Yay, another chapter!
"Miss Gordon? Miss Gordon?" her doctor- Dr Graham- called, entering Barbara's room and waking her. "You've been cleared to be discharged, and your foster family is waiting outside. Mr. Wayne has provided street clothes for you. Once you get changed you will be escorted to the car in a wheelchair."
"A wheelchair?" Barbara asked, confused. "I thought that I was supposed to use those forearm crutches." She had been in a wheelchair for about a week during inpatient physical therapy, but thanks to the musculature that gymnastics practice had given her, Barbara's knee was healing quicker than expected, and she was able to progress to forearm crutches and a brace.
"Of course, you're right. However, we can't risk you falling and suing the hospital over your injuries. All patients are escorted out in a wheelchair." Dr Graham insisted. Barbara accepted the clothes that the doctor handed her. Bruce had provided her with some kind of designer clothes- a form fitting brand name tee-shirt, jeans, expensive looking undergarments, and zip up boots. Barbara suspected that the one outfit cost more than her entire wardrobe. Of course, living off of a police salary meant that Barbara's clothes were mostly hand-me-downs.
Barbara allowed one of the female nurses to escort her to the bathroom and help her get dressed, since her bullet wound was still pulling on her shoulder and not giving her a lot of mobility. Once finished, she returned to her room and obediently sat in the wheelchair, wondering how she was going to get dressed without the nurse to help her.
The wheelchair, she decided the first time she used it, was more comfortable than she'd expected. She assumed that was so that people could sit in them for the rest of their lives if they needed too. Barbara shook her head, clearing her mind of the uneasy thoughts. She wouldn't be able to stand being wheelchair bound. What if her butt went numb?
The nurse wheeled her out to the desk where the Wayne family waited, Bruce filling out paperwork to discharge her from the hospital.
"Barbara! It's good to see you. I trust you're doing better?" Mr. Wayne asked as the doctor stepped into the nurse's station to aid with paperwork.
"Um, yeah. Kinda. I've definitely been better, Mr. Wayne." Barbara replied nervously. Bruce hadn't spoken much in his few visits to the hospital. She got the feeling that he was always very busy.
"It's to be expected after such a traumatic physical injury. Please, call me Bruce."
"Sure thing Mr Wayne-I mean Bruce." Barbara confirmed. She surveyed the family waiting for her at the counter, Dick with his eager grin and Alfred with his comforting presence. Early on she had decided that her father would have liked Alfred, and that fact made her feel closer to the older man.
"Alright, you're all set!" Dr Graham declared cheerfully. "You're going to have an in home physical therapist stop by twice a week to help you get back to your old self. You should be more than capable of continuing with your gymnastics regimen."
"Thank you Dr Graham." Barbara breathed, pleased. She was on route to be an Olympic hopeful this year, so she was very excited that she hadn't screwed that up.
"Be sure to come back if you have any problems. Don't take this personally, however I hope I won't see you again."
"Aww, I knew you cared, Doc." Barbara joked, wiping a fake tear from her eye. "I'm sure I'll see you in line at the grocery store. I don't have to be dying for you to say hi."
"Right you are!" Dr Graham laughed. "Now you folks have a great day."
A nurse wheeled Barbara to the outside of the hospital, where she and Dick helped Barbara to transfer from the wheelchair to her crutches.
"If I may, I will go and pull the limo around." Alfred stated, sounding more like a command than a question.
"That sounds like a great plan, Alfred." Bruce agreed. The nurse returned to the hospital, wishing the family well, and then it was just Bruce, Dick, and Barbara standing in awkward silence.
"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" Dick asked, trying to get a response out of either of them.
"Really Grayson?" Barbara raised an eyebrow. In actuality it was stiflingly humid outside.
"I think I liked you better when you were doped up on morphine." Dick quipped, and she snorted.
"Now children…" Bruce began, and Dick cracked up.
Alfred returned with the limo, and got out of the car, taking Barbara's crutches from her and handing them to Dick. He and Bruce then helped her into her car.
