's shuddering gasp only serving as fuel to the flame of her need. Yet, some small portion of her rational mind remained and, horrified, she recognized that the hard set of her lover's jaw against her shoulder was not all pleasure; the friction against her fingers was too much.
What the hell was she --
A softly grunted command drew her from her recriminations.
The grind of increasingly wet heat against her palm almost undid her resolve. The deep violent of her partner's eyes managed to keep her in check.
"Don't you want me?"
Somehow, Barbara mustered a tender smile. Raising her free hand, she lightly brushed the other woman's bangs back, fighting a moan when those phenomenal eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.
When Helena opened her eyes and dark brows quirked, Barbara found herself unable to fathom her partner's expression.
Slowly, she traced the tip of her tongue around the edges of her lips, not missing the flare of gold that sparked into the younger woman's eyes. Cautiously, she nodded once, unsure of her grasp of a situation that had suddenly become amorphous.
Somehow, the redhead swallowed, not certain how much was playful and how much genuinely challenging. Nevertheless, she couldn't avoid the feeling of something dark and alluring rearing within her, clawing for the surface, if only for a few moments. When she managed an answer, she knew that some of it edged her voice.
"Are you so certain that you want to see that side of me?"
Somehow her voice hadn't cracked.
For a heartbeat, she considered. For a lifetime, she balanced between everything she was and everything she'd promised to be. Inevitably perhaps, Barbara reached her decision and nodded.
"Go into the training room."
There was no lingering self-examination.
No trips to the balcony to reassess.
No wordless communion with the spirits of her city.
Having made her choice, Barbara waited only until her partner disappeared into the training room before setting to work: a swing into the kitchen for bottled water and a terry towel; a stop by the elevator to engage the lock; a pass through the bedroom to snag a light tee shirt to replace her sweatshirt. Scrubbing her face at the bathroom sink, her reflection in the mirror caught her eye.
Nothing had changed on the surface, yet...
Shrugging that thought aside, she momentarily debated rummaging through the bedside table for one other item but decided that her next, and final, stop at the gear closet would be quite enough.
The pockets of her chair fully outfitted, Barbara finally approached the training room. It was there, her hand poised above the door handle, that her resolve faltered the tiniest bit. The sound of soft singing from within -- Tears For Fears' "Shout" if she weren't mistaken -- steadied her nerves, and she swung open the door and entered the big room.
The words were low, a juxtaposition to the flashy air drum solo that accompanied them.
Barbara smiled her greeting in return and moved to the center of the floor. With her musical interlude apparently completed, her partner hopped lightly from the padded massage table she'd been perched on and joined her. Barbara ran through her mental checklist one final time before looking up and allowing a different type of smile to cross her features.
"I believe you're overdressed, Helena."
Although the minimal amount of material in the brunette's skirt, not to mention the sheerness of her shirt, made the observation improbable at best, Barbara was pleased to note that her partner didn't even bat an eye.
"I didn't know if... what you wanted."
Regrettably perhaps, the almost shy admission lured Barbara's own doubts to the surface. She held the younger woman's gaze and spoke equally quietly.
"I have everything I want, Helena. There's no need to -- "
The emphatic shake of a dark head cut her short, and she waited as Helena took the two steps that brought her to her side and then dropped to her knees.
"Then I don't have everything I want, Barbara."
Dropping her gaze to the slender hand resting on her leg, Barbara knew that she had no choice.
"What is it that you don't have, Hel?"
The response was so immediate and so certain that the redhead couldn't doubt its sincerity.
"For you to feel safe being you with me. For you to stop hiding who you are."
For some reason, the words struck with the force of an almost physical pain, but Barbara didn't look up from her inspection of the hand that was still resting on her knee.
"Helena -- "
Her throat was tight, the words nearly breathless.
"-- I do."
Grudgingly, Barbara looked up and met deep blue eyes.
"Like with Quinn."
Crimson brows crept upward in silent question.
"Whatever you did or were planning to do or wanted to do, I'm okay with it. I don't care if you wanted to kill the bitch."
The younger woman shrugged, and Barbara swallowed with difficulty as she felt her hand being taken, Helena's thumb moving in slow circles in her palm.
"You work so hard to hold everything in, Babs."
Her partner's voice seemed to drop half an octave; her words slowed.
"You try to be this perfect freaking paragon or something, but when I get to see the real you..."
Barbara had to work very hard not to look away, not to shut her eyes, not to hide from her lover's scrutiny.
"When I feel the real you, the woman with passions and wants and needs and -- "
Suddenly, Helena was again in her lap, straddling her with her knees buried in the thick padding of the chair, her words faster, firmer.
"And I know how much you want, and it makes me so fuckin' hot that I want to explode."
Distantly, the redhead found herself considering that the climate control in the clock tower must be malfunctioning, for she was suddenly very, very warm herself. Helena's next words, purred directly against her ear, did nothing to improve her temperature.
"Because I know that it's me you want, it makes me so fuckin' wet I want to do anything..."
She allowed her hand to be coaxed, her heart trip hammering when she was presented with the truth of her lover's words.
Somehow, Barbara maintained a tenuous grasp on her own wits and carefully extricated her hand, raising it to cup her partner's face.
"I-- I've caused..."
Feeling the obstinate set of the other woman's jaw, she tried again.
"You've had to deal with so much, Hel, and I don't want -- "
It was so difficult to speak the words.
"I won't objectify you or treat you like--"
Almost playful, the interruption caused green eyes to blink twice.
Barbara allowed her tone to supply air quotes as she parroted back the words in question. She felt a bit of tension depart when her partner smiled against her palm.
"Every second that we're together, Red, there's never a doubt in my mind that you know it's me."
