Written for GGE for Amber (NightwingHuntress - "Was it worth it?", I hope I made it worth it ;))

It was quiet tonight in the low leveled bar. Helena typically liked the rowdiness that the establishment possessed. It was always amusing to watch the burly idiots get into fights over something as small as moving one of their beers. Plus, no one asked questions about who she was and who she was related to.

Yet tonight...tonight Helena was grateful for the faint music playing in the bar, masked by the idle chatter happening next to the speakers.

She should feel celebratory, victorious; she felt everything but that. His death was meant to be her salvation; it was meant to be a weight taken away from her shoulders. He'd put it there in the first place. Helena snorted to herself at the thought; he'd wedged himself deeper than a chip on her shoulder. At least her parents could rest with the final mafia boss at least ten feet under the ground.

Raising her finger at the bartender, she gestured for another drink. Perhaps her mind wasn't distracted enough to get in the celebratory mood; after four glasses already, she'd have thought her mind would have more than enough incentive. Guess not.

As she waited for the glass to be refilled, Helena felt a shift in the space around her. Everyone on her left was still in the same place as they were before, so that meant someone was on her right. When a familiar musk filled her nose, there was no mistaking who it was, even if she hadn't smelled the body wash in months.

"Resorting to the slums completely, Dick?" she asked smoothly, grabbing her glass once it was refilled. Helena twisted her body on her stool to face the cool blue eyes of Dick Grayson.

The last time they'd faced one another, she had seduced him in an attempt to have a tighter connection to the 'group'. At least, that's what she told him that night and herself since then. Truly, their banter was a bit frustrating, but she did enjoy the partnership once again. And he was not inadequate in the intimate part of things.

"Can't a man come into a bar if he wants?" Dick replied just as smooth, his eyes never breaking contact with hers.

Damn, how did she lie to herself for so long?

"He could, if that's all he wanted," Helena said. Taking a sip from her glass, she gave his form a quick sweep. His hair was tousled and brushed back as if he only used his hand for the brush and his fitting black t-shirt and denim jeans screamed casual. The 'boyish yet mature' look was good on him when he wasn't in costume.

That wasn't the only thing that looked good when he wasn't in costume...perhaps the alcohol was affecting her finally.

"I heard about Porcelli," he said, leaning his arm on the bar top.

Of course he had. She was sure Batman and the cops were having a field day on another mafia murder. Good riddance. At least it would be the last for hopefully a while; he was dead and gone, unable to harm families as he'd done with hers.

Helena sipped from her glass again. "Such a tragedy," she remarked, feigning sadness. "My condolences to the poor saps that have to arrange that pathetic excuse of a man's funeral."

Dick sighed. "Helena–"

"No," she interrupted. "Do not come here to lecture me like that mentor of yours. It didn't work once, and it for damn sure isn't going to work now." She blinked a few times to remain focus on the moment. Oh yeah, she was feeling the effects now. "To hell with Porcelli, and may the fat on that pig cook like bacon while he's there."

As Helena raised her glass in a gesture of 'cheers', Dick took it from her. While she could have snapped at him, but he started to drink from her glass and raised it up in the air afterward.

"Cheers to that," he replied, setting the drink back on the bar top. "I wasn't going to lecture you. No, I don't like how you've achieved your vengeance, but I'm not going to lecture you on something I can't change or prevent. The guy's already dead."

He shrugged, and Helena narrowed her eyes at him. Was he serious? Was this part of her delirium forming from the alcohol? Did she want it to be something different?

"Take my drink again," Helena started, reaching for her glass again, "and there'll be stumps where your feet should be."

Dick placed a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. "You wound me," he replied sarcastically. He then stood up and held out his hand. "I really came to make sure you were going to be okay," he explained. "And if need be, take you home."

Helena watched him carefully. He couldn't have known that she would be feeling this way, yet at the same time, she knew he was sincere in his concern. One of the only people who did actually give a damn about her well being, not just to lecture and watch like Batman.

She had the choice to reject or accept his hand. Rejecting his hand would allow her to drink in the little peace that she did have. Accepting his hand would allow her to have the company that she didn't mind having for more than five minutes. A little peace or a little company…?

"I could go to your place instead," Helena said finally, taking Dick's hand. "I know my way around certain rooms in that place after all."

He gave a light chuckle, squeezing her hand firmly. "Play your cards right, soberly, and I might take you up on that offer."

She snorted. "Too late for that. I don't plan on being sober for at least another day."

"Good thing I've stocked up on the aspirin," he murmured, causing Helena to laugh while following the man outside the bar.

It'd been a while since she'd laughed genuinely. Of course, she was blaming the alcohol.

"Was it worth it?" she heard Dick ask her once they were alone by his bike. The question made Helena pause. It should have been a no brainer, but she couldn't help but let the question echo in her mind.

It was worth it, right?

"Without a doubt," Helena replied with a nod. He tossed her a helmet in response, and the pair drove off into the night.

As the wind blew the rest of her hair back thanks to the speed of the motorcycle, Helena was left with her thoughts. She didn't regret killing Porcelli, yet she still had thoughts of the things that were worth it in her life.

With the head bosses all killed, did she still have a purpose as a vigilante? Could she even blend in society just being a civilian? Did she want to?

God, there were too many questions for her clouded mind to process clearly. Screw it, she'd worry about it when she was more focused in the morning. Though, feeling on the toned torso of the man in front of her, she might be focusing on something else entirely.

Now that she could say without a doubt would be worth it.

Word Count: 1,207