Title: I Fall To Pieces
Author: Shawn Carter
Notes: Okay I lied; apparently I had one more story to add to the Survivor series. Consider this the wrap-up of it. And now I'm done with it. Really. Honestly. Swear.
Summary: In the aftermath of the fight against the Joker, Barbara Gordon gets her moment in the spotlight as she contemplates her life and relati onship with Helena.
Rating: PG-13. Minor language and some emotional stuff.
Further: What I refer to having happened to Barbara in this in The Killing Joke is something I've heard debated ad nauseam and without conclusive answer. I have always believed that a sexual attack did occur and being that I have never heard an official statement of any type refuting it, I feel justified in this belief. I have always believed that such a horrific attack is part of what has made Barbara Gordon such an astonishingly strong character. Okay I'm done babbling now.
Music: Title is the incomparable Patsy Cline. Lyrics are the Pretenders.
Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now.
Don't be ashamed to cry,
let me see you through
Cause I've seen the dark side too.
When the night falls on you,
you don't know what to do,
Nothing you confess
could make me love you less
I've always been a fan of the night. Since I was a small child really. I can still recall waking up at three in the morning, blinded by the darkness and yet exhilarated by it. I can remember crawling to my window and shoving the shade up with my undersized fists, desperate to stare out at the beauty of a dark sky studded with stars.
Years later when I took to the rooftops with only granite and tar beneath my heels as I skipped through the sky I realized that my affinity for the night was tied to my destiny. I was meant to be one of the heroes, one of the people who stood up and took the fall when necessary.
I never meant for it to be her destiny. But then I never meant for her to be in my life as anything other than a student and an occasional casual acquaintance. I knew who she was. It was impossible not to know. She was Selena's child but she looked like Bruce. His startling blue eyes and his dark as coal hair. It was unmistakable. But then Bruce never did see her; hanging out at schools really wasn't his thing and Selena went out of her way to ensure that he and Helena wouldn't just run into each other somewhere.
No it was all carefully constructed and manipulated. She worshipped her daughter with everything in her but realized that if Helena knew Bruce she'd be drawn into his world and that was the one thing Selena couldn't handle.
So I guess you could say I let her down. Both of the Kyle women.
But then again I never meant for our worlds to become so hopelessly intertwined. I actually tried to keep my distance from her, knowing that if I became part of Helena Kyle's life I'd never be able to separate myself. So she was my student then. Just a normal every day kid in my class.
A really terrible every day student who caused me nothing but headaches even before her mother died. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake just to smack some sense into her. Probably wasn't fair because she really wasn't doing anything all that different or unusual from all of the other kids in my class. She was disobedient, obnoxious and mostly thoughtless. She has no sense of focus or discipline and considered my instructions to largely be a nuisance.
I figured she was wasting all of the gifts she'd been given by the genetic pairing of Bruce Wayne and Selena Kyle. Just the same however, I ordered myself to keep my distance.
Stay back. Stay away. Don't get involved. Don't take it personally when she flunks Algebra or when one of the teachers in the break room calls her a name that the Helena I know now would put a hand through his face for.
And when she finally reluctantly and grudgingly came to me to request extra credit in order to bring up her grade so that her mom wouldn't find out that she'd been acting like a normal teen blowing off her studies, I gave her the same assignment I would any other student.
Right?
Right?
Bullshit. I gave her an assignment that I would have given one of my AP Honors students. And I'm talking one of my seniors. Yeah I gave an underperforming sophomore who had thus far shown me nothing that would even mildly suggest that she was capable of completing the task a project that one of my ace kids would have struggled with.
And then I told her that getting an extremely good grade on it was the only way she was going to pass my class. The look on her face told me everything I needed to know about her relationship with her mother. Even at sixteen and unburdened by the hell that would later become her life she still so desperately needed to get the approval of the one person she gave a damn about and she would do anything, including work her ass of on a project way over her head, to do it. Years later when it was just she and I, it would be I who would be the focus of this narrow determination. At her root Helena remains a small child searching for validation.
I ended up giving her an A- on it. And she earned every damn bit of it I'm proud to say. To be honest she blew me away. I wondered for a bit if Gibson had helped her out but after rereading that paper about thirty times I came to the conclusion that the writing style and the conclusions could only come from the mind of someone that had been created by Bruce and Selena.
That was the first time that I recall being really proud of Helena. As a teacher anyway. She surprised me and she made me sit up and take notice.
I suppose that was part of the problem though. After I graded that paper I wasn't able to stay out of her life. I wasn't able to stay disinterested. But then again who I am kidding, I didn't give her that project just to nudge her, I gave it to her to prove a point.
Bruce and Helena's daughter. Smart as a whip even if she'll never quite get that.
Still, this wasn't what I'd had in mind.
I'd been thinking that I'd push her until I made her take some pride in herself. I'd make her take her abilities seriously. Find a way to get her into college so that she could make something of herself.
I hadn't counted on a bullet and a knife doing that for her.
And for me.
I hadn't wanted to become a force in her life. I had fought against it even as I had been swept towards her. That's her power, her raw magnetism. That was true even back then. The harder I fought to stay impartial, to keep our relationship just teacher and student, the more I lost the battle. The more I needed to know. The more I had to be involved.
After her mother died and my legs become nothing but two columns of useless flesh I gave up the fight.
I stopped struggling and I walked right towards her, arms out and ready.
You have to understand though, I still didn't intend my world to become hers. It's insanity to assume that I knew right after being shot how to stand up again. I had no intention of jumping back into the whirlpool that is life as a superhero. As I lay in that bed, raging against my very own soul, I cursed everything that I had become. I hated every decision that I had ever made.
I hated Bruce.
That faded quickly enough but it took me several weeks to start being able to even look into a mirror without wanting to crush it. And the chair, that damned chair. I hated it.
My father is the one who made me sit in it.
My father is the one who made me accept it.
"You can only rage against what you can Barbara," he told me. "You're alive my little girl and you're meant for more than this bed."
He made me get up and stop feeling sorry for myself but it was my need to protect Helena Kyle that made me live again.
She was fading faster than I was, drowning in a pool of pain and hatred. She was lashing out against everything and abandoning every bit of her youth in an attempt to control the raw spinning pit of emotion within her. Then again perhaps she wasn't trying to control it at all, instead indulging in every vice she could handle while still somehow managing to stay above ground and breathing.
