Title: Rainy Days and Mondays
Chapter: 16
Authors: Jag, Shawn(GF)
Rating: Eh PG13. Nothing terribly graphic. Food is okay.
Notes: Sorry about the wait. Real life stepped in for a bit. I have now been flogged and am apologetic. Hope it's worth the wait.

Again, sorry for the wait. Enjoy. Jaggy and I certainly have... Shawn

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Barbara slipped down the dusty incline, her feet kicking up clouds of red powder. She was wearing heavy leather boots. They felt strange, almost alien to her. She groaned a bit as the device on her back sparked angrily. She knew full well that she shouldn't be using it again so soon but she quickly dismissed the thought, unwilling to dwell on her own safety when Helena was in such dire straights.

"I wasn't sure you'd come Barbara Gordon," the woman said from behind her. Barbara froze, her body rigid with anxiety. There were few people in her life that she had ever actually hated, certainly none of the many enemies that she had faced aside from the Joker. This woman however made every drop of blood in her veins flare to life. Long ago she had learned to control her anger and rage in order to channel it and make it useful Now, staring down a woman that she could only call stone cold evil, she felt everything coming to a fiery boil.

She turned slowly, lips drawn tight in an expression of barely controlled rage. "That's a lie," she managed, emerald green eyes hard and cold. She clenched her fists, her well-manicured nails biting harshly into the soft flesh of her moisturized skin.

Harley laughed, blue eyes dancing and full of mirth. It was all a game to her, a delightful joke. "You're not wrong. I knew you'd come, so dependable."

"I want the cure," Barbara hissed.

Harley flipped her hand dismissively. "All in good time. I didn't bring you here to just hand it over." She buffed her nails against the ugly green shirt she was wearing, pretending to be disinterested.

"Why did you bring me here then?" Barbara demanded, eyes narrowing. She felt a spot of wetness against her palm and wondered if she'd drawn blood. Now was no time to look though.

"Oh because I thought it was time you and I had a talk. An over inflated self-important hero to..."

"Babbling psychotic bitch villain talk?" Barbara drawled. "That's rather pathetic don't you think?"

"Ooh I see you're testy Barbara Gordon," Harley said. Then she frowned. "What do you think of this outfit? I think it looked better in a darker light. The sunlight brings out all the nuances and they're not at all attractive. Much like Helena don't you think?"

"Harley..."

"Oh temper temper. What is your rush?" Harley laughed. "It's not like someone's dying for you to get back to them."

"Mostly I'm just bored and not terribly amused," the redhead snapped back, "I mean this is what your great epic plan is? To bore me to death?"

Harley blinked, for a moment taken aback. She smiled a bit uncertainly, not quite sure she liked the change in attitude from the woman she considered her prey. Finally she managed, "No, hardly. How is Helena doing?"

"Just how you know she is," Barbara replied tersely. "That poison in her system is killing her. But you knew that so can we please move on?"

"What if I'm not ready to move on?" Harley asked, glancing down at her nails. She flicked one of them and made a face. "That's it, I must find myself a new manicurist. Wait, I have to anyway, I killed my last one. She wanted me to wear this awful pink. Dreadful."

Barbara took a step towards the blonde, feeling a surge of pain explode at the base of her spin. She swallowed it down and continued moving. "I wasn't asking."

Harley looked up, a look of surprise on her face. "Oh goody, is this where we fight?"

Barbara smirked, an almost sinister gleam igniting in her eyes. "Yes," she agreed. "This is where I put you down like the diseased bitch you are."

And with that she lunged forward, colliding head first into the former therapists chest.

The blonde woman grunted and fell back, laughing.

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"I'm not sure this is a smart idea Reese," Dinah said over the comm, her voice low and throaty. The girl swallowed against the panic racing through her. She spun slightly in her chair and looked back towards where Alfred was standing, hovering just a few inches outside of the door to the med lab.

"We don't have a choice," the cop came back. "Besides I think Gibson and I can handle this."

"I think you and Gibson are what I'm worried about," Dinah chuckled, eyes still glued on the elderly butler who was trying to make it look like he was doing anything but watching Helena was an eagle eye. She lifted up a mug of hot chocolate to her lips and sipped at the frothy liquid, tasting the cocoa on her tongue.

"Not to fear," Gibson chirped. "We are..."

"If you start on that Avengers of the Night crap again I'm going to shoot you myself," Jesse Reese growled, a small hint of amusement betraying him. "Then you won't have the word about the Evil Conquestess."

