Chapter 9

"And the giant trees, as bare as Death,
Slowly bowed to the great Wind's breath;
And groaned with trying to keep from groaning
Amidst the young trees bending and moaning."
-George MacDonald, Phantastes

"Mr. Rutherford?"

Jake looked up at his secretary from behind his desk.

"A Ms. Gordon is on line one."

Jake blinked as he tried to place the name. Then his eyes widened. "Put her through."

The elderly secretary nodded and closed the door.

Jake picked up the phone a split second after it rang and tried not to get his hopes up. "Ms. Gordon? This is Jake Rutherford. Are you calling about Helena Kyle?"

There was a pause, and then : Yes. I… take it you're familiar with… the circumstances surrounding why I was so long to find out about Helena. :

"The shooting," he verified, not quite sure where this was heading.

: And you're familiar with my… limitations stemming from that?:

Jake sighed; she wasn't taking the girl in, after all. "Yes, Ms. Gordon."

: I've been trying to speak with Helena… I need to know if there's any way my being paralyzed could impact her placement with me. :

He jumped up from his seat and pumped a fist in the air. Taking a moment to compose his voice he said, "Ms. Kyle was very clear in her will. Someone would need to establish that you are not financially capable of providing for a child or that your disability would affect your ability to provide a stable home. "

Thinking that through, he paused for a moment and finally said, "I'm sorry, Ms. Gordon, but I have to ask… Will you be able to live independently?"

: Yes. : The answer was clear and firm.

"Then I see no reason anyone would have to challenge your right to become Helena's guardian. But Ms. Gordon?"

: Yes?: Barbara asked cautiously.

"If anyone tries, they'll have to go through me."

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked, buckling his seat belt.

"Downtown," Dick answered, starting the engine. He didn't like driving the Bentley, but – for a reason he pretended not to understand – Alfred didn't want to ride on the back of his motorcycle. "I figured we could start by looking at Bruce's holdings. They're all earthquake proofed and wheelchair accessible."

"An excellent idea," Alfred said, nodding his approval. "Where shall we start?"

Dick grinned, pulling out into traffic. "The clocktower."

Frowning slightly, the butler started to comment and then changed his mind. The clocktower did seem oddly appropriate. It was close to the center of New Gotham. It had also been recently renovated with extra wide doorways and elevators. Certainly the view was unsurpassed. In fact, now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember that there were several floors vacant at the top because Master Bruce had been considering placing a small stash of Batman's equipment there.

"Are you sure we're not jumping the gun here?" Dick asked, forehead creasing in concern. "Last I heard, Leslie was saying Barbara wouldn't be able to live on her own for a while."

"I will be assisting Ms. Barbara for the foreseeable future," Alfred replied calmly.

"What?" Dick exclaimed, his gaze jerking to the butler. "How'd you pull that off?"

"Master Dick-"

"Right," he interrupted, looking back to the road. "Sorry."

"It has been rather lonely at the manor," Alfred said, answering the young man's earlier question. "And I would much like the opportunity to meet Master Bruce's daughter."

"Genius," Dick said wonderingly, shaking his head. "Sheer genius."

Barbara was drained. Her arms hurt, her back hurt, her stomach hurt, her head hurt… and yet she had more energy than she'd had in weeks. She was doing better. She had been sitting up for four hours, and she still didn't have the type of pain in her spine that meant she'd better lay down. Since she could do more, she felt more confident, and she knew that was contributing to the fact that she no longer felt overwhelmed.

But it was more than that. She cared. There was something she could do. There was a fight she had to win.

And opponent numbers one and two were currently in the hospital room with her. Opponent One was putting the last of her things in her bag, and Opponent Two had just sat down in the chair next to Barbara's bed. Both were completely unaware of the fight that had been brewing in the redhead's mind.

And it was time to change that.

"Jessie?" Barbara asked.

The physical therapist, already halfway to the door, paused.

"How much longer do I have to stay in the hospital?" Barbara asked, coming right to the point.

Jessie straightened, recognizing the challenge. She didn't speak right away, crossing her arms as she thought. "Most people to go a rehabilitation center after an injury like this," she finally ventured.

"No," Barbara said, shaking her head. "All of those are live-in. Selina's lawyer said no one can make a case against my guardianship of Helena as long as I'm living independently."

