Title: Lose Yourself
Author: Shawn Carter
E-Mail: wolfpackproductionscomcast.net
Website: http:www.wolfpack-productions.com (Not Yet Up)
Feedback: Please
Notes: This is the follow-up to Falling Backwards and Through The Fire. I would definitely advise reading these first. Starting with Through The Fire.
Summary: In the aftermath of the Shield Ball massacre, Helena has decided to leave the team. She has completely lost faith in both the mission and herself. As her anger and depression is further manipulated, the remaining team must race to stop a threat that could destroy everyone and everything around them.
Rating: PG-13. Language. Violence. Non-consensual drug use.
Music: Title is Eminem. Lyrics are Sarah Mac.
"I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to lose
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose
Once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light"
It's been raining for almost two days straight now. The streets are flooded over and most of the schools have been shut down for the week. A lot of businesses on the main drag have also closed down. It's just too ugly out there right now.
Funny how that doesn't stop the criminals.
I spin hard in my chair, my eyes settling on the computer screen in front of me. I point at one of the blips and speak into the microphone in front of me, "You have someone or something about ten feet ahead of you. Be careful."
"I'm on it," she replies back. I can hear tension in her voice. This is new for her. For me too. I'm used to having a different person on the other side of the comm.
"Well?" I ask. "What is it?"
"I don't see anything. Are you sure?"
"Yes," I reply. "Keep your eyes open. Something is near you."
"Sure," she mutters. I'm not sure if she doubts me or if she thinks I'm going mad. Probably a little bit of both. "Look, I've been out here almost an hour now and I'm still not seeing anything. No robbery and no bad guys."
I turn towards one of my other monitors. I have the database for the GCPD on it. I type a few words and a new screen comes up. It has the report from dispatch about the 911 call. "Yes. It says a robbery and a shooting at Wicker. You're at Wicker."
"I don't..."
Her voice trails off. I stare down at the screen for a moment, my eyes fixing on the purple dot in the middle of the map grid. That's Dinah. She chose the color herself. I see it move a few centimeters which means she's still in motion. That's obviously a good thing.
"Dinah?"
"I'm fine," she grunts. "Okay, you win. I have a thug."
I take a deep breath. "Do you have it under control?"
"I do," she mutters. I hear a series of loud noises. Sounds like she's hitting him. Or maybe slapping. I'm not overly sure. I hear him call her a bitch and she laughs at him. If I didn't know better I'd think it was Helena out there instead of Dinah.
It's not though.
God only knows where Helena is right now.
I can't do this. I can't allow my mind to drift. Now is so not the time.
"Dinah, report," I snap.
"I'm fine," she gasps out as I hear something hit the ground. "What's your issue?"
I shake my head. "Issue?"
"You sound ticked off. I have it handled."
I blow out air between my teeth. She's not wrong. Even thinking about Helena these days seems to drop my mood down to very bad or very depressed within seconds.
And God help us all, it's only been three weeks since she walked away.
Three weeks and twenty-one days.
Semantics really.
"I know," I start softly. "I just...I got worried. You're done for the night, okay?"
"Sure," she answers, dropping her tone a bit. "You want me to toss this guy off at the police department? He still has all the cash on him." I hear something drop. "And the gun."
"No, I don't want you getting that close. I already sent an anonymous alert to the dispatch center. They should have a car on its way to your location already. Get out of there."
"Copy that," she says. I hear her boots hit against the cement, water kicking up under them. My hearing isn't that specialized but my sense of what is going on around her is. I've learned how to listen to small noises and how to know exactly what they are.
For instance I can now tell that she's about two feet away from the Hummer because she's stopped walking and it sounds like she's trying to get the keys out of her pocket. I hear a small blip and the alarm is disarmed.
"Going off comm," I tell her.
"Okay," she says and I think she sounds relieved.
That's not hard to imagine. Not at all.
To say that I've been a tad bit overly about her for the last three weeks would be something of an understatement. I've been downright on top of her.
And I can tell that it's annoying her.
But God bless her, she's letting me smother her.
She knows why I need it.
I turn away from the computer in front of me and move towards the kitchen. Alfred has the night off so it's up to me to take care of myself and my needs. And that means making my own coffee which thank you, yes, I can do just fine.
It's been a long couple of weeks, I'll tell you that much. Long and emotional. There's been a lot of anger, a lot of a pain and more than a few tears shed.
The only thing there hasn't been is Helena.
I guess more than a small part of me actually thought that she'd come back. She's stayed away before. Never for more than a week but just the same. When she gets down she tends to retreat and pull back. But she always comes home eventually.
I actually believed that would hold true this time as well though I'm not sure why.
I mean even I knew when she walked out that she was deadly serious. I've never heard her speak that way before. So damn defeated. So damn lost.
So full of self-hatred.
I wonder if she's hurt herself.
It kills me to think that but I know it's possible.
I flatten out a filter and slide it into the coffee machine. I follow it up with French Vanilla. I love the smell of it in the air. It's very soothing.
God knows I could use that right now.
I'm driving Dinah nuts.
I have to keep reminding myself that she doesn't need a mother right now. She doesn't need someone to guide her with an iron fist. It's so easy to try to wonder if maybe I could have changed all of this if I had just been a little more strict with Helena when she was in school. Yeah like that works.
Okay here, if I had stopped Helena from breaking curfew then maybe she wouldn't have returned to the Red Zone. Maybe if I had grounded Helena for longer than a week for doing LSD than maybe Mick wouldn't have been able drug her into a murderous state. And maybe...
Yeah, you see?
It doesn't work.
Helena was a terrible teenager but she wasn't doing it to rebel. She wasn't trying to hurt me. She was just spinning because of how much she was in pain. Her anger pushed her and releasing it made her feel better. But you know what, she got it all under control. As she got older she started to understand the pitfalls of her rage.
I'm not saying that she's become calm and focused. No one will ever buy that. In fact, in some ways she's gotten even wilder but I think the rules of the game changed for her. She started to only get as wild as she could control.