"I so don't want to know," Dinah laughed, putting the mug down. She watched as the screen changed angles to allow her to see what path Barbara was taking. Because of the metal in the hills around the canyon, the signal was a faint flashing gray instead of the usual vibrant blinking red.

"Right," Gibson muttered. "Dinah do you see Barbara on the grid?"

"She's just about off it," Dinah replied. She tapped the blinking signal, watching with dismay as it continued to fade away

"That's okay," Reese murmured. "I see her."

The two men stepped up on the hill, becoming visible to the canyon for just a few moments. Just long enough for them to see the two women rolling around in the dust, about eighty feet below.

"Normally I'd love what I'm seeing," Gibson said with a slight smile. "But the dire nature of this situation has..." he stopped, somehow speechless. He looked up at his companion and swallowed. "I don't have words."

"I know," Reese said. He flinched a bit as he pulled Gibson down behind a large rock. He put his hand over his chest wound. "Did you see the guys over on the left?"

"No," Gibson admitted. Then he blinked. "Yes. Three of them. One of them in green with a rifle scope."

"I thought you said you didn't see them?" Reese asked, reaching into his jacket. He pulled out his service pistol and started to load it.

"I didn't," Gibson admitted. "I mean at least not consciously."

"Right. Cool trick."

"Sometimes," Gibson muttered, memory wickedly rewinding to the horrific photos of his best friend being fed on by that diseased biological manipulation. "So what's the plan?"

"We keep the thugs off of Barbara and Harley. Let them fight this out. Barbara is a hell of a fighter, she can manage," Reese stated.

Gibson held out his hands as if to say "with what shall I fight?". Reese smiled slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a metal stick, maybe three inches high and an inch thick. "You want me to throw that at people?" Gibson asked. "Because I think I'm only gonna get one good chance."

Reese laughed. He snapped his wrist hard and the handle expanded into a thick heavy metal fighting stick. "Think you can manage this?"

Gibson took it from him and swallowed. "I think so."

"And if you two boys are done being macho," Dinah said mildly, more than a little amusement in her tone. "Let's get to the butt kicking."

"We're just about ready," Reese responded. "How's Helena?"

"Same. Get Barbara back here.," Dinah replied tersely.

"Will do," Reese said softly. He touched his ear. "I think the signal is going to drop out Dinah. Wish us luck."

"You have it," Dinah whispered. "God you have it."

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She reached up and brushed the blood away from her split lip. Standing up she ignored the jolts of electricity dancing down her spine. "Is that the best you've got?" she growled at her blonde nemesis.

Harley laughed. "I was going to ask you the same question Barbara Gordon. I thought you had more control than this. No wonder Helena is little more than a rabid dog."

Barbara took a step backwards, hands clenched into tight fists. She examined her opponent and saw with a small degree of pride that she had left several marks already. "She kicked your ass didn't she?"

"Not really," Harley laughed. "If I recall, I fed her to my new puppy."

Barbara shook her head. "You really are a monster."

Harley opened her mouth wide, as if in shock. Then she clamped it shut and placed a flat palm over her lips. "Well that was just rude."

"I'm done with the games Harley."

"Oh no no no, they're just beginning. Everything about life is a game. You should know that by now."

"What I know is that you're going to spend the rest of your life in a straight jacket."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Be a little more ambitious than that Barbara. Come on, kill me. Choose to kill me. You know it'll make you feel better."

"I'm not you," Barbara shot back just before she snapped off a hard kick to Harley's midsection. The former therapist dropped to her knees and looked up. Barbara pressed her foot against the woman's throat.

"But you wish you were," Harley smirked. She put her hand up and grabbed Barbara's ankle, twisting it hard. Barbara cried out and fell back. Harley jumped to her feet. "What's wrong? You shouldn't be feeling that anyway." She pulled her leg back to deliver a kick to Barbara's gut but the redhead spun, just barely avoiding the blow.

She jumped to her feet, hissing in pain as the transponder sizzled against her back. A voice in her head screamed out something about permanent irreversible damage but she ignored it, instead choosing to settle herself back into a combative posture. "Okay Harley, let's get this done."

"This?" Harley asked, grinning. "Are you about to go all macho bullish on me? You know Barbara Gordon, you weren't really my type but if you're about to show me attitude instead of the whole save the children shtick, I may have to reconsider."

"That's too bad," Barbara said, slapping Harley away. "I usually don't fuck psychos."

"I heard that before. From Helena. How interesting, Is there more to this? Harley asked mildly, punching back and connecting with the left side of Barbara's jaw.

