Author's Note: I do not own DC or any of the characters. The following story is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes ONLY. It is rated M for Mature for drug use and attempted suicide. Reader discretion is advised.
Summary: You don't realize what you have until it's gone. The story of how Barbara Gordon recalls the last weeks leading up to her becoming paralyzed and the difficult month she spent coping with the aftermath.
7:30 AM | Wayne Mansion | Barbara Gordon's POV
(Beep! Beep! Beep!)
I'm startled by the alarm of my clock and angry with myself for forgetting to switch it off before I went to bed. Although, I'm a little relieved because I was having a weird dream. I was in a public restroom ⏤ with me; it's always a public restroom with multiple stalls or a large shopping mall someplace with lots of people and very little privacy. Anyhow, I was in the lady's room surrounded by other women, some older, some younger than me, who just got done or had to use the restroom much like myself. I search for an available stall to use but can't find one that is empty or clean enough to suit me. Then, all of a sudden, the women simultaneously stop what they're doing to stare at me, which is creepy, to say the least, but before I can find out what happens next, I was woken by my alarm.
I've been meaning to change the setting from ALARM to RADIO. I'd much rather wake up to the pleasant sound of music instead of having a heart attack from the alarm. I roll over to turn it off, noticing the clock reads 7:30 AM, which in my mind is too early to start my day. I roll onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. I contemplate the idea of getting out of bed anyways but the clock changes to 7:31 AM, so I decide to stay in bed until it reads 7:35 AM.
I close my eyes, waiting for the time to change. C'mon. Change already. 7:35 AM, that's when we're going to get out of bed. Open your eyes. No. Don't! If you stare at the clock, it will take even longer for the time to change. Speaking of change, why not just change the setting now? If you wait to do it later, you know you'll forget and have a repeat of right now. I really don't want to because I have to open my eyes to do that.
I really have to go to the bathroom. Screw what the clock reads. Just get out of bed and go to the bathroom. That is a legitimate enough reason to get up despite the time. No. You promised yourself you would lay here until the clock reads 7:35 AM. We're sticking to the plan. Okay, just open your eyes. What's the worst that could happen?
I roll over to look at the clock while slowly opening my eyes. YES! 7:35 AM. Go to the bathroom before the clock changes again.
I get up by swinging my legs over the side of my bed. I stretch on my way to the bathroom, which are literally five steps across the hall from the entrance of my bedroom. While in the bathroom, I decided to take a shower. I noticed Alfred placed clean towels on the towel rack. I strip out of my pajamas; take my hair out of a ponytail, and hop in the shower.
ARGH! I'm not the first person to use the shower.
Despite the bathmat being dry, there are water droplets at the bottom of the tub, and the showerhead was repositioned from the last time I used it. That can only mean one thing: Dick is at the manor too.
I'm willing to bet there isn't any hot water either.
I regulate the water then reposition the showerhead away from me; so I don't get scolded or freeze. I reach out my hand to test the water, which feels lukewarm at best, so I know I have to take a shower in under fifteen minutes.
Knowing that, I decide to turn the showerhead; the water runs down my back easing the tension of my aching muscles from last night's patrol. My eyes close at the relief from the sensation of the tension being released. But I quickly open them reminding myself of my limited window to finish showering. Sometime later, I shut off the water, open the sliding glass door to retrieve my towel, and then wrap it around myself before stepping out onto the bathmat. I collect the rest of my belongings that I scattered throughout the bathroom then retreat back across the hall to my room.
On the short trip, I accidentally bump into someone. "Oh, sorry, I didn't think to look before leaving the bathroom..." To my horror, it's Bruce.
Oh man, he's not usually up or around at this hour. Why me? Why not just take off my towel and have a nightmare!
At first, he turns away, making an effort to cover his eyes, but once he realizes I'm wrapped in a towel and not completely naked, I catch him peeking. My cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment as I start to blush.
Bruce just stands there for a moment then begins to bend down as if to pick something up. I wonder why but quickly realize he's retrieving the scrunchy that I dropped. "Here, this is... What is this?" He asks.
I politely take it from him. "It's my, uh, it's called a scrunchy or a ponytail holder or hair tie..."
Bruce smiles at me while watching me fumble over my words of how to explain something so simple.
Why do I have to make everything more complicated than what it actually is? He doesn't actually care what it is! Just take it from him and shut up!
Bruce continues on his way down the hall, not bothering to turn back around to take a second glance at me. I dart into my bedroom, close the door and lock it with hopes of avoiding any further embarrassment. I lean up against the door to take a moment to breathe, but as I exhale, the towel drops. Just then, I hear what sounds like someone else in the room with me and hear a distinct "thud" as though someone has bumped into something.