At Jessie's skeptical look, the redhead added, "I'll have help… Alfred, Bruce Wayne's butler, has said that he'll work for me since Bruce has left."

Jessie sighed. "You're getting stronger more quickly than I expected," the physical therapist admitted, stalling. "If you continue your physical and occupational therapy once you're at home…"

Barbara nodded. It really wasn't a concession since the redhead knew she would need to continue learning, anyway.

"Then I'd sign you out in two weeks," Jessie finished.

Barbara let out a relieved breath and couldn't keep herself from smiling. Somehow she hadn't quite believed the hospital stay would ever be over. "Thank you."

"You did all the work," the Jessie reminded her, making her way out. "See you the same time day after tomorrow?"

"I'll be here," Barbara said ruefully.

Jessie laughed as she shut the door behind her.

The door had hardly shut before Jim asked gruffly, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Barbara took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper under control. The words were carefully measured and enunciated. "The Joker is taking her."

Tears came to Barbara's eyes and she couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice. "Don't you see? He's winning. He took…" The words caught in her throat. Clenching her eyes shut, she tried again. "He already took…"

Shaking her head in frustration, she finally made eye contact with her father. It bothered Jim for a reason he couldn't quite explain that she just accepted that the words would not be said.

But, then, he didn't really want to hear what she couldn't say.

"There's nothing I can do about that now," Barbara finally ground out. "But I'll be damned before I let him have Helena, too."

Jim clenched his eyes shut, remembering a little girl with red hair and freckles holding an oversized suitcase as if it was the last thing in the world she could count on. A wheelchair would not have kept him from that little girl.

It didn't now.

Jim sighed, absently searching his coat pockets.

"You can't smoke in here, Daddy," Barbara gently reminded him.

Jim nodded, standing. "I think I need a bit of fresh air."

Barbara snorted, raising an eyebrow.

As Jim left, he couldn't help but think that his daughter had beat him twice.

A lot of noise. Movement. People were talking. The words danced and moved, flitting just outside of her consciousness.

Helena wasn't sure if they were coming from inside herself or outside.

The smell was the worst… like old lady perfume was fighting with rubbing alcohol… like too much bleach that still couldn't get rid of the blood. It followed her and surrounded her, taking her into a place she couldn't get out of her nightmares.

It was too hard. She couldn't do this. What was she thinking coming to the hospital? She looked around herself frantically. Where… was that the way she came in?

"Helena?"

She turned around, searching for the voice, and didn't realize it was the commissioner until he was standing right in front of her. She gulped.

He had an expression on his face that she couldn't quite figure out. He didn't quite look mad… more like he was very tired. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, reaching for her shoulder.

She jerked back. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, the rehearsed words popping out of their own accord.

Jim put his hand down and took a step back. The silence lengthened as each of them stood awkwardly. Finally Jim crossed his arms in front of him and said, "You know I sat with my daughter every day after her shooting? For weeks, a stranger was lying in that hospital bed. The only time I recognized her was when she slept. Then all the weight would disappear and she looked like… like she was just resting. Like she'd fight when she got her strength up."

Helena watched wide-eyed as his eyes filled with tears that slowly spilled over. He made no move to wipe them away.

"And then she finds out about what happened to your mother, and suddenly worrying about you brings me my daughter back. So I guess I already owe you for that." Suddenly his gaze hardened, and the tears framing it only added to its intensity. "But if I ever find out you hurt her, I will hunt you down myself."

Helena looked away, ashamed. "That won't happen," she said quietly.

In spite of himself, Jim believed her. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. He put his glasses back on, the moment giving him enough time to compose himself. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Then why don't I show you to my daughter's room?"

When I hear the knock at the door, I startle. No one knocks. Doctors, physical therapists, friends, family… they all just walk in. Why the hell would someone knock?

My mouth goes dry. My throat closes. My fists clench around the light blankets. It's the middle of the day, but it's also late at night and I was feeling too safe and I wasn't thinking when the first knock came.

Okay, calm down. Think.

The guard's still posted outside. I would have heard if he'd been killed. Nightwing's placed cameras and motion sensors all over Joker's cell… he would've called me if the Joker had escaped. Joker's still in his cell. He has to be.

Even locked up, he's still influencing me. I clench my eyes shut in frustration. He's still shaping the way I think… the way I live.

No more.

"Come in," I finally call out. And if my words are a little tense, at least they're sure.