Barbara just smiled, almost wickedly. "I'm not your patient, Dr. Quinzell and I don't care what you find interesting. I just want you..."

"Dead right? Come on, admit it." Then she shook her head. "Oh but no, Barbara Gordon doesn't kill." She laughed. "But I do."

She slipped her hand into her belt and pulled out a knife. She licked the side of it and then pointed it at Barbara. "Tastes like Helena."

Barbara just stared back at her enemy, almost passively. She fingered the batarang on her belt and started to move forward.

------------------------

He touched the side of her face with the wet cloth, feeling the heat jerk upwards from her. Her skin was pale and ashen and she was sweating heavily. The bruises and cuts on her were greenish in tint and there were ugly red circles beneath her eyes.

"Not much a prom queen tonight," Helena murmured, smiling a bit at his reaction. He knew enough to know that he had barely shown anything but that hardly mattered. She saw everything.

He cupped her cheek. "You look beautiful as always Miss Helena."

"Liar," Helena coughed. She touched her chest. "I look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead."

"I always knew letting you watch those movies when you were a small child would come back to haunt me," he laughed, the sound mirthless. He was trying though and she was thankful. Just the same she could see the terrible heartbreaking sadness in his old eyes.

She reached out and took his hand, encasing it in her own. He bent forward and brushed a light kiss against her feverish forehead. She smiled at him. Her eyelids flickered and she dozed off again, her chest rumbling painfully as it rose and then fell.

He watched the rhythm for several moments, entranced by it. "Alfred?"

He turned slowly, taking in the small blonde who was leaning heavily against her crutches. He felt for the girl, he could see the frustration in her eyes. Because of an injury that Helena had caused to her during a drunken rage, she was unable to now help her friend.

It all really did come around in the long run.

"It's been over an hour," she said softly. "I'm worried. What if..."

"We mustn't think that," he insisted, touching her shoulder. "I'm going to make you some tea..."

"I don't..."

"I assure you that you do want tea," he said firmly.

She scowled. "What is this? Like mafia tea? Like I'll chop off a finger for every sip of the Earl you don't drink?"

Alfred cocked his head to the side, almost like he was considering her words. He smiled slightly. "That's not a bad idea. Perhaps I could..."

"Alfred!" Dinah laughed, slapping his arm.

He smiled at her, not unkindly. "Yes Miss Dinah?"

"You're terrible."

"So tea it is?"

"Do I get to keep my fingers?"

"Will you be drinking the tea?"

She laughed. "Guess so."

"Very well. You may keep your fingers."

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Reese clutched at his side, feeling blood slip against the skin of his digits. The front of his gray tee was already soaked in the sticky crimson fluid but he continued to push himself, unwilling to stop.

"You must be Torch," Reese said softly, turning to face the tattooed thug behind him. He glanced over the mans' shoulder and saw Gibson fending off a few hoods who were trying to defeat the young bartender with really bad karate moves probably learned from watching the Matrix too many times.

"I must be. Figured you for dead, Detective," Torch grinned, holding a gun out in front of him. Reese sighed. They were both pointing weapons at each other and it was an almost silly absurd visual.

"Yeah well, shit happens," Reese replied. He ran his finger over the metal trigger, feeling a surge of heat rush up through him. He always felt like he was about to have a panic attack when he was in any kind of weapon standoff. It wasn't an overly pleasant feeling.

"To your girl I hear," Torch laughed. "Have to admit bro, killer rack. Body to die for."

"Shut up," Reese growled, eyes dilating.

"What's wrong? A bit sensitive? Big bad boyfriend can't save the tiny sweet girl. Aw. So tragic."

"It's about to be," Reese replied. "Drop your weapon and get down on the ground."

"Fuck you," Torch laughed. "Do you know what she tasted like?"

Reese squeezed the trigger and the gun sang out in his palms as it exploded. The bullet ripped through the air and slammed in the thug's left knee. Reese moved to stand above him. He pointed the gun down at him, touching the barrel to the crown of his head. "No. Tell me."

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The blonde woman stood above her foe, wearing an almost triumphant smile on her twisted facial features. The batarang lay on the ground a few feet away, covered in red dust and a little blood. Harley's shoulder was ripped open, exposing torn muscle and severed flesh. Still, she appeared to be on the winning side of the coin so far. Barbara lay in the dirt, nose gushing blood and her left eye half-swollen shut. Harley held a metal baton high above her head. "I think this session went well Barbara Gordon. Unfortunately I must inform you that your time has expired and I've decided to terminate you as a client."

