Chapter 5 -- Sunday Morning (continued)
All characters (except for Swifty and Athena) are the property of DC Comics. No money is being made on this story and no infringement of copyright is intended.
In the hallway outside the kitchen, Barbara stopped and spun her wheelchair to face me. She grimaced, then spoke.
"There's something I should tell you. It's kinda ridiculous to keep it secret at this point and it makes things awkward for the others if I don't tell you."
She stopped, pushed a hand through her hair and grimaced again.
"If you're not comfortable with telling me, then don't," I urged her.
"No, no, it's just... well, in this family, keeping secrets is engrained in you. And everything is a secret." She sighed. "But you should know. It'll make things easier and it's not like I don't trust you."
She stopped again and swallowed. Then she looked up at me and said, "I'm Oracle."
"Yes, I know."
Her eyes widened at this. "You know?" she squeaked.
I nodded.
"Did Bruce tell you?" she demanded.
"No," I replied, surprised that she would need to ask. Didn't she know him better than that? He would never reveal a confidence without permission.
"Then how did you know?"
"It was something Dick said," I told her, "last Friday. He mentioned a 'Babs' who he visits and who he obviously cares about. When Bruce introduced you, I realized you were 'Babs'."
Barbara nodded her understanding.
"And I was reminded of something Donna told me. She said the reason she knew Oracle was a woman was that Dick was in love with her. She said you could hear it in his voice whenever he talked to Oracle."
"I am going to KILL him," Barbara spat out with sudden vehemence.
I was taken aback. "Dick? But why?"
"How could he be so careless? He should understand about secret identities, after all these years!"
"But it's not like he did it intentionally. Unless," it suddenly occurred to me, "you object to his mentioning you to me?"
Barbara waved that away. "Of course not. But anyone could overhear...."
"Only another Titan. And it wouldn't mean anything unless they also knew that Dick Grayson loves Barbara Gordon. How many people know that?"
Barbara suddenly blushed. "Only people who already know my secret," she admitted. "Okay, I won't kill him. I'll just roast him alive in boiling oil."
"Much more appropriate," I told her seriously. She grinned at that. Then she sighed and spun her wheelchair back around. We headed into the kitchen.
Alfred was gathering up the dirty dishes. Bruce was still seated at the table. He turned to look at us.
"I see you told her," he said to me. I blinked. How did he know?
"You knew that she knew?" Barbara demanded. Alfred blinked at this confusing question. Bruce merely smiled.
"I knew what sources of information she had," he responded.
"In other words," translated Barbara acerbically, "you heard Dick blabbing about me the other morning and you knew Donna would gossip about how all the Titans know he's in love with Oracle. If you knew that, why didn't you warn me?"
"Barbara, you are THE information source for the superhero community. Furthermore, you hear how he talks to you, something I only occasionally get to observe. If you didn't know, it's because you didn't want to know. You like the way he talks to you and you don't want him to stop."
"Of course you would stand up for him," sniffed Barbara.
"I am not standing up for him," explained Bruce patiently. "I think it is a grievous breach of security. However, it's not my place to object. It's YOUR place. Besides," he added, "by the time I learned of it, it was too late to do anything. The original Titans were already gossiping."
"Hmpf," snorted Barbara, which, I felt, indicated she could find no fault with Bruce's logic.
"If we can change the subject," continued Bruce, "I thought I would take Diana to meet Athena and Swifty."
Athena? I knew he could not be referring to the goddess, but the name still caught my attention. I looked questioningly at Bruce, but his attention was still on Barbara, whose face suddenly lightened.
"Oh, I haven't seen them in years," she exclaimed.
"Come with us," Bruce offered.
Sadness crept into her expression. "No, it wouldn't be the same." Her hands unconsciously caressed her wheelchair.
"I recently made them 'wheelchair-accessible'," Bruce told her. "I know it still won't be quite the same, but it might be fun."
"How could you...?"
"Come and see," Bruce replied calmly. "If nothing else," he added, "you could give me your expert opinion on how well the modifications work."
Barbara broke into a smile. "You're on!" Obviously knowing the way, she spun her wheelchair around and headed for the door leading to the outside. Bruce and Alfred shared the slightest of smiles and then Alfred disappeared out another door while Bruce turned to me.
"That dress, although lovely on you, isn't suitable for riding. Alfred has found riding pants and a blouse for you."
"Athena and Swifty are horses?" I guessed.
"Athena was my mother's horse," he answered. "We had to put my father's horse down some years ago. Swifty was... was to be mine."