"Sweetheart -- "
Perhaps the baby was kicking, or perhaps her lunch wasn't sitting right: the pain filling her chest had to be more than merely emotional.
At a loss, she stroked her thumb lightly across her lover's mouth. She caught her own bottom lip in her teeth with lush lips parted, eyes that were morphing to violet sparking a bright question.
Dumbly, Barbara nodded slowly, and something clenched high in her belly when she allowed the younger woman to draw her in. Without conscious volition, her eyes fluttered shut, and for a score of seconds all that she knew was her heart beating in counterpoint to the soft suction.
She thought the voice had been her own although Barbara quite definitely did not recall planning to speak. Nevertheless, the hushed syllables roused them both. A lingering kiss was pressed to her palm, and the redhead pried open her eyes as Helena gracefully extricated herself from the chair to stand beside her again.
Her mouth so dry that she knew her voice would be nothing but a croak, Barbara nodded. She didn't miss the way violet eyes flashed to gold or the other woman's soft gasp.
"So, you were saying I'm overdressed?"
Again, the redhead nodded and then almost laughed when, true to form, her partner leapt into action. However, the vision of the sheer blouse falling to the training room floor, followed immediately by the wisp of a skirt, was decidedly more arousing than amusing.
Having already shucked her footwear, the brunette was reaching for the hooks of her bra when Barbara finally managed to speak. Suspecting that the solitary word might have been a bit... short, the redhead smiled and nodded toward her lover's underwear.
"Leave those on for now."
She had some very, very specific plans for removing the bra and boy-briefs.
"So, what else?"
Helena's question was a mixture of casual unconcern and breathlessness. Charmed, Barbara fought her own nervousness -- there was no going back after this -- and dug into the side pocket of her chair. Refusing to look away, she met the other woman's gaze and dangled the standard issue police cuffs from her index finger.
Since Barbara was quite aware that the brunette might have some residual issues about being cuffed, given her recent experience of being the hostage of the day with Quinn, the sly smile she received in answer was inordinately reassuring.
"Oh, yeah, but -- "
In a heartbeat, Helena had bounded over to the massage table and ducked down to retrieve something. Fighting a smile, Barbara pursed her lips as the scantily clad brunette approached her with something hidden behind her back.
"What do you have there, Hel?"
Tipping her chin, she searched her lover's face, and her levity was pushed away by awe at the openness of those violet eyes.
"I want to wear this."
Barbara felt her brows knit, then shoot toward her hairline, when she realized what the younger woman had revealed.
The thick leather collar was stiff, but it was not new. A searing image of her lover in the collar -- and little else -- after a bit of fieldwork in the club district nearly a year before filled Barbara's vision. Pierced, breathless, she settled the cuffs into her lap and then extended her hand, palm up. She accepted the heavy circlet, however, when Helena stepped closer, the redhead permitted herself a digression.
A very necessary detour.
Before the other woman could bend or kneel or otherwise position herself to receive the collar, Barbara circled her arm around the back of her bare thighs and pulled her close. Instantly, she turned, resting her forehead against the younger woman's firm abdomen, her mouth watering and her own gasp of desire further inflaming her. When she felt a warm hand come to rest lightly on her shoulder, when she picked up the thrumming tension of the sinewy thighs beneath her hands, she almost gave in to her own hunger.
Oh, how she wanted...
Almost. But, this wasn't all about her needs.
More than a bit reluctantly, the redhead pulled herself away, allowing her eyes to droop closed for a moment while she fixed the memory of that sensory moment firmly in her heart. Then, feeling the other woman dropping to her knees beside her, she collected herself and turned to her task.
The creak of the leather bending, the prick of the sharp studs against her fingertips, the image of her partner's dark head bowed before her caused something to flare within her. With a sharp inhalation, she tested the security of the buckle, then caught her lover's eyes.
"Are sure that you're... comfortable with this?"
Helena's nod was instant. The words that followed, a low rumble.
"But only if you promise to use that."
Clenching her jaw, Barbara followed the direction of the other woman's nod, needlessly confirming what her partner was referring to.
Still uncertain and questioning her resolve -- not to mention her good sense -- as she'd gathered things, Barbara had tightly coiled this particular item and tucked it between her back and the back of the chair. Of course, with her keen sense of smell, Helena had probably easily detected the oiled leather the instant she'd entered the training room.
Deliberately, Barbara rotated her neck, working a bit of residual tension from her shoulders. Reaching behind her, she retrieved the heavy bullwhip and tossed it onto the floor beside her.
"Count on it, Sweetheart."
The heavy-lidded droop of the other woman's eyes and the flare of aquiline nostrils sent blood thundering through Barbara's veins. Yet, despite the growing ache in her chest and the burning of her nipples as they came in contact with the soft cotton of her tee, she didn't miss something in Helena's face.
Very gently, she pushed the other woman's bangs back.
"Uh, before we get started...?"
Knowing that there was nothing -- absolutely nothing -- that she would deny this amazing woman, Barbara nodded. Somehow, she was unsurprised when her lover stretched close and brought their mouths together, a whisper preceding the contact by a hair's breadth.
"-- need to kiss you."
As she lost herself in soft lips and the warmth of the other woman's mouth for long, wonderful moments, the redhead realized that this kiss alone would be enough.
Not so, apparently, for her partner.
Barbara worked to steady herself when Helena, panting softly against her skin, pulled away. Eyes gold, the young woman rocked back on her haunches, collecting the cuffs as she stood.
"What are you gonna do to me, Red?"
There was only anticipation in the question, and Barbara nodded once in the direction of the pommel horse. She waited until Helena turned before responding, not missing how her always-graceful partner seemed to mis-step when she spoke.
