Warning: this chapter has some adult language.

Chapter 7

"During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment… and my eyes were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands."
- Dr. Frankenstein; Mary Shelley, Frankenstein.

Streetlights, bushes, and the occasional neon sign blurred past Helena as she sprinted by in her headlong flight. For weeks, the world had been slowly drifting away from her, and now, in one night, she was desperately racing to catch it again.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. She would never be fast enough or strong enough or good enough to catch up with it.

Sure, the things around her were a blur, but it wasn't because of her strength.

It was because of her tears.

They were tears of despair and of anger and of an injured sense of justice. Losing her mother had caused pain so big it had consumed her. But losing Barbara right afterwards brought a rage so deep that she wondered how she hadn't noticed she was falling.

Only, it wasn't really falling. The only thing that made flying different from falling was control… and she was diving headfirst into the rage. The night had taken her mother and it had taken Barbara.

It had been so much easier to think that Barbara just didn't want her.

At least then she could be angry with her.

Who was she mad at now?

As Helena ran downtown, the buildings began to get closer together so she paused long enough to hop up the fire escape and continue her flight on the rooftops. There she went more quickly, almost impossibly fast, and it gave her a sense of control if not security.

Here, on the rooftops, things made sense. It was all clean angles and huge drops. You could make the next leap, or you couldn't. There wasn't any gray ambiguity or stupid people trying to convince you that things weren't the way you could see that they were. If they wanted to make a stupid jump, it was on them. And if they tried to tell you that you couldn't make a jump that you knew you could, then they could watch as you sailed past and left them behind.

But she wasn't the one doing the leaving, was she?

Her mother and her father and Barbara had all left her behind, and there was no way to catch up. Even on the rooftops.

"Fuck them, then!" Helena yelled at the top of her lungs. "I don't need any of you!"

She made it all the way across the rooftop and to the next before she crumpled to her knees, her back arching forwards in pain and remorse. She pounded the rooftop with her fist, furious with herself. Bruce had been the only one who had chosen to leave her.

Her mom was dead. Helena wasn't even the one who was hurt, and she was angry! What the hell was wrong with her?

Maybe it was good that Barbara hadn't seen her. Barbara didn't need to deal with her on top of getting better. Maybe Helena shouldn't go to see her at all.

She forced herself up on leaden legs, and turned around to go back the way she came. But then she paused. What if Barbara was alone? She remembered Gibson telling her that Barbara had her dad with her at the hospital… but surely Barbara's dad had to work, too. He was some sort of policeman… a captain or something.

Helena didn't want Barbara to be alone.

Not one to over think a situation when the answer seemed obvious, she took off. It wasn't much farther to the hospital, anyways. Might as well go the whole way.

When she finally came close enough to see the whole hospital, Helena's heart stopped and she was momentarily overwhelmed by bad memories. They only had her in their grip for a moment, and then she was shaking the thoughts away. Clenching a fist in frustration at her own weakness, she continued her journey.

The hospital was surrounded by parking lots on all sides, so Helena had to abandon the rooftops. After a moment's consideration, she crossed the roof to the back of the building so no one would see her. She hopped onto the fire escape, and made her way down. When she got to the bottom, she ignored the ladder and just dropped the last couple of floors.

Walking seemed intolerably slow after using the rooftop highway to cross town, but to approach the hospital any faster would draw too much attention. As she got closer, the memories she was so careful not to think about became stronger and stronger. By the time the entrance loomed before her, she could see the interior of an ambulance and feel the desperation as the paramedics tried to stem the bleeding.

She could smell her mother's blood.

Quickly, she turned aside from the concrete path and heaved the contents of her stomach into the bushes. Trembling, she sat down on the grass and tried to remind herself that it wasn't the same. "Come on, stupid! It's not even the same entrance."

But it was the same. She couldn't go in.

Growling in frustration, she forced herself up. No way she was turning back after coming all that way. Maybe Barbara was in one of the outside rooms. If Helena didn't find her after circling the building, then she'd try something else. No use worrying about it until then. Besides, even if she went in, someone might get mad if they found her wandering around in the halls.

With that in mind, she picked a direction at random and started walking slowly, carefully sticking to the shadows. Since most of the people were sleeping, it really wasn't all that hard not to be seen. Still, it was probably a good idea to avoid walking too closely to the windows.

So, instead of looking into the hospital, she strained every other heightened sense. There were too many odd smells for her to make heads or tails out of, so she relied almost exclusively on her hearing. She paid attention to voices or sounds of movement, but also kept an eye out for anyone else who might have decided to take a walk outside of the hospital.

Very quickly, she realized she had chosen the wrong direction. There was a lot of frenzied motion… people not quite running. She could also hear heavy things being moved around. Some people were talking in low tones, but more telling was the intermittent crying.

It was the emergency room. Helena wouldn't have guessed that she'd remember that part of that night, but apparently the memories had been laying around in her brain somewhere. Since Barbara had already been in the hospital for a while, she probably wasn't there anymore… unless it was really, really bad.