She started to bring down the baton but stopped when she heard the crack of gunfire. She glanced up, just briefly, barely moving her head. It was enough.

Barbara reached out and grabbed the woman's ankle, snatching hard at the exposed heal. She yanked it forward and Harley crashed to the ground, shouting in pain as the bone cracked under her. She used her good arm to reach out for the cracked ankle.

"Bitch," she hissed.

Barbara stood up, electricity sparking in the air. Idly she wondered if she was a fire hazard. She reached down and picked up the metal baton. She slammed it up against Harley's throat. "No more games."

"Fine," Harley sighed. "No more games. How droll. How sad." She glanced up towards the hills and saw two men racing down the sand dunes. She couldn't quite make them out. "Ask me your questions."

"I don't have any questions. I don't give a rat's ass about you Harley. I just want the cure."

Harley started to laugh. Barbara shoved the baton harder against her throat but it just seemed to make the crazed woman giggle more.

"Barbara," Reese called out from behind them. She turned slightly.

"What are you doing here, Reese? You should be in bed."

Harley frowned. "You should be dead."

"Time to take her in," Reese said stepping around to the front of Harley. Barbara put out her arm.

"Not until I get the cure. Then you can drop her off a cliff for all I care."

Harley laughed again.

"What's the hell are you laughing about?"

"I'm laughing at you Barbara Gordon. Tell me something, what if I told you that the only way to get the cure for pure sweet unworthy Helena would be for you to give me your life, what would you do?"

"It's yours," Barbara said without hesitation.

Harley smiled. "Oh I like that."

"Barbara," Gibson said coming up on her other side. "Helena..."

"Yes, Helena," Harley laughed. "How much all of you would die for her. Kill for her. Die for her."

Barbara held an arm out to stop Gibson's approach. "Whatever you want Harley, I want this over...you want me to lay down my life...I'll do it, just give me the cure."

"I thought you were smarter than that," Harley said with a slight almost sympathetic smile. "It's too bad really. Too bad that this has to end. I didn't realize just how open you really are. It's a shame you never came to me as an actual client."

Barbara dropped her head, the energy flowing away from her. "Please Harley, the cure."

"Help me up, Detective," Harley said with a smile. She allowed Reese to lift her up into his arms. Being that one of her arms was hanging rather uselessly at her side, shredded nearly to the bone, he cuffed her good arm behind her back and to her belt. "There is no cure Barbara Gordon."

Barbara blinked. "What?"

"There is no cure. One was never invented. Helena will die. But this was fun now wasn't it?"

Gibson reached out for Barbara's arm but was far too slow. She push forward and slammed into Reese, knocking the blonde from his arms. And then she started to hit.

"Barbara!" Reese called out, grabbing at her arms. She shoved back at him, the heel of her fist slamming directly into the wound in the middle of his gut. He gasped and dropped to a knee.

"Oracle," Gibson implored. She paid him no attention, instead continuing to punch away at the blonde who was putting up no defense. Barbara was babbling senselessly, cursing incoherently and weeping endlessly.

"Gibson," Reese gasped, indicating towards the metal baton on the ground. "Stop her. She doesn't want to do this."

Gibson nodded. "I won't hit her." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black disc. Moving behind Barbara and her swinging limbs, he pressed the object against the now exposed metal of the transponder. It sparked, hissed and then let out a stream of odd colored and badly smelling smoke.

Barbara cried out in pain as her legs and lower body fell out from under her. She curled herself into a ball and fell over. Gibson dropped the disk and went to her, wrapping an arm around her shaking frame. He looked back at Reese. "Take that bitch in. I'll handle Barbara."

"Will do. What are you going to do?"

"Get her home to Helena. She should be there."

"Right," Reese replied, deep sadness in his tone. "I'll be there shortly." He stood up and grabbed at Harley, who looked like she'd been dropped from a hundred foot bridge. "Come on Dr. Quinzell. You and I have a few things to discuss."

He picked her and carried up to the dunes, towards his car. Gibson watched them for a few moments and then turned back to Barbara who was staring down at the broken transponder. She swallowed hard. "No cure."

"Helena needs you."

"I can't..."

"You can," Gibson said. He offered her his arms and she let him lift her. "It's where you belong. It's where we belong. It's where she'd want us to be."

"I failed her," Barbara said softly.

Gibson just looked back at her, not saying a word. Not because he agreed, that certainly wasn't true, but rather because he knew better. Nothing he could say would stop the guilt and pain. It was all just a sick dance.

And it was time to go home and face the music.