****
He parked his jeep in the garage beneath the Clocktower and quickly exited his car. Cocking his head to the side, he walked out of the cement enclosure and moved around towards the front where the mail hatch was.
It was the only external sign of any type of normal domestication. He had long ago wondered why Barbara didn't just utilize a Post Office box. Helena had never provided an answer.
He stepped in front of the simple iron box and bent over. Something very bright and white had caught his attention as he had been driving in. What he saw pinned to the mailbox was an envelope. The words: Barbara Gordon were written on it.
It was flat and probably contained little besides a single scrap of paper. The envelope was sealed so he felt around with his fingers. The size of its contents was odd. It wasn't a piece of paper. He lifted it up and held it up to the light.
It was a picture,
He frowned.
Holding the envelope between his fingers, he went back into the garage. He hit a button on the wall and a thick steel door slid down. The outside of it looked like rock so if you didn't know where the garage was, you'd never find it on your own.
He slipped into the elevator and punched the button that would bring him to the command center. Maybe ten seconds passed before the doors opened and he stepped into the temperature controlled warm. "Barbara," he greeted.
She turned her chair and smiled at him. "Welcome back. Well done."
He nodded, more pleased with himself than he cared to admit. He had never been given the option for field duty before and had never realized just how exhilarating it could be. He reached into his pocket and handed her the plastic bag.
"Thank you," she said as she accepted it. She turned it over in her hand and looked at it. Then she looked back up at Gibson. "By the way, I wanted to apologize for being so short with you..."
He waved her off and smiled, almost impishly. "Never fear great Oracle..."
"Are you about to start on your hero monologue again?" she asked with a slight smile.
"Yes, do you mind?"
She shook her head. "No, not at all. Please continue."
He opened his mouth and was about to continue when he remembered the envelope. "Oh, this was outside for you."
She put the plastic bag down and took the white envelope from him. She gazed it curiously, noticing the absense of a postmark. Someone had dropped it off.
She slid one finely manicured nail under the paper and released the glue. Flipping it open she spilled the contents out.
Then she gasped.
"Oh God."
"What?" he said, alarmed by her shock. Barbara Gordon had seen an awful lot in her life and very little surprised her. He moved behind her to see what she was looking at.
She was holding two Polaroid's in her hands, both of them full color photos. He placed one of his hands over hers to stop the shaking and then he removed the pictures.
"Helena," he said simply, gazing down at the gory pictures.
There was some bizarre creature attached to her throat and he was hurting her, apparently drinking or feeding from her. He didn't quite look like a vampire but he was definitely acting like he was one.
And the look on Helena's face was horrible.
Her eyes were half-closed and she looked completely lost.
Oh God.
God oh God no.
He ran a finger over the photo and stared in horror at it, drawn into the horror on his best friends' tightly drawn face. Her mouth was spread in an expression of agony and he could only imagine.
"Fuck!" Barbara cursed suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked and looked up. She was staring straight ahead at the wall, anger etched into every line of her face. She picked up her mug and hurled it against the wall, shattering into several pieces. She cursed again. Then she looked up at him. "Sorry."
He smiled sympathetically. "No," he said quietly. "Do you have another mug for me to throw?"
She looked at him for a look moment, half confused and half stunned. And then she laughed. She shook her head. "No, I don't And now I don't have coffee either."
He squeezed her shoulder. "I think he's got that covered."
She looked up towards where Gibson was pointing and saw Alfred standing in the doorway. He offered her a knowing smile and she blushed.
"More coffee?" he said.
She made a face and then sheepishly said, "Yes."
He bent over and took the pictures from Gibson. He looked at them passively but with disgust clear in his eyes. "Shall I toss these?"
She shook her head. "No, I need to...we need to...there could be clues..."
He gazed at the pictures again. "Ah yes. Forensics evidence perhaps." He placed them back on the table, face-down. "She sent you those for a reason."
"I know."
"Then I expect you'll not give her the pleasure?"