Helena decided that Barbara wouldn't be there.

So she turned around and tried the other direction. Now she could hear a lot less movement, so she began to risk peeking into windows. She was careful to move slowly and stay out of the light coming from the inside of the rooms and figured that would probably keep her safe. If someone saw her… well, then she'd deal with it then.

There were a lot of pregnant women, so that meant maternity ward. 'She's probably not there, either,' Helena laughed to herself. Carefully sticking to the shadows, she skipped the next several rooms.

Then Helena got to a section of rooms that had a lot of different kinds of people. Some of them looked very sick, but she couldn't really tell if there was anything wrong with some of the people in the beds. Guessing that this was where more long-term patients were held, she moved more slowly and looked for anyone that she knew.

Soon, she realized she had another problem. Helena could see into most of the rooms on the first floor, but what if Barbara was in a room on the second floor?

Ruefully thinking that the entire thing would be a whole lot easier from the inside of the hospital, Helena suddenly spotted a tree only a few feet away from one of the windows. With any luck, that would let her look into at least a few rooms. Taking a quick look around to make sure no one could see her, she quickly approached the huge maple. The branches were too high up to climb, but that didn't matter to a Kyle.

Crouching low, she easily sprang up to the branches and perched behind a screen of leaves. The blinds hadn't been pulled, and even though the lights had been turned off, it was still brighter than it was outside. There was a clock on the wall, which made Helena think that maybe she had accidentally chosen some kind of waiting or break room. But it looked the same as all the other rooms… Suddenly, she noticed someone slumped in a chair on the far side of the room, asleep.

With a start that almost dumped Helena back onto the ground, she realized she was looking at Barbara's father. Taking a deep breath, she got a better grip on the branches around her and leaned forward so she could see the hospital bed.

Barbara lay in the bed, her skin looking deathly white in contrast to her red hair. She was thinner than Helena remembered… way too thin. The redhead was absolutely still as she lay in bed, and Helena found herself looking to her chest to reassure herself that Barbara was breathing. Barbara's eyes were open, but they were staring straight ahead as if it wasn't worth the effort to look anywhere else.

Barbara was the only other person Helena had ever looked up to. And now she was broken.

Suddenly Helena didn't have the energy to be angry anymore.

Even through closed eyelids, Barbara could tell it was still dark when a noise from outside woke her up. She was careful not to move as she recalled a mental map of her hospital room and the surrounding area. The noise had been very soft, but it also had sounded like it came from farther away than the walls would permit…

The window. There was a tree right outside.

Barbara listened intently for the noise to repeat itself, but as the moments stretched on and she still hadn't heard anything, she began to get more anxious. She knew that she could call the policeman posted outside her room, but the noise would probably scare off whoever was outside… or worse, force them into acting.

There was nothing for it. She had to open her eyes.

Carefully, she slowly shifted in the bed and opened her eyes as if she were momentarily rousing from a deep sleep. Instead of looking at the window, she kept her gaze focused on the wall in front of her. Using her peripheral vision (which was better at night) she tried to make out who was hiding in the branches a few feet from the window.

Her heart broke when she saw the long dark hair and the sad eyes that reflected the light from inside the hospital room. Only a child of Bruce's would prefer to watch from outside as she despaired.

But she hadn't given Helena any reason to come inside, had she? Helena needed someone and Barbara couldn't help.

Shame kept her from looking at Helena… from acknowledging the teen's presence or need. But the shame couldn't keep her from remembering her own mother's death or from mourning for Selina and her daughter.

So she stared straight ahead as she cried.

When a lone tear began to trace its way down Barbara's cheek, Helena's heart, already fragile, seemed to shatter into millions of sharp little pieces that pierced her chest.

It wasn't fair.

Her mom hadn't done anything. Neither had Barbara.

She felt like screaming. Barbara was crying and her dad wasn't even noticing. How could he sleep there and not care?

Her grip on the tree branch tightened until she could feel the wood give way slightly beneath her fingers. Unnoticed tears of rage and frustration raced down her cheeks until Helena just couldn't stand to look anymore.

When Barbara's vision finally cleared, Helena was gone. The redhead felt slightly relieved, but she found that she couldn't get back to sleep. She could still feel the weight of that sad gaze pressing down on her.

Losing a parent to the Joker… Helena reminded her so much of Bruce.

"Bruce left. He's gone and no one can find him." She suddenly remembered Dick saying. "You're all Helena has."

It wasn't her fault. What could she do? Helena needed someone else-

"There's no one else!" Tim had told her. "She sits by the pond all by herself, Babs. She's all alone."

But there was nothing she could do! Selina couldn't have known that Barbara would be hurt when she had made arrangements for Helena. Barbara couldn't make a life for Helena. She couldn't force her to the live the kind of life that a paraplegic was forced to live.

There was nothing she could do to help.