"Good heavens, Miss Gordon!"
"Alfred?!" He must've come in here to turn down the bed while I was in the shower. Now I'm sure this is a living nightmare!
"Miss, I'm terribly sorry. I was just on my way out."
I use my hands to cover myself up, but the damage is already done. I watch, as Alfred, who I imagine, feels just as mortified as I attempt to leave my room. He fumbles around, feeling for the doorknob, nearly tripping over my towel trying to get out. I re-lock the door once he's left the room so I can change without any further interruptions. I feel so humiliated by the back-to-back experiences that once I'm done dressing I can't even bring myself to go downstairs for breakfast.
Instead, I decide to sneak out of the window and climb down the trellis. Getting out of the window is the easy part but climbing down the trellis proved difficult. I am halfway down when my pant leg, along with my left foot, gets tangled in the vines, causing me to lose my footing.
Oh crap!
I can feel myself falling but have no way to stop it. I close my eyes tightly, bracing myself for the impact I know my body is about to make with the ground. But I feel something stop me. No, it's someone. I can feel myself being carried, so I open my eyes to see who it is; it's Dick. He's looking at me, smiling from just having caught me after falling.
I feel flattered but further embarrassed, knowing the only reason he was there to catch me meant he must've been watching me.
"You should leave the acrobatics to me," Dick says, smiling while still holding me.
My eyes lock with his, as I lay in his arms, unable to speak. "You can, uh, put me down now."
"Yes," Dick nervously clears his throat. "Of course."
I straighten myself out after he sets me down. It's weird seeing him now. Considering it's been months since I had seen him last.
You should thank him; if not for him, you could have been seriously hurt. Dick turns to walk away. "Wait! I wanted to thank you." He walks back towards me. I then begin to wonder, was he at the right place at the right time, or did he, in fact, watch me make a fool of myself for his own amusement?
Dick has an amused look on his face crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What were you doing sneaking out of the window anyway, Babs?"
Babs. I used to love it when he called me that. "That's a fair question. I, uh, I..."
Knowing the truth behind how I ended up in this situation made me not want to answer for myself. What would I say?
But of course, Dick. Let me tell you all about how you're no longer the only member of the Bat-Family to have seen me naked. Both instances of which were accidents, by the way. I nearly died of embarrassment from Bruce seeing me in nothing but a towel, and on top of it, Alfred caught me stark naked in my bedroom while turning down the bed. I was so mortified that I felt like I had no other choice but to literally escape the situation by going out of the window.
I step towards him, putting weight on my left ankle, which hurts like hell causing me to grimace in pain. "Ow!"
"Easy, are you all right?" Dick offers himself for balance, assisting me to a nearby bench.
I sit down while he kneels with my foot propped up on his knee to examine my ankle. He unties my shoe torturously slow then gently removes it from my foot. My God, why did I break up with him again? He pushes up the pant leg of my blue jeans around my calf to get a better look at my ankle.
His hands begin gently massaging my foot, which feels great, until he travels to the injured area, sending shooting pain through me. "Careful! That hurts!"
"I know. It looks like a sprain. We'd better get up inside to treat this."
"No! I mean no."
Dick gives me a puzzled look. I understand his confusion. I still haven't explained myself even though he gave me the opportunity. Although, at this point, facing Bruce and Alfred after the humiliation of this morning will hurt a lot less than the pain I am currently experiencing from my sprained ankle.
"Why not?" asks Dick. "If we don't get some ice, it will swell even worse."
I was in no position to argue with him. He helped me up off the bench; hobble across the yard, and back into the mansion. We make it past the threshold to the entryway, where Dick thwarts me from going the direction I want, which is the sitting room.
The farther away from Bruce and Alfred, the better. Bruce is probably in the Batcave or Wayne Tower, and Alfred is probably in the kitchen.
Dick walks us past the sitting room altogether, and I know we are headed straight towards the kitchen. No, anywhere but in there! He ignores my silent pleas and pulls up two chairs from the dining table, one for me to sit on and a second for me to prop my leg on. While he's doing this, my eyes are frantically scanning the room to see if Alfred or Bruce are anywhere in sight.
"Wait here, Babs," says Dick.
As if I have a choice.
"I'll be right back; I have to get something."
"Wait? What do you have to get? Where are you going? Hey! Don't leave me here!"