Barbara wasn't really sure what she expected, but she was somehow shocked to note that the seats in the limousine went long ways rather than horizontal like most cars. It made sense logically-that would have to be a lot of rows of seats if it sat them like a van- but she had never had the opportunity to see the inside of one before.
"We figure the limo would be better than any of our other cars." Dick explained as he slid in next to her. "It'd give you more room to stretch out your leg and all."
"Yeah, it's great." Barbara smiled slightly. Bruce sat in the front of the limo with Alfred and began some boring adult-y conversation as Alfred pulled away from the hospital.
"I'm really excited you're coming to live with us, Babs. Bruce and Al are cool and all, but it'll be nice to have someone around my own age to hang out with."
"What am I, your new play toy?" Barbara asked, a little snappish, and Dick regretted his word choice.
"Not at all. I regret the circumstances that brought you here, of course. I'm not saying that I'm happy you lost your father. I'm just happy to, y'know, maybe have a friend."
"Right. I'm sorry Dick, I'm just cranky. I didn't mean to snap."
"It happens. They took you off the morphine and you haven't had your first Percocet, so you're not high right now."
"I promise I can function sober!" Barbara spluttered, and Dick laughed.
"Sure, but when you're in a hell of a lot of pain it's much easier to function once something's taken the edge off. I'm sure you're not feeling the aster right now."
"Aster? What? Are you even speaking English right now?"
"As opposed to the other four languages you speak? That's right, your social worker gave us a file on you, Miss Brainiac."
"God, she's already got a file on me?"
"Well, yeah. Bruce mostly wanted to know how to schedule your classes."
"Why would they be changing?" Barbara asked, raising her eyebrow. Dick grinned.
"Because now you get to go to Gotham Academy with me! It's not that Gotham Heights Public is a bad school, it's just… well, Bruce figured you would want to get into college one day so we had to get you out of henchman school."
"Henchman school?" Barbara laughed. She knew her former school had a reputation for being…unsavoury, but she'd never heard it termed that before.
"Oh, that's what we called it at Gotham Academy- Henchman Heights. Since, y'know, most of the graduates end up as henchmen to one of our major crime bosses."
"True enough." Barbara shrugged, thinking of Pamela Isley- her one friend who'd dropped out of Gotham Heights to become a supervillain. "I was definitely walking on eggshells going to school there."
"Is that why- Bruce wanted me to ask you… well, I mean-"
"Spit it out, Grayson." Barbara rolled her eyes, looking slightly on edge.
"Um, at the hospital they… they found a lot of scars and stuff on your body. Knife wounds. Cigarette burns. Bullet wounds. None of this stuff was in any of their records on you so as your foster family we were asked to look into it, and…" Dick began hesitantly.
"What are you getting at?" Barbara asked, worried that Dick had figured out her secret already. Not that she was in any shape to be Batgirl right now anyways.
"Um, well, they suspected abuse. I said your father would never do anything like that, but maybe there was a boyfriend or something? You're safe now Barbara, I promise, we just need to know."
"Abuse? Really?" She laughed. "I mean, some of it came from school, yeah. Putting the police commissioner's daughter into a school full of juvenile delinquents really isn't the best plan. It's just, Dad spent so much of his salary on my gymnastics career that there wasn't enough left to send me to Gotham Academy and pay the bills. See this here?" She pulled the neckline of her shirt down to showcase a smattering of cigarette burns. "Tommy Gilbert gave me these little treasures when my dad got his dad locked up in Blackgate."
"God, Babs, I'm so sorry. If we'd known… well, Bruce probably would have given you a full ride scholarship to get you away from there. Most of the GCPD kids go to GA, I don't know why we didn't think about the fact that you didn't." Dick looked torn up, like her rough upbringing was entirely his fault.
"You didn't even know me. It wasn't your job." Barbara reassured. "And some of it occurred outside of school too. As the comish's kid, I was a prime kidnapping target. Everyone wants to get back at my dad for actually doing his job, unlike our previous commissioners. I suspect that's what got him killed in the end. We all know the previous commissioner brought more drugs into the city then the crime lords themselves."
