Could've, Should've, Would've... Did
"Babs, Babsie, Wakie, wakie. Babsie..." Dick cooed into my ear.
I could've smiled at his attempt to awaken me from my nap; I should've turned my head just a fraction of an inch and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
"Damnit, Dick, what makes you think you can just waltz in here? What if I had been busy? What if I had company? Get away from me," I snappishly informed him, pushing him away as I struggled to get up.
"Oh, what? Big night with Daddy? Or maybe a little pleasure from that 'nightstick' you keep in your second drawer?" He bitingly retorted.
I blushed to the tone of my hair and replied with more anger at myself than anyone else, "it's a better lover than you could ever be."
"Ouch, Babsie. That one bit to the core"
I could tell he was trying to laugh off the tension and appease me.
Damnit I didn't want to be appeased. I wanted him to kiss the pain away so badly I could taste him. But I didn't pull him to me.
I couldn't seductively grin at him as I strolled past in my sexy nightshirt. I couldn't playfully push past him as I jumped out of bed. All I could do was wearily pull myself up with my overhead bar and hope that he'd move.
He kept on look at me- waiting, I guess, to see if I would get angry with him or joke with him or what my mood would be this time. I pointedly glared at him, hoping he'd get the hint that he had to move so I could get into my chair.
"I need to get up, Dickie. Move it, boy wonder." I tried to make it playful, just only got in between cross and cranky.
"Well, Barbara. If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask."
I could've melted into his arms as he went to pick me up; I should've pull him down onto the bed with me.
"No!" I firmly shoved him away. "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"
I wanted to cry.
The look on his face was pure anguish.
I pulled myself into the chair and wheeled around to face him, and his new look was hard and stubborn. I had hurt his pride, again. I half-hearted attempted to grab his hand, maybe squeeze it in a brief affectionate move. He pulled away from me this time and we both quietly made our way to the computer area.
"So, Nightwing. What can I do for you?" I tried to professionally probe.
"Dick" he emphasized, "doesn't want anything from you, Babs. Except the pleasure of your company," he quietly informed me, handing me an envelope. Inside was a invite to one of the annual society balls of Gotham.
"Pretty invitation. What does it have to do with me?"
"Be my date, Babs. Show those society trolls how a real woman looks," he pleaded with me with his puppy-dog eyes.
"I don't think a real woman would show up in a wheelchair."
"Is that what this is about? Your wheelchair? I don't care about that," he told me, looking into my eyes intently.
I should've agreed to go in a heartbeat; I could've gone on a bona fide date with the man I love.
"Yes you do," I insisted "you'd be the laughingstock if you took the town's hermit to the ball."
"No," he gently persisted "all the men would be jealous because I'd have the most beautiful girl there."
"Dick," I breathed out, "I can't."
"Damnit, Barbara! There is nothing for you to be afraid of. I'll protect you!"
"Like you protected me from the Joker?" I didn't mean it. I take it back. I didn't mean it. I take it back. Oh, God, I didn't mean it.
I could see the tears in his eyes, as he backed away from me, horrified. I tried to pull him back. To make him see how much I didn't mean it. It just slipped out.
"Dick. Please, stay." the words were rushing out, "I didn't mean... I was upset... I'll go.. I'm sorry....I didn't..."
"No, Barbara," he informed coldly, "I wouldn't want you to be stuck with someone you obviously don't trust. Or love."
He was gone before I could tell him he was wrong on both counts.
I cried for him. I cried for Batgirl, Oracle, and Barbara Gordon, and myself stuck inside the three.
I should've just kissed him.
"Babs, Babsie, Wakie, wakie. Babsie..." Dick cooed into my ear.
I could've smiled at his attempt to awaken me from my nap; I should've turned my head just a fraction of an inch and kissed him tenderly on the lips.
"Damnit, Dick, what makes you think you can just waltz in here? What if I had been busy? What if I had company? Get away from me," I snappishly informed him, pushing him away as I struggled to get up.
"Oh, what? Big night with Daddy? Or maybe a little pleasure from that 'nightstick' you keep in your second drawer?" He bitingly retorted.
I blushed to the tone of my hair and replied with more anger at myself than anyone else, "it's a better lover than you could ever be."
"Ouch, Babsie. That one bit to the core"
I could tell he was trying to laugh off the tension and appease me.
Damnit I didn't want to be appeased. I wanted him to kiss the pain away so badly I could taste him. But I didn't pull him to me.
I couldn't seductively grin at him as I strolled past in my sexy nightshirt. I couldn't playfully push past him as I jumped out of bed. All I could do was wearily pull myself up with my overhead bar and hope that he'd move.
He kept on look at me- waiting, I guess, to see if I would get angry with him or joke with him or what my mood would be this time. I pointedly glared at him, hoping he'd get the hint that he had to move so I could get into my chair.
"I need to get up, Dickie. Move it, boy wonder." I tried to make it playful, just only got in between cross and cranky.
"Well, Barbara. If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask."
I could've melted into his arms as he went to pick me up; I should've pull him down onto the bed with me.
"No!" I firmly shoved him away. "I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"
I wanted to cry.
The look on his face was pure anguish.
I pulled myself into the chair and wheeled around to face him, and his new look was hard and stubborn. I had hurt his pride, again. I half-hearted attempted to grab his hand, maybe squeeze it in a brief affectionate move. He pulled away from me this time and we both quietly made our way to the computer area.
"So, Nightwing. What can I do for you?" I tried to professionally probe.
"Dick" he emphasized, "doesn't want anything from you, Babs. Except the pleasure of your company," he quietly informed me, handing me an envelope. Inside was a invite to one of the annual society balls of Gotham.
"Pretty invitation. What does it have to do with me?"
"Be my date, Babs. Show those society trolls how a real woman looks," he pleaded with me with his puppy-dog eyes.
"I don't think a real woman would show up in a wheelchair."
"Is that what this is about? Your wheelchair? I don't care about that," he told me, looking into my eyes intently.
I should've agreed to go in a heartbeat; I could've gone on a bona fide date with the man I love.
"Yes you do," I insisted "you'd be the laughingstock if you took the town's hermit to the ball."
"No," he gently persisted "all the men would be jealous because I'd have the most beautiful girl there."
"Dick," I breathed out, "I can't."
"Damnit, Barbara! There is nothing for you to be afraid of. I'll protect you!"
"Like you protected me from the Joker?" I didn't mean it. I take it back. I didn't mean it. I take it back. Oh, God, I didn't mean it.
I could see the tears in his eyes, as he backed away from me, horrified. I tried to pull him back. To make him see how much I didn't mean it. It just slipped out.
"Dick. Please, stay." the words were rushing out, "I didn't mean... I was upset... I'll go.. I'm sorry....I didn't..."
"No, Barbara," he informed coldly, "I wouldn't want you to be stuck with someone you obviously don't trust. Or love."
He was gone before I could tell him he was wrong on both counts.
I cried for him. I cried for Batgirl, Oracle, and Barbara Gordon, and myself stuck inside the three.
I should've just kissed him.