Helena's hiss was piercing, however it couldn't begin to compare with the volume of her cries later.
As impatient as she tended to be personally, Barbara had never doubted the value of forbearance. On this afternoon, she'd taken that particular virtue to heart. With Helena firmly cuffed to the pommel horse, Barbara had somehow managed to corral her own insistent urges. Denying the heat and thrust building within, she'd taken her time, banking and fanning her fire... and Helena's.
Throughout, it had occurred to her that, after the last four months of feeling increasingly ungainly and awkward, there had been not a trace of awkwardness during the afternoon.
It was a thought she'd put aside for later consideration.
There were other matters to occupy her.
From her chair, to the floor, to the horse, and back to the chair, she'd explored every angle. With the rattling of the metal cuffs as counterpoint, she'd stroked with her hands, stilling Helena's trembling for a moment before reigniting it. Leather molding against her palm, she'd brushed cotton undergarments aside, then had used her hands to tear them asunder. Her own breathing harsh in her ears, she'd finally given in -- briefly -- to her own need, covering Helena's body with her own and allowing her lover's nearly-frantic grinding to assuage the fire in her chest and belly.
And still somehow, she'd held back from that final touch.
Her fingers almost itching, her biceps quivering in anticipation, sweat beading her face, she'd waited. It took almost two hours of teasing her lover with her hands and mouth and tantalizing her with the lightest strokes of the whip before Helena's pleas for more finally undid her resolve.
Nearly sobbing her own relief, Barbara raked her hands down the other woman's back one final time, pressed her mouth to her chest again, and then pulled away.
One fast stroke was all that it took.
If volume and duration could be used as an indicator, Barbara suspected that Helena's climax was explosive. To her surprise, her own was even more so.
The breathy moan fluttered through her hair. Since the power of speech seemed to have gone on holiday, the redhead contented herself with a nod.
With Helena wrapped around her on the training room mats, both of their bodies effortlessly melding together, Barbara was close to dozing when she felt her lover stretch minutely in her arms. She heard a soft sniffing then squirmed when her partner inched upward to lap softly at the side of her mouth.
Even at such close range, she couldn't mistake the crimson stain that transferred from her mouth to her lover's, and she worked not to look away.
"You bit me."
Helena's voice was, she thought, a bit dazed.
She waited, finally releasing the breath she'd not realized she was holding when the wicked smile overtook the younger woman's features.
"I like it."
A laugh bubbled forth, and she buried her hands in dark hair, pulling the other woman close.
Their kisses this time were unhurried, perhaps almost somnolent, as her lover fitted herself almost bonelessly against her. However, when slow strokes began to change tempo, she knew that Helena's amazing recuperative abilities were obviously about to prove themselves again.
"Holy -- "
The younger woman's voice was sharp.
"--you're fucking soaked."
The redhead didn't bother to open her eyes. The sweep of her fingertips over satin skin never faltered.
"I'd imagine so," she allowed, feeling altogether agreeable.
Helena's absolute stillness eventually drew her from her preoccupation, and she met her partner's eyes.
"Really wet, Barbara."
Somehow, she knew, and a moment's investigation confirmed it.
"My water broke."
Complete silence followed as Barbara considered the information she'd just shared, and Helena, presumably, did likewise. A dramatic groan finally distracted her, and she arched one brow.
Her partner's voice was distinctly aggrieved.
"You mean that after all of -- "
Slender fingers waved vaguely above their intertwined bodies.
"--this, I've got to pull it together and get us to the birthing center?"
Laughing, Barbara combed her fingers through sweat-dampened dark hair.
"I think we have a few minutes to collect ourselves."
Instantly, she felt the tension leave the younger woman's body, and allowed herself to relax a bit as well. For a few moments, they lay quietly, Barbara gently stroking her lover's back until Helena pulled away and slipped down her body.
Wiry arms snugged around her upper belly, and Barbara finally stopped ticking through her mental list for the birthing center -- A turtleneck was definitely in order for Helena -- and focused on the other woman. When she heard the words addressed to her midriff, she suspected that her partner was referring to her; however, she had to admit that no truer words could be spoken about Helena herself.
"Get ready, Peapod. You're about to meet the most amazing woman in the world."
"I am not so much complaining as seeking clarification."
Suspecting that her tone might have been just a bit petulant, Barbara inhaled slowly through her teeth and released a long cleansing breath.
"Since I haven't been able to feel anything below the waist for the last eight years, I simply fail to understand why there's this much..."
Acutely aware of deep blue eyes focused intently on her, she took a moment to find the right word.
The anesthesiologist, a man Barbara was rapidly coming to think of as Dr. Mengele, didn't look up from fiddling with the IV.
"You should know that contractions impact the entire torso, and -- "
Finally the man appeared interested in something other than his tray of needles.
"--it appears that other nerves and muscles are attempting to compensate."
The redhead grit her teeth and panted shallowly as she considered that, especially in light of some of the times during the last eight years -- especially the last year -- that she might have appreciated such a thing.
"What fortuitous timing."
The sarcasm appeared to be lost on the anesthesiologist, who snapped his gloves off and moved toward the door.
"The spinal should kick in shortly."
Before the door clicked shut, Helena was at the side of the bed again, cool fingers brushing the hair back from Barbara's face.
"Is it really bad?"
In response, Barbara squeezed her partner's hand.
It was, after all, so difficult to quantify pain. The last time she'd felt, truly felt, this level of physical discomfort had been...
No, not the shooting.
The redhead felt her brows knit as her mental CPUs went into overdrive.