Mick took that away from her.
Mick turned her inside out.
And now she's just gone.
I wonder where she is these days.
I mean I kind of know. At least from whispers.
I think she's still living in her apartment but from what I hear from Leonard, she's barely there. I don't know where she's working but she has to be doing something to pass the time. And obviously that doesn't include sitting in the corner of her apartment.
That makes me feel better. I think.
My mind whirls with the other options.
Yeah, let's just not for now.
"Barbara?"
I turn and blink. That's when I notice the water bubbling out over the coffee maker. "Fuck," I curse, scooting backwards. I just narrowly miss getting a whole lapful of scalding hot water. Not that it will matter as far as pain but hey nasty burns aren't a great option either.
Dinah moves past me and flips off the power button on the coffee maker. Grabbing a towel she lifts it up and pours it out into the sink. Then she bends down next to me. "Are you okay?" she asks, concern in her blue eyes.
I sigh. "Yeah, just lost in thought."
"She'll come home," Dinah tells me. She's been saying this for almost three weeks now. I don't know if she actually believes it or if she's just saying it because it comforts her. I don't know.
I think I need her to keep saying it.
I move my chair away from her and wave my hand in the air. "Right. Right." I shake my head, annoyed by my loss of focus. I would have reprimanded one of the girls for the same. I should know better. I have to be in control.
"Oh I forgot to mention it earlier but I found something on the guy who robbed the store," she tells me, her hand dropping into her pocket.
I narrow my eyes and slide towards her, hand out to take the object she's holding in her palm. "Where did you find this?" I ask, accepting the necklace she gives me.
"On the ground near him. It must have broken off during the fight." She wrinkles her nose. "I really kicked his ass."
I offer her a look of bemusement. I don't necessarily understand how she does it but even after all of this, Dinah is still upbeat. That amazes me. I shake my head and go back to looking at the necklace. It's simple really. Silver chain with a small circular pendant at the end. Almost like a St. Christopher's medal.
Only not.
I narrow my eyes. I know what this is.
It's a family crest.
It belongs to one of the members of the Table.
The window opened outwards to allow her access to the roof. It was still raining but an overhang a few feet above kept most of the water away. She slipped out and onto the tiles, her bare feet scraping against the hard surface.
Her eyes drifted upwards towards the heavens. The night was dark and gray but she could still see hints of the full moon peaking out beneath the rain- clouds. Somehow or another that matched her mood to a tee.
She settled her butt against the wall and dropped down. Reaching back with her hand into the apartment she pulled through a half full bottle of Jack Daniels. She swirled it around, watching the brown fluid circle the bottle.
"I figured I'd find you here eventually," he said from inside the apartment.
She squinted towards the darkness, her eyes tired and unfocused. "Reese," she said finally. "Go away."
"No," he replied, moving towards her. She could hear the sound of his crutches clicking against her carpet. He saddled up next to the window. "I've been here almost every night."
"Sounds a bit obsessive. I know I told Barbara that I didn't want to see anyone."
"Well I guess that's just too damn bad," he replied, gazing out at her. She tilted her head to look him over and noticed that his leg was in a soft cast. Other than that though, he looked okay. Just the same, he didn't seem terribly eager to try to climb through the window in order to get out to the roof.
"Call it what you need to," he said. "But you keep walking away. You keep quitting."
"Spare me," she drawled, taking a hefty slug from the bottle. "This isn't like before, Reese. When Harley got me, I was responsible for what happened to Wade but I didn't do it. This isn't like before."
"You're right," he admitted. "It's not. But you're no more responsible for this than you were for Harley killing Wade. What you're doing..."
"You don't know what I'm doing," she said, taking another sip.
"Yes I do," he said. "You're trying to drink yourself into oblivion."
Helena sat up and looked hard at Reese. "Really? That's what I'm doing. Oh wow, you know what, now I'm better. I'm all fucking better."
"That's cute," he said. "Only not."
"Ooh, the good detective is getting slick with the lingo," Helena snorted. "Great. Okay then, try this one on; Get the hell out of my pad before I kick your ass out the door. In my state, you're likely to need a body bag."
"You wouldn't," he said softly.
She snorted. "Why not?"
"Because you're not a killer. A drunk maybe but not a killer."
She laughed and stood up. "Your memory ain't so great is it, Detective?"
"My memory is just fine," he answered. "I was there. I know that wasn't you."
"It was me," she said dully. She swung the arm with the bottle in it. "And this, if this is an intervention, isn't going to work. I'm done, Reese. I'm just done."
"You can't be done. You're needed," he insisted.
She turned away from him and went back to staring up at the sky. "I've spent the last three weeks trying to force all of this out. Doing everything I can to make it all come to the surface. You know, purge and be done with it. Do all the bad things I know to do. It's always worked in the past."
"I can help you," he told her.
"You're not listening, Reese. I don't want your help. I don't want anyone's. I just want to be left alone."
"That's not going to happen," he informed her, eyes locked on her. She wasn't looking back at him but she could feel the intensity of his gaze. It was positively penetrating.
"Don't make me hurt you," she whispered, still not looking at him. He could see her hand twitching on the neck of the bottle. She looked like he was shaking.
Every part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms.
He didn't think she'd be receptive.
"You won't," he said, with entirely too much confidence. She heard him settle against the wall, grunting a bit in pain as his injured leg collided with the hard surface.
She turned to him. "You didn't get what I was saying before did you? I mean about doing everything I could to get the anger out?"
"I got what you were saying," he replied, his tone even. "I can well imagine what you've been doing. I don't care."
She snorted derisively. "You're not that much of a Boy Scout, Reese. Most guys tend to care when their girl is with another guy."
"I care," he replied. "I care about you more."
"That's sweet," she said, her voice full of fake sugar. "Now go away."
"You're not listening," he insisted. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Then this is going to be a very long night," she muttered turning away from him. Then she shook her head. "Look, I don't want to do this. I'm not going to do this. You want to drive me away from my own place, fine. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you. I don't...I just don't want to. Respect my decision and leave me alone."