To be honest she was doing a shitty job of it. Selena had spoiled her relentlessly and done nothing to teach Helena of any of the real world realities of pain and violence. She had hidden her away from the darkness and because of it perhaps there was no one less equipped to deal with the pain and rage than was that young sixteen year old. Helena was just spinning without focus, not sure where the hurt started and stopped instead only searching for ways to numb it.
If I hadn't gotten to her and put my hands on her shoulders to stop the spinning God only knows where she would have ended up.
If I hadn't gotten to her and given her a good hard shake and in doing so throttled myself back into reality God only knows where I would have ended up.
"You're thinking again," a voice says from behind me. I turn and blink, a bit embarrassed to have been caught to deeply off-guard. For a few moments I'm not even completely sure I've where I am.
Then I remember and as if on cue a cool breeze sweeps past my face, nipping my cheeks on it's way towards the New Gotham Harbor.
The Clocktower. My home. My hideaway. My salvation.
"Helena," I say with a slight smile, my eyes sweeping over her. I can see that she's moving awkwardly, her body clearly showing the strain of one of our recent workouts. This rehab hasn't been easy for either of us but it's been ten times worse for her as she struggles to prove to both of us that she's still capable of holding her own.
I don't need her to but she does. She needs to prove to herself that after all the Joker and Harley did to her she's still the fighter she's always been.
And so she's pushing herself and I'm not discouraging her. Hell I'm the one standing beside her with my foot out, shoving as hard as I can. Metaphorically speaking of course.
I guess you could say that I'm giving her that AP assignment all over again.
"Barbara?" she says to me, her voice sharp enough to let me know that she's fully aware that I'm letting my mind drift on her. "Where are you?"
"Hm?" I reply, pretending not to understand the question. Her impatient look tells me not to bother so I drop the pretense. "Just thinking."
"You do that too much," she offers, attempting to be flip. She moves towards the ledge and lifts herself up on to it. I see her grimace as she slides too much weight onto one of her injured legs. She's doing better, much better.
She's still in pain.
Rehab is hell.
At least she can rehab.
Wow that came off bad.
I don't begrudge her the ability to heal but sometimes her reluctance and resistance to the whole process makes me edgy. Makes me wonder if she knows just how lucky she is to be able to feel that horrible pain in her legs. She hates the rehab. Well go figure that.
I'm not being fair. Really I'm not.
She's not slacking off. She's giving it what she can. She knows what it means. We both do.
He obliterated my spine with a metal slug. He nearly crushed her legs with a stainless steel mallet.
I'm crippled. She'll eventually walk again without a limp. We're both scarred for life.
I need her to be strong for both of us.
She is.
She never lets me down.
She turned in that paper three days ahead of schedule and she worked her butt off. While I won't say that she's kicking ass with her rehab, she is fighting, making her way through it. She wants to get back there as much as I do.
She needs the night as much as I miss it. How odd is it that we both find peace in the absence of anything. Light in the darkness.
"Thinking about?" Helena prompts and I can see that she's smiling, her blue eyes sparkling in that mischievous way that is uniquely hers. She adjusts herself atop the ledge, back to the wall and injured limbs slung out in front of her. She's wearing blue sweats that have the words KNIGHTS printed in white block letters down one leg.
I flick my hand in the air, almost dismissively. I don't really know how to tell Helena that I've been thinking about how we almost didn't end up part of each other lives. I mean it's not like it's a secret but I wonder if I'd hurt her if she knew that I really hadn't initially wanted anything to do with her.
It probably wouldn't even matter that she hadn't exactly wanted to be a teachers' pet back then either.
You have to understand, this is a child was massive belonging issues and I really don't want to add to them.
"Not an answer," she reminds me, gazing out over the city. I see her smile a bit as she takes in the soft flakes of snow tumbling haphazardly towards the ground. "You're thinking about me, huh?"
"That's rather self-involved," I say with a smirk. "Sometimes I'm thinking about me."
"Sure," she nods. "But you usually only brood over me."
I shrug. That's true. Can't deny it. Won't bother trying. She knows me as well as I know her. Just how it is.
"How do you feel?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
She grimaces a bit, as if on cue. "Okay," she lies. That's when I notice the circles under her eyes. She's been pushing herself far harder than I had realized I guess. She looks like she hasn't slept in weeks.
I immediately scold myself. I should have been taking better care of her. Making sure that she didn't push so hard that...
"Barbara," she laughs. "Stop."
I look up and see that despite the exhaustion in those clear slate blue eyes she's also full of mirth. She's dancing. She amazes me. As troubled and burdened as she always is, as tormented and confused, she's still so damned vibrant,
The weight of the world like Bruce.
The laughter of a child like Selena.
"What?" I ask, mock innocently. I know exactly what I'm about to be chided for.
"You're being all mentory," she tells me.
"That's not a word," I remind her dryly.
She nods. "Course not but you are. Being mentory I mean. I'm fine. Really."
"You look tired."
"I just spent an hour hanging upside down from a metal pole in the training room while Dinah told me about how her latest date with that high school dipshit she's so enamored with went."
"He's not a dipshit," I insist even though I don't believe it. The junior that Dinah has been going out with for the last two weeks has the personality of a slab of wet cardboard and what's worse is that he actually thinks that he's amusing.
"He's a dipshit," Helena says again. "And his dates with Dinah are the virtual equivalent of watching paint dry. I mean two weeks ago I would have broken his hand if he'd made a move on her but right now I'd encourage him to go for a cheap feel-up just to liven things up a bit."
"And then you'd break his hand?" I ask with a laugh, knowing full damn well that Helena has taken an uber-protective edge to Dinah. If any guy thinks he has a chance with Dinah, he's going to have to go through Helena and if that's the case he might as well give up.
"Yep," she confirms. "Still, at least that'd be interesting."
"Nice," I say with a shake of my head. "How's your stomach?"
She lifts an eyebrow. "Stomach?"
"With all of the crunches you've been doing..."
"I'm in great shape," she protests. "My stomach muscles are fine."
I hold up a hand as a sign of surrender. I wounded her ego a bit and while it amuses me to see her on the defensive, no good can come of it.
"So sleep," I start instead, looking directly at her. "How have you been sleeping these last few nights?" I search for her eyes but to no great surprise she avoids mine, choosing to stare out at the quickening snow instead. I watch as she weaves a hand nervously into her mop of unruly dark hair.
"Fine," she replies, noncommittally. I can tell that she has no interest in going down this path. That's all I need to know that I need to pursue it.
"So from that I can derive that you haven't been sleeping well," I push, feeling my way around for the crack I need to get into her mind. To push the doors open.
