If tomorrow never comes 1
By: KellyGaither2000@yahoo.com
Author Notes: This fic will contain non-consentual sex
Prologue
Barbara Gordon sighed as she leaned over the hospital bed, the long, angular floresent bulb that was bolted into the wall directly above it flickered just enough to be perceptable to someone like the woman who lay in the bed, unconscious, in a deep coma, her features bathed in the white light, complimenting her blood soaked, cropped, midnight black hair, so much so that she looked like a sleeping cherub, lying there, resperator tube that was sticking out of her nose like some violating serpent, making sure her lungs received the air neccessary for life, her chest rising and falling so naturally that it appeared that she was merely asleep, and that if Barbara could just shake her hard enough, she'd wake,flutter those ice blue orbs that had stolen Barbara's heart from the moment they met, laugh, and start the tickling game with Barbara she was so infinately fond of playing, a game that usually ended with them making love, and then falling asleep in each other's arms. It wouldn't happen that way tonight, though. As new tears replaced the brothers that had flowed down her cheeks all night long, keeping the trail open for the brothers that would fall down her cheeks, Barbara prayed to any God that cared to listen that it would happen again at all.
What was so assinine about the whole situation, she thought, was the sequence of events that had led them to this place. As the sickeningly yellow tile on the hospital wall, tile offset only by the occassional white grout to both seperate the tiles, and hold them together, seemed to close in on her, and sickening mixture of Lysol, sickness and impending death gave her a distinct feeling of having the bile from her liver and settle into and burn her throat, making her exremely sick to her stomach, her mind was flooded with memories.
Chapter 1
"C'mon, Hel, blow out the candles, we're fucking ( I don't think Barbara would swear) starving in here." Helena Kyle laughed heartily, loving the fact that she could infuriate the redhead so. It was her twenty-fourth birthday, and, as always, Barbara had gone way over board in celebrating it. She had already had Alfred cook way too much food, and both women were so drunk they were barely coherent. Even so, Barbara was currently nursing her sixth rum and coke, Helena working on her tenth screwdriver. Even Dinah had a little buzz going, having been snuck some vodka "under the table" by her adopted big sister. Moments earlier, a sloppy chorus of " Happy Birthday" had rang through the clocktower curtusey of the attendants of the Bachanalian, a song that normally took about two minutes to sing while sober, had taken about ten minutes, as the celebrants stumbled to remember the words, several times drifting off into mumbles as the inebriated ones tried to restart the song and sing it correctly. The funny part of it for Helena was, that Barbara singing the song sounded much like an inebriated Marilyn Monroe singing "Happy Birthday" to JFK on television.
As she blew out the candles, everyone clapped. Alfred handed her the cake cutter, and let her make the first cut in the rich, dark chocolate cake. Alfred took his leave, despite Helena's insistance that he stay and enjoy the party. Dishes wouldn't wait, he'd said. Dinah yawned, and said she was going to bed, flipping the "off" switch on her comm as both women bid her good night.
As soon as the sound of Dinah's bedroom shutting resonded through the clocktower, a quiet settled over the living room.
Helena broke the silence, grinning as she leaned forward, making the leather apolstered couch protest with a slight squeaking sound as she did, her hands folded in her lap..
"Babs, truth or dare?"
Barabara couldn't believe Helena still loved playing this game, but, upon rolling her eyes and smiling, her jaw reclining lazily on her right fist, the arm of which was resting on the wheelchair armrest, decided to play along.
"Dare."
"You know you were my first. Who was yours?"
Barbara's breath caught as she grinned.
"Honestly? You really wanna know?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."
Barbara smiled as she remembered her first sexual experience.
"Carolyn Lance."