"Well, you're going to be safe now, Barbara. Wayne Manor has a state of the art security system, and I'll be with you at school, so no one's ever going to hurt you again."
"Yes, because you don't get kidnapped all the time being the son of Gotham's White Knight." Barbara stated dryly.
"…True." Dick blushed, and the two laughed.
"Hey, wait, is that-"
"Yup. Welcome home Barbara." Dick grinned, as she stared out the window in awe.
"Ok, I knew Wayne Manor was big, but I expected to be able to find my way to the front door!" Barbara exclaimed, and Dick laughed, pointing.
"It's that way. I might have to make you a map of the house. There's a swimming pool and gym in the basement, then on the ground floor we have all of our historical looking rooms that visitors like to see. Y'know, like the ballroom and parlour and stuff. The second floor belongs to Wayne Tech Industries-it's where Bruce keeps all his work stuff- and then our rooms are on the top floor, in an effort to keep visitors from just wandering into our personal rooms. We've got stables in the back, if you like horses. I named my horse Zitka, after my favourite elephant."
"Because it's perfectly normal to have a favourite elephant." Barbara gaped, and dick nodded with a straight face.
"Naturally."
"So, what all is in your gym? I don't suppose you have a balance beam and parallel bars and all that."
"Well, Bruce kind of outfitted the gym to fit me, so it has a big trapeze set and a set off rings. We signed you up for the Gotham Academy Gymnastics team though, so you should still get your practice in." Dick suggested, as the car rolled to a stop. He gathered up her crutches and began to help her out of the limo.
"Yeah, it's just, I took the all-around in the P&G Championships the last two years, and so I've been invited to go to the Olympic trials this year. I need to practice more than just an hour during school. Could Alfred take me to my gym after school?"
"Woah, are you kidding? I had no idea that you were that good. I guess it's up to Bruce and Alfred, but I'm sure we can keep you on a decent training schedule."
"It's fine with me, granted you wait to heal. There's more than enough room in the gym that we could build you your own at home gym." Bruce shot a meaningful look at Barbara. "I know you dancer-types always just put ice on your injuries and keep going. You've got some serious injuries that will take some serious healing before you can get back at it."
"I'm a gymnast, not a dancer." Barbara corrected. "I couldn't do a double pirouette if you paid me. Gymnastics combines elements of both dance and acrobatics, and I am a much more acrobatic based person."
"Got it." Dick nodded. "Actually, that's a lie. I understand nothing about gymnastics. Acrobatics, now that I understand."
"Would Miss Gordon like to view her room?" Alfred interrupted. "Master Richard can take you while I get started on dinner."
"Um… yeah. Sure. That sounds great." Barbara replied. She followed the trio into the house before stopping in awe.
"Yeah, it's a little intimidating." Dick said, watching her face with a smirk.
"This isn't a mansion. This is a male friendly Cinderella castle." Barbara deadpanned. "Trust me."
Dick laughed and led her to a grand staircase in the middle of the manor, and Barbara pinched herself as she struggled to follow him up the stairs on her crutches. A flash of guilt coursed through her as she remembered that it was her father's death that led her to live like a modern day Cinderella, and she felt bad for enjoying the house.
"Sorry the rooms are so high up. We figured that we would have the most privacy if we set our rooms up on the top floor, what with the party-goers, and business people in and out around here. There's an elevator in the back of the house, but I figured you should get the scenic view this time." Dick chattered amicably, looking back to check her progress. His eyes zeroed in on her struggle to get up the stairs in the forearm crutches, and he hit himself in the forehead. "Oh crap! I forgot about your knee! Does it hurt? I can carry you back down to the elevator!" They were almost to the second floor at this point, so Barbara decided it wasn't worth it.