He took a step towards her. "If I thought that that was for the best I would." He reached out for her hand but she pulled away. "I know you better than you think," he continued. "Whatever you've done, you'll do worse. You'll keep going until you can't stop."
"Then maybe it won't hurt," she said dully.
"It's supposed to hurt," he reminded her.
"Wow, I think we've had this conversation before," she chuckled. "Reese, please. I'm asking you for the last time to please leave. I won't ask again."
He nodded slowly. "I don't want to fight with you either. Not tonight anyways. But this isn't over."
"It is," she said, taking another sip from the bottle. "Spare me all the hero drama."
He reached out for his crutches and pulled them close to him. "You need your family," he reminded her. "We can get you through this."
Then he turned and moved towards the door. She heard it click behind him.
Closing her eyes she dropped back her head and emptied the bottle. Then she stood up and walked to the edge of the roof. She looked down at the hard ground below, her eyes focusing on Reese as he moved down the street, his crutches clicking against the cement.
As soon as he disappeared from view she dropped the bottle. It slammed hard against the ground and shattered. She watched glass fly outwards. A few forgotten brown drops spilled out and mixed with the muddy rainwater.
"I don't want to be through this," she muttered, eyes on the shattered glass.
She stepped back away from the edge and slid back down against the wall. She didn't even realize that she'd been soaked all the way through and was now dripping water. Dropping her head into her hands, she felt her body shudder violently.
The violent tears came soon after.
Again.
I wonder why Barbara is so fascinated by the necklace I found on that guy. I looked it over myself but it didn't seem like much. Kinda plain if you ask me. Nothing flashy.
She looks like I just gave her the key to a treasure chest.
I move to stand behind her but she waves me off. I'm in her light. She hates when I do that. Oh well. I bend over her. "So what is it?"
She looks up at me like she wants to explain and I can almost see the wheels turning. She's trying to think of an explanation that she thinks I'll understand. Finally she manages, "It's a clan symbol."
"Clan?" I ask, thoroughly confused. This is hardly new. You have no idea just how often Barbara Gordon starts explanations in the middle. Her mind thinks too fast.
She moves her hands in a weird circle. She seems excited. This is the most animated that she's been since Helena left three weeks ago. "The Table."
"Still not following," I say, shaking my head. Involuntarily I start to look around the control room. Eventually Barbara will go back to me but it might take awhile so I need to keep myself amused.
I'm seventeen hello. Three words now.
Short. Attention. Span.
Thanks and yes, I will be here all week.
"Several years ago there was a family of mobsters here in town. Several families actually. Clans. Reese's family was one of them. Hawke." She turns away from and back towards her computers. Her fingers fly over the keyboard and the screen illuminates as it reacts. I see a picture on the monitor. Looks like a metal circle with a hawk in the middle. "That's their family seal." She holds up the necklace. "This is Zeus."
"There's a mobster named Zeus?" I ask with great amazement. "Because that's cool." I bend to look at the necklace again and sure enough I see that the emblem on it is that of a lightning strike,
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Some of the family seals were obvious. Like Hawke. Zeus was a man named Marco Jameson. But he was the head of everything."
"Even above Hawke?"
"Even above Hawke," Barbara confirms. "His side of the whole operation was drug trafficking. He brought some pretty nasty things into Gotham. We thought that Batman had finally chased him out." She shakes her head. "Obviously we were wrong."
"Or maybe he just came back," I offer.
"Maybe," she says. I can tell she's deep in thought. Deep in her past.
"So," I start, hoping to gain back her attention. "Is Zeus responsible for Topside?"
Barbara looks up at me as if I've just had the most brilliant thought ever. Frankly I'm stunned that she didn't get to it first. But hey, smart as she is, I'm sure most of her mind is working on a cure for cancer or something like that. "Yes," she says loudly. "Yes, of course."
"Of course," I mutter, getting the feeling that I'm about to lose her again.
"I was wondering why drug activity in New Gotham has suddenly increased by over three hundred percent. Now it makes sense. It even fits. Zeus was always in to designer drugs. He brought in one several years ago that caused everyone who took it to become extremely paranoid. It also made them feel like they were flying. Good and bad. Sound familiar?"
"Completely like Topside only replace paranoia with rage," I reply, my voice almost a whisper.
She folds her hands over her eyes and sighs, "Wow," she says.
I wrinkle my nose. "This is bad, right?"
"Bad?" she looks up at me.
"Major crime daddy porting in drugs bad?" I suggest.
She cracks a smile at that. "On the contrary," she says. "This could be very good. If we can stop the import of Topside then maybe..."
I cut her off. "Maybe we can prove to Helena that what happened wasn't her fault? How?"
"I've been thinking about that for awhile," Barbara admits, sliding her chair around to look at me. "I couldn't quite figure out why Mick would go in and murder a whole room of cops. Sure he had a thing for them but still...it had to be more. Just couldn't figure out what."
"He was a diversion?"
"Right," she says nodding. "When the shooting at the ball started, every officer still on duty answered the 10-13."
"10-13?"
"Officer in need of assistance. It's police code. That left the docks open. They used the ball as a distraction so that they could import the drugs."
"And Helena?"
"Fortuitous," Barbara replied. "She gave them more firepower. But in the end, it was a setup. Mick used her to get the drugs in. The same drug he used to control her."
"It's not her fault then," I insist, a bit of hope in my voice.
"It's not," she answers. Then she sighs and I feel my hopes fall with hers. "It won't matter. Until we can get her to understand..."
"Yeah," I say, intentionally interrupting her.
There's a reason why neither of us have actively tried to bring Helena home. It's not that we believe she's guilty because we don't. It's because we know that she does. And as long as that holds true, she will resist every attempt we make.
She'll push us away with every ounce of energy in her body. Even if that means trying to hurt us to get the point across.
I want her home.
I miss her like crazy.