She was grinning until she saw the look on Helena's face. A look of sheer, unadulterated, barely contained rage had overtaken her upon hearing that the woman who had so insulted her mother's memory had been her lover's first. She silently stood, put the white bone china's plate who's deep, intrigate patterning she had been sketching with her nails, on the couch, and turned to leave, wanting to wait til she'd cooled off to say anything to the redhead. Barbara wasn't going to give her the option of that easy of an out, however. Helena was just like her father in that respect, though she'd never admit it. She could handle the stress of an ass-kicking well enough, could more than handle herself in fights where she was outnumbered ten to one, had had her ass kicked sixteen ways to Sunday on numerous occassions, and gotten up, brushed herself off, and went back for more. But when it came to telling the people she cared most for that something had upset her, an action that would require an expression of anger by means other than kicking the holy hell out of someone, Helena Kyle was about as effective in handling things as a chiuaua puppy trying to stop a burglar.
As Barbara grabbed the elbow of her new, shin-length leather duster to stop her, she jerked out of the other woman's grasp roughly, knowing exactly how hard she could pull without bringing Barbara tumbling out of her wheelchair. The wheelchair-bound woman called to Helena as she left the inner confines of the clocktower, and, hearing the sound of the concrete on the ledge making contact with her raised heel sandals, she stopped as she heard Barbara stop her wheelchair behind her.
"Helena, where do you think you're going?"
Not turning to acknowledge the other woman, Helena spoke, her angry, raspy voice barely registering above audible, and if she hadn't been so attuned to Helena's voice, Barbara wouldn't have been able to tell she'd been answered.
"Out."
"Where? I need to know where you're going so in case anything happens, I can...."
Helena turned to face her, the same look of rage, though deeper, chisled into her features, wind whipping her jet black locks around her face, the bright moonlight framing it, forming a errie halo around it, the tail of her leather duster flying wildly in the hard breeze. .
" So you can what, Barbara? Send the kid to look for me? Jesus Christ, Barbara, I'm twenty four fucking years old, and you still treat me like I'm four! I'll be fine, alright? And even if something happens, you obviously did alright in the "someone to screw" department long before I came along, and I'm sure you won't lack in that department once I'm gone. I mean, you fucked the mother, why not just pick up where you left off by fucking the daughter? Hell, how do I know you're not breaking the kid in behind my back as we speak?"
Not thinking, Barbara did something she'd never done before. She slapped Helena as hard as she could across the face, her finely manicured nails leaving four long, even, bloody scratches across the brunette's right cheek.
Tears filling her eyes, and her voice, shaking with indignation, she spoke.
"Fuck you, Helena Kyle. How could you say something like that? Yes, I did sleep with Carolyn, alright? But that was a long time ago, long before I ever knew you, long before there was ever anything close to an "us". I can't believe you'd even insinuate that I'd want Dinah. She is a child, I am her guardian, nothing more, nothing less. I am many things, Helena, but a pervert isn't among them. I may have fucked Black Canary, and you may be pissed over it, but I at least I can remember the names of all the people I've screwed, and can count them and still have fingers and toes left."
Helena snorted.
"Was she as good as me when she had you, Barbara? Did Carolyn Lance make you have to buy new sheets everytime she got a piece of ass from you like I do? Well, I'll guess we'll never know, will we? 'Cause Carolyn's pushing up daisies, and I guess I got the sloppy seconds. Guess the kid I'll have my leftovers."
A death grip on her wheelchair arm rests, Barbara spoke through gritted teeth.
"That was different. The circumstances were completely different to what they are now."
Helena laughed sardonically.
"What, I'm a nympho, and she's not? Guess who I got all my desire from, Babs? I had a damn good teacher. The kid won't be lacking, either. Not with you for an instructor."
Barabara sighed, dejected.
"Fine, Helena. Leave, and I don't care what happens to you, or if I ever see you again! I hope you get exaclty what's coming to you. I hope you rot in hell."
As Helena spread her arms, and jumped from the eighty story ledge, Barbara turned her chair, and, upon reaching the inner sanctum of the clocktower, upon reaching Delphi, she let loose the sobs she'd been too proud to let her lover see, she mentally took back everything she'd just said in anger, and prayed for Helena's safety.