It's no use. Dick has left the room. Alfred enters the dining room, pretending to act nonchalant while dusting a bowl of wax fruit. God, he's so ashamed he can't even look at me! I hear footsteps behind me, so I turn to look in hopes that it's Dick returning but see that it's Bruce instead. Unlike Alfred, who couldn't bear to glance in my direction, Bruce takes immediate notice of me. But he turns to walk away until he sees that I'm injured.
I can hear Dick's footsteps from behind me as he joins me in the dining room. "Babs, I've got the... ice pack.
"What happened?" asks Bruce with genuine concern in his voice.
"I literally caught her from climbing down the trellis," replies Dick.
My cheeks begin to burn again with embarrassment as I start to blush. Alfred has stopped pretending to dust the fruit bowl, joining the huddle of guys I am now surrounded by. Dick applies the pack of ice to my ankle, soothing the pain.
"What were you doing climbing out of the window?" inquired Bruce.
"She won't answer," says Dick. "I asked her the same thing earlier. What makes you think she'll answer you?"
Before I can answer for myself, Alfred speaks up. "Master Bruce, I require some assistance in the kitchen. Won't you please join me?"
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Since when do you need help in the kitchen, Alfred?"
The butler begins the usher Bruce out of the dining room and into the kitchen, where I imagine they exchange tales of their awkward morning encounters with me. Meanwhile, I am left alone with Dick, who is still drilling me for an answer of his own. Luckily, Alfred and Bruce return from their chat, putting a stop to any questions Dick might have by simply telling him it doesn't concern him.
They take me to the doctor to be on the safe side, who confirms it is, in fact, just a sprain, and I'm to treat it by wrapping, icing, and elevating my left for the next two weeks. They were the longest two weeks of my life. I hated not being able to fight crime, let alone go out on patrol. Being cooped up in bed was no fun but little did I know it would pale in comparison to the events that had yet to happen.
In three months' time, I'd be wishing a sprained ankle's all I had. Soon I would use the use of my legs completely. By the time I was done serving my recovery sentence was, unfortunately, the same time Dick had to return to Bludhaven. I never really did figure out why he came back to Gotham. Perhaps he just got lonely and wanted to be surrounded by some familiar faces, or maybe Bruce really did just need his help with something.
2:15 AM | Wayne Mansion | 2-Weeks Later | Barbara Gordon's POV
What I do know is I'll never forget the last time I did see Dick. It was late in the evening; Bruce was away on patrol watching over the city while Alfred was dismissed for the evening. Dick was the only one there to take care of me, but he'd passed out in an armchair he pulled up by my bedside.
I sat up, leaning over to try to reach the crutches so I could go to the bathroom but ended up knocking them over and out of reach altogether. The sound startled Dick awake. Just a little farther. I leaned as far as I could to try to reach the crutches that Alfred left propped up against the doorframe. Why did he leave them so far away? My fingertips are just able to make contact, but they force the crutches farther away, causing them to fall over. Damn it! That's not what I meant to do. I hear a soft drawn-out snoring noise coming from Dick, who wakes up from the sound of the crutches falling.
I glance over to see that I woke him up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake up. I just have to go to the bathroom."
He gets up from the armchair approaching my side of the bed. Until that point, I am under the impression Dick is going to retrieve the crutches for me to use. I couldn't be more wrong. Instead, he steps over the crutches, scooping me up in his arms carrying me to the bathroom. It makes for the longest, most romantic five steps of my entire life. Dick sets me down on the toilet, leaving the room, shutting the door, allowing me my privacy. Once I'm finished doing my business, he opens the bathroom door. He attempts to lift me with the intention of carrying me back to bed, but I protest his actions.
"Y'know, you don't have to carry me."
"I know. But you should keep your weight off of that ankle."
I don't argue, allowing him to pick me up to carry me back to bed. On the short journey back, I decided to try something with hopes of not crossing a line. I make the conscious decision that I'm going to go in for a kiss. Dick lays me down on the bed, and just as I release my arms from around his neck, I pull him down to me, so his lips meet mine for a kiss.
My eyes close as I cherish the moment. I don't feel him resisting. That's good. Mmmmm. I forgot how soft his lips are. The kiss is firm yet gentle and open-mouthed by no tongue.
Just then, I feel Dick reach for my face to deepen the kiss. My eyes open long enough for me to see his close, and I shut mine too. It lasts for fifteen seconds ending as he inhales, then exhales, and pulls away to look at me. There's an unspoken bond at that moment between us as everything is conveyed in that one look after our shared kiss. As sure as that look in his eyes is, it quickly fades, turning to one I