Repeating Memory
Chapter Two
The kiss was sudden and unexpected, surprising both participants with not only its occurrence, but its intensity. Heat rolled from one set of lips to the other, then back again, quickly deepening into a duel of tongues and teeth even as the older woman jerked back. It was of no use, the kisser was not going to let go, and so the recipient surrendered, and let the action wash over her, driving away all rational thought. Barbara was in heaven.
After what seemed like an eternity, the two parted, the redhead's eyes closed tight as she savored the moment. "What the hell are you doing?" a shrill, panicky voice cut through Barbara's blissful haze. Jade eyes snapped open and nervously gazed into impossibly wide baby blue ones. Her mind froze. 'Shit'
The seconds tickled away, but neither woman moved. Barbara opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to say something--anything--to explain why she had done what she had. She only succeeded in looking like a gasping fish. Finally, she gave up, and went back to just staring at the woman standing in front of her.
'Shit,' her mind supplied again, and she frowned, unable to think of how to use that as an excuse. 'Useless gray matter,' she thought, already planning to exchange it for a newer, more state-of-the-art model of chrome-plated brain tissue. Barbara 2000. Maybe she would work better; be able to find some way out of the current situation.
But, no, Barbara 2000 wouldn't be in this mess. She wouldn't have just up and kissed her colleague and friend without explanation or preamble. Barbara 2000 would have made her intentions clear. And if she were to meet with resistance, she would have promptly dispelled it with the perfect romantic seduction, all candles, chocolates, and back rubs.
No, Barbara 2000 would not have this kind of trouble, she was smooth and confident. She would certainly never sit around looking like a flounder out of water. She was thinking in circles. Never good, in her opinion; it only led to more confusion when one finally did open their mouth to say something. "Stupid useless gray matter." Yup, confusion, if the look on Carolyn's face was any indication.
After a few more moments of silence, sure that Barbara wasn't going to say anything else, either to explain her actions or random comment, Carolyn cleared her throat and spoke. "Okay, that was… I don't know what that was…"
"Good?" Barbara offered, immediately cursing her mouth for emoting without consulting her first, as a fiery glare was sent her way. "Right, sorry." she muttered, blushing the color of her hair.
Suddenly realizing her close proximity to her junior, Carolyn took two steps back, shaking her head as she did, as if to clear it. "I don't know what you were thinking," she began again, trying to gain control of the situation, as she saw the desire that pierced through Barbara's embarrassment. "But, this can't happen." The blonde winced as she saw the glint turn sharp.
"Can't? Why? Or, is it that you just won't let it happen."
"Won't, can't, doesn't matter. The point is, it's not." She turned away, unwilling, or maybe unable, to look at the frustrated hurt on her friend's face. "I'm sorry." And, in a flash, she was gone.
"It matters to me," Barbara whispered into the empty room, sinking to her knees as the pain that lanced through her chest doubled her over. "It matters to me…"
With a startled cry, Barbara bolted awake, almost toppling off of the bed for the suddenness of the movement. Her chest heaved with rapid pants, lungs not seeming to be able to get enough oxygen, as her heart tried its hardest to pound its way out of her ribcage. A nightmare.
Barbara having a nightmare wasn't really news-worthy; she had been having nightmares since she was old enough to contemplate the meaning behind Mother Goose rhymes, which, for Barbara, was pretty young. She'd had them at least twice a week since she was three, and since the attack against the Clock tower, at least four a week. She had them more often than most people knew, including Helena--who sometimes held vigils outside her window. Even at Helena's stealthiest, however, Barbara still knew she was there.
It had gotten to the point where Barbara forgot the evil dreams, and all their emotional traumas, as soon as she awoke. She was immune to the common nightmare. But, this hadn't been a common nightmare.
It was a familiar night terror, one she hadn't had in months, and before that, years. This one originated long, long ago, when she still wore a cowl and cape. When she protected the city from the rooftops with swift kicks and punches, instead of keystrokes and verbal commands.
This lurid vision was filled with blonde hair, and hard blue eyes. It was the one where her heart was ripped apart by her deceased lover, harsh words cutting almost physically into her flesh. 'Me, be with you? You're nothing, just a simple girl who could never come close to being good enough.' The words still swirled in her head, and she squeezed her eyes closed to keep the tears from falling. Logically, she knew the words weren't true, weren't real; but these feelings were anything but logical.
The fears represented in that dream had been what had driven her during her years as Batgirl; she had wanted to prove the voice in her head wrong, to prove that she was worthy, at first to fight beside Black Canary, and then later, to share her bed. And when Carolyn had left Gotham, that dream had been born; it was her secret torture.
But instead of sinking into the darkness it offered, though she had contemplated it, Barbara had pushed herself harder, taking her life as Batgirl to a whole new level of intensity. In the end, she supposed it was what had made her go with Batman that night, chasing the Joker to the dockyards like a woman possessed. The dream had taken her there, and, in the end, the dream had taken her legs.
The last time she had the nightmare had been when Carolyn had come back, looking for Dinah. For eight days straight she had woken to cold sweats and a tearstained pillow, until she had decided that enough was enough. After grieving for her, she had allowed herself to feel anger at her former lover, finally working through all the abandonment issues left over from so many years before. She thought she was free.
Shaking her head, Barbara pulled herself out of her reverie. She had no illusions as to why she was having the dream now. It had changed. Carolyn was so much crueler, but, so much more justified.
'What now? You were never good enough for me, so you decide to go for Dinah? Is she some sort of consolation prize?' She had covered her ears at this point, trying not to think about what her ex-lover was saying. She knew in her heart of hearts that her feelings for Dinah had nothing to do with Carolyn, but, the fact that she had them at all made her ill.
'You're sick, you know that Barbara? She's sixteen; she's your charge. SHE'S MY DAUGHTER! You should be locked away, you pervert. You should be killed.' What really had been different about the dream this time, though, was that Barbara agreed.
Barbara had a secret, which had been eating a hole through her conscience and soul. She had enjoyed the kiss. Not only enjoyed it, but wanted more. She had felt the desire that her ward had for her, and found herself returning the sentiment. God, she hated herself.
She didn't blame Dinah. She knew that the girl had had a hard life before she had come to New Gotham. In a sense, Barbara had rescued her, and for a hormonal teenager, gratitude quickly became lust. Add to that a healthy dose of hero worship, and well… She knew about that herself, having gone through it. She had seen the looks that the blonde had given not only herself, but Helena.
She wasn't so insensitive as to think that everything motivating Dinah was hormones. She knew that Dinah loved her, just as she loved Helena, and just as Barbara loved them both. The problem was, Dinah's feelings of love and lust were interweaving too much. She was sure that the teen would sort through it and eventually understand that this wasn't what she wanted.
But, Barbara had no excuse. She had no right to lust after a girl she herself could have mothered, albeit at a young age. She had no right to feel an ache in her chest when she thought of the blonde's smile, or a tenderness in her heart that transcended motherly empathy, whenever she saw the girl hurting. She had no right to want to take Dinah in her arms and kiss all her pain away. She was going to Hell.
Life not only sucked, but it was the major cause of migraines, the redhead decided, rubbing her throbbing temples, no closer to purging herself of her unwanted, dirty urges. She didn't know what creeped her out more, the fact that Dinah was half her age, or the fact that she was the daughter of her dead lover. She sighed. Some days she wished she didn't have to get out of bed.