Perhaps it had been when a group of surprisingly effective drug dealers had somehow gotten the drop on her, hooked her up to a generator, and shocked all hell out of her. Repeatedly. The more it had hurt and the more she'd tensed, the more the biofeedback unit had ratcheted up. Since escape had been out of the question, unconsciousness had been her savior until the decidedly tardy arrival of Bruce and Dick.
Appreciating the distraction, such as it was, Barbara re-considered her first assessment.
Given this afternoon's similarity to terrible stomach cramping, perhaps the last time she'd experiences something like this had been after the first big family meal she'd attempted for Helena and herself after things had changed so many years ago. Having more-or-less reconciled herself to her new circumstances, Barbara had decided to tackle the domestic role that had been thrust upon her. It had only been her new ward's remarkable physiology that had saved Helena from a woefully mistaken attempt at eggplant and liver.
She herself had not been so fortunate.
"No Sweetie. I'm.... "
Another contraction interrupted her attempt to calm the younger woman's palpable nervousness.
She grit her teeth again and rode it out. She suspected that the smile she mustered was, at best, a bit forced.
If the agony reflected in her partner's deep blue eyes could be used as an indicator, clearly she needed to brush up on her stoicism.
At the moment, she rested her free hand on her upper abdomen, shivering when her lover bent close to breathe into her ear.
Barbara waited as Helena straightened and fished in the tacky plastic pitcher for an ice chip.
"Not being afraid to let me see?"
Green eyes blinked once, and Barbara vigorously crunched her ice chip.
"So cursing and crying are back on the table?"
The attempt at levity fell flat, and Barbara sucked in a sharp breath when her partner leaned close, her words low and urgent.
"Don't ever take 'em off. Don't take anything away."
Stunned, she opened her mouth to comment on the enormity of the demand, but Helena beat her to it.
"That whole time, earlier --"
Looking up from the hand that was gently clasping hers, Barbara was amazed to see eyes flicker yellow then back to blue.
"And -- I've never -- "
Helena cut herself off, dark head shaking once. Entirely sympathetic to feeling a bit tongue tied, the redhead wet her lips and smiled encouragingly. Eventually, her words slower, the younger woman continued.
"You were on me and in me, and I couldn't touch you but I was with you."
Again, the dark head shook, and Barbara allowed her lover to finish.
"You were letting me in. Showing me."
She was pinned by violet eyes, her hand raised to the other woman's lips. Helena's final words ghosted across her knuckles on a kiss.
"Don't take that away."
Throughout her life, even before the accident, Barbara had never considered herself a particularly observant individual. Casing for clues or detecting a bit of subterfuge from a student, yes; however, in terms of noticing the sensory world around her, she felt she tended to be... well, a bit oblivious.
However, at this moment, held securely in her partner's hands, lost in her eyes, the reality of labor and contractions faded just a bit. In their place came a rush of sensory memories from not too many hours before.
Oddly, scent was first: The hint of antiseptic and linament that always lingered in the training room; the familiar, evocative aromas of Helena... and leather; a different, equally complex scent of Helena on leather. On the heels of that came a rush of flavors: The sweet saline taste of Helena's sweat; the velvet musk of her partner on her lips; the sharp coppery tang of blood in her mouth. Then, Barbara's fingers almost tingled as she felt again: The smooth silk of skin under her hands; the impossible give of diamond-hard peaks between her fingers; the warm heat that later cocooned her hands. From there, a rush of kinetoscopic images: Helena splayed before her, her hips working frantically as she'd drawn the length of the leather down her body; her own hands, tendons flexing, the paleness of her skin in stark relief against Helena's tan.
And, while Barbara had always unashamedly described herself as a visual person, she was unsurprised to discover that it was the aural memories that struck her most: the clink of cuffs against metal; the slap of flesh against the leather pommel horse; the hiss of the bullwhip whispering over trembling muscles; Helena's grunt of pain-pleasure that still sent a phantom jolt directly to her center.
Her own cry just before she'd collapsed on top of her lover.
Yet, with those sensory moments came even more intense emotional memories: Helena's soft murmur afterward, "Yours." The warm wetness on her cheek from the tear that had escaped. Her own ragged response, "Yes."
The grinding ache currently squeezing her upper abdomen and spine finally brought her back to the moment, to find her partner smiling a Cheshire grin.
"See, Babs? A little distrac--"
Eschewing politeness, Barbara cut in.
She panted softly through her teeth, wondering just when Gloria would be making an appearance to get the C-section underway.
Blue eyes came into view again looking decidedly less self-satisfied.
"Shit, Barbara, I wish I could take the pain for you."
Not doubting the other woman's sincerity in the slightest, the redhead squeezed her hand again. A moment later, she wasn't certain if her words or the squeeze were behind the younger woman's startled jump.
"Next time, Hel."
The shocked blink she received spoke volumes, but in the throes of another contraction, Barbara opted to let it go. Again she reached for her partner's hand and tugged her close.
"C'mere and distract me..."
Those stunning blue eyes widened almost comically, then hooded.
Strong fingers kneaded at the back of her neck, and Barbara sighed her appreciation as her partner moved close.
"Whaddaya want me to do?"
Since she'd never been one to back down from a dare, the redhead narrowed her eyes in thought.
"How about a lap dance?"
Helena's whoop of laughter almost drowned out the very vocal woman in the room next door -- from the sound of things, she must have been giving birth to a Sumo wrestler -- before the brunette quieted and waved toward her abdomen.
"Don't think there's room there for both of us, Babs. But, uh, you want your iPod?"
As if by magic, the elegant little white rectangle appeared in the younger woman's hand, and Barbara eyed it doubtfully before giving her partner a long look. Despite her best efforts, Barbara suspected that when she spoke her tone might have been the slightest bit arch.
"Does it look like music will hath charms to soothe?"
She instantly felt guilty when the other woman's expressive features sobered.