She resists. She waves her hand as if it doesn't matter and with the one in her hair grabs for a few tangled strands, as if they're the most interesting things in the world. "Same as usual," she finally mutters. I see that her eyes have fogged up a bit as doubt moves through them.
Always been the thing about Helena Kyle; her eyes really are the window to her soul.
I glance down at my hands, noticing idly that the nail on my right index finger could use a little maintenance. Without even really thinking about it I remember that my Emory board is on the counter in my bathroom. Will have to address that later. "So the Joker then?" I say, trying to be relaxed and casual.
Her reaction is anything but which was exactly what I was expecting. Her head shoots up and her eyes widen. Her mouth gapes open for a few seconds before roughly clamping shut. "No," she says firmly. "No. He's not in my dreams anymore."
"They're just nightmares Helena," I tell her. "Run of the mill nightmares."
"The last time I had just nightmares about the Joker he tried to rape me," she says dully and I see her lip quiver. Some of the toughness fades away and for a few moments she looks like a small child. I have to remind myself that's only twenty-three, still just a kid finding her way in the world despite all of the things she's done and been through.
"Yes," I admit. "But he's not the one in your mind now Helena. He's not there. When I say that they're just nightmares I mean that; they're just nightmares. They're not real. They're not like before."
She looks up at me and again I'm struck by how young and scared she looks. "How do you know?" she asks me, her voice so absurdly low and shaky.
"Because we defeated him," I tell her. "Because you're healing and he can't hurt you anymore. Because we won."
She drops her head and puts it into her hands. It's only there for a few moments before she brushes her fingers through her dark strands and lifts her eyes back up towards me. They are once again, clear blue and strong. She's fighting again, unwilling to be weak even in front of me. Not for long anyway.
"They feel like nightmares," she finally admits.
"And before?" I ask, with more than a bit of curiosity.
"They felt real," she says with a tired sigh. "When he touched me, it was real." I tilt my head as if pushing for an explanation. After a few seconds she acquiesces. "It felt like my skin was dying when he touched me. I wanted to rip it away. I wanted to tear my face off when he puts his hands on me." She opens her mouth to add something to do that but all that comes out is a choked gurgle. Whatever she was about to say hurts too much and I find that I'm unwilling to push on it.
Because I kind of know what she was going to say and that thought chills me all the way down to the bone.
"And the dreams?" I finally manage, trying to stay focused.
"Shadows," she says, almost thoughtfully. Her eyes aren't on me. She's looking at her hands and I can see confusion there. This is the first time that she's put her thoughts into words and they baffle her. Helena isn't the type to spend too much considering the philosophical ramifications of one dream state versus another but this whole situation has crawled right under her skin.
"See," I say, moving towards her. I touch her exposed leg, my fingers sliding over the cotton of the sweatpants and settling on the N of the KNIGHTS. "Not real."
"It was never real," she murmurs, looking up at me. "He never did that to me."
"No," I say as I look away. I immediately scold myself, knowing that my involuntary motion to deny her eye contact will confuse her.
It does. "Barbara?" she asks, eyebrows knitting with confusion.
"Shadows of my own," I say with a sigh, hoping futilely that the comment will end the conversation. I know it's not exactly fair that I want her to open up and I'm not willing to do so myself but there are paths I'm not ready to walk down.
That's not true either.
I've been on that path for a long time. Been traversing up it with a walking stick, kicking at the dirt.
I guess you could say that when I gave him back the bullet he put into my spine that I bulldozed that damn road.
I won't be his victim anymore. I won't let him be my nightmare.
I've over him.
No matter what he did to me.
"You mean your legs?" she says, tilting her head. Her hair falls to one side and it occurs to me that's it grown far too long for the style she has it in. An impatient wave of her hand through the dark locks confirms for me that she feels the same way.
"No," I say hesitantly. I may have bulldozed the road but doesn't walking back down it mean that I'm rebuilding it?
To be honest I don't know what it means but I do know that she needs me right now. I'm her mentor and it's my job to do whatever I can to heal her.
I should have protected her better. Ten weeks ago an informant of mine told me that he had heard whispers suggesting that Joker had escaped from prison. I ignored the warnings and she paid dearly for it. There's a voice in my head telling me to cut myself some slack. It's true that I did look into it briefly, deciding that since not a single one of my sources could confirm it that it was likely a bad lead.
The fact is that I still let him hurt her. I should have stopped it.
It's my fault. I'll carry that burden.
Now I have to heal her.
"Helena," I stammer. My throat clenches and falters and for a few excruciatingly long moments I can't manage any other words. I see the worry in her eyes and I put my hand up to tell her I'm okay. I'll be fine. Just give me a second. Just a second.
"Barbara, what is it?" she asks, her voice deathly quiet. Somehow she knows that what I'm going to tell her could shake the foundation of our relationship. I clench my hand knowing that I can't let it.
We have to come out of this stronger.
I take a deep breath. I take another. I open my mouth. I close it again. I can do this. I can. Breathe. Think. Talk.
Come on.
"Helena," I start again. "The Joker...I mean what happened...what he almost did...he did..."
"What?" she asks me, confused and a bit angry.
I swallow again and force the words out. They spill from my mouth, scratching like sandpaper against my throat. "He did it to me. He did it to me."
"Did what?" she asks quietly, not understanding.
"When he shot me," I say softly, looking up at her and staring deep into her wide blue eyes. I can see how troubled she is and that shakes me. "When he shot me he did to me when he tried to do to you."
She's up and off the ledge of the balcony quickly. So fast in fact that she stumbles on her bad legs and falls forward, crashing hard and face-first into the cool cement. I hear her grunt in pain. She lifts her head and I see blood streaming down from her nose but she doesn't even seem to notice it. No, in typical Helena Kyle fashion she reacts in shame and embarrassment before I can do anything to stop her.
Yanking her fist back she smashes her closed hand into the gray surface, shattering it at the point of impact. One hit should have been enough to stop her, the pain likely intense, but that's not Helena and she's hurting physically right now no matter how damage she's done to herself.
She hits the ground again and something cracks. Bone or cement, I'm not sure. The rage and anger in her eyes dilates them into those weird cat like slits and I can tell that she's just barely there. I guess it's safer to just let all the pain out.
She hurts because I hurt.
I know the feeling.
"Helena, stop," I demand, hopefully not leaving any room for argument. I silently curse my chair, angry that it's preventing me from grabbing at her. Just the same I feel it move beneath me, urged on my thoughts. I'm next to Helena five seconds later, yanking at her arms, trying to restrain her.