"I have no intention of it," Barbara replied. She picked up the plastic bag with the scrap of cloth in it. "I need to run through the system, see who's blood this is." She turned to Gibson. "You're more than welcome to stick around."
"Not going anywhere," he replied.
She smiled at him warmly. Then she looked at Alfred. "And I were you..."
"I've already put more coffee on," he finished. "Master Gibson, would you like some?"
"Makes me jittery," Gibson replied, shaking his head. "Vodka?"
Barbara snorted. "Now I know why you and Helena are such good friends; you're both drunks."
Alfred chortled. "Truer words. I'll get you some water."
"Good enough," Gibson answered. He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed Barbara towards the lab.
As he walked he wondered why he had needed so desperately to see those pictures. Every fiber in him wished that he hadn't. He would never be able to forget it; never be able to get that image purged from his mind.
It was his gift and his curse.
One nice neat package.
But at least she was still alive.
And for now, that was everything.
*****
She could hear her own breathing, the air in her longs raspy and awkward. It echoed in her ears like thunder. Apparently the hypersensitivity had chosen to return. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling the pain in her muscles. The fatigue weighed everything down but she forced herself up anyways.
She was dizzy and lacked balance but somehow she managed to get to her feet. She staggered a few inches and reached out for the wall, steadying herself with her hands. Her vision blurred and for a moment everything slid away from her. She reached for the darkness at the edges of her eyes but it quickly gave way to her eyesight again.
She groaned in protest. All she wanted now was maybe twenty minutes of sleep. That would be a start. That would be something.
She slid a hand against her ribs and shuddered. Her skin felt like fire to her touch as fever raced through her. She glanced up and blinked.
She wasn't alone.
She closed her eyes tight and then opened them again, trying to focus. Once she had, she rather wished she hadn't.
"You," she muttered, gazing up at the dark figure that was standing over. He looked down at her passively, bright blue eyes gazing back at her. "What do you want?"
He stepped towards her but remained silent. She moved back and away from him "Stay back," she hissed. "I don't want you and I sure as hell don't need you."
He held a hand out to her. She slapped at it. She didn't want his help and she didn't want to play his games. This was the same man who has never exacted revenge for the murder of his so-called beloved and he had walked away from his protégé after she had been hurt because of him.
He wasn't a man at all and he sure as hell wasn't a father.
He stepped towards her again, invading her personal space. In the back of her mind she knew that he was just likely another delusion brought on by her raging fever but somehow she couldn't stop the anger that was building up in her.
Irrationally and quite illogically, the next time he stepped towards her, she tried to hit him. She threw an uneven punch, which he ducked easily. She skittered forward and fell, landing on her side. She gasped in pain as her broken rib cried out at her. "Fuck," she gasped, as angry at herself as she was at him.
She looked back up to where he had been and saw that just as she'd assumed, he was no longer there.
Just a hallucination.
But even in those he still disappeared.
Yeah because that made a hell of a lot of sense. She wanted him there and she wanted him gone.
Right. Perfectly logical of course.
She slid back against the floor and buried her head into her hands, hearing the chains jungle loudly as she cradled her wounded body. Everything was turning inside out; she was losing it. She was going mad.
She dropped to her side and curled into the fetal position, closing her eyes tightly. "Sleep," she mumbled to herself. "Five minutes..."
*****
"Harley?" Torch asked from behind her. "We're about ready. Senator Pierce is here to see you."
"Good," Harley said, standing up. She glanced back at the grainy black and white video that was playing on the monitor. It showed a girl rocking herself on the cold floor of the room she had been given.
She looked broken.
She wasn't quite yet that.
But getting there.
Harley smiled. She touched Torch's arm. "Can I kill him? Senator Pierce? I don't really like him."
Torch laughed. "How about you hear him out first. If you don't like what he says, rip his tongue out..."
Her eyes lit up. "I love the way you think." She kissed his cheek. He slid his arm into hers and headed back towards the door.
She glanced over her shoulder at the screen once more.
Almost.
Getting there.
Just about time.
