Title: Fear of Losing You
Author: VietAngel
Pairings: Helena/Barbara friendship.
Rating: T

Summary: This is my take on what may have happened between when Dinah and Helena walked out of the underground fight club and when they were back on the streets patrolling.

It's not the first time I've felt like this and it sure as hell won't be the last…but that doesn't make it any less annoying. I'm the fucking Huntress! I can leap from a ten story building and land on my feet; I kick criminal ass without breaking a sweat…but right now, just climbing the stairs to my apartment feel like I'm ascending Everest. Lord knows I'm no stranger to drugs; right after my mom died I'm sure Barbara thought I was on the fast path to becoming a coke whore…but this crap I've been shot up with tonight has nothing on the indiscretions of my youth. My head is pounding, my neck is tight, every muscle in my body is sore…and thanks to Dinah and that damn pipe, I'm sure my knee is hideously swollen as well.

I finally make it to my front door and damn if turning the key in the lock isn't tugging at the last few strands of energy I have left. For a second I contemplate stripping and crawling straight into bed, but my screaming muscles and the icky film of sweat I'm covered with make me think better of it…I'm all about the stripping though. I shed my clothes with remarkable speed considering how exhausted I am. It's one of the reasons I moved to this place. Sure it would be more convenient for me to live at the clock tower, but privacy is more important to me. Nothing is more relaxing than being able to lounge around in nothing but your own skin…or have sex as loud as you want to and anywhere you want to without worrying about anyone walking in on you. Sorry, Alfred.

I am in desperate need of a bath and a drink…preferably at the same time. I thank the heavens that the bathtub is actually clean as I turn on the water. I should be thanking Alfred…he knows all too well that I'm a bit of a slob so he stops by to clean up the place once a week. I love that man. The steam rising from the water lets me know that it's almost unbearably hot, just the way I like it. I throw in a capful of lavender bubble bath and I can't help but smile. It reminds me of my mom…it's the same kind she used. Even though it's insanely expensive and imported from France, she would draw me a bath filled with it whenever I was upset or sick as a kid and it never failed to make me feel better.

I leave the bath to do its duty while I make my way to the kitchen for the second part of my relaxation routine. Its times like these when the day job comes in handy. I drop some ice cubes into a double old fashioned glass and fill it half way with the good stuff…vodka is my chosen poison for tonight. The scent of lavender beckons and I limp back toward the bathroom. Cutting off the water, I step cautiously into the tub. Steadying myself with my empty hand, I ease into the steaming hot pool…ignoring the sting as my skin adjusts to the temperature of the water. Taking a languorous sip of my vodka, I let out a heavy sigh as my mind and body begin to relax. Between the alcohol and the bath, I know this is one of the rare occasions when sleep will come easily to me….that is if I didn't have to deal with the constant noise of my stalker pacing outside my door.

"Babs, if you must worry, at least bring it inside instead of annoying my door to death," I say into the com I forgot to take off, and I know she can hear the exhaustion in my voice…which only serves to worry her more. She doesn't respond for a moment and I can tell she's doing that wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed, fish out of water thing she does when she's been caught in the act. Finally she uses her key and enters my apartment, while muttering something about me and my "stupid cat hearing" under her breath…and she knows I caught that too. Even The Dark Horse is closed at this hour, so there is nothing but the soft whir of her motorized wheelchair, the water softly swishing around me, and the faint sounds of the street outside.

I'm leaning back in the tub with my eyes closed, but I can still sense her presence gracing my bathroom doorway. I don't have to look at her to know she has that sheepish look on her face…and she doesn't have to be a mind reader to know I'm mentally gloating for knowing her so well.

"Shut up, Hel," she says.

"What? I didn't say anything," I reply in a playful tone.

"No, but I know you were thinking it. You think you know me so well, Helena Kyle," she says.

"That's because I do," I say simply, finally cracking my eyes open. "I'm fine Barbara, really."

She's trying to keep the mood light, but there's a seriousness behind her eyes that isn't lost on me. Something truly frightened her today…and that scares me more than anything. Everyone thinks that because I'm the one out there jumping across rooftops and putting my life on the line to fight the good fight, I must be the fearless one. To be honest, I'm scared shitless most of the time. She's the fearless one. She had to be to take me in, knowing whose child I was. I have the playfulness and daring nature of my mother mixed with the dark emotions of my father…that can be a lethal combination, especially in a grief-stricken teenager. She saved my life, and she'd be the first to tell you that having to take care of me saved hers. We were both in a dark place then.

On the first anniversary of my mother's death I was a mess to say the least. She found me in my room so high off Special K that I didn't even have the presence of mind to be able to say my own name let alone hide the evidence. If she had been who she is now back then, she would have yelled, forced me into rehab, and grounded me until my 30th birthday…but back then she was as screwed up as I was. Instead of going all parental on me, she grabbed the remainder of my stash, flopped down on the bed beside me, and joined me at the bottom of the K Hole. Through my haze I heard her say that if I was going down, she was going down with me.