She has no idea what she's doing
That's Helena.
Her anger makes her blind. Makes her lose focus. She didn't mean to fall to the ground. That hadn't been her intent. She'd been trying to get away from me but once she had tumbled all of the restraint has drained out of her body and she had snapped.
I wrap my arms around her, crossing at the forearm. I pull hard on her and we both fall backwards, a jumble of messed up legs and very strong arms. I put my hand on over her forehead and crush her to my chest, whispering into her ear. I'm not saying much but she doesn't need me to. Only one thing. She only needs one thing. I do too.
"I'm okay," I promise her. "I'm okay." I want to tell her that she doesn't need to protect me but I know that me even going there will just open a whole other can of worms. "Hel, I'm okay," I say again.
She shakes her head and she's still fighting for control. She's halfway to breaking but she won't surrender. She won't give.
I need her to.
I need her to accept what happened to both of us.
I need her to realize that we both survived and we're not less because of it.
I need her to both crumble beneath me and find a strength within herself that even she is unaware of.
I grip her chin and yank her head up towards mine, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Seven years ago," I tell her. "I'll never forget it but I have moved past it. So will you. It'll make you stronger."
"I am strong," she whispers. She puts the flat of one of her palms against my shoulder and tries to shove herself up but I manage to grasp her wrist and swing her back down.
"The nightmares will fade," I promise. "They might not ever fully go away but they will fade. They won't feel so real." I take a breath. "And I'm going to be with you every step of the way."
"I'm better now," she insists, her eyes tracking down to her wounded legs. I can see the open skepticism there. She's not completely sure that they'll even respond to her as affectively as they used to. She's afraid that they'll fail her in battle. She's terrified that she'll let me down.
Welcome to my world. I spend every day wondering if one of these nights I'm going to be helpless to do anything but listen as one of my protég's is murdered. That's my curse.
"I know," I say, moving just slightly away from her. I had expected her to cry but I guess she's still not ready for that. I reach out and touch her wounded hand, bringing it to close to me so I can inspect the damage. I look up at her and I'm amazed to see a funny half-smile from her.
"Broken?" she asks.
I nod. "Uh huh. Nice work."
"Damn. And it's my dominant hand. Reese is going to be pissed."
If I'd been drinking something I would have shot it clear across the room. Instead I just open my mouth in shock and then I start laughing. She joins me, that wicked confidence back on her face again. I guess I'm the only one that knows that it's just a façade "Helena," I admonish, though with a great deal of humor.
She grins at me and winks. "Says the woman who spent all of last weekend with Nightwing." She wrinkles her nose and I know what's coming. "When you're in bed does he ask you to call him..."
"Stop it," I laugh, holding up my hand. "I'm not answering that question."
"Too bad," Helena says as she pushes herself away from me. She accidentally places her injured hand against the wall to brace herself. Immediately she hisses in pain. "God damn it," she mutters.
"Well what did you expect?" I ask dryly as I pull myself back into my chair. "You did kind of tear up the cement."
"Eh it was ugly," she responds. "Thought we should try something like marble."
"Out here on the balcony?" I ask dubiously, shaking my head. I head towards the doors towards the Clocktower, assuming that she will follow me. I can fix up her hand once we're inside and warm.
"Yep."
"Perhaps not huh?"
She shrugs. "It was an idea."
"Uh huh." I snort. I watch as she runs her good hand past her nose, brushing blood away. I don't think she broke it but that sucker is certainly bleeding like crazy.
Once the doors behind us slip shut I lead her towards the lab. She pushes herself up on the table extends her hand to me. "Do your worst," she tells me.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I laugh. I offer her a cloth to stop the blood coming from her nose. She tilts her head backwards so I give her a slight push forward. If anyone could actually accidentally swallow her own blood it would be Helena. I shake my head.. It amazes me sometimes how little she knows about basic first aide.
"Anytime," she quips, her voice muffled by the cloth over her face and the fact that she is squeezing her nostrils.
I reach across and take her hand in mine. I start turning it over, inspecting it, grazing the top of her palm with my fingers. The fact that it's already swollen and discolored tells me all I need to know. "So," I say, eyes down. "Are we okay?"
"Why wouldn't we be?" she responds.
I look up at her and our eyes meet. "I know you're scared..."
"I'm not," she replies quickly.
"You are," I insist. "It's okay. I was too for a very long time after what happened to me." I pause. "Helena, you're the only one besides my father who knows what happened to me that night. My dad convinced the doctor not to put it in the medical report. Dick doesn't know. Tim doesn't know and I don't think even Bruce does. Just you and me now that my father is dead."
"Okay," Helena says hesitantly. She's not sure what I'm getting at.
"What I'm saying is, it's not what happened that makes us stronger, it's what we do with it. You understand?"
"I think so," she mumbles. I frown, not buying it. She just wants this whole conversation to just go away. That's not going to happen.
"Am I strong?" I ask her, meeting her slate blue eyes with my own. She looks up at me like a student staring into her teachers' eyes.
Good. Perfect.
"Yes," she replies instantly. I offer her a grateful smile. Sometimes I'm not so sure but we'll go with that.
"I told you about what he did to me because it didn't break me. I thought it would. It didn't. It won't break you either."
"He didn't..."
I reach up and touch her face. "It's not what actually happened that matters Helena, it's the war you create within yourself. What he did to you, what he did to me, we're not left with many choices. Only two."
"Two?"
"Fight or don't," I tell her. Then I smile at her. "I know what you'll do even if you don't. I've always known and you've never let me down."
I'm trying to show her how proud I am of her. I hope she gets it.
She nods. She gets it.
Good.
"So," she says, desperate to change the subject. "I managed almost ten pull- ups on that horrible bar of yours."
"Very good," I say with a wide smile. "I mean I usually do between thirty and fifty every morning but that's an excellent start."
"Kiss my ass," she laughs at me.
"I'd prefer not to if it's just the same with you," I reply with a shake of my head.
And so this is how it goes. I'm not sure if I did actually get through to her. I'm not sure if she understands that those terrible dreams are just that, dreams. Nothing more. I had them for years after what happened. I woke up almost every night for months screaming.
I got through it.
She will too.
Something tells me she'll nail that AP assignment once again.
She's a fighter. She's Selena Kyle and Bruce Wayne's little girl.
She's my protégé.
We'll make it through. We always do.
We always will.
And the night will still be there.