Sweeps just aren't the same without her and frankly Barbara is driving me insane. Helena seemed to actually enjoy the quipping demanding voice in her ear but it makes me cranky. I'd prefer to return to the sidekick role.
Really.
No seriously, really.
Barbara swallows hard. "Doesn't matter," she says. "We need to do our part. Batman never allowed the drug trade to prosper in Gotham. We're sure as hell not about to change that."
I smile. "I'm game," I say, more perkily than I feel. It'll be nice to have a distraction.
But guess what, we are going to bring Helena home eventually.
Trust me that.
We will.
"Where is she?" he asked, saddling up next to the bartender. He ran his fingers through his soaked dark hair and brushed some of the water away. He was dressed in jeans and a long overcoat.
"Over there," the boy behind the bar said. He indicated towards a table on the dark side of the club. Tidal Wave had a lot of those but none more secluded than the one near the pool tables. Which was strange really if you stopped to think about it.
"How long has she been here?" Mick Collins asked, eyes on the girl sitting hunched over at the table. She had her forehead rested up against the flat surface. Her clothes were more pedestrian than he'd ever seen on her; just torn jeans and a sweatshirt.
"About an hour. She's got to be plastered by now," the kid said. "And she's got herself quite a tab going."
"Put it on mine," Mick grinned. "She's with me."
The kid leaned over the top. "Hey man, I don't get it, I keep hearing that you're dead. So, what are you doing chasing after some skirt in broad daylight. Especially one like Kyle."
"Don't worry about that," Mick replied. He reached into his pocket and yanked out three twenty dollar bills. "Our secret right?"
"Sure," the kid said, scooping up the money. He turned away from Mick and moved back over to the other side, shaking his head. Not his deal if Collins wanted to waste time flirting with a ball-buster like Helena Kyle.
"You look like shit," Mick said as he dropped into the chair opposite Helena.
She looked up at him and snorted. "And you don't for a dead man."
"Yeah well, bulletproof and all of that," he chuckled.
"Whatever," she muttered. "You try to take away my beer and I swear to God that I'll put you in the ground myself."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he grinned. He reached across to touch her face but she stopped his hand, snapping around his wrist in her hand. He just laughed. He put his other hand over hers and brought them both up to his lips. He kissed her hand and then let it go. "Relax babe, I'm not here to hurt you."
"Funny because the last time I saw you well...it didn't exactly go well for me," she growled. She tried to push herself out of her chair but stumbled when she did so. The alcohol buzzing through her system forced her to drop back.
"I swear, I'm not here to hurt you. I wasn't trying to hurt you then either."
"My shoulder says differently," she hissed, indicating towards the one that had been shot. She had ripped the sling off within three days of leaving the Clock Tower, not really giving a damn about long-term damage.
"I didn't shoot you and I sure as hell didn't know what Wolf was planning. I'd have killed her myself if I'd known," he told her. "But really, things worked out for the best." He moved closer to her, close enough for her to be able to smell his cologne. "Don't tell me you didn't feel a thrill when you nailed her in the face."
Helena didn't reply, just simply gazed back at him.
He decided to push on. "This is you Kyle. This is you. This is what you were meant to do. Meant to be. It doesn't have to be all of this guilt and drama. You could actually enjoy yourself."
"I'm not a killer," she said dully.
"That's a lie and we both know it. That's exactly what you are."
She shook her head. "Fine. Whatever. What is it that you want?"
He reached out and took her hand. "I want you."
"Dream the fuck on," Helena snorted, reaching for her beer. "Really not looking for a new boy-toy and certainly not one who has a thing for shooting me up with drugs."
He rolled his eyes but kept smiling at her. "I wasn't asking," he said.
"Then you're the one shooting up," she replied. "Because your chances are pretty much zero and none."
He laughed. "I don't think you understand; I'm telling you. You know what you are Cat. You're a killer. I figured our little experiment would have convinced you of that. I'm kind of disappointed that it didn't."
"Yeah, I've been disappointing a lot of people these days," Helena slurred. "Are we done here?"
"No," he said firmly. "I really think you should hear me out."
She turned to glare at him. "And why the fuck should I do that? You're responsible for what I did."
He shook his head. "I just gave you the weapons. You did everything else on your own. You need to accept that. Once you do, you'll be much better off."
"Fine, I'm a killer. I'm also bored now. What do you want?"
"I want you to work with me. I want you to join the gang full time," he said, moving closer to her.
She snorted loudly. "Not really a gang-banger but hey thanks for the attractive offer." She stood up to leave.
"You're still not listening," he said. "I know you. I know what you are. I know what you're capable of. I know what you're not capable of."
"Oh?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "There's not much I can't do. And that includes beating the shit out of you if you don't hurry up and get to the point."
"Fine," he said, no longer amused. "Here are your choices Kyle; you can either work with me or you can spend the rest of your life in prison for murder."
"No one saw me," she replied, eyes narrowing. "I never took off my mask."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He dropped it to the table and it spilled out its contents. Photographs. She was vaguely reminded of how he had done that exact same thing only three weeks earlier.
Only then it had been snapshots of her and Reese in bed together.
These were something else entirely.
She reached down to pick up the first one and noticed that it looked like it was a digital photo of a camcorder recording, Time dated and all.
But that wasn't the interesting part.
No, not at all.
"You see that," Mick said, coming around to the back of her. She could feel one of his arms slide around to her side as he gazed over her shoulder. He put his arm across her and pointed at one of the pictures. "That's you. With the cat mask. That's right before we went in."
She felt her stomach slam to the ground as she stared down at the photos that clearly implicated her in the massacre. They were proof positive of her crimes.
They were her damnation.
"So you in now babe?"
"Fine," she muttered. "What the hell."
Mick grinned, a boyish look coming over his face. He leaned up and kissed her on the cheek. He could feel her pull away a bit but the movement was more instinct than it was reaction.
"That's my girl," he said, his tone showing his confidence.
As far as he was concerned, he had won.
The cat was in the bag.