"She's been trying to grieve her mom while she waits to find out what's going to happen to her," Dick had said

'I know!' Barbara wailed inside of her mind. 'Helena can't grieve until she feels safe. But she can't feel safe with me! I can't even take care of myself—'

"You will, Babs. You'll get up."/i she suddenly heard Tim saying. i"But that's not what Helena needs."

And suddenly, the analytical part of her brain demanded to know why Tim had come.

As the morning nurse woke Jim up bringing Barbara her breakfast, he noticed that his daughter was staring at him. Disconcerted, he pretended to fuss with his coat and watched out of the corner of his eye as the nurse helped Barbara sit up. The redhead's gaze never left her father. And when the nurse finally left, she was still looking at him.

There was fire underneath that gaze. Somehow, between the time he'd gone to sleep and the time he'd woken, he'd done something very, very wrong.

"Sweetheart?" he asked tentatively.

"Did you give the lawyer those papers I signed?" she asked, something urgent beneath the carefully neutral tone.

Jim cursed mentally. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I know you gave them to me, but I couldn't seem to find them the next morning."

Strangely, Barbara only nodded and looked away. Her fists were clenched at her sides and her jaw was set grimly, but she said nothing more. The fire was still there, but Jim breathed a sigh of relief as he realized it wasn't directed at him.

"Is something wrong?" he finally felt safe enough to ask.

Barbara continued to stare ahead for several more moments, before she turned to him and said in sure tone, "I need to see Helena."

Jim's jaw dropped open. "Barbara, I know you want to help that poor girl, but right now you can't…"

"What?" she challenged, the fire in her eyes suddenly directed at him. "I can't what?"

The commissioner took a deep breath and crossed his arms in front of him, refusing to be baited. "Now isn't a good time."

"There's never a good time to lose a parent," she ground out angrily.

Jim struggled not to lose his temper and said very evenly, "I'm sorry for Helena. I truly am. But I will not allow you to make things worse for yourself. You'll have enough to adjust to as it is-"

"It was the Joker," she interrupted.

Jim flinched.

Barbara's eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. She met her father's gaze squarely, sitting up straight for the first time since she'd been shot. "The Joker killed her mother… and now she's drowning, Daddy. I couldn't stop him from getting me or Selina, but I will stop him from getting Helena."

The commissioner let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh.

"I could use your help," the redhead admitted, still holding her father's gaze. "But I can, and will, do this without you."

Jim looked away and scrubbed his face with his hands. Helena was a good kid, but even the best of kids would have a hard time after seeing their mother killed in front of them. And Helena had an angry streak in her a mile wide that would only be intensified by what had happened to her. Barbara was the same way, really… especially after the shooting. Taking Helena in would only make what was already a hard time for them both even harder.

And yet… he couldn't help but remember the difference in Barbara when she was talking to Tim. When Dick and Alfred had told her that Helena needed her, Barbara was ready to take their heads off. But when Tim said essentially the same thing, she was patient and kind… always aware of the effect she was having on him.

Now she wanted to help Helena. And it was the first time he'd seen his daughter in the young woman healing in the hospital.

For her part, Barbara was already planning ahead to her next move. There were many calls to make, and she had to see if she could get her physical therapist to go along with the plan. If Jessie didn't want to help, she could still enlist Dick and Tim to help her make a break for it, but –

"What would you have done if I had already given the papers to Rutherford?" Jim finally asked.

She looked up. "Tim said he'd been following Helena. He would have known if the papers had been turned in."

He only frowned, not understanding.

"Tim wouldn't have come to try to convince me to take Helena in if everything was already finalized."

Jim's frown only deepened in chagrin.

Barbara laughed.

It had been a long day.

So far, Leslie had set two broken arms and one leg, seen one stab wound, and treated a half dozen cases of pneumonia from the same subsidized housing complex. There were people in the waiting room who'd been there for more than an hour, and the receptionist who volunteered at the clinic had caught pneumonia from the patients.

It had been a really long day.

So when she was looking for her next patient's chart and was startled by an exuberant Dick springing impatiently from the shadows in the corner of her office, she was understandably less than amused. Especially since that particular smile on his face usually meant more trouble for her. Once her heart rate returned to its normal pace, she rubbed her temple with her hand and sighed.

"What did you do?" she asked tiredly.

Dick assumed his most innocent expression. "Who? Me?"

"Don't you try that on me, young man," she said sternly. "I've known you too long."

Dick grinned again. "I didn't do anything," he insisted. "It was all Helena."

Leslie's right hand stayed on her temple and her left reached blindly for a chair. She had a feeling she had better be sitting. "Of course," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "It had to be the only one worse than you."

Dick laughed from way down deep and had to restrain himself from hugging the elderly doctor. "Actually, I'm on an errand for Babs."

Leslie had been in the act of sitting, and now she stood back up, her kind eyes shining with hope and widening with question.

Dick nodded, his grin only broadening. "She wanted me to ask you if Jessie does field trips."

Bursting with joy, Leslie pulled Dick into a hug. He responded by picking her up and twirling her.

Suddenly the day didn't seem quite as bad.