-FIN
Author: Shawn Carter
Notes: Okay I lied; apparently I had one more story to add to the Survivor series. Consider this the wrap-up of it. And now I'm done with it. Really. Honestly. Swear.
Summary: In the aftermath of the fight against the Joker, Barbara Gordon gets her moment in the spotlight as she contemplates her life and relati onship with Helena.
Rating: PG-13. Minor language and some emotional stuff.
Further: What I refer to having happened to Barbara in this in The Killing Joke is something I've heard debated ad nauseam and without conclusive answer. I have always believed that a sexual attack did occur and being that I have never heard an official statement of any type refuting it, I feel justified in this belief. I have always believed that such a horrific attack is part of what has made Barbara Gordon such an astonishingly strong character. Okay I'm done babbling now.
Music: Title is the incomparable Patsy Cline. Lyrics are the Pretenders.
Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now.
Don't be ashamed to cry,
let me see you through
Cause I've seen the dark side too.
When the night falls on you,
you don't know what to do,
Nothing you confess
could make me love you less
I've always been a fan of the night. Since I was a small child really. I can still recall waking up at three in the morning, blinded by the darkness and yet exhilarated by it. I can remember crawling to my window and shoving the shade up with my undersized fists, desperate to stare out at the beauty of a dark sky studded with stars.
Years later when I took to the rooftops with only granite and tar beneath my heels as I skipped through the sky I realized that my affinity for the night was tied to my destiny. I was meant to be one of the heroes, one of the people who stood up and took the fall when necessary.
I never meant for it to be her destiny. But then I never meant for her to be in my life as anything other than a student and an occasional casual acquaintance. I knew who she was. It was impossible not to know. She was Selena's child but she looked like Bruce. His startling blue eyes and his dark as coal hair. It was unmistakable. But then Bruce never did see her; hanging out at schools really wasn't his thing and Selena went out of her way to ensure that he and Helena wouldn't just run into each other somewhere.
No it was all carefully constructed and manipulated. She worshipped her daughter with everything in her but realized that if Helena knew Bruce she'd be drawn into his world and that was the one thing Selena couldn't handle.
So I guess you could say I let her down. Both of the Kyle women.
But then again I never meant for our worlds to become so hopelessly intertwined. I actually tried to keep my distance from her, knowing that if I became part of Helena Kyle's life I'd never be able to separate myself. So she was my student then. Just a normal every day kid in my class.
A really terrible every day student who caused me nothing but headaches even before her mother died. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake just to smack some sense into her. Probably wasn't fair because she really wasn't doing anything all that different or unusual from all of the other kids in my class. She was disobedient, obnoxious and mostly thoughtless. She has no sense of focus or discipline and considered my instructions to largely be a nuisance.
I figured she was wasting all of the gifts she'd been given by the genetic pairing of Bruce Wayne and Selena Kyle. Just the same however, I ordered myself to keep my distance.
Stay back. Stay away. Don't get involved. Don't take it personally when she flunks Algebra or when one of the teachers in the break room calls her a name that the Helena I know now would put a hand through his face for.
And when she finally reluctantly and grudgingly came to me to request extra credit in order to bring up her grade so that her mom wouldn't find out that she'd been acting like a normal teen blowing off her studies, I gave her the same assignment I would any other student.
Right?
Right?
Bullshit. I gave her an assignment that I would have given one of my AP Honors students. And I'm talking one of my seniors. Yeah I gave an underperforming sophomore who had thus far shown me nothing that would even mildly suggest that she was capable of completing the task a project that one of my ace kids would have struggled with.
And then I told her that getting an extremely good grade on it was the only way she was going to pass my class. The look on her face told me everything I needed to know about her relationship with her mother. Even at sixteen and unburdened by the hell that would later become her life she still so desperately needed to get the approval of the one person she gave a damn about and she would do anything, including work her ass of on a project way over her head, to do it. Years later when it was just she and I, it would be I who would be the focus of this narrow determination. At her root Helena remains a small child searching for validation.
I ended up giving her an A- on it. And she earned every damn bit of it I'm proud to say. To be honest she blew me away. I wondered for a bit if Gibson had helped her out but after rereading that paper about thirty times I came to the conclusion that the writing style and the conclusions could only come from the mind of someone that had been created by Bruce and Selena.
That was the first time that I recall being really proud of Helena. As a teacher anyway. She surprised me and she made me sit up and take notice.
I suppose that was part of the problem though. After I graded that paper I wasn't able to stay out of her life. I wasn't able to stay disinterested. But then again who I am kidding, I didn't give her that project just to nudge her, I gave it to her to prove a point.
Bruce and Helena's daughter. Smart as a whip even if she'll never quite get that.
Still, this wasn't what I'd had in mind.
I'd been thinking that I'd push her until I made her take some pride in herself. I'd make her take her abilities seriously. Find a way to get her into college so that she could make something of herself.
I hadn't counted on a bullet and a knife doing that for her.
And for me.
I hadn't wanted to become a force in her life. I had fought against it even as I had been swept towards her. That's her power, her raw magnetism. That was true even back then. The harder I fought to stay impartial, to keep our relationship just teacher and student, the more I lost the battle. The more I needed to know. The more I had to be involved.
After her mother died and my legs become nothing but two columns of useless flesh I gave up the fight.
I stopped struggling and I walked right towards her, arms out and ready.
You have to understand though, I still didn't intend my world to become hers. It's insanity to assume that I knew right after being shot how to stand up again. I had no intention of jumping back into the whirlpool that is life as a superhero. As I lay in that bed, raging against my very own soul, I cursed everything that I had become. I hated every decision that I had ever made.
I hated Bruce.
That faded quickly enough but it took me several weeks to start being able to even look into a mirror without wanting to crush it. And the chair, that damned chair. I hated it.
My father is the one who made me sit in it.
My father is the one who made me accept it.
"You can only rage against what you can Barbara," he told me. "You're alive my little girl and you're meant for more than this bed."
He made me get up and stop feeling sorry for myself but it was my need to protect Helena Kyle that made me live again.
She was fading faster than I was, drowning in a pool of pain and hatred. She was lashing out against everything and abandoning every bit of her youth in an attempt to control the raw spinning pit of emotion within her. Then again perhaps she wasn't trying to control it at all, instead indulging in every vice she could handle while still somehow managing to stay above ground and breathing.
