All of the characters and story lines and everything else I can think of are the property of DC comics and the WB network. The only bits that're mine are the words and the voice.
Chapter 8: Faithful Are The Wounds of a Friend
"EVERYTHING IS NOT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU, BARBARA," he roared at the very top of his lungs, "SO, FUCKING GET OVER YOURSELF!"
A shocked silence reigned as the echoes died away in the large workout room. He was as astonished as she was. They stared at each other, frozen, each unable to break the highly charged stillness which had fallen between them.
She blinked. It released him. He continued, bitterly, angrily, "Do you think you're the only one who's hurting? Do you think you're the only one whose life is falling apart?"
Whether out of astonishment or wisdom, she remained silent.
"How dare you give up! You don't have the right! You don't have the right to take yourself out of the game! He barely recognized his own anguished, ragged voice. It seemed to belong to someone else. He stalked over and slumped down on a bench, leaning his head back against the wall.
"You don't have the right to leave me all alone…I'm all alone." It was almost a sob. She rolled closer to where he sat, facing him. Her hand reached out instinctively in comfort. He flinched away, "Don't."
She faltered, "I just…"
"Shut up," he interrupted, rudely, "You don't get to talk, now."
Without breaking their gaze, she pulled back and folded her hands in her lap, giving him space to continue, even knowing that his words would wound. He loved her for it.
He continued, with passion, yet more gently, "I'm sorry—I'm so sorry that you can't walk anymore. I'm sorry you can no longer patrol the streets as Batgirl. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I wish with all my heart that it could be different. But wishing isn't going to change it, Barbara. Wanting won't change a fact. You'll never be what you once were."
Her breath hissed in pain. The hurt in her eyes was tangible. He continued, mercilessly, saying what he knew needed to be said, the words only a friend could say.
"You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself for the rest of your life. You can rage at the unfairness of it until the very end of your days. But it won't change the truth. You will never, ever be Batgirl again. All the raging and the crying and the sulking you can do will never be able to change it. Ever. Batgirl is dead."
She slapped him. Hard. "You're out of line," she snapped, green eyes flashing dangerously.
He wasn't backing down. "Slapping me won't change it either. Making me shut up won't change it. Refusing to listen to it won't change it. You can refuse to accept it right up until your last dying day, and the fact will still remain that Batgirl is no more."
She was speechless. He pressed the advantage, "There comes a time when you have to make a choice. You can choose to give up, to live your life in sullen bitterness, lamenting forever what once was. Or, you can choose to redefine yourself, to play to your strengths, to grow and develop in new and equally challenging directions, to become everything you're capable of being—maybe even doing things the woman who was Batgirl would never have been capable of.
"There is a whole world of people out there who need what you've got to offer. Are you going to deny it to them? Are you going to allow evil and violence and despair to continue thriving in the world unchecked, simply because you're angry that you can't walk?
"The time has come to make a choice. You can take the easy road and give up if you like. Or you can do the hard work of redefining yourself and your calling. The choice is up to you. But I have to say—The Barbara Gordon I've always admired wouldn't wuss out. She wouldn't give up. And I've got to tell you, if that's the road you choose, then my friend, Barbara Gordon, that courageous, feisty woman who used to take on every challenge, well, she dies, too. And if Barbara Gordon dies, I really will be all alone in this world, and I honestly don't think I will be able to bear it."
She maintained a silence he couldn't read. He rose to leave, knowing that she needed space to process what he had said. At the door, he turned, pleading, his voice low: "I need you, Beegee. Everyone thinks I'm strong, but what you have all failed to realize is that it was all of you, my family, who made me strong. Without you, all I am is an orphan." One tear squeezed out of each eye and dropped straight down his face. "I'm just an orphan," he whispered, brokenly, and with that, he turned and left.