By: KellyGaither2000@yahoo.com
Author Notes: This fic will contain non-consentual sex
Prologue
Barbara Gordon sighed as she leaned over the hospital bed, the long, angular floresent bulb that was bolted into the wall directly above it flickered just enough to be perceptable to someone like the woman who lay in the bed, unconscious, in a deep coma, her features bathed in the white light, complimenting her blood soaked, cropped, midnight black hair, so much so that she looked like a sleeping cherub, lying there, resperator tube that was sticking out of her nose like some violating serpent, making sure her lungs received the air neccessary for life, her chest rising and falling so naturally that it appeared that she was merely asleep, and that if Barbara could just shake her hard enough, she'd wake,flutter those ice blue orbs that had stolen Barbara's heart from the moment they met, laugh, and start the tickling game with Barbara she was so infinately fond of playing, a game that usually ended with them making love, and then falling asleep in each other's arms. It wouldn't happen that way tonight, though. As new tears replaced the brothers that had flowed down her cheeks all night long, keeping the trail open for the brothers that would fall down her cheeks, Barbara prayed to any God that cared to listen that it would happen again at all.
What was so assinine about the whole situation, she thought, was the sequence of events that had led them to this place. As the sickeningly yellow tile on the hospital wall, tile offset only by the occassional white grout to both seperate the tiles, and hold them together, seemed to close in on her, and sickening mixture of Lysol, sickness and impending death gave her a distinct feeling of having the bile from her liver and settle into and burn her throat, making her exremely sick to her stomach, her mind was flooded with memories.
Chapter 1
"C'mon, Hel, blow out the candles, we're fucking ( I don't think Barbara would swear) starving in here." Helena Kyle laughed heartily, loving the fact that she could infuriate the redhead so. It was her twenty-fourth birthday, and, as always, Barbara had gone way over board in celebrating it. She had already had Alfred cook way too much food, and both women were so drunk they were barely coherent. Even so, Barbara was currently nursing her sixth rum and coke, Helena working on her tenth screwdriver. Even Dinah had a little buzz going, having been snuck some vodka "under the table" by her adopted big sister. Moments earlier, a sloppy chorus of " Happy Birthday" had rang through the clocktower curtusey of the attendants of the Bachanalian, a song that normally took about two minutes to sing while sober, had taken about ten minutes, as the celebrants stumbled to remember the words, several times drifting off into mumbles as the inebriated ones tried to restart the song and sing it correctly. The funny part of it for Helena was, that Barbara singing the song sounded much like an inebriated Marilyn Monroe singing "Happy Birthday" to JFK on television.
As she blew out the candles, everyone clapped. Alfred handed her the cake cutter, and let her make the first cut in the rich, dark chocolate cake. Alfred took his leave, despite Helena's insistance that he stay and enjoy the party. Dishes wouldn't wait, he'd said. Dinah yawned, and said she was going to bed, flipping the "off" switch on her comm as both women bid her good night.
As soon as the sound of Dinah's bedroom shutting resonded through the clocktower, a quiet settled over the living room.
Helena broke the silence, grinning as she leaned forward, making the leather apolstered couch protest with a slight squeaking sound as she did, her hands folded in her lap..
"Babs, truth or dare?"
Barabara couldn't believe Helena still loved playing this game, but, upon rolling her eyes and smiling, her jaw reclining lazily on her right fist, the arm of which was resting on the wheelchair armrest, decided to play along.
"Dare."
"You know you were my first. Who was yours?"
Barbara's breath caught as she grinned.
"Honestly? You really wanna know?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."
Barbara smiled as she remembered her first sexual experience.
"Carolyn Lance."