Alfred returned and handed me the clothes. I hurried to the bathroom and changed. Bruce was waiting for me when I came out.
"Sorry," he murmured. "This is not how I planned it."
"Don't be," I told him. "I saw how her face lit up. That's worth sacrificing a little of our day for."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
We walked out of the same door Barbara had used and headed down the gravel path in silence. After a minute, he said, "This used to be a working farm, you know. As late as my grandfather's day, the estate produced most of the food and fodder we used, although by then it was more of an eccentricity of my grandfather's than anything else. My father let all that lapse, but he never forgot riding the rounds with my grandfather, checking on the running of the farm. My mother was an avid horsewoman. So as soon as I was old enough, they taught me to ride a pony. Her name was Marigold."
His mouth quirked. "I did NOT name her, she came with that name. She died a few years back."
He shook his head, as if to dislodge the sad memory. "At any rate, once the wonder of it wore off, I started campaigning for a horse. They finally bought me Swifty for my eighth birthday. I got to name her, as you might guess from the name. The catch was that I had to prove to them that I could take care of her before I could ride her. And I had to learn to ride all over again. They kept telling me that a horse was very different than a pony, although they promised me that it would go much faster than the first time. But then...."
He was quiet for a long moment, then, "But then they died. And I refused to have anything to do with Swifty. I can't say why exactly, but I guess in some way I associated her with their deaths. As if they died because they gave in and bought her for me. Silly, I know."
"No," I corrected him, thinking of my own mother's death. "Not silly, just human. Grief expresses itself in ways that do not necessarily make sense to anyone, even yourself."
He stopped, turned and looked at me for a long moment, then turned back towards the path and we resumed walking. "Well, it certainly didn't make sense to Alfred. After awhile, he started making noises about selling the horses. I forbade him to. I told him he was a servant and had to do what I said." He chuckled at that. "I was an obnoxious little brat, but Alfred knew how to deal with me. He sent me off to bed with a stern lecture on manners in place of dinner. The next morning he brought breakfast up to my room and offered me a deal. If I took care of the horses and saw to it that they were properly exercised, then they could stay.
"So I did, although it almost killed me to see someone else riding their horses. At first, I asked a neighborhood girl I knew to exercise Swifty for me. She asked me why I didn't ride Swifty myself. Asked several times, in fact. I ignored her questions and soon she stopped asking, but I could always feel the question in her eyes when she came over. After I had complained about her to Alfred who knows how many times – I never told him the real reason she annoyed me, but I think he knew – he casually mentioned that if I was determined to fight crime, I would need to be an accomplished rider."
"So you knew even then?"
He nodded. "Not how I would achieve it, but the goal, yes, I knew by then.
"I was surprised by Alfred's comment, but he pointed out that there were many places a horse can go that a vehicle can't and that evil-doers would inevitably go where they thought I couldn't reach them. I thought about this for a couple of weeks and then I started exercising Swifty myself. The girl was very disappointed."
He smiled a little at this. I could see now where we were going. It was an ordinary-looking stable, which surprised me. I had somehow expected it to look high-tech or special in some way, but it looked much as it must have in previous generations going back to the American Revolution and beyond.
"As I grew older, I also rode Athena and Satan, my father's horse. And, as they came along, I taught first Dick and then Barbara to ride. You would think Dick, growing up in a circus, would have been an accomplished rider but, although he knew how to ride an elephant, he could barely stay on a horse. Barbara fell in love with riding and would come and exercise the horses for me even after she gave up being Batgirl. Swifty was always her favorite.
"All that ended when the Joker shot her."
"The Joker? She didn't mention that part."
His face tightened and his hands curled into fists.
"I owe him so many debts and I cannot, I CANNOT pay them back," he murmured under his breath.
I put my hand on his shoulder in understanding.
"Hurry up, you slowpokes!" drifted out of the open doors of the stable.
I could see the muscles of his face loosen. Almost, he smiled. He held out his arm to me. "Shall we?" he asked. I put my arm through his and we continued on into the stable.
Only two stalls were occupied and Barbara was in the stall between them. It took me a moment to make sense of what I was seeing, then I realized that an open elevator had been installed there, allowing Barbara to adjust her height to whatever level was convenient. The walls of the horses' stalls slid down, giving her access to the horses. She had put a rather odd looking saddle on the nearer horse and was lowering the elevator to cinch the saddle tight.
"I see you found the special saddle," Bruce commented.
"Well, it was pretty obvious," Barbara answered, as she raised the elevator up a little to slip the bridle over the horse's head. The horse was a roan and obvious old but, to my eye, still fit. Her ears flicked back and forth every time the elevator went up or down, but otherwise she seemed unconcerned.