TBC- END CHAPTER ONE
Author: Shawn Carter
E-Mail: wolfpackproductionscomcast.net
Website: http:www.wolfpack-productions.com (Not Yet Up)
Feedback: Please
Notes: This is the follow-up to Falling Backwards and Through The Fire. I would definitely advise reading these first. Starting with Through The Fire.
Summary: In the aftermath of the Shield Ball massacre, Helena has decided to leave the team. She has completely lost faith in both the mission and herself. As her anger and depression is further manipulated, the remaining team must race to stop a threat that could destroy everyone and everything around them.
Rating: PG-13. Language. Violence. Non-consensual drug use.
Music: Title is Eminem. Lyrics are Sarah Mac.
"I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to lose
Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose
Once there was a darkness, deep and endless night
You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me light"
It's been raining for almost two days straight now. The streets are flooded over and most of the schools have been shut down for the week. A lot of businesses on the main drag have also closed down. It's just too ugly out there right now.
Funny how that doesn't stop the criminals.
I spin hard in my chair, my eyes settling on the computer screen in front of me. I point at one of the blips and speak into the microphone in front of me, "You have someone or something about ten feet ahead of you. Be careful."
"I'm on it," she replies back. I can hear tension in her voice. This is new for her. For me too. I'm used to having a different person on the other side of the comm.
"Well?" I ask. "What is it?"
"I don't see anything. Are you sure?"
"Yes," I reply. "Keep your eyes open. Something is near you."
"Sure," she mutters. I'm not sure if she doubts me or if she thinks I'm going mad. Probably a little bit of both. "Look, I've been out here almost an hour now and I'm still not seeing anything. No robbery and no bad guys."
I turn towards one of my other monitors. I have the database for the GCPD on it. I type a few words and a new screen comes up. It has the report from dispatch about the 911 call. "Yes. It says a robbery and a shooting at Wicker. You're at Wicker."
"I don't..."
Her voice trails off. I stare down at the screen for a moment, my eyes fixing on the purple dot in the middle of the map grid. That's Dinah. She chose the color herself. I see it move a few centimeters which means she's still in motion. That's obviously a good thing.
"Dinah?"
"I'm fine," she grunts. "Okay, you win. I have a thug."
I take a deep breath. "Do you have it under control?"
"I do," she mutters. I hear a series of loud noises. Sounds like she's hitting him. Or maybe slapping. I'm not overly sure. I hear him call her a bitch and she laughs at him. If I didn't know better I'd think it was Helena out there instead of Dinah.
It's not though.
God only knows where Helena is right now.
I can't do this. I can't allow my mind to drift. Now is so not the time.
"Dinah, report," I snap.
"I'm fine," she gasps out as I hear something hit the ground. "What's your issue?"
I shake my head. "Issue?"
"You sound ticked off. I have it handled."
I blow out air between my teeth. She's not wrong. Even thinking about Helena these days seems to drop my mood down to very bad or very depressed within seconds.
And God help us all, it's only been three weeks since she walked away.
Three weeks and twenty-one days.
Semantics really.
"I know," I start softly. "I just...I got worried. You're done for the night, okay?"
"Sure," she answers, dropping her tone a bit. "You want me to toss this guy off at the police department? He still has all the cash on him." I hear something drop. "And the gun."
"No, I don't want you getting that close. I already sent an anonymous alert to the dispatch center. They should have a car on its way to your location already. Get out of there."
"Copy that," she says. I hear her boots hit against the cement, water kicking up under them. My hearing isn't that specialized but my sense of what is going on around her is. I've learned how to listen to small noises and how to know exactly what they are.
For instance I can now tell that she's about two feet away from the Hummer because she's stopped walking and it sounds like she's trying to get the keys out of her pocket. I hear a small blip and the alarm is disarmed.
"Going off comm," I tell her.
"Okay," she says and I think she sounds relieved.
That's not hard to imagine. Not at all.
To say that I've been a tad bit overly about her for the last three weeks would be something of an understatement. I've been downright on top of her.
And I can tell that it's annoying her.
But God bless her, she's letting me smother her.
She knows why I need it.
I turn away from the computer in front of me and move towards the kitchen. Alfred has the night off so it's up to me to take care of myself and my needs. And that means making my own coffee which thank you, yes, I can do just fine.
It's been a long couple of weeks, I'll tell you that much. Long and emotional. There's been a lot of anger, a lot of a pain and more than a few tears shed.
The only thing there hasn't been is Helena.
I guess more than a small part of me actually thought that she'd come back. She's stayed away before. Never for more than a week but just the same. When she gets down she tends to retreat and pull back. But she always comes home eventually.
I actually believed that would hold true this time as well though I'm not sure why.
I mean even I knew when she walked out that she was deadly serious. I've never heard her speak that way before. So damn defeated. So damn lost.
So full of self-hatred.
I wonder if she's hurt herself.
It kills me to think that but I know it's possible.
I flatten out a filter and slide it into the coffee machine. I follow it up with French Vanilla. I love the smell of it in the air. It's very soothing.
God knows I could use that right now.
I'm driving Dinah nuts.
I have to keep reminding myself that she doesn't need a mother right now. She doesn't need someone to guide her with an iron fist. It's so easy to try to wonder if maybe I could have changed all of this if I had just been a little more strict with Helena when she was in school. Yeah like that works.
Okay here, if I had stopped Helena from breaking curfew then maybe she wouldn't have returned to the Red Zone. Maybe if I had grounded Helena for longer than a week for doing LSD than maybe Mick wouldn't have been able drug her into a murderous state. And maybe...
Yeah, you see?
It doesn't work.
Helena was a terrible teenager but she wasn't doing it to rebel. She wasn't trying to hurt me. She was just spinning because of how much she was in pain. Her anger pushed her and releasing it made her feel better. But you know what, she got it all under control. As she got older she started to understand the pitfalls of her rage.
I'm not saying that she's become calm and focused. No one will ever buy that. In fact, in some ways she's gotten even wilder but I think the rules of the game changed for her. She started to only get as wild as she could control.
Mick took that away from her.