"Uh, maybe not."
Just as quickly, Helena brightened, and Barbara held her breath, completely uncertain what to anticipate.
"But, I could lip-sync a show while you listen. I put The Divinyls on there last night."
It took her a moment; however, when her companion raked her free hand down the front of her turtleneck and flirted with the buttons of her jeans, she instantly pinpointed the song by the one-hit-wonders. Swallowing roughly, she extended her hand for the iPod.
The arrival of her doctor spared -- or shortchanged -- her what promised to be a memorable show.
"Personally, I prefer the version by Jack Off Jill."
Barbara rolled her eyes as Helena turned smoothly to greet the grey-haired woman.
"Sure, but this one's the classic."
With a laugh, Barbara's Ob-Gyn peered under the sheet covering her lower half.
"Sorry to be so long, Barbara, but I had to finish off the pitcher of martinis I'd just ordered. As for you,"
Dropping the sheet into place, the doctor turned to Helena and continued speaking over their laughter.
"I don't think we'll be having time for a floor show. Perhaps you can greet your daughter with a dance in a bit."
And with that, after almost ten months of waiting, things seemed to move remarkably rapidly.
Dr. Frine disappeared while Barbara was prepped and draped. The doctor returned with two nurses and the anesthesiologist in tow. Helena moved to one side, holding her hand and offering a play-by-play of the incisions, the opening of her womb, the first sight of their daughter.
Because of her limited vantage point -- Gloria had soundly nixed her requests to watch -- Barbara focused on her partner's face. For the most part, the younger woman remained focused solely on her until Barbara heard her doctor's murmur, "There she is." At that point, she smiled and inclined her chin, willing herself to see through her lover's eyes: eyes that went wide, then wet, then joyful.
"She's beautiful, Barbara. Just like you."
A minute later, she watched the younger woman's mouth open in a soundless "O" as she cut the cord. Then, an impossibly tiny being came to rest in her arms, on her chest, and she felt her own mouth open in soundless awe.
Dear heavens, she was a mother.
Awestruck, she forgot about Gloria, who was busy stitching her up. The only realities were her partner leaning close to her and this little being who, to her eye, looked amazingly like Helena.
"It makes it real, doesn't it, Red?"
Still floating between numbness and an endorphin high, Barbara only nodded. When her partner continued, blue eyes fixed firmly on their daughter, her haze evaporated with an almost audible pop.
"Kinda makes me wish Quinn was still alive so I could kill her face to face for threatening this."
An hour later, Barbara was still dazedly dissecting her partner's declaration, working not to wonder if the word "again" had been censored, when a discrete knock mercifully distracted her. An unmistakable rich aroma, laced with cream and lemon if she weren't mistaken, completed the process, and she smoothed the covers as the door cracked open.
"Are you accepting visitors, Miss Barbara?"
Delighted, she beamed and waved her guest in.
"You're hardly a visitor, Alfred."
Her smile broadened when the elderly gentleman approached and offered a stainless steel travel mug. She eagerly raised the cup, sipping the still-steaming tea, suddenly aware of how terribly thirsty she was.
"It's so good to have you here, Alfred."
Her companion offered the hint of a smile in response.
"Has your father been by?"
Laughing, Barbara settled her Earl Grey on the night stand.
"He's been here almost the entire time."
Her father and half of the NGPD, in fact, had been prowling the birthing center diligently since her arrival, undoubtedly giving a fair number of the other mothers second thoughts. Helena herself had only left her side moments before, at Barbara's request for the biggest, juiciest burger she could find -- for some reason she was absolutely famished -- after having ensured that both Dinah and Jesse Reese would not leave her door.
"He and Dr. Frine are outside sharing cigars."
Following the direction of her old friend's eyes, she rested her right hand lightly on the edge of the bassinet by her bed.
"Meet our daughter, Alfred."
The words sounded awkward to her own ears, like something poorly rehearsed for a play; however, Alfred seemed not to notice, turning to the bassinet and bowing from the waist.
"I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, young lady."
Torn between amusement and humility by the courtly gesture, it took the new mother a moment to notice when her visitor cocked his head toward the little crib.
Her answer required no thought.
"Of course, Alfred."
Smiling, probably completely goofily, Barbara waited as her old friend carefully lifted her daughter and then settled himself into the rocking chair by the bed. A bit distantly, she noted the teensiest bit of envy at the ease with which her long-time friend handled the tiny bundle.
"If your first nine months are any indication," he continued, his eyes fixed solely on his little charge, "you'll be seeing many, many things during your lifetime."
Barbara had to snort softly at that.
"Like your other mommy flying over the rooftops," she suggested.
The unofficial fourth member of their team finally looked up.
"Undoubtedly, Miss Barbara. Possibly,"
White brows rose, and Barbara smiled her encouragement.
"--joining her mother on those flights."
There was nothing for it but to parrot her guest's words.
She allowed the gentle moment to linger before growing serious.
"But, there are so many things I hope she never..."
Alfred's nod allowed her to trail off. His following question briefly removed any chance of responding coherently.
"Such as the death of another person, Miss Barbara?"
Waiting for her heart to stop booming in her chest, the redhead chewed at the corner of her lip. Ultimately, she decided to broach the topic.
Kind blue eyes didn't blink, and she soldiered on.
"Do you think that..."
Words escaped her for a moment.
"Do I believe that Miss Helena was involved? Or,"
Her companion tugged out his handkerchief, dabbing at a drop of baby drool on his lapel without missing a beat.
"-- is it Miss Dinah you worry about?"
She nodded slowly.
"Both, Alfred. At first glance, Dinah seems more likely for the method."
She slowed, allowing herself time to sort out her thoughts before continuing.