"Fortunately, they both have placid dispositions," Bruce noted. "And it doesn't hurt that they are nearly as old as I am."
"If you don't get moving, I'm going to be finished before you even start," Barbara scolded him. "And don't think I'm going to wait for you, because I won't."
"Yes, ma'am," Bruce responded placidly and went to gather up his own tack. I wandered over to look at Athena. She was a dapple-gray whose coloring reminded me of Athena's Owl, which was presumably how she got her name. She looked to be even older than Swifty but also in good shape. I called her name and her ears flicked forward. She turned her head and eyed me. She seemed to like what she saw, for she snorted softly. I entered her stall and put out my hand. She snuffled it, seemingly disappointed to find nothing to eat.
"I'm sorry, my beauty," I told her. "No one told me about you or I would have brought you a treat."
She seemed to accept this, so I stroked her neck while murmuring in her ear. She was immaculately groomed. I wondered if Bruce found the time to do it himself, in keeping with that ancient accord, or if he hired someone to do it. I spotted Bruce coming out of the tack room, carrying a blanket and a bridle.
"No saddle?" I asked.
"I thought Amazons rode without a saddle in the Ancient Greek manner," he replied.
I smiled. Of course he knew. "Aren't you going to ride?"
"She's getting a little old to bear my weight. I'll jog alongside you. She's not really up to more than a trot anymore."
I looked over the gray sweat suit he was wearing. "Well, you are dressed for it."
Barbara had finished with her own tack. She raised the elevator up to its maximum height, then reached up and grabbed a bar above the horse that I hadn't noticed before. In a single, easy motion – as if she had been doing it all her life – she pulled herself up over the horse and lowered herself down onto the saddle. I realized why the saddle had looked so odd: it was raised in front and back, to give a much tighter, more secure fit. She reached down one hand to fasten the straps to hold her legs in place. In a few moments, she was strapped securely into the saddle. That was potentially dangerous if the horse ran away with her – which seemed unlikely – or fell. As long as she exercised some care, the risk was probably minor and was not likely to trouble a woman who had once regularly thrown herself off buildings, with only her skill with a jumpline to save her from certain death.
I watched Barbara expertly back Swifty out of her stall. I turned back to Athena. By this time, Bruce had finished putting the bridle on her and was spreading the blanket.
"You better mount. We don't want to try her patience too much."
I nodded and, after asking permission and getting a snort of assent from Athena, I placed my hands on her back and vaulted onto her. I used my flying ability to lessen the impact and Athena's ears flicked forward at this. Clearly, she wasn't used to riders who could fly. With a nudge of my knees, I sent her following Swifty.
"Come on!" shouted Barbara and with a light swat to her hindquarters, sent Swifty trotting along a well-worn bridal path. Athena followed Swifty without prompting and Bruce jogged alongside. We passed down a tree-shadowed boulevard and out into an open field that still held straggling remnants of the wheat that had once grown there. Then up a small hill and, at the top, we stopped to look out over the ocean. Spread out below us were rocky cliffs, the waves dashing themselves to pieces at their feet. The morning sun had only just climbed out of the bank of fog covering the horizon. A brisk cold breeze, laden with a salty tang and a fishy smell, seemed to blow away all doubt and dread. The world felt new-made, well-made, a place of wonder, filled with the magic of nature and life. Without thinking I sang the paean to Apollo and to Mother Gaea. As I finished up, I remembered I had an audience.
"That was beautiful," Barbara breathed. "What was it?"
"A paean – a prayer, you would call it, although hymn might be closer – to Apollo, the Sun God, and Gaea, Earth Mother. It seemed appropriate."
Bruce said nothing, but radiated disapproval. Barbara either didn't notice or ignored it. "Come on. The day's awasting and we don't want the horses to get cold standing here." She led us back down the hill.
We continued across another field, which looked like it had once been filled with oats, and reached a flat green sward. A large oak stood at the far end. Barbara stopped and waited for Bruce, who had lagged a bit.
"A gallop, just a short one? To the oak and maybe back?" she pleaded.
He looked at her, then at Swifty and finally at the oak, as if wondering how that had gotten there. Finally he said, "Start with a canter and see how that goes. If she has no trouble with it, you can gallop back."
"Yes, mother," she replied mockingly and off she went. Swifty didn't look like she was having any trouble with the pace, although she clearly didn't like being separated from Athena. Which would no doubt make it easier for Barbara to get her to gallop back.
"Do you have a problem with my worshipping my gods?" I asked.
