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 7: First Impressions
Who the hell…?!
Helena blinked in surprise as the door swung inward to reveal an older gentleman. Scowl shocked right off her face, she stared, then slowly began to smirk. Hell's bells, she thought, we've got the wrong place. Stupid Mrs. Whatshername goofed!
If the man noticed her smug expression or the previous ferocious scowl, he gave no indication of it.
"You must be Miss Helena," he said, pleasantly, "Won't you come in and sit down? Miss Barbara will be with you shortly."
They were ushered into a comfortable-looking living room. In a corner next to a floor lamp was a table with a half-finished puzzle on top of it. The opposite corner, beside an enormous picture window overlooking the city and the sea, contained a comfortable-looking reading chair and a small table upon which sat a lamp and several books. The window stretched nearly the length of the room, at the end of which was a glass door opening out onto a balcony which appeared to run at least the length of the room, if not the length of the entire apartment. An L-shaped couch wrapped around two sides of an area rug in front of a fireplace, with the short side facing the window and the long side facing the fireplace. The third side of the area rug was taken up by a comfortable-looking reading chair with a footstool and an ancient oversized rocking chair, which, Helena thought, could very well have belonged to the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk.
Helena stared: A fireplace in a high-rise? The man's gaze followed hers. He smiled.
"Miss Barbara loves to have a fire on chilly evenings. That fireplace was built especially for her. The flue is built into one of the gargoyles. If you look closely from below, you can see that it looks as though smoke is emerging from the gargoyle's ears."
Helena shrugged. The social worker glared. The man gave no reaction whatsoever, nor did he change his pleasant, unruffled demeanor. "May I offer either of you a beverage while you wait?"
Helena shrugged again, earning another glare from the social worker, who said in an overly bright tone, "That would be great. I'd like a soda. Sprite, if you have it, but anything is fine." She clenched her teeth and pseudo-smiled pointedly in Helena's direction, eyes fierce. "What would you like, Helena?"
Helena slowly turned as though bored, secretly delighted that her rude behavior was getting a reaction from at least one of the two. "Coke," she said offhandedly over her shoulder, turning back to finish her examination of an old clock on the mantel. The man departed, presumably in the direction of the kitchen, as she moved toward the end of the long couch furthest away from the social worker and flopped down, slouching back against the cushions, knees apart, one foot outstretched.
"Helena, for heaven's sake, straighten up and sit like a lady! What will Ms. Gordon think?" hissed the social worker.
Helena's right eyebrow lifted sarcastically as she regarded the toe of the outstretched foot. "Oh, that's right…my life revolves around what Ms. Gordon thinks. I forgot. Perhaps I should go change into a frilly dress, quick, before she comes out!"
"God, no!"
Both Helena and the social worker jumped, turning as one to face the doorway where Barbara sat. She grinned at them. "I just loathe frilly dresses."
Helena's jaw dropped. Since when was Ms. Gordon in a wheelchair? She stared, incapable of uttering a word, as Ms. Gordon wheeled into the room and turned to face them. The older gentleman returned with the drinks on a tray, and Helena took hers, thanking him absently, shock still evident on her face. The man glanced from her to Ms. Gordon, blue eyes twinkling, then quietly set out some chips, vegetables, and dip before he departed with his tray.
Later, Helena would have a vague recollection of shaking hands with Ms. Gordon, of sitting, sipping her Coke as Mrs. Whatshername and Ms. Gordon talked. The social worker kept glaring in Helena's direction, trying to get Helena to participate in the conversation, but for once, Helena wasn't keeping silent to irritate her; there was no way she could get past the lump in her throat and the ringing of panic in her ears. Ms. Gordon seemed to recognize this and, after a couple of questions directed to Helena, just let her sip her Coke in peace. Finally, Mrs. Whatshername stood, walking over to shake hands with Ms. Gordon and to say goodbye to Helena. The elderly gentleman saw her out.
As Mrs. Whatshername left the room, Helena had a sudden mad urge to race after her, to beg her not to leave. The blind, consuming panic she had felt on the sidewalk returned full force. She glanced wildly around the room, heart pounding rapidly, throat tight.
Her eyes fell on Ms. Gordon, who was sitting quietly in her wheelchair, watching her compassionately. Ms. Gordon leaned forward slightly, speaking softly. "It'll be okay."
In an instant, all of the emotion swirling within Helena boiled to the surface, tears threatening to burst forth in a wild storm. Then, nearly as quickly, Helena got control of herself, shoving down the rising emotions with a ferocity which surprised even herself. Eyes glittering with anger, she glared defiantly at Ms. Gordon, daring her to make another move to reach out.
Barbara watched as Helena's defenses came up, as she clamped a tight lid on her emotions, suppressing them with an intense, defiant rage. Boy, Dick had sure called it right. Any attempt at making an emotional connection and the girl became threatened and defensive. She was going to have to take it slow and easy with this one. Calm and matter of fact…that was the way to go. She glanced away, looking for something neutral to focus on. Her eyes lit on the suitcase in the entrance hall.
"Want to see your room?"
Helena shrugged and scowled.
"I'll take that as a yes. Come on, then. Grab your suitcase. You can get yourself unpacked and situated before dinner. Then, after dinner, we can go over the ground rules and I'll show you the rest of the place and how to work the security system to get in."
Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Helena followed Ms. Gordon into the hall, where the elderly gentleman was picking up Helena's suitcase. "Helena," said Ms. Gordon, "Have you met Alfred?"
Helena shook hands with Alfred as she took her suitcase. Curiosity warred with defensive sullenness…she had not been told there was an "Alfred". Curiosity won. "Do you live here?" she asked.
Alfred chuckled. "No, Miss Helena…I live in the Wayne Manor. I am your father's butler. In his absence, I am extending my duties to include serving Miss Barbara and yourself."
Helena's eyes widened. "You know my father?"
Alfred twinkled at her, "My dear, I practically raised your father."
Helena's jaw dropped for the second time that day. She goggled at Alfred over her shoulder as she followed Ms. Gordon in the direction of the bedrooms. Alfred winked at her as he turned toward the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready, soon," he called.
"Er…Ms. Gordon?" Helena caught up as the wheelchair came to a halt beside a bedroom door. The woman laughed. "That's a little formal…we're not at school. Call me Barbara. Ms. Gordon always makes me think I'm in trouble. You know…'Do you have something you'd like to share with the class, Miss Gordon?' " She laughed again. "Here's your room. I hope you'll like it. Bathroom's down the hall to your left. Kitchen's back that way. I'll leave you to get settled. Dinner'll be ready in about twenty minutes. Okay?"
Helena nodded. "Thanks, Ms…er…Barbara," she muttered, as Barbara began to wheel away. Barbara turned and looked back. "You're welcome, Helena," she said, quietly. "I'm glad you're here. I hope you'll be happy here."
Hurriedly averting her gaze, Helena closed the bedroom door as quickly as possible. Placing her back against it, she slid down and, placing her head on her knees, huddled in a miserable ball on the floor, taking deep breaths and willing herself not to bawl. There she remained, until Alfred called her to wash up for dinner.