"However, the few times that we've tap-danced around it in the last week, I get the impression that she knows something but doesn't want to let me know."
Alfred's slow rocking seemed to set the cadence for her words, allowing them to spill forth without the usual censorship she employed.
Finally, her confidant spoke.
"One might presume a more personal approach from Miss Helena."
Barbara felt herself nod so quickly that she feared a neck spasm.
"Exactly, Alfred. Yet, this is the perfect disguise."
Again, Barbara allowed her words to slow as she worked through that which she'd refused to consider.
"I'm not sure I know her, Alfred. The change's she's made recently -- classes, allowing me to cut back on sweeps, learning--"
She stumbled the tiniest bit before facing those wise blue eyes.
"--taking responsibilities at the Delphi."
Still sorting through things, she cravenly opted not to mention her partner's words during the birth.
"Very true, Miss Barbara."
A tiny fist worked free of the swadling blanket, and he took a moment to settle the tiny being in his arms.
"Yet, she's is still so very much your Miss Helena."
Barbara couldn't miss her companion's choice of words.
"My fiercely protective Helena," she reminded him.
"Again very true," he acknowledged as he rose and stepped quietly to the bedside.
"Never underestimate the power and protectiveness of a spouse or a parent."
Stretching out her arms to accept her daughter, Barbara saw something in her old friend's eyes, and she nearly forgot herself when she made out his next words.
"Or that of a grandparent."
Dorothy Gale certainly had it right: There was no place like home.
After two nights and almost two full days at the birthing center, Barbara had pulled every string she had, used every weapon in her arsenal, and pulled every wile from her book to secure Gloria's permission to continue her recuperation at home.
Assistance transferring herself in and out of her chair? Absolutely.
No heavy lifting or stretching? Not an issue.
Someone nearby to assist with her newest charge? Please.
Settling herself in the big bed after the brief ride from the birthing center to the clock tower, Barbara automatically ticked through the promises she'd made, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction that, as yet, she'd not broken any of them: She'd allowed the hospital staff to push her chair into the van; she'd permitted Helena to transfer her from her chair to the bed; and she had even managed to endure endless amounts of solicitous fluffing as Helena had settled the pillows and covers for her. Even now, with her vivacious partner unloading their bags from the van, she had Dinah at the ready, cautiously lifting the newest resident of the tower from the odd latex stomach-cum-bassinet that Barbara had received for Christmas.
"I can't believe that Helena told me you two named her Jean."
The redhead accepted her two-day-old daughter, still feeling hopelessly awkward with the tiny life form and barely able to believe that The Powers That Be had actually allowed her to leave the birthing center with her.
Honestly, she'd had to fill out more paperwork to bring a puppy home from the pound than she'd needed to leave the birthing center.
Nevertheless, her own awkwardness apart, she had pledged to herself that her daughter would receive as much human contact as possible.
The repetition was obviously meant to signify something, and Barbara worked to identify the source of Dinah's pique. Although, privately, she suspected that the character Jean Grey from the soon-to-be-released third entry in the X-Men movie franchise might have been behind her partner's choice, she wasn't sure why Dinah seemed so perturbed about the name Helena had chosen to tease her with.
"It is a little plain, Dinah," she finally hazarded.
The impatient shake of blonde hair suggested that she wasn't quite with the program.
"No. I mean, yeah, it is plain, but -- "
The teen pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and took a breath.
"Jean? You know, G.E.N.E."
It took the older woman a beat before she chuckled.
"It would indeed be apropos given her origins."
Unable to help herself, Barbara grimaced at the idea before continuing.
"However, I think I might have leaned toward plain old Gregor Mendel. Or,"
She looked down at the tiny being in her arms, almost loosing herself in bright eyes.
"-- perhaps just stayed with Peapod."
Dinah's laugh was bright.
"Even Gordon Kyle would have been better."
Nodding slowly, Barbara decided to keep to herself the fact that she'd flirted with the name Jordan. It had only been Helena's less than diplomatic input -- "Hell, why not just tattoo bifocals on her and name her Poindexter?" -- that had brought her to her senses.
Transfixed by the inquisitive eyes fixed on her, Barbara was pleased that she'd bypassed the easy choices.
The fuzzy cap of crimson hair that had greeted them when their child had finally made her appearance had simply reinforced the choice that she and Helena had arrived at.
Growing serious, she looked up into different blue eyes.
"You knew, didn't you?"
When Dinah opened her mouth, Barbara cut her short.
"Who was behind Quinn's death."
To her credit, the girl didn't blink; however, her cheeks pinkened noticeably even as she nodded hesitantly.
"When you two were in the training room, I was monitoring the police frequencies and I saw stuff happening and -- "
When her companion trailed off, suddenly finding something about her shoes of great interest, Barbara marshaled her patience. She softly patted the edge of the bed beside her, pleased when Dinah carefully lowered herself to the mattress.
"You saw the activity programmed into the Delphi?"
With her gaze now fixed on her hands fisted in her lap, the blonde chewed at her lower lip before responding.
"At first I thought that maybe Helena had programmed it, but it didn't seem like ... well... "
A shrug completed the non-sentence, and Barbara nodded.
"It lacked a personal touch," she suggested.
When Dinah nodded, Barbara sought pale blue eyes hidden by blonde lashes.
"And you thought it was me?"
The color deepened in the girl's cheeks, but this time she didn't look away.
"For, uhm, just a second until I saw one of the commands backspace -- "
Barbara shifted her daughter to her shoulder and arched a brow in question.
The blonde nodded vigorously and picked up steam.
"You know? Deleting and retyping? So I knew that it wasn't a script and had to be real time so, uhm, I -- "
Suspecting that she knew, Barbara smiled.