Mick turned her inside out.
And now she's just gone.
I wonder where she is these days.
I mean I kind of know. At least from whispers.
I think she's still living in her apartment but from what I hear from Leonard, she's barely there. I don't know where she's working but she has to be doing something to pass the time. And obviously that doesn't include sitting in the corner of her apartment.
That makes me feel better. I think.
My mind whirls with the other options.
Yeah, let's just not for now.
"Barbara?"
I turn and blink. That's when I notice the water bubbling out over the coffee maker. "Fuck," I curse, scooting backwards. I just narrowly miss getting a whole lapful of scalding hot water. Not that it will matter as far as pain but hey nasty burns aren't a great option either.
Dinah moves past me and flips off the power button on the coffee maker. Grabbing a towel she lifts it up and pours it out into the sink. Then she bends down next to me. "Are you okay?" she asks, concern in her blue eyes.
I sigh. "Yeah, just lost in thought."
"She'll come home," Dinah tells me. She's been saying this for almost three weeks now. I don't know if she actually believes it or if she's just saying it because it comforts her. I don't know.
I think I need her to keep saying it.
I move my chair away from her and wave my hand in the air. "Right. Right." I shake my head, annoyed by my loss of focus. I would have reprimanded one of the girls for the same. I should know better. I have to be in control.
"Oh I forgot to mention it earlier but I found something on the guy who robbed the store," she tells me, her hand dropping into her pocket.
I narrow my eyes and slide towards her, hand out to take the object she's holding in her palm. "Where did you find this?" I ask, accepting the necklace she gives me.
"On the ground near him. It must have broken off during the fight." She wrinkles her nose. "I really kicked his ass."
I offer her a look of bemusement. I don't necessarily understand how she does it but even after all of this, Dinah is still upbeat. That amazes me. I shake my head and go back to looking at the necklace. It's simple really. Silver chain with a small circular pendant at the end. Almost like a St. Christopher's medal.
Only not.
I narrow my eyes. I know what this is.
It's a family crest.
It belongs to one of the members of the Table.
The window opened outwards to allow her access to the roof. It was still raining but an overhang a few feet above kept most of the water away. She slipped out and onto the tiles, her bare feet scraping against the hard surface.
Her eyes drifted upwards towards the heavens. The night was dark and gray but she could still see hints of the full moon peaking out beneath the rain- clouds. Somehow or another that matched her mood to a tee.
She settled her butt against the wall and dropped down. Reaching back with her hand into the apartment she pulled through a half full bottle of Jack Daniels. She swirled it around, watching the brown fluid circle the bottle.
"I figured I'd find you here eventually," he said from inside the apartment.
She squinted towards the darkness, her eyes tired and unfocused. "Reese," she said finally. "Go away."
"No," he replied, moving towards her. She could hear the sound of his crutches clicking against her carpet. He saddled up next to the window. "I've been here almost every night."
"Sounds a bit obsessive. I know I told Barbara that I didn't want to see anyone."
"Well I guess that's just too damn bad," he replied, gazing out at her. She tilted her head to look him over and noticed that his leg was in a soft cast. Other than that though, he looked okay. Just the same, he didn't seem terribly eager to try to climb through the window in order to get out to the roof.
"Call it what you need to," he said. "But you keep walking away. You keep quitting."
"Spare me," she drawled, taking a hefty slug from the bottle. "This isn't like before, Reese. When Harley got me, I was responsible for what happened to Wade but I didn't do it. This isn't like before."
"You're right," he admitted. "It's not. But you're no more responsible for this than you were for Harley killing Wade. What you're doing..."
"You don't know what I'm doing," she said, taking another sip.
"Yes I do," he said. "You're trying to drink yourself into oblivion."
Helena sat up and looked hard at Reese. "Really? That's what I'm doing. Oh wow, you know what, now I'm better. I'm all fucking better."
"That's cute," he said. "Only not."
"Ooh, the good detective is getting slick with the lingo," Helena snorted. "Great. Okay then, try this one on; Get the hell out of my pad before I kick your ass out the door. In my state, you're likely to need a body bag."
"You wouldn't," he said softly.
She snorted. "Why not?"
"Because you're not a killer. A drunk maybe but not a killer."
She laughed and stood up. "Your memory ain't so great is it, Detective?"
"My memory is just fine," he answered. "I was there. I know that wasn't you."
"It was me," she said dully. She swung the arm with the bottle in it. "And this, if this is an intervention, isn't going to work. I'm done, Reese. I'm just done."
"You can't be done. You're needed," he insisted.
She turned away from him and went back to staring up at the sky. "I've spent the last three weeks trying to force all of this out. Doing everything I can to make it all come to the surface. You know, purge and be done with it. Do all the bad things I know to do. It's always worked in the past."
"I can help you," he told her.
"You're not listening, Reese. I don't want your help. I don't want anyone's. I just want to be left alone."
"That's not going to happen," he informed her, eyes locked on her. She wasn't looking back at him but she could feel the intensity of his gaze. It was positively penetrating.
"Don't make me hurt you," she whispered, still not looking at him. He could see her hand twitching on the neck of the bottle. She looked like he was shaking.
Every part of him wanted to wrap her in his arms.
He didn't think she'd be receptive.
"You won't," he said, with entirely too much confidence. She heard him settle against the wall, grunting a bit in pain as his injured leg collided with the hard surface.
She turned to him. "You didn't get what I was saying before did you? I mean about doing everything I could to get the anger out?"
"I got what you were saying," he replied, his tone even. "I can well imagine what you've been doing. I don't care."
She snorted derisively. "You're not that much of a Boy Scout, Reese. Most guys tend to care when their girl is with another guy."
"I care," he replied. "I care about you more."
"That's sweet," she said, her voice full of fake sugar. "Now go away."
"You're not listening," he insisted. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Then this is going to be a very long night," she muttered turning away from him. Then she shook her head. "Look, I don't want to do this. I'm not going to do this. You want to drive me away from my own place, fine. I'm not going to sit here and argue with you. I don't...I just don't want to. Respect my decision and leave me alone."