"Not with you," he replied, "with your gods." He watched Barbara as he said, "They're like metas, only with even less morals."
The sentiment was not new, but the words still hurt. I sighed. "Yes, sometimes they do. But that is not the aspect I celebrate. The gods have many aspects, some less worthy than others. I celebrate the immortal, ineffable aspect. The Apollo I worship is the Apollo whose golden chariot is the sun that gives light and warmth to the world. And Gaea has never been other than the mother of all, who weeps for each of her children."
Bruce did not look convinced. Barbara had reached the tree and was turning Swifty about. Even from here, we could see her grin as she slapped Swifty's side and urged her to a gallop.
"You do not have to believe as I do," I told Bruce, my eyes on Barbara, "but you do have to allow me to believe."
Bruce was silent, watching Barbara, alert to the slightest sign of danger or misstep. It was clear, however, that she did not need our concern. She and Swifty moved together as one. I could see how Swifty might once have deserved her name; even now she had a decent turn of speed. Bruce sighed.
"Yes, I know. I'll try to do better."
"That's all I ask." Then I ventured a question I had long wished to ask. "Do you have no god or goddess you believe in?"
"Believe? No. But I do hope that God exists." His face suddenly turned grim. "I have some questions to put to him."
I restrained a smile. Only Bruce.
Barbara and Swifty slowed to a canter, then a trot and finally a walk. She stopped in front of us.
"That was great!" she exclaimed, "but she shouldn't stand after a run like that. Come on, I want to see how the wood is looking."
She urged Swifty into a walk. We followed her over a rise and there below us was the wood. It was not very large, covering perhaps twenty acres, and had a warm, inviting look to it at this distance. As we got closer, however, it looked less and less inviting. Everywhere off the path, it was overgrown with brush and thorny bushes and poison ivy. Once we had entered, the trees were high and dense enough to block out the sunlight. The gloom made it all too eerily reminiscent of the enchanted forest of the Queen of Fables. I repressed a shudder.
"This is worse than ever," Barbara declared. "We used to do wilderness training in here. I'd hate to try that now. Not that I could." She looked down at her legs.
"Robin complains bitterly about it," Bruce commented. "I tell him it builds character." Barbara laughed, which I think was his purpose.
"I agree with Barbara," I told them. "I would hate to train in this place."
"You?" Barbara laughed. "You could just smash your way through it in no time."
"Just avoid the thorns," Bruce added. We shared a look; he was remembering the Queen of Fables as well. Barbara led us through and into another field. She pointed out a small copse of trees atop a hill.
"That's where Dick and I used to picnic," she said reminiscently.
Bruce's ears pricked up at this and I wondered if it was news to him. It occurred to me that the copse's attraction was probably the concealment it offered and the ability to spot anyone who approached before they could spot you.
Barbara trotted on ahead, but I kept Athena to a walk.
"After we finish here," Bruce said quietly, "I need to go visit my parents' grave."
I didn't need to be told that this was an important ritual to him. "May I come with you?" I asked hesitantly.
"I would appreciate it," he answered softly. He was silent for a few moments and then he added, "I haven't had anyone to go with me since I learned to drive. I took Dick a couple of times when he first came to me. I thought he would appreciate being a part of it, that it would help him to deal with his own loss. But he clearly didn't get anything out of it and spent the whole time fidgeting. So I told him he didn't have to come with me; he was relieved."
"Won't Alfred come with you if you ask?"
"If I ask, but he would rather not. He thinks I obsess over their deaths and so I don't think its fair to force him to come along. As for himself, 'nothing of them of any importance is there and I can better remember them where I knew them, thank you just the same, Master Bruce'." His mimicry of Alfred's voice was uncanny.
We shared a brief smile.
"Hey, hurry up, you slowpokes! You're falling behind."
I clucked at Athena and, a little reluctantly, she broke into a trot. Bruce loped easily alongside.
Bruce or Barbara pointed out various points of interest as we continued our tour of the estate. I was particularly interested in Dick's favorite climbing tree. Bruce told the story of how Dick fell out of the tree when he was eleven. Dick had caught a branch on the way down, saving himself from serious harm but straining his shoulder. It had kept him out of costume for a week, much to his disgust.
This led to a round of "do you remember?" between Barbara and Bruce. Many of the stories involved Dick and I was impressed by the number of nicknames Barbara had for him. 'Short Pants', 'Pixy Boots' and 'Former Boy Wonder' seemed to be her favorites. It was obvious how much she loved him. I could feel the pride radiating from Bruce whenever Dick was mentioned; it was obvious how much he loved him, as well, if in a different way.
The stories inevitably drifted onto the topic of crime fighting. The dangers and risks they had faced nightly and the things they found humorous about it amazed me. How they managed so well without any super powers, I could not understand, in spite of fighting by the Batman's side for years.
"... and the Joker said, 'That's a CUBAN cigar. I would NEVER waste a fine Cuban cigar on the old exploding-cigar trick.' Then he pulled a stick of dynamite out of his back pocket and said, 'So let's use this instead'."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, by that time I had finished working my hands loose, so I decked him," Bruce explained apologetically. "Dick would have had something clever to say, but repartee has never been my strong point, I'm afraid. Still, it did shut him up."
We came over the rise at that point and I saw the stables ahead of us.
Barbara reached down and patted Swifty's neck. "I didn't overtire you did I, old girl? You look like you're doing all right."
"They both seem to be holding up," Bruce added. "Perhaps you would come and exercise them for me occasionally? It would be good for them."
Barbara smiled. "And good for me?" she added, a tinge of mockery in her voice.
Bruce shrugged. "That's for you to decide."
"Well... maybe."
I dismounted and led Athena into the stables behind Swifty. Barbara took Swifty into her stall and, using the bar again, transferred herself to her wheelchair.
I took the bridle and blanket off of Athena and handed them to Bruce.
Barbara said, "I'll take care of the horses." She looked at us apologetically. "I've used up enough of your day. I know how hard it must be for you to find time to spend together. And you aren't going to miss dinner with Dick again tonight."
She speared Bruce with a look to match the Batman's. "Are you?"
"Evidently not," Bruce muttered. Barbara smiled and waved at the horses. "I always enjoyed taking care of them. I had forgotten how much. So go on, shoo!" She made shooing motions with her hands.
I looked at her gratefully. Bruce and I did have so little time together. "Thank you," I told her.
She waved this off and grinned. "Go have sex!"
Bruce reddened and his face froze into immobility. I laughed.
"Actually," I said, "I think he is taking me to meet his parents first." I grinned at her look of shock. "Do you think they'll like me?"
Bruce grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the stables. I looked at his set face and regretted my light-heartedness.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Did that sound disrespectful? Because I didn't mean it that way."
"No." His face relaxed. "I wanted to get you out of there before Barbara found her tongue again, that's all. It's clear that I don't dare leave you two together. You just egg each other on. No, that is... sort of how I feel about it. That I'm taking you to meet them, I mean. I know it's nonsense. You probably got a better sense of who they are from the portraits and certainly from Alfred's stories. But, still, that's how I feel."
We walked down the path back to the house. Suddenly, he added, self-consciously, "I talk to them, sometimes. When something is particularly troubling me or when I have good news I want to share with someone."
I was struck by his statement. Don't you realize, Bruce, that you have a whole LIVING family to share the good news as well as the troubles with? But his habits of privacy ran so deep that perhaps he only felt comfortable sharing confidences with the dead.
"Does it help?" I asked, "talking to them?"
"Sometimes."
We reached the door into the house. I stopped and he turned to me inquiringly.
"You know, we are both hot and sweaty," I told him. "We both need to shower and change before we go to the cemetery. It seems pointless to do that twice."
I suddenly was uncertain whether I should have said anything. If he always visited his parents' grave Sunday morning, then he might not appreciate the suggestion that he postpone it just to have sex... make love, I corrected myself.
But I could see the slow smile I was becoming familiar with spreading across his face.
"That's very logical," he replied. Then his lips covered mine, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end.
Author's Note: My knowledge of horseback riding is extremely limited, so if people with more knowledge find my ideas about making the horses accessible to Barbara impractical, I apologize. I know the ages of the horses (Swifty is 28 and Athena 31) are quite possible. I have an acquaintance with horses as old and she still rides them regularly; and, of course, Alexander the Great's famous horse lived to be 33. Barbara's career as Batgirl (in current continuity) is very unclear. Nearly all of the stories are pre-Crisis and many are (by present standards) pretty silly and so are probably no longer considered in continuity. What we do know is that, at the start of her career, she received some training from the Batman, whose identity she did not then know (Legends of the DC Universe #10-11); and that she learned his identity and gave up being Batgirl sometime before she was shot by the Joker (The Killing Joke, Batgirl Special #1 and more recently Gotham Knights #43). I have chosen to assume that she discovered/was told Bruce and Dick's identities early in her career and at that time received more extensive training similar to Dick's. The Queen of Fables fought the JLA in JLA #47-49.