"You did what?"
The response was an equal mixture of embarrassment and defiance.
"I messaged him."
Barbara almost laughed until she remembered her purpose.
"And, you allowed Helena and me to believe that it might have been you?"
Again, the teen chewed at her lower lip.
"I didn't want Helena to freak out or anything, and -- I mean -- it was already done and, well, I was kinda of complicit or something and so I figured that if nobody said anything we could just..."
So many secrets, each of them intent on protecting the others.
Vowing to consider the ironies of that thought later, Barbara checked her hold on the tiny bundle beginning to squirm in her arms and placed one hand over her ward's.
"I understand, Dinah."
The increased squirming against her chest permitted the redhead to ignore the vast proportions of her understatement, and she automatically checked the clock and did the math.
"I'm sorry, Dinah, but I think she's hungry."
The speed with which the teen shot to her feet and backed toward the door suggested that she, too, might be a bit relieved to let the topic fade.
"Uh, sure. I need to head back to the dorm anyway."
Barbara barely had time to waggle her fingers in farewell before Dinah was at the door; however, noticing the blonde pausing with her hand on the knob, she stilled the movement of her hand toward the buttons of her shirt.
The teen's smile was sunny.
"I'm still on for baby sitting on Friday night, right?"
Almost laughing, Barbara shook her head in amazement. Abruptly aware that the movement could be misconstrued, she rapidly reversed directions and nodded firmly.
According to Jessica, who had enough children to know, one didn't look a good baby sitter in the mouth, regardless of whether said sitter should be more interested in Friday night parties on campus than in changing diapers.
With Dinah's excited squeal -- "Kewl!" -- still echoing through the room, the redhead toggled on the iPod resting in its clock radio base. She still hadn't listened to the play list that Helena had downloaded for the Big Event, and there was no reason not to start the newest member of their little family on the classics early.
Although, "Leather and Lace" might not be the best choice for a two-day-old.
Shaking her head, she toggled to the next selection -- Peter Gabriel was certainly appropriate -- and then finally turned her attention fully to her daughter.
"It's been more than two hours," she murmured as she efficiently worked open the buttons of her oxford shirt. "You must be starving."
A somewhat gummy whimper was the only verbal response, however, when she brought her child to her chest, nothing else was needed: instantly, the tiny being burrowed into her chest, rooting determinedly until she latched on to her breast.
"At least one of us knows how to do it."
Barbara hadn't planned on making her confession aloud, however, her daughter seemed not to care. Amazed, the new mother watched her child settle in to suckle, a small noise of discontent confirming what Barbara knew: she was still having difficulty letting her milk down.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, rapidly ticking through all of the helpful hints that the nurses at the birthing center had shared. Mercifully, the sensation of tiny little fists kneading against her engorged breasts, followed by the determined bump of a fuzzy red head, saved her the trouble. When she looked down again and found herself fixed by blue eyes that were miniatures of Helena's, it was suddenly effortless.
For uncounted minutes, Barbara lost herself in... experiencing: Watching the eager motion of her child's mouth; feeling the tiny fists continue to work against her; hearing the soft gurgling coos.
Dear heavens, the emotions welling within her were unlike any she'd ever dreamed of.
An electric frisson of awareness drew her from her abstraction, and she looked up in time to smile a greeting as her partner padded silently into the room. Wordlessly, the younger woman placed their overnight bags next to the chest of drawers and then came to the side of the bed.
Barbara remained fixed in her study of her lover's expressive features, easily detecting the host of emotions in her eyes. It was only when the brunette sank to her knees that violet eyes finally moved from the child in her arms to Barbara's face.
Helena's tone was hushed.
"You're so beautiful."
Since she suspected that the other woman was referring to the situation rather than her own appearance, Barbara offered a slow smile and ducked her chin toward the child in her arms.
"You can always wet nurse, you know, Hel."
Helena's reply was not anything that the redhead had anticipated.
"And miss watching this? I'll catch the next one."
Her startled laughter coincided with the end of Baby Gordon-Kyle's first dinner at home, and Barbara carefully extricated her daughter from her chest.
"I'll hold you to that, Sweetheart."
The brunette grinned easily and accepted their child. Barbara distantly noted an odd pressure in her chest -- somewhere near her heart -- when she watched her partner press a soft kiss to fuzzy red hair before settling the already sleeping baby into the oddly shaped bassinet.
"Man, she's really out."
With Helena still focused solely on their daughter, Barbara slowly wet the edges of her lips with the tip of her tongue. The ache in her chest grew when she saw one slender finger gently trace a tiny crimson eyebrow, and she decided to speak.
Her voice seemed oddly husky, perhaps accounting for the puzzled look she received when Helena turned. Chest still tight, the redhead spoke more warmly and patted the mattress.
One dark brow rose eloquently; nevertheless, the younger woman leapt lightly across her to land on her side of the bed. Before she'd fully turned, Barbara grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, plundering her mouth. When she finally came up for air, Barbara blinked to focus and worked not to chuckle at the war between puzzlement and pleasure that played across her companion's face.
"What's up? I mean, you're still healing and everything--"
The redhead didn't try to hide her smile.
"She's yours, Hel."
Immediately, the younger woman's eyes widened in mock horror.
"Hey, Red, I said I'd change my share of diapers but..."
Barbara allowed her laughter to spill out, then grew serious. Turning just a bit to the side, she captured her partner's hand.
"Perhaps I meant to say that she's ours."
Their joined hands were raised, and dark lashes fluttered down as Helena breathed her answer across a kiss to her fingertips.
