A/N...Hi all. So. I been busy. I read the Huntress/Batman series "Cry for Blood" which some of you might not know it, but it involves Huntress getting framed for murders and Question comes in and saves her ass from both Bats (ass) and Nightwing (betrayer). There's lots of great Huntress/Question moments, so it's highly recommended in my mind. I loved the ending, so I won't spoil it for you! For those of you that have read it, you'll prolly see how much it influenced me in the writing of this chapter.
(Am entertaining thoughts to doing a novelization of it after I finish this one).
(But if I did, it would prolly be anti-Bats...I hate him. I can't help it. He's so mean to my Helena. Yes. That's the only reason I dislike him.)
The ending of this chapter made me a little teary-eyed. My only excuse is that I'm PMSing. Leave me be.
Dear Helena...
Helena couldn't sleep. She wasn't used to being in bed this early. Seriously, it was only three a.m. What the hell was she doing in bed?
...I met an old friend of yours on the Watchtower today...
Ah, now she remembered. Thinking. Waxing nostalgic. Tormenting herself. Usually at this time of night, Huntress was in full swing of her ass-kicking style. If this were a normal night, she'd be out somewhere beating a rapist's head in. If she was lucky, she'd be half-drowning a murderer. Never fully drowning. Huntress rarely crossed that final line, and never had in Gotham. Not with her own two hands. She had crossed it. No one, not even...Question...knew it. Guilt is a powerful motivator when erasing your past.
...a nice little sharpshooter, sent to replace Green Arrow, named Arsenal...
She'd met Nathaniel's parents today. Maybe that was why she was so restless. Captain Atom, her current beau, was a W.A.S.P. Something she most definitely was not. Apparently, he'd neglected to tell his parents. What a lovely image that made. The Sicilian former Mob Princess dining at the Mini-White House with people who think they're the crème de la crème. Helena could still imagine the sneer that had crossed Mrs. Adams face when she'd told them she taught in a public school. That had been the only sign that they didn't approve. Otherwise, it was all quite cordial and polite. Nate, as usual, was oblivious to the tension. Helena hadn't been comfortable.
There was a chance it was all in her head. She'd gone expecting the worse, and had found a nice veneer covering what she thought was the worse. She might have imagined it. She should probably give them a second chance.
Helena Bertinelli didn't give second chances. In her mind, the Adams were bad. Not Evil. Not Batman. But bad. She didn't tell Nate that. She smiled and said they were nice, and he didn't notice the hesitation. He was oblivious to much.
...he told me many nice stories...
The first blood to cover her hands had been that of her uncle and warden, and the cousin who'd long protected her. Her cousin who had taught her everything she knew; about weapons, about defense, about secrecy, about life. Most importantly, about family; the Family.
Salvatore Asaro, her cousin, and his father, Nicola Asaro, took Helena in after her family had died. Been murdered by Mandragora. The last living Bertinelli, of course they took her in. Think of the prestige of hosting the child who would one day become the first Capo de tutti Capi. Boss of bosses. Supposedly, Helena was to be the first female Capo. She'd made it clear as a child she didn't want it. Fortunately, the adults took it to heart, and thereafter let her grow as she will. If any of the Five Families of Gotham thought she was out to take her father's former seat, they'd kill her in a heartbeat. It was the Family way.
First blood. Asaro blood. She'd taken it, because as Family, she'd had to. It'd happened when she was fourteen...
...he took me drinking...
Sometimes the blood still called to her. Wanted her to take out the harsh criminals she faced at night. She didn't give in, but the urge was there. It was the urge that Batman identified with, and what made him distrust her so. Batman didn't like Huntress, because she was what he was inside. Violent, angry, and dangerous. He could hide behind his cowl and preach justice, but for him, it was the same as for her. Death. The final justice. Eye for an eye, and a knife in your throat. He didn't give in. Huntress didn't either, but it was a fact he liked to forget.
Helena moved under her sheets, hot despite the AC, and didn't want to follow where her thoughts were taking her. She didn't like thinking about her motivations to please Batman. Such an arrogant and hateful man, and she wanted him...proud of her. It wasn't really him she wanted that pride from, though, and the psychologist in her knew that she was mentally placing him in a father role, since she'd lost her's so long ago. Damn college and requiring a psych course. Like she didn't have enough analyzers around her anyways.
So Batman was her father figure. What a sucky father figure. Angry, silent, and sulky. Rather like her real father. Helena didn't remember much of her real family, besides the odd little déjà vu. Her mother had worn Chanel No. 5, and her father smoked Cuban cigars. Her big brother had been shot in the face. Two closed coffins. Only her mother could have an open one. Helena had long wondered if the deliberation had been determined by the person who'd hired Mandragora. She'd never found out who had. One day, she would. Final justice. Batman and his code be damned.
...I never knew you could bend like that...
Helena had killed her cousin Sal and her uncle Nicola. Not with her hands, not close, but the blood was on them anyways. A gun. Sharpshooter. Third gun Sal had taught her to use. They'd known it was coming. The Family didn't stay in prison. They got out, anyway they could. For the assassin family, it was the hard way. Helena was Family, even adopted, so the duty fell to her. No one else would or could do it.
It'd been the first and last time Huntress had killed. No one knew that. She'd maimed, injured, crippled, and horrifically mutilated (okay, having no nose isn't so horrific but the guy she'd done it to was probably still screaming). She didn't kill. Huntress was saving that last step for one person.
...it'd be interesting to see it in person...
Nathaniel wasn't here. He had night duty on the Watchtower. Helena had bid him goodbye hours ago, with a promise to get some sleep. She looked haggard. Tired. Wasting away. All terms Nate had used to describe her, which she'd thanked him for. What a lovely boyfriend to tell her such things.
Helena knew what was wrong, but she didn't know what to do about it. Helena had long ago made a code for herself. She didn't forget, and she didn't forgive. No second chances. She'd never been given them, so she never gave them out. Helena had a hard life and she wasn't going to make anyone else's easier.
Helena fingered the tiny cross she wore at her throat. It was miniscule. Really a baby's cross, but she'd never been able to give it up. Like most Sicilians, she'd been raised a devout Catholic. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost her faith. Faith wasn't why she was wearing the cross. It'd been Question's as a child. The only thing he had from his real family. He'd given it to her.
Was she an idiot for not hating him? She could have a good life with Nathaniel. A nice life. A normal life. She could give up crime-fighting, have a few babies, and do the suburban thing. Maybe actually keep a teaching job past a year.
Helena flipped over a couple more times in bed, and admitted to a small part of herself, that that life was one she'd dreamed of as a child. No late night meetings, no presents from Uncles she'd never met. No forced attendance to big dinners held at the Capo's house.
It wasn't what she wanted now. Helena liked her life. The violence and the blood. The late hours. She even liked the blood.
...with me, though. Not with Arsenal...
Helena didn't give second chances.
...I'm so jealous, I can't even see the Skittles anymore...
Not to anyone.
...help me...
Not to him.
...Love, Vic
Not to herself.