I always knew Barbara cared for me deeply, she wouldn't have taken me in if she didn't… but that was the first time I realized how much she truly loved me. I wish I could say that it was enough to instantly scare me straight, but I wouldn't be Selina Kyle's baby girl if it did. Sex, drugs, and rock & roll? I lived it for years, and I still do…minus the drugs of course, well, just the illegal kind. Adrenaline is my drug of choice these days. I never feel more alive than when my heart is pounding, the blood is coursing through my veins, and the wind is whipping through my hair. She hates it, and it scares her, but she respects the fact that I need that outlet to stay a step ahead of the darkness that lurks in the shadows of my mind.

She touches my sore knee and it breaks me out of my reverie before I get too deep. She always seems to know when I need her to rein me in. She wants me to admit it hurts…it does, but far be it from me to give her the satisfaction. Instead I slap her hand away and glare at her in a way only I can.

"You're going to need ice to get that swelling down," she says with a haughty smirk on her face.

"Shouldn't you be back at the clock tower hovering over the kid?" I ask.

"The kid's name is Dinah and she's home sleeping. Anyway, she's not the one limping around like an old lady with a bad hip," Barbara replies. That remark earns her another glare, but she's unaffected. "Relax, you big baby…you'll be as good as new once the drug wears off completely. It slowed your healing abilities."

"Well if you know I'm fine, why are you hovering?" I ask. She doesn't say anything; she doesn't have to. I already know the answer. I saw it in her eyes when we finally made it back to the clock tower, felt it in the way she hugged me a little tighter than usual. Barbara truly thought she'd lost me this time.

"I—I'm not…it's just, you scare me sometimes, Hel," she replies softly. Shit. She's more torn up than I expected, and I don't know how to fix it. I hate that I make her feel like that.

"I'm fine…really, Barbara," I reply, seriously this time. I look her straight in the eye so she's knows I'm not playing games anymore. "Would it make you feel better if I promised to be more careful from now on?"

"It would if you were capable of actually doing that," she says. She's smiling now and I let out a sign of relief as the tension passes, "but I'll take you indulging me and letting me play nurse tonight as a consolation prize."

Fuck. I should have known that was coming. I really brought it on myself since I left it wide open for her. I hate being coddled. I'm a grown woman and I'm fully capable of taking care of myself…but I owe her one—or a thousand.

"Fine," I reply, and I make sure to pout and glare at her for good measure. "Make yourself useful then and get me a towel." She does, but she throws it and hits me in the face with it instead of delivering it in the gentle manner I was hoping for.

"Getting slow, old woman?" she asks, laughing.

"Does this look like the body of an old woman to you, lady?" I reply, standing. I've never been embarrassed about nudity. Not to be full of myself or anything, but I know I'm no troll.

"You are so full of yourself," she replies as she turns and starts to leave the bathroom. "I'm going to get some ice for your knee. Try not to kill yourself getting out of the tub."

"I've got it covered," I say, "…and bring some vodka with that ice!"

By the time she returns with the ice pack, the vodka, and a box of Pop Tarts I'm already dry and in bed.

"Jesus Helena, can you please put some clothes on for once?" she says, and she knows it won't get her anywhere. We always have this argument when she comes to my place. When I'm at home I like to be comfortable and being naked is comfortable for me. I think she does it just to rile me for fun.

"Nope, my house my rules."

"Do you have to be such an exhibitionist?"

"Yes"

"Helena," she says in a warning tone. I roll my eyes and finally give in. I get up and slip on black lace boy shorts and a paper thin tank before limping back over and getting settled in bed again.

"Happy now?" I ask sarcastically.

"It's better than nothing," she replies, rolling her eyes.

She hands me the ice pack, vodka, and Pop Tarts so she can transfer out of her chair and into the bed. I know better than to ask her if she needs help, so I busy myself with finding something on television. I hear Barbara snort as I settle on a horror movie, but I glare at her to let her know she shouldn't push her luck. I compromised on the clothing issue, but I'm not giving in on the movie. Instead of trying me, she decides to put the ice pack on my knee. We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she finally breaks the silence.

"You know it would kill me if I lost you, right?" she asks softly.

"I know," I reply. She nods and we both know we don't need to say anything else. The feeling is mutual.

The heaviness of the moment passes as quickly as it came and I sip my vodka while she breaks open the Pop Tarts. It feels just like old times. Right after my mother died, this is what we would do. Neither of us could sleep because we both had nightmares, so we would stay up all night and watch movies until we just physically couldn't keep our eyes open anymore. We smile at each other as we settle in for the long haul, and for once we both know it's all going to be ok.

Fin.