He took a step towards her. "If I thought that that was for the best I would." He reached out for her hand but she pulled away. "I know you better than you think," he continued. "Whatever you've done, you'll do worse. You'll keep going until you can't stop."
"Then maybe it won't hurt," she said dully.
"It's supposed to hurt," he reminded her.
"Wow, I think we've had this conversation before," she chuckled. "Reese, please. I'm asking you for the last time to please leave. I won't ask again."
He nodded slowly. "I don't want to fight with you either. Not tonight anyways. But this isn't over."
"It is," she said, taking another sip from the bottle. "Spare me all the hero drama."
He reached out for his crutches and pulled them close to him. "You need your family," he reminded her. "We can get you through this."
Then he turned and moved towards the door. She heard it click behind him.
Closing her eyes she dropped back her head and emptied the bottle. Then she stood up and walked to the edge of the roof. She looked down at the hard ground below, her eyes focusing on Reese as he moved down the street, his crutches clicking against the cement.
As soon as he disappeared from view she dropped the bottle. It slammed hard against the ground and shattered. She watched glass fly outwards. A few forgotten brown drops spilled out and mixed with the muddy rainwater.
"I don't want to be through this," she muttered, eyes on the shattered glass.
She stepped back away from the edge and slid back down against the wall. She didn't even realize that she'd been soaked all the way through and was now dripping water. Dropping her head into her hands, she felt her body shudder violently.
The violent tears came soon after.
Again.
I wonder why Barbara is so fascinated by the necklace I found on that guy. I looked it over myself but it didn't seem like much. Kinda plain if you ask me. Nothing flashy.
She looks like I just gave her the key to a treasure chest.
I move to stand behind her but she waves me off. I'm in her light. She hates when I do that. Oh well. I bend over her. "So what is it?"
She looks up at me like she wants to explain and I can almost see the wheels turning. She's trying to think of an explanation that she thinks I'll understand. Finally she manages, "It's a clan symbol."
"Clan?" I ask, thoroughly confused. This is hardly new. You have no idea just how often Barbara Gordon starts explanations in the middle. Her mind thinks too fast.
She moves her hands in a weird circle. She seems excited. This is the most animated that she's been since Helena left three weeks ago. "The Table."
"Still not following," I say, shaking my head. Involuntarily I start to look around the control room. Eventually Barbara will go back to me but it might take awhile so I need to keep myself amused.
I'm seventeen hello. Three words now.
Short. Attention. Span.
Thanks and yes, I will be here all week.
"Several years ago there was a family of mobsters here in town. Several families actually. Clans. Reese's family was one of them. Hawke." She turns away from and back towards her computers. Her fingers fly over the keyboard and the screen illuminates as it reacts. I see a picture on the monitor. Looks like a metal circle with a hawk in the middle. "That's their family seal." She holds up the necklace. "This is Zeus."
"There's a mobster named Zeus?" I ask with great amazement. "Because that's cool." I bend to look at the necklace again and sure enough I see that the emblem on it is that of a lightning strike,
"No," she says, shaking her head. "Some of the family seals were obvious. Like Hawke. Zeus was a man named Marco Jameson. But he was the head of everything."
"Even above Hawke?"
"Even above Hawke," Barbara confirms. "His side of the whole operation was drug trafficking. He brought some pretty nasty things into Gotham. We thought that Batman had finally chased him out." She shakes her head. "Obviously we were wrong."
"Or maybe he just came back," I offer.
"Maybe," she says. I can tell she's deep in thought. Deep in her past.
"So," I start, hoping to gain back her attention. "Is Zeus responsible for Topside?"
Barbara looks up at me as if I've just had the most brilliant thought ever. Frankly I'm stunned that she didn't get to it first. But hey, smart as she is, I'm sure most of her mind is working on a cure for cancer or something like that. "Yes," she says loudly. "Yes, of course."
"Of course," I mutter, getting the feeling that I'm about to lose her again.
"I was wondering why drug activity in New Gotham has suddenly increased by over three hundred percent. Now it makes sense. It even fits. Zeus was always in to designer drugs. He brought in one several years ago that caused everyone who took it to become extremely paranoid. It also made them feel like they were flying. Good and bad. Sound familiar?"
"Completely like Topside only replace paranoia with rage," I reply, my voice almost a whisper.
She folds her hands over her eyes and sighs, "Wow," she says.
I wrinkle my nose. "This is bad, right?"
"Bad?" she looks up at me.
"Major crime daddy porting in drugs bad?" I suggest.
She cracks a smile at that. "On the contrary," she says. "This could be very good. If we can stop the import of Topside then maybe..."
I cut her off. "Maybe we can prove to Helena that what happened wasn't her fault? How?"
"I've been thinking about that for awhile," Barbara admits, sliding her chair around to look at me. "I couldn't quite figure out why Mick would go in and murder a whole room of cops. Sure he had a thing for them but still...it had to be more. Just couldn't figure out what."
"He was a diversion?"
"Right," she says nodding. "When the shooting at the ball started, every officer still on duty answered the 10-13."
"10-13?"
"Officer in need of assistance. It's police code. That left the docks open. They used the ball as a distraction so that they could import the drugs."
"And Helena?"
"Fortuitous," Barbara replied. "She gave them more firepower. But in the end, it was a setup. Mick used her to get the drugs in. The same drug he used to control her."
"It's not her fault then," I insist, a bit of hope in my voice.
"It's not," she answers. Then she sighs and I feel my hopes fall with hers. "It won't matter. Until we can get her to understand..."
"Yeah," I say, intentionally interrupting her.
There's a reason why neither of us have actively tried to bring Helena home. It's not that we believe she's guilty because we don't. It's because we know that she does. And as long as that holds true, she will resist every attempt we make.
She'll push us away with every ounce of energy in her body. Even if that means trying to hurt us to get the point across.
I want her home.
I miss her like crazy.