They shared the silence for a few beats, the soft rustling from the bassinet and the pervasive whir of the big clock only enhancing the reverent air. Eventually, Barbara saw an impish light enter her partner's eyes and, following the direction of Helena's gaze, attempted to fortify herself for whatever might come.
As warm fingers slowly traced her engorged breasts, Barbara glanced down to confirm the obvious: the night before, colostrum had been replaced by milk.
With a vengeance.
When Helena spoke again, her tone almost shy, the redhead realized that she didn't need to worry about where she'd put her nursing towels.
The tilt of a dark head toward her chest left no room for misinterpretation. Barbara's response was unhesitating.
Watching the other woman's eyes hood with pleasure, the redhead experienced a moment of almost vertigous dizziness. She breathed slowly, suspecting that her own eyes might be the slightest bit glassy when Helena leaned close. The whisper of warm breath, the brush of warm lips millimeters from her skin, caused her skin to pebble.
"You sure, Red?"
Barbara wet her lips then tenderly brushed the bangs back from blue eyes.
She felt her lips curl in response to the sly smile that crept across her partner's face.
"I don't want to short-change the Peapod."
Laughing she bent close and brushed her lips against the shell of her lover's ear.
"I believe I've shown a facility for making more."
With that, she resettled herself against her pillows and threaded her fingers through dark silk. The slightest of tugs was all it took.
"Oh -- "
Her own murmur of surprise was nearly obscured by Helena's soft moan, and her fingers -- scritching lightly against the younger woman's scalp -- tingled from the strength of the brunette's rumbling purr.
Slowly, bright gold eyes rose into view, and Barbara's mouth watered when the other woman stretched luxuriously against her.
"Is it gonna freak you out that I'm turned on like Times Square at New Years?"
Instantly, Barbara decided that fixating on Oedipal issues was in nobody's best interest.
"Not at all, Sweetie."
Her answer elicited a smile that was positively wicked.
"Good -- "
Full lips, still sticky, brushed her cheek.
"--I think that's gonna be my new favorite for a while."
Her chuckle was deep and throaty, however when she spied the speculative light in eyes that were morphing back to blue, Barbara cut her mirth short.
"Can you breast feed her until college?"
She allowed a skeptically raised brow to respond for her, but Helena was not so easily dissuaded. Dark brows waggled hopefully.
A second crimson brow joined the first near her hairline.
"That good, eh?''
A bit regretfully, she allowed the other woman to return to the other side of the bed.
"Yeah. Kind of like an erotic milkshake bar."
Working to rebutton her shirt, the redhead simply rolled her eyes. Helena, apparently, missed -- or, more likely, ignored -- the gesture, and Barbara readied herself when her partner bounced against the mattress.
"You don't suppose if you ate more chocolate we could punch it up a little?"
Barbara pursed her lips and brushed a bit of lint from the front of her shirt.
"I don't believe it works that way, Helena."
Another bounce from the other side of the bed preceded the brunette's laughing response.
"Well, you could try, right?"
Although she had to grant the validity of a bit of research, Barbara was distracted when a memory associated with chocolate shakes -- a conversation at a diner five months before -- flashed through her mind. Accordingly, she smiled sweetly and met the other woman's eyes.
"Only if you bring tacos, Hel."
The brunette's affected gagging noises, possibly in combination with Barbara's own laughter, apparently roused the third person in the room, and a decidedly disaffected squeak echoed from the bassinet. In a heartbeat, Helena was serious, sliding gracefully from the bed to approach the bassinet on cat feet.
Again, something warm and overpowering welled within the redhead as she took in the almost comic concern in her lover's face, as she watched her gently lift their fussing daughter to her shoulder and rumble something sub vocally.
Almost instantly, the tiny bundle calmed.
"Speaking of stuff we never followed up on,"
Still captivated by the scene before her, it took Barbara a split-second to regather the threads of their conversation and connect her partner's words with long-ago discussions about tacos and chocolate milk shakes.
"-- are you gonna follow up on the satellite?"
Although she had to grant that the question was reasonable enough, Barbara wasn't positive that she was ready for it. As she considered her options, she distantly noticed that the iPod had ticked through much of its play list, including recent classics by Martina McBride and Leeann Womack, and was just beginning its final track.
Everyone can see we're together
as we walk on by...
and we fly just like birds of a feather
We know that's no lie-a-ie
"A bit removed. Not, however, oblivious."
Those were the final words that Alfred, his smile placid, had offered two days before.
"So many secrets, each of them intent on protecting the others."
Her own thoughts from not much more than an hour before.
All of the people around us say...
Can we be that close
Just let me state for the record
We're giving love in a family dose, yeah
We are family
I got all my sisters with me
We are family
Get up everybody and sing
We are family
Something, a homily or truism about grandchildren becoming bridges between parents and children, flashed through her mind. Taking a leap of faith, Barbara caught those stunning blue eyes and spoke very deliberately.
"There are more things, Helena."
She saw dark brows quirk and plucked at the tail of her shirt.
"I think we can chalk this one up to Zeus --"
For a beat, Barbara paused, then allowed herself a correction.
"-- or perhaps Ares -- "
Unable to miss the patent amusement in her partner's face, she quashed her urge to digress into a thesis on the appropriateness of one over the other.
"One of the Greek gods raining thunderbolts from the sky."
She saw the wheels turning. It took two blinks of dark lashes before the other woman nodded slowly, and Barbara held her breath, not sure just what response to expect.
"When he shows up again, I'll have to thank him for that."
Barbara released a slow breath as Helena perched on the edge of the bed.
"But for now, Red,"
Aquiline nostrils flared once before the brunette wrinkled her nose and looked over with a grin. As if by magic, Barbara's tension fell away, and she joined in with her partner's rueful laugh.
"-- I think I'm about to learn how to change a diaper."
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