Flashback
Disclaimer: Birds of Prey, its characters, and concepts are the property of Warner Brothers, Tollin-Robbins Productions & DC Comics.
A/N: This is a one-shot.
"Dinner is served," said Alfred as he set a platter of chicken enchiladas in between Barbara and Dinah.
"Thank you, Alfred," said Barbara. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans tonight. As Alfred left to return to the kitchen, she turned her attention to Dinah.
"How was school?" Barbara asked.
"Fine," Dinah replied quietly.
"Just … 'fine' ?" Barbara prodded.
"Fine," replied Dinah once more.
"How did you do on the math test?" inquired Barbara, changing the subject.
"I won't know until next week," said Dinah.
Alfred returned carrying a bottle of hot sauce on a small silver tray. He set it down upon the table next to the enchiladas. He then turned to Barbara and said, "Will there be anything more, Miss Barbara?"
"No," said Barbara. "Thank you, Alfred."
Alfred then turned to Dinah. Dinah sat at the table staring wide-eyed at the bottle of hot sauce while slowly rocking back-and-forth, back-and-forth.
"You've been a bad, bad girl," warned Mrs. Price. She was tall, had curly brown hair, and was in her early forties. Although she was only five-eight, she towered over the six-year-old Dinah.
"I'm sorry, Miss Price," Dinah sobbed.
"You KNOW what we DO to bad girls now, don't you?" Mrs. Price threatened.
"Miss Dinah," Alfred exclaimed as he gently shook Dinah's shoulder, attempting to snap her out of her reverie. She was now hyperventilating in addition to staring off into space. "Miss Dinah!"
Dinah snapped back to reality. "Huh … Wha' ?"
"Miss Dinah, are you feeling well?" Alfred inquired.
"I'm fine," said Dinah as she struggled to catch her breath.
"You're NOT fine," Barbara countered sharply. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Dinah protested.
"You were hyperventilating," said Barbara. "Something's wrong."
Dinah glanced around nervously. "I need to go outside," she said. "Excuse me." With that, she pushed her chair away from the table, got up, and ran out of the room. A few moments later, Barbara and Alfred heard the three-inch fire-rated steel door that led to the balcony slam shut with a boom.
"Miss Dinah appears to be troubled," said Alfred.
Barbara touched Alfred's forearm. "Keep dinner warm," said Barbara. "I'll take care of this."
Dinah sat on the balcony with her head tucked between her knees.
Why now? Dinah thought. I thought I'd have put this behind me by now.
Dinah was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the whirr of Barbara's wheelchair approaching her.
Barbara gently put her hand on Dinah's shoulder. "Dinah," she called out to her.
Dinah jumped at the mention of her name, but Barbara's iron grip on her shoulder kept her in her seat.
"What's wrong?" Barbara asked.
"Nothing's wrong," Dinah replied.
Barbara shook her head. "Something's wrong," she said. "Why did you run?"
Dinah hid her face. "It's stupid," she moaned.
"What's stupid?"
"It's nothing."
"Must've been SOMETHING," said Barbara.
Dinah buried her head between her knees. "You'll laugh at me!"
"Dinah, look at me," said Barbara softly. She lifted Dinah's head, cupped her chin in her palm, and turned her face towards hers. "Have I ever laughed at you … in the past?"
Dinah considered this for a moment and shook her head … No.
"All right," said Barbara.
"I'm sorry," said Dinah, stalling. "I'm keeping you."
"You're not keeping me," said Barbara. "Tell me what's wrong."
Guess this is it. "You REALLY wanna know?"
"Yes."
Dinah let out a sigh of resignation. "When I was ... younger," she said. "My foster parents ... used to pour hot sauce ... down my throat." She looked searchingly at Barbara; Barbara's face was a mixture of disbelief and horror.
"I KNEW you wouldn't believe me," said Dinah as she looked back out over the city.
"No, no … It's not that," protested Barbara. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that ... I'm trying to take this in." Barbara paused. "You STILL haven't answered my question."
"Which was …?"
"Why did you run?"
"The hot sauce … guess you could call it a flashback." Dinah paused. "Stupid, isn't it?"
"No … it's not stupid," Barbara replied. "Must've been traumatic … to have evoked that sort of reaction from you." Barbara paused. "Who did this to you ... the Redmonds?"
"No," said Dinah. "Earlier ... before I came to the Redmonds."
"Why did they do it?"
"It was because I was 'bad'," said Dinah, framing the word "bad" with her index and middle fingers.
" 'Bad' … in what way?"
"Who knows?" said Dinah. "It's not as if they needed a reason."
"What usually brought this on?"
Dinah blushed. Barbara was now getting a little close for comfort. "Accidents…"
"What kind of accidents?"
Dinah hesitated. She finally said haltingly, "Throwing up on the floor ... spilling stuff ..."
"Accidents happen," said Barbara. "Hardly grounds for pouring hot sauce down your throat." Barbara paused. "What kind of hot sauce was it?"
"Does it MATTER?" Dinah shot back, irritated.
"I'm just trying to get a picture of what happened," Barbara replied. "What kind of sauce was it? Tabasco? Salsa? Picante?"
"Wasn't salsa … or anything like that," said Dinah softly. "Reminded me of ketchup … only hotter." Dinah paused for emphasis. "MUCH hotter."
"I have flashbacks too," said Barbara.
"Really?"
Barbara nodded solemnly. "Joker," she said softly.
Over and over again, the scene haunted Barbara's memories. The muzzle flash … the crack of the pistol … Joker's maniacal laughter … that demonic grin on his face.
And that line … ALWAYS that line: "Knock, knock … Batgirl, past tense!"
"Believe me when I say … I know what you're going through," Barbara said finally. "How long ago was this?" she asked, changing the subject. "How old were you when this happened?"
"Six … seven," Dinah replied.
"I see," said Barbara.
Dinah nodded solemnly. Barbara placed a comforting hand on Dinah's shoulder. "It's over now," she said.
Dinah then got up and gave the redhead a hug. Barbara returned the blonde's embrace. "It's over," Barbara whispered in Dinah's ear.
THE END