"I'll be ok. We can take the elevator from the second floor, right?" Barbara asked, and Dick nodded, pleading forgiveness. Barbara rolled her eyes. "A girl dislocates her knee one time…"
"Ok, so Bruce's office is on the right, and on the left we have a room full of drafting tables so that Bruce and anyone he invites over can draw up some blueprints for future Wayne Tech enterprises. Over here's the elevator, so let's head on up to the top floor." Dick explained, and she followed him to the next floor. "So, if you turn right down this hall, it'll lead you to Bruce's room, and Alfred's quarters are right after. Turn left instead, and my room is the first on the right. Your room is down at the end of the hall, because it has the best view. I remember I used to like sitting in there and looking out the window to think when I first got here. We tried to decorate your room best we could, but if you don't like it we can take you shopping. It is kind of hard for a bunch of guys to decorate a teenaged girl's room…"
"I'm sure it's fine." Barbara smiled.
"It's supposed to be perfect." Dick grumbled. "We're all very nervous here. We've never had any women living here." Barbara shook her head with a smile and opened the door.
The room was fairly simplistic, with a plush beige carpet and cream coloured walls. The carpet struck Barbara as odd, seeing as the majority of flooring that she had seen was either marble or hardwood. The room was decorated in tones of rose and gold, with a bay window, bench seat, and a canopy bed. Several framed pictures sat atop a white wardrobe, and Barbara stepped closer to investigate.
"This picture was taken on my fourteenth birthday." She reminisced in a choked voice, picking up a picture of herself and her father in winter clothing, arms wrapped around each other. "My dad took me ice skating. He was terrified that I would be cold, so he had me wear a down vest on top of my sweater, fur lined boots, mittens, a knit cap, and a scarf, and then he went and got a cold himself! Poor man couldn't ice skate to save his life; I don't just have my arms around him for the picture-I was holding him up!"
"What about this one?" Dick asked, handing her a picture of herself in a lime green leotard, mid leap. She had the biggest smile he had ever seen. Barbara smiled.
"That one was taken by my dad at the Junior Olympics. I didn't take all around, but I was one of the three finishers. I worked forever to get the flexibility to do a full split with my leaps. I can't believe how easy it was to smile then…" She trailed off. "I'm sorry. I'm boring you, aren't I?"
"Not at all." Dick replied, walking over to the framed photograph on her desk. He skipped over the various photos of her at different meets or on podiums winning medals. Choosing one, he handed it to her. "How about this one?"
"My dad gave me a camera for Christmas last year. I'm kind of a techie. Anyway, this is the first photo I took." It was a picture of Barbara and her father in their pyjamas, standing in front of a Christmas tree. A little bit of Barbara's forearm was caught in the upper corner, as she tried to take the photo selfie style. Barbara was clad in red plaid pyjama pants with a faded Flash tee shirt, whereas her father wore a sensible navy pyjama suit. They were both cheesing at the camera and Barbara smiled sadly, remembering how easy it was to smile when her dad was around.
Dick noticed her somber mood, and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, I'm gonna go help Alfred with dinner. You want to be alone for a while?" he asked.
"Yeah" Barbara replied.
"You know, something that helped me a lot when I first lost my parents was to write letters to them and then burn them. I always believed that burning them helped send the message to my parents in heaven. Kind of silly, but maybe you should try it." He left, closing the door behind him. She sat down on her new bed, with the framed photo in hand.
Might as well give it a shot.
She moved over to the desk, grabbing a piece of rose embossed stationary(were roses the only thing the Waynes could think of that teenaged girls might like?) and began to write.
Dear Daddy,
How are you? Wait, that's a stupid question. You're dead, that's how you are. I miss you a lot. The Waynes are nice to me. I guess it's best for me to be with them, since they've all dealt with losing a loved one, and comforting one another. I wish you didn't have to leave me. I feel guilty, living the high life while you're dead. They're treating me like a princess here. I guess since they call Dick the Prince of Gotham that would make me the Princess of Gotham. I'm really hope they like me and won't send me back to Child Services, so I'm trying hard to be happy and stay out of their ways. I like them- they seem pretty nice. Don't worry about me, Daddy, I'll be ok. I love you more than words can say.
Barbara.
Barbara set the letter aside, wanting Dick to be there when she burnt it. She looked around her room with a sigh, taking in her new home, and wandered over to the bed, crawling under the dusty rose comforter and curling up into a ball. She'd go downstairs for dinner,, just… not this minute.