Sweeps just aren't the same without her and frankly Barbara is driving me insane. Helena seemed to actually enjoy the quipping demanding voice in her ear but it makes me cranky. I'd prefer to return to the sidekick role.
Really.
No seriously, really.
Barbara swallows hard. "Doesn't matter," she says. "We need to do our part. Batman never allowed the drug trade to prosper in Gotham. We're sure as hell not about to change that."
I smile. "I'm game," I say, more perkily than I feel. It'll be nice to have a distraction.
But guess what, we are going to bring Helena home eventually.
Trust me that.
We will.
"Where is she?" he asked, saddling up next to the bartender. He ran his fingers through his soaked dark hair and brushed some of the water away. He was dressed in jeans and a long overcoat.
"Over there," the boy behind the bar said. He indicated towards a table on the dark side of the club. Tidal Wave had a lot of those but none more secluded than the one near the pool tables. Which was strange really if you stopped to think about it.
"How long has she been here?" Mick Collins asked, eyes on the girl sitting hunched over at the table. She had her forehead rested up against the flat surface. Her clothes were more pedestrian than he'd ever seen on her; just torn jeans and a sweatshirt.
"About an hour. She's got to be plastered by now," the kid said. "And she's got herself quite a tab going."
"Put it on mine," Mick grinned. "She's with me."
The kid leaned over the top. "Hey man, I don't get it, I keep hearing that you're dead. So, what are you doing chasing after some skirt in broad daylight. Especially one like Kyle."
"Don't worry about that," Mick replied. He reached into his pocket and yanked out three twenty dollar bills. "Our secret right?"
"Sure," the kid said, scooping up the money. He turned away from Mick and moved back over to the other side, shaking his head. Not his deal if Collins wanted to waste time flirting with a ball-buster like Helena Kyle.
"You look like shit," Mick said as he dropped into the chair opposite Helena.
She looked up at him and snorted. "And you don't for a dead man."
"Yeah well, bulletproof and all of that," he chuckled.
"Whatever," she muttered. "You try to take away my beer and I swear to God that I'll put you in the ground myself."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he grinned. He reached across to touch her face but she stopped his hand, snapping around his wrist in her hand. He just laughed. He put his other hand over hers and brought them both up to his lips. He kissed her hand and then let it go. "Relax babe, I'm not here to hurt you."
"Funny because the last time I saw you well...it didn't exactly go well for me," she growled. She tried to push herself out of her chair but stumbled when she did so. The alcohol buzzing through her system forced her to drop back.
"I swear, I'm not here to hurt you. I wasn't trying to hurt you then either."
"My shoulder says differently," she hissed, indicating towards the one that had been shot. She had ripped the sling off within three days of leaving the Clock Tower, not really giving a damn about long-term damage.
"I didn't shoot you and I sure as hell didn't know what Wolf was planning. I'd have killed her myself if I'd known," he told her. "But really, things worked out for the best." He moved closer to her, close enough for her to be able to smell his cologne. "Don't tell me you didn't feel a thrill when you nailed her in the face."
Helena didn't reply, just simply gazed back at him.
He decided to push on. "This is you Kyle. This is you. This is what you were meant to do. Meant to be. It doesn't have to be all of this guilt and drama. You could actually enjoy yourself."
"I'm not a killer," she said dully.
"That's a lie and we both know it. That's exactly what you are."
She shook her head. "Fine. Whatever. What is it that you want?"
He reached out and took her hand. "I want you."
"Dream the fuck on," Helena snorted, reaching for her beer. "Really not looking for a new boy-toy and certainly not one who has a thing for shooting me up with drugs."
He rolled his eyes but kept smiling at her. "I wasn't asking," he said.
"Then you're the one shooting up," she replied. "Because your chances are pretty much zero and none."
He laughed. "I don't think you understand; I'm telling you. You know what you are Cat. You're a killer. I figured our little experiment would have convinced you of that. I'm kind of disappointed that it didn't."
"Yeah, I've been disappointing a lot of people these days," Helena slurred. "Are we done here?"
"No," he said firmly. "I really think you should hear me out."
She turned to glare at him. "And why the fuck should I do that? You're responsible for what I did."
He shook his head. "I just gave you the weapons. You did everything else on your own. You need to accept that. Once you do, you'll be much better off."
"Fine, I'm a killer. I'm also bored now. What do you want?"
"I want you to work with me. I want you to join the gang full time," he said, moving closer to her.
She snorted loudly. "Not really a gang-banger but hey thanks for the attractive offer." She stood up to leave.
"You're still not listening," he said. "I know you. I know what you are. I know what you're capable of. I know what you're not capable of."
"Oh?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "There's not much I can't do. And that includes beating the shit out of you if you don't hurry up and get to the point."
"Fine," he said, no longer amused. "Here are your choices Kyle; you can either work with me or you can spend the rest of your life in prison for murder."
"No one saw me," she replied, eyes narrowing. "I never took off my mask."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He dropped it to the table and it spilled out its contents. Photographs. She was vaguely reminded of how he had done that exact same thing only three weeks earlier.
Only then it had been snapshots of her and Reese in bed together.
These were something else entirely.
She reached down to pick up the first one and noticed that it looked like it was a digital photo of a camcorder recording, Time dated and all.
But that wasn't the interesting part.
No, not at all.
"You see that," Mick said, coming around to the back of her. She could feel one of his arms slide around to her side as he gazed over her shoulder. He put his arm across her and pointed at one of the pictures. "That's you. With the cat mask. That's right before we went in."
She felt her stomach slam to the ground as she stared down at the photos that clearly implicated her in the massacre. They were proof positive of her crimes.
They were her damnation.
"So you in now babe?"
"Fine," she muttered. "What the hell."
Mick grinned, a boyish look coming over his face. He leaned up and kissed her on the cheek. He could feel her pull away a bit but the movement was more instinct than it was reaction.
"That's my girl," he said, his tone showing his confidence.
As far as he was concerned, he had won.
The cat was in the bag.
TBC- END CHAPTER ONE