He parked his jeep in the garage beneath the Clocktower and quickly exited his car. Cocking his head to the side, he walked out of the cement enclosure and moved around towards the front where the mail hatch was.
It was the only external sign of any type of normal domestication. He had long ago wondered why Barbara didn't just utilize a Post Office box. Helena had never provided an answer.
He stepped in front of the simple iron box and bent over. Something very bright and white had caught his attention as he had been driving in. What he saw pinned to the mailbox was an envelope. The words: Barbara Gordon were written on it.
It was flat and probably contained little besides a single scrap of paper. The envelope was sealed so he felt around with his fingers. The size of its contents was odd. It wasn't a piece of paper. He lifted it up and held it up to the light.
It was a picture,
He frowned.
Holding the envelope between his fingers, he went back into the garage. He hit a button on the wall and a thick steel door slid down. The outside of it looked like rock so if you didn't know where the garage was, you'd never find it on your own.
He slipped into the elevator and punched the button that would bring him to the command center. Maybe ten seconds passed before the doors opened and he stepped into the temperature controlled warm. "Barbara," he greeted.
She turned her chair and smiled at him. "Welcome back. Well done."
He nodded, more pleased with himself than he cared to admit. He had never been given the option for field duty before and had never realized just how exhilarating it could be. He reached into his pocket and handed her the plastic bag.
"Thank you," she said as she accepted it. She turned it over in her hand and looked at it. Then she looked back up at Gibson. "By the way, I wanted to apologize for being so short with you..."
He waved her off and smiled, almost impishly. "Never fear great Oracle..."
"Are you about to start on your hero monologue again?" she asked with a slight smile.
"Yes, do you mind?"
She shook her head. "No, not at all. Please continue."
He opened his mouth and was about to continue when he remembered the envelope. "Oh, this was outside for you."
She put the plastic bag down and took the white envelope from him. She gazed it curiously, noticing the absense of a postmark. Someone had dropped it off.
She slid one finely manicured nail under the paper and released the glue. Flipping it open she spilled the contents out.
Then she gasped.
"Oh God."
"What?" he said, alarmed by her shock. Barbara Gordon had seen an awful lot in her life and very little surprised her. He moved behind her to see what she was looking at.
She was holding two Polaroid's in her hands, both of them full color photos. He placed one of his hands over hers to stop the shaking and then he removed the pictures.
"Helena," he said simply, gazing down at the gory pictures.
There was some bizarre creature attached to her throat and he was hurting her, apparently drinking or feeding from her. He didn't quite look like a vampire but he was definitely acting like he was one.
And the look on Helena's face was horrible.
Her eyes were half-closed and she looked completely lost.
Oh God.
God oh God no.
He ran a finger over the photo and stared in horror at it, drawn into the horror on his best friends' tightly drawn face. Her mouth was spread in an expression of agony and he could only imagine.
"Fuck!" Barbara cursed suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts. He blinked and looked up. She was staring straight ahead at the wall, anger etched into every line of her face. She picked up her mug and hurled it against the wall, shattering into several pieces. She cursed again. Then she looked up at him. "Sorry."
He smiled sympathetically. "No," he said quietly. "Do you have another mug for me to throw?"
She looked at him for a look moment, half confused and half stunned. And then she laughed. She shook her head. "No, I don't And now I don't have coffee either."
He squeezed her shoulder. "I think he's got that covered."
She looked up towards where Gibson was pointing and saw Alfred standing in the doorway. He offered her a knowing smile and she blushed.
"More coffee?" he said.
She made a face and then sheepishly said, "Yes."
He bent over and took the pictures from Gibson. He looked at them passively but with disgust clear in his eyes. "Shall I toss these?"
She shook her head. "No, I need to...we need to...there could be clues..."
He gazed at the pictures again. "Ah yes. Forensics evidence perhaps." He placed them back on the table, face-down. "She sent you those for a reason."
"I know."
"Then I expect you'll not give her the pleasure?"