Helena opens the door, and the sheer irony of the situation is all that keeps my jaw from dropping open in surprise. I expected her after the first time someone knocked on my door. I wasn't expecting her this time.

The teen steps in and quietly shuts the door behind her. "Hi," she says softly, refusing to meet my eyes. The guilt in the droop of her shoulders and the way she hangs her head makes my heart ache. She reminds me so much of Bruce… and I find that I don't care for the comparison.

And then I remember she hit my father. When did I forget?

"I'm really glad to see you," I say, needing to establish that, while I might be mad, she's still safe. Then I realize I'm out of words. Think, Gordon. "Do you have time to stay a while?" I finally ask.

Helena's gaze goes from my general vicinity to the floor, but she nods.

Great. I'll fill up more time with silence. I don't like the way she's standing so awkwardly at the door, like she'll bolt the first chance she gets. Should I ask her to sit? Will it make her feel cornered?

When did I get so tentative?

"Why don't you sit?" I finally decide to ask, and it doesn't take any effort to keep my voice gentle.

Helena looks around herself and notices the chair next to my bed. She sits gingerly.

I frown, and some of my unease is finally labeled. The kid in front of me isn't the Helena I know. Joker took her. I want her back.

Right the hell now.

Or as soon as I think of something to say. That'll work, too.

"I saw your dad," Helena says suddenly. I must look surprised because she continues hurriedly, "In the hall. He showed me your room."

"That was nice of him," I say slowly.

The silence lengthens as neither of us can think of a way to continue the conversation. Helena looks down to the ground again and begins to tap her foot to an imaginary beat. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, fidgeting with the blanket over my legs.

How am I going to do this? Does she even know I'm supposed to be her guardian? Does she know that's why I've been looking for her? What if she doesn't want to live with me?

What if she does?

How am I going to ask?

"How's school?" pops out instead.

Helena glances up at me in panic, and then looks away again. She gives a disinterested shrug, and I wonder who she thinks she's been fooling.

Well, it's as good an entry into this conversation as anything. Taking a deep breath, I ask, "How often have you been going?"

Helena grimaces, and then sighs in resignation. "I dunno," she says dismissively, shrugging again.

She's probably telling the truth. "You weren't there yesterday," I point out gently.

She starts to look away and then stops herself. I can see her searching my face, so I carefully drop any pretense of a mask. I'm not mad. I'm a little nervous, but I'm more worried than anything. I lost both of my parents. I know the pain she's feeling right now. I can still feel its shadow echoing through the years, and it makes me want to weep for her.

I know I'll never touch that ache Helena's feeling. Like Jim Gordon never touched mine.

And so Joker wins another one.

"I'm sorry I hit your dad," Helena finally says quietly. "I didn't know you were there."

I blink at the non sequitor and say before I can stop myself, "Why? You wouldn't have hit him if you'd known I was there?"

I cringe when Helena looks away again. But when she slowly nods, I get it. All of it.

And then I forget that I feel insecure and worried and out of place. "I'm not going to leave you," I promise.

Her gaze jerks up and she stares at me in surprise and just a hint of fear.

Brilliant. I pushed too hard. I went too fast. What was I thinking? Good one, Gordon. Just lay it all down and don't give her any choice in the matter.

Then she stands up, shaking her head emphatically. "That's not – "

"I'm not like Bruce," I continue, and suddenly I'm not sure who I'm making the promise to. "I didn't break."

Helena freezes, her breath hitching. She starts blinking rapidly, and her face looks entirely too serene. She's trying not to cry.

She needs to cry.

"I'm so sorry, Helena. I'm so sorry. I know it hurts."

Her tears finally spill over and she wipes at them angrily. "Mom didn't mean to leave," she says indignantly, but the anger can't entirely cover the tears.

I try to keep my expression even as I agree, "No, she didn't." Inwardly, I'm reeling. Selina's gone. This whole time I've been focusing on what I need or what Helena needs… but Selina's gone. The Joker got her, too.

My mind goes back to the night of the shooting, and I instantly know what her last few moments were like. Shock. Anger. Terror. Resignation.

Selina was one of my best friends.

She didn't deserve that. No one does. But she didn't. So warm and vibrant and caring and it was right in front of her daughter and her last few moments had been stolen with the rest of her life…

Helena's watching me quietly. The recognition in her eyes astonishes me until I unthinkingly move to touch whatever is tickling my cheeks.

Oh.