She was grinning until she saw the look on Helena's face. A look of sheer, unadulterated, barely contained rage had overtaken her upon hearing that the woman who had so insulted her mother's memory had been her lover's first. She silently stood, put the white bone china's plate who's deep, intrigate patterning she had been sketching with her nails, on the couch, and turned to leave, wanting to wait til she'd cooled off to say anything to the redhead. Barbara wasn't going to give her the option of that easy of an out, however. Helena was just like her father in that respect, though she'd never admit it. She could handle the stress of an ass-kicking well enough, could more than handle herself in fights where she was outnumbered ten to one, had had her ass kicked sixteen ways to Sunday on numerous occassions, and gotten up, brushed herself off, and went back for more. But when it came to telling the people she cared most for that something had upset her, an action that would require an expression of anger by means other than kicking the holy hell out of someone, Helena Kyle was about as effective in handling things as a chiuaua puppy trying to stop a burglar.
As Barbara grabbed the elbow of her new, shin-length leather duster to stop her, she jerked out of the other woman's grasp roughly, knowing exactly how hard she could pull without bringing Barbara tumbling out of her wheelchair. The wheelchair-bound woman called to Helena as she left the inner confines of the clocktower, and, hearing the sound of the concrete on the ledge making contact with her raised heel sandals, she stopped as she heard Barbara stop her wheelchair behind her.
"Helena, where do you think you're going?"
Not turning to acknowledge the other woman, Helena spoke, her angry, raspy voice barely registering above audible, and if she hadn't been so attuned to Helena's voice, Barbara wouldn't have been able to tell she'd been answered.
"Out."
"Where? I need to know where you're going so in case anything happens, I can...."
Helena turned to face her, the same look of rage, though deeper, chisled into her features, wind whipping her jet black locks around her face, the bright moonlight framing it, forming a errie halo around it, the tail of her leather duster flying wildly in the hard breeze. .
" So you can what, Barbara? Send the kid to look for me? Jesus Christ, Barbara, I'm twenty four fucking years old, and you still treat me like I'm four! I'll be fine, alright? And even if something happens, you obviously did alright in the "someone to screw" department long before I came along, and I'm sure you won't lack in that department once I'm gone. I mean, you fucked the mother, why not just pick up where you left off by fucking the daughter? Hell, how do I know you're not breaking the kid in behind my back as we speak?"
Not thinking, Barbara did something she'd never done before. She slapped Helena as hard as she could across the face, her finely manicured nails leaving four long, even, bloody scratches across the brunette's right cheek.
Tears filling her eyes, and her voice, shaking with indignation, she spoke.
"Fuck you, Helena Kyle. How could you say something like that? Yes, I did sleep with Carolyn, alright? But that was a long time ago, long before I ever knew you, long before there was ever anything close to an "us". I can't believe you'd even insinuate that I'd want Dinah. She is a child, I am her guardian, nothing more, nothing less. I am many things, Helena, but a pervert isn't among them. I may have fucked Black Canary, and you may be pissed over it, but I at least I can remember the names of all the people I've screwed, and can count them and still have fingers and toes left."
Helena snorted.
"Was she as good as me when she had you, Barbara? Did Carolyn Lance make you have to buy new sheets everytime she got a piece of ass from you like I do? Well, I'll guess we'll never know, will we? 'Cause Carolyn's pushing up daisies, and I guess I got the sloppy seconds. Guess the kid I'll have my leftovers."
A death grip on her wheelchair arm rests, Barbara spoke through gritted teeth.
"That was different. The circumstances were completely different to what they are now."
Helena laughed sardonically.
"What, I'm a nympho, and she's not? Guess who I got all my desire from, Babs? I had a damn good teacher. The kid won't be lacking, either. Not with you for an instructor."
Barabara sighed, dejected.
"Fine, Helena. Leave, and I don't care what happens to you, or if I ever see you again! I hope you get exaclty what's coming to you. I hope you rot in hell."
As Helena spread her arms, and jumped from the eighty story ledge, Barbara turned her chair, and, upon reaching the inner sanctum of the clocktower, upon reaching Delphi, she let loose the sobs she'd been too proud to let her lover see, she mentally took back everything she'd just said in anger, and prayed for Helena's safety.