To be honest she was doing a shitty job of it. Selena had spoiled her relentlessly and done nothing to teach Helena of any of the real world realities of pain and violence. She had hidden her away from the darkness and because of it perhaps there was no one less equipped to deal with the pain and rage than was that young sixteen year old. Helena was just spinning without focus, not sure where the hurt started and stopped instead only searching for ways to numb it.
If I hadn't gotten to her and put my hands on her shoulders to stop the spinning God only knows where she would have ended up.
If I hadn't gotten to her and given her a good hard shake and in doing so throttled myself back into reality God only knows where I would have ended up.
"You're thinking again," a voice says from behind me. I turn and blink, a bit embarrassed to have been caught to deeply off-guard. For a few moments I'm not even completely sure I've where I am.
Then I remember and as if on cue a cool breeze sweeps past my face, nipping my cheeks on it's way towards the New Gotham Harbor.
The Clocktower. My home. My hideaway. My salvation.
"Helena," I say with a slight smile, my eyes sweeping over her. I can see that she's moving awkwardly, her body clearly showing the strain of one of our recent workouts. This rehab hasn't been easy for either of us but it's been ten times worse for her as she struggles to prove to both of us that she's still capable of holding her own.
I don't need her to but she does. She needs to prove to herself that after all the Joker and Harley did to her she's still the fighter she's always been.
And so she's pushing herself and I'm not discouraging her. Hell I'm the one standing beside her with my foot out, shoving as hard as I can. Metaphorically speaking of course.
I guess you could say that I'm giving her that AP assignment all over again.
"Barbara?" she says to me, her voice sharp enough to let me know that she's fully aware that I'm letting my mind drift on her. "Where are you?"
"Hm?" I reply, pretending not to understand the question. Her impatient look tells me not to bother so I drop the pretense. "Just thinking."
"You do that too much," she offers, attempting to be flip. She moves towards the ledge and lifts herself up on to it. I see her grimace as she slides too much weight onto one of her injured legs. She's doing better, much better.
She's still in pain.
Rehab is hell.
At least she can rehab.
Wow that came off bad.
I don't begrudge her the ability to heal but sometimes her reluctance and resistance to the whole process makes me edgy. Makes me wonder if she knows just how lucky she is to be able to feel that horrible pain in her legs. She hates the rehab. Well go figure that.
I'm not being fair. Really I'm not.
She's not slacking off. She's giving it what she can. She knows what it means. We both do.
He obliterated my spine with a metal slug. He nearly crushed her legs with a stainless steel mallet.
I'm crippled. She'll eventually walk again without a limp. We're both scarred for life.
I need her to be strong for both of us.
She is.
She never lets me down.
She turned in that paper three days ahead of schedule and she worked her butt off. While I won't say that she's kicking ass with her rehab, she is fighting, making her way through it. She wants to get back there as much as I do.
She needs the night as much as I miss it. How odd is it that we both find peace in the absence of anything. Light in the darkness.
"Thinking about?" Helena prompts and I can see that she's smiling, her blue eyes sparkling in that mischievous way that is uniquely hers. She adjusts herself atop the ledge, back to the wall and injured limbs slung out in front of her. She's wearing blue sweats that have the words KNIGHTS printed in white block letters down one leg.
I flick my hand in the air, almost dismissively. I don't really know how to tell Helena that I've been thinking about how we almost didn't end up part of each other lives. I mean it's not like it's a secret but I wonder if I'd hurt her if she knew that I really hadn't initially wanted anything to do with her.
It probably wouldn't even matter that she hadn't exactly wanted to be a teachers' pet back then either.
You have to understand, this is a child was massive belonging issues and I really don't want to add to them.
"Not an answer," she reminds me, gazing out over the city. I see her smile a bit as she takes in the soft flakes of snow tumbling haphazardly towards the ground. "You're thinking about me, huh?"
"That's rather self-involved," I say with a smirk. "Sometimes I'm thinking about me."
"Sure," she nods. "But you usually only brood over me."
I shrug. That's true. Can't deny it. Won't bother trying. She knows me as well as I know her. Just how it is.
"How do you feel?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
She grimaces a bit, as if on cue. "Okay," she lies. That's when I notice the circles under her eyes. She's been pushing herself far harder than I had realized I guess. She looks like she hasn't slept in weeks.
I immediately scold myself. I should have been taking better care of her. Making sure that she didn't push so hard that...
"Barbara," she laughs. "Stop."
I look up and see that despite the exhaustion in those clear slate blue eyes she's also full of mirth. She's dancing. She amazes me. As troubled and burdened as she always is, as tormented and confused, she's still so damned vibrant,
The weight of the world like Bruce.
The laughter of a child like Selena.
"What?" I ask, mock innocently. I know exactly what I'm about to be chided for.
"You're being all mentory," she tells me.
"That's not a word," I remind her dryly.
She nods. "Course not but you are. Being mentory I mean. I'm fine. Really."
"You look tired."
"I just spent an hour hanging upside down from a metal pole in the training room while Dinah told me about how her latest date with that high school dipshit she's so enamored with went."
"He's not a dipshit," I insist even though I don't believe it. The junior that Dinah has been going out with for the last two weeks has the personality of a slab of wet cardboard and what's worse is that he actually thinks that he's amusing.
"He's a dipshit," Helena says again. "And his dates with Dinah are the virtual equivalent of watching paint dry. I mean two weeks ago I would have broken his hand if he'd made a move on her but right now I'd encourage him to go for a cheap feel-up just to liven things up a bit."
"And then you'd break his hand?" I ask with a laugh, knowing full damn well that Helena has taken an uber-protective edge to Dinah. If any guy thinks he has a chance with Dinah, he's going to have to go through Helena and if that's the case he might as well give up.
"Yep," she confirms. "Still, at least that'd be interesting."
"Nice," I say with a shake of my head. "How's your stomach?"
She lifts an eyebrow. "Stomach?"
"With all of the crunches you've been doing..."
"I'm in great shape," she protests. "My stomach muscles are fine."
I hold up a hand as a sign of surrender. I wounded her ego a bit and while it amuses me to see her on the defensive, no good can come of it.
"So sleep," I start instead, looking directly at her. "How have you been sleeping these last few nights?" I search for her eyes but to no great surprise she avoids mine, choosing to stare out at the quickening snow instead. I watch as she weaves a hand nervously into her mop of unruly dark hair.
"Fine," she replies, noncommittally. I can tell that she has no interest in going down this path. That's all I need to know that I need to pursue it.
"So from that I can derive that you haven't been sleeping well," I push, feeling my way around for the crack I need to get into her mind. To push the doors open.
She resists. She waves her hand as if it doesn't matter and with the one in her hair grabs for a few tangled strands, as if they're the most interesting things in the world. "Same as usual," she finally mutters. I see that her eyes have fogged up a bit as doubt moves through them.
Always been the thing about Helena Kyle; her eyes really are the window to her soul.
I glance down at my hands, noticing idly that the nail on my right index finger could use a little maintenance. Without even really thinking about it I remember that my Emory board is on the counter in my bathroom. Will have to address that later. "So the Joker then?" I say, trying to be relaxed and casual.
Her reaction is anything but which was exactly what I was expecting. Her head shoots up and her eyes widen. Her mouth gapes open for a few seconds before roughly clamping shut. "No," she says firmly. "No. He's not in my dreams anymore."
"They're just nightmares Helena," I tell her. "Run of the mill nightmares."
"The last time I had just nightmares about the Joker he tried to rape me," she says dully and I see her lip quiver. Some of the toughness fades away and for a few moments she looks like a small child. I have to remind myself that's only twenty-three, still just a kid finding her way in the world despite all of the things she's done and been through.
"Yes," I admit. "But he's not the one in your mind now Helena. He's not there. When I say that they're just nightmares I mean that; they're just nightmares. They're not real. They're not like before."
She looks up at me and again I'm struck by how young and scared she looks. "How do you know?" she asks me, her voice so absurdly low and shaky.
"Because we defeated him," I tell her. "Because you're healing and he can't hurt you anymore. Because we won."
She drops her head and puts it into her hands. It's only there for a few moments before she brushes her fingers through her dark strands and lifts her eyes back up towards me. They are once again, clear blue and strong. She's fighting again, unwilling to be weak even in front of me. Not for long anyway.
"They feel like nightmares," she finally admits.
"And before?" I ask, with more than a bit of curiosity.
"They felt real," she says with a tired sigh. "When he touched me, it was real." I tilt my head as if pushing for an explanation. After a few seconds she acquiesces. "It felt like my skin was dying when he touched me. I wanted to rip it away. I wanted to tear my face off when he puts his hands on me." She opens her mouth to add something to do that but all that comes out is a choked gurgle. Whatever she was about to say hurts too much and I find that I'm unwilling to push on it.
Because I kind of know what she was going to say and that thought chills me all the way down to the bone.
"And the dreams?" I finally manage, trying to stay focused.
"Shadows," she says, almost thoughtfully. Her eyes aren't on me. She's looking at her hands and I can see confusion there. This is the first time that she's put her thoughts into words and they baffle her. Helena isn't the type to spend too much considering the philosophical ramifications of one dream state versus another but this whole situation has crawled right under her skin.
"See," I say, moving towards her. I touch her exposed leg, my fingers sliding over the cotton of the sweatpants and settling on the N of the KNIGHTS. "Not real."
"It was never real," she murmurs, looking up at me. "He never did that to me."
"No," I say as I look away. I immediately scold myself, knowing that my involuntary motion to deny her eye contact will confuse her.
It does. "Barbara?" she asks, eyebrows knitting with confusion.
"Shadows of my own," I say with a sigh, hoping futilely that the comment will end the conversation. I know it's not exactly fair that I want her to open up and I'm not willing to do so myself but there are paths I'm not ready to walk down.
That's not true either.
I've been on that path for a long time. Been traversing up it with a walking stick, kicking at the dirt.
I guess you could say that when I gave him back the bullet he put into my spine that I bulldozed that damn road.
I won't be his victim anymore. I won't let him be my nightmare.
I've over him.
No matter what he did to me.
"You mean your legs?" she says, tilting her head. Her hair falls to one side and it occurs to me that's it grown far too long for the style she has it in. An impatient wave of her hand through the dark locks confirms for me that she feels the same way.
"No," I say hesitantly. I may have bulldozed the road but doesn't walking back down it mean that I'm rebuilding it?
To be honest I don't know what it means but I do know that she needs me right now. I'm her mentor and it's my job to do whatever I can to heal her.
I should have protected her better. Ten weeks ago an informant of mine told me that he had heard whispers suggesting that Joker had escaped from prison. I ignored the warnings and she paid dearly for it. There's a voice in my head telling me to cut myself some slack. It's true that I did look into it briefly, deciding that since not a single one of my sources could confirm it that it was likely a bad lead.
The fact is that I still let him hurt her. I should have stopped it.
It's my fault. I'll carry that burden.
Now I have to heal her.
"Helena," I stammer. My throat clenches and falters and for a few excruciatingly long moments I can't manage any other words. I see the worry in her eyes and I put my hand up to tell her I'm okay. I'll be fine. Just give me a second. Just a second.
"Barbara, what is it?" she asks, her voice deathly quiet. Somehow she knows that what I'm going to tell her could shake the foundation of our relationship. I clench my hand knowing that I can't let it.
We have to come out of this stronger.
I take a deep breath. I take another. I open my mouth. I close it again. I can do this. I can. Breathe. Think. Talk.
Come on.
"Helena," I start again. "The Joker...I mean what happened...what he almost did...he did..."
"What?" she asks me, confused and a bit angry.
I swallow again and force the words out. They spill from my mouth, scratching like sandpaper against my throat. "He did it to me. He did it to me."
"Did what?" she asks quietly, not understanding.
"When he shot me," I say softly, looking up at her and staring deep into her wide blue eyes. I can see how troubled she is and that shakes me. "When he shot me he did to me when he tried to do to you."
She's up and off the ledge of the balcony quickly. So fast in fact that she stumbles on her bad legs and falls forward, crashing hard and face-first into the cool cement. I hear her grunt in pain. She lifts her head and I see blood streaming down from her nose but she doesn't even seem to notice it. No, in typical Helena Kyle fashion she reacts in shame and embarrassment before I can do anything to stop her.
Yanking her fist back she smashes her closed hand into the gray surface, shattering it at the point of impact. One hit should have been enough to stop her, the pain likely intense, but that's not Helena and she's hurting physically right now no matter how damage she's done to herself.
She hits the ground again and something cracks. Bone or cement, I'm not sure. The rage and anger in her eyes dilates them into those weird cat like slits and I can tell that she's just barely there. I guess it's safer to just let all the pain out.
She hurts because I hurt.
I know the feeling.
"Helena, stop," I demand, hopefully not leaving any room for argument. I silently curse my chair, angry that it's preventing me from grabbing at her. Just the same I feel it move beneath me, urged on my thoughts. I'm next to Helena five seconds later, yanking at her arms, trying to restrain her.
She has no idea what she's doing
That's Helena.
Her anger makes her blind. Makes her lose focus. She didn't mean to fall to the ground. That hadn't been her intent. She'd been trying to get away from me but once she had tumbled all of the restraint has drained out of her body and she had snapped.
I wrap my arms around her, crossing at the forearm. I pull hard on her and we both fall backwards, a jumble of messed up legs and very strong arms. I put my hand on over her forehead and crush her to my chest, whispering into her ear. I'm not saying much but she doesn't need me to. Only one thing. She only needs one thing. I do too.
"I'm okay," I promise her. "I'm okay." I want to tell her that she doesn't need to protect me but I know that me even going there will just open a whole other can of worms. "Hel, I'm okay," I say again.
She shakes her head and she's still fighting for control. She's halfway to breaking but she won't surrender. She won't give.
I need her to.
I need her to accept what happened to both of us.
I need her to realize that we both survived and we're not less because of it.
I need her to both crumble beneath me and find a strength within herself that even she is unaware of.
I grip her chin and yank her head up towards mine, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Seven years ago," I tell her. "I'll never forget it but I have moved past it. So will you. It'll make you stronger."
"I am strong," she whispers. She puts the flat of one of her palms against my shoulder and tries to shove herself up but I manage to grasp her wrist and swing her back down.
"The nightmares will fade," I promise. "They might not ever fully go away but they will fade. They won't feel so real." I take a breath. "And I'm going to be with you every step of the way."
"I'm better now," she insists, her eyes tracking down to her wounded legs. I can see the open skepticism there. She's not completely sure that they'll even respond to her as affectively as they used to. She's afraid that they'll fail her in battle. She's terrified that she'll let me down.
Welcome to my world. I spend every day wondering if one of these nights I'm going to be helpless to do anything but listen as one of my protég's is murdered. That's my curse.
"I know," I say, moving just slightly away from her. I had expected her to cry but I guess she's still not ready for that. I reach out and touch her wounded hand, bringing it to close to me so I can inspect the damage. I look up at her and I'm amazed to see a funny half-smile from her.
"Broken?" she asks.
I nod. "Uh huh. Nice work."
"Damn. And it's my dominant hand. Reese is going to be pissed."
If I'd been drinking something I would have shot it clear across the room. Instead I just open my mouth in shock and then I start laughing. She joins me, that wicked confidence back on her face again. I guess I'm the only one that knows that it's just a façade "Helena," I admonish, though with a great deal of humor.
She grins at me and winks. "Says the woman who spent all of last weekend with Nightwing." She wrinkles her nose and I know what's coming. "When you're in bed does he ask you to call him..."
"Stop it," I laugh, holding up my hand. "I'm not answering that question."
"Too bad," Helena says as she pushes herself away from me. She accidentally places her injured hand against the wall to brace herself. Immediately she hisses in pain. "God damn it," she mutters.
"Well what did you expect?" I ask dryly as I pull myself back into my chair. "You did kind of tear up the cement."
"Eh it was ugly," she responds. "Thought we should try something like marble."
"Out here on the balcony?" I ask dubiously, shaking my head. I head towards the doors towards the Clocktower, assuming that she will follow me. I can fix up her hand once we're inside and warm.
"Yep."
"Perhaps not huh?"
She shrugs. "It was an idea."
"Uh huh." I snort. I watch as she runs her good hand past her nose, brushing blood away. I don't think she broke it but that sucker is certainly bleeding like crazy.
Once the doors behind us slip shut I lead her towards the lab. She pushes herself up on the table extends her hand to me. "Do your worst," she tells me.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I laugh. I offer her a cloth to stop the blood coming from her nose. She tilts her head backwards so I give her a slight push forward. If anyone could actually accidentally swallow her own blood it would be Helena. I shake my head.. It amazes me sometimes how little she knows about basic first aide.
"Anytime," she quips, her voice muffled by the cloth over her face and the fact that she is squeezing her nostrils.
I reach across and take her hand in mine. I start turning it over, inspecting it, grazing the top of her palm with my fingers. The fact that it's already swollen and discolored tells me all I need to know. "So," I say, eyes down. "Are we okay?"
"Why wouldn't we be?" she responds.
I look up at her and our eyes meet. "I know you're scared..."
"I'm not," she replies quickly.
"You are," I insist. "It's okay. I was too for a very long time after what happened to me." I pause. "Helena, you're the only one besides my father who knows what happened to me that night. My dad convinced the doctor not to put it in the medical report. Dick doesn't know. Tim doesn't know and I don't think even Bruce does. Just you and me now that my father is dead."
"Okay," Helena says hesitantly. She's not sure what I'm getting at.
"What I'm saying is, it's not what happened that makes us stronger, it's what we do with it. You understand?"
"I think so," she mumbles. I frown, not buying it. She just wants this whole conversation to just go away. That's not going to happen.
"Am I strong?" I ask her, meeting her slate blue eyes with my own. She looks up at me like a student staring into her teachers' eyes.
Good. Perfect.
"Yes," she replies instantly. I offer her a grateful smile. Sometimes I'm not so sure but we'll go with that.
"I told you about what he did to me because it didn't break me. I thought it would. It didn't. It won't break you either."
"He didn't..."
I reach up and touch her face. "It's not what actually happened that matters Helena, it's the war you create within yourself. What he did to you, what he did to me, we're not left with many choices. Only two."
"Two?"
"Fight or don't," I tell her. Then I smile at her. "I know what you'll do even if you don't. I've always known and you've never let me down."
I'm trying to show her how proud I am of her. I hope she gets it.
She nods. She gets it.
Good.
"So," she says, desperate to change the subject. "I managed almost ten pull- ups on that horrible bar of yours."
"Very good," I say with a wide smile. "I mean I usually do between thirty and fifty every morning but that's an excellent start."
"Kiss my ass," she laughs at me.
"I'd prefer not to if it's just the same with you," I reply with a shake of my head.
And so this is how it goes. I'm not sure if I did actually get through to her. I'm not sure if she understands that those terrible dreams are just that, dreams. Nothing more. I had them for years after what happened. I woke up almost every night for months screaming.
I got through it.
She will too.
Something tells me she'll nail that AP assignment once again.
She's a fighter. She's Selena Kyle and Bruce Wayne's little girl.
She's my protégé.
We'll make it through. We always do.
We always will.
And the night will still be there.
-FIN