"I have no intention of it," Barbara replied. She picked up the plastic bag with the scrap of cloth in it. "I need to run through the system, see who's blood this is." She turned to Gibson. "You're more than welcome to stick around."
"Not going anywhere," he replied.
She smiled at him warmly. Then she looked at Alfred. "And I were you..."
"I've already put more coffee on," he finished. "Master Gibson, would you like some?"
"Makes me jittery," Gibson replied, shaking his head. "Vodka?"
Barbara snorted. "Now I know why you and Helena are such good friends; you're both drunks."
Alfred chortled. "Truer words. I'll get you some water."
"Good enough," Gibson answered. He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed Barbara towards the lab.
As he walked he wondered why he had needed so desperately to see those pictures. Every fiber in him wished that he hadn't. He would never be able to forget it; never be able to get that image purged from his mind.
It was his gift and his curse.
One nice neat package.
But at least she was still alive.
And for now, that was everything.
*****
She could hear her own breathing, the air in her longs raspy and awkward. It echoed in her ears like thunder. Apparently the hypersensitivity had chosen to return. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling the pain in her muscles. The fatigue weighed everything down but she forced herself up anyways.
She was dizzy and lacked balance but somehow she managed to get to her feet. She staggered a few inches and reached out for the wall, steadying herself with her hands. Her vision blurred and for a moment everything slid away from her. She reached for the darkness at the edges of her eyes but it quickly gave way to her eyesight again.
She groaned in protest. All she wanted now was maybe twenty minutes of sleep. That would be a start. That would be something.
She slid a hand against her ribs and shuddered. Her skin felt like fire to her touch as fever raced through her. She glanced up and blinked.
She wasn't alone.
She closed her eyes tight and then opened them again, trying to focus. Once she had, she rather wished she hadn't.
"You," she muttered, gazing up at the dark figure that was standing over. He looked down at her passively, bright blue eyes gazing back at her. "What do you want?"
He stepped towards her but remained silent. She moved back and away from him "Stay back," she hissed. "I don't want you and I sure as hell don't need you."
He held a hand out to her. She slapped at it. She didn't want his help and she didn't want to play his games. This was the same man who has never exacted revenge for the murder of his so-called beloved and he had walked away from his protégé after she had been hurt because of him.
He wasn't a man at all and he sure as hell wasn't a father.
He stepped towards her again, invading her personal space. In the back of her mind she knew that he was just likely another delusion brought on by her raging fever but somehow she couldn't stop the anger that was building up in her.
Irrationally and quite illogically, the next time he stepped towards her, she tried to hit him. She threw an uneven punch, which he ducked easily. She skittered forward and fell, landing on her side. She gasped in pain as her broken rib cried out at her. "Fuck," she gasped, as angry at herself as she was at him.
She looked back up to where he had been and saw that just as she'd assumed, he was no longer there.
Just a hallucination.
But even in those he still disappeared.
Yeah because that made a hell of a lot of sense. She wanted him there and she wanted him gone.
Right. Perfectly logical of course.
She slid back against the floor and buried her head into her hands, hearing the chains jungle loudly as she cradled her wounded body. Everything was turning inside out; she was losing it. She was going mad.
She dropped to her side and curled into the fetal position, closing her eyes tightly. "Sleep," she mumbled to herself. "Five minutes..."
*****
"Harley?" Torch asked from behind her. "We're about ready. Senator Pierce is here to see you."
"Good," Harley said, standing up. She glanced back at the grainy black and white video that was playing on the monitor. It showed a girl rocking herself on the cold floor of the room she had been given.
She looked broken.
She wasn't quite yet that.
But getting there.
Harley smiled. She touched Torch's arm. "Can I kill him? Senator Pierce? I don't really like him."
Torch laughed. "How about you hear him out first. If you don't like what he says, rip his tongue out..."
Her eyes lit up. "I love the way you think." She kissed his cheek. He slid his arm into hers and headed back towards the door.
She glanced over her shoulder at the screen once more.
Almost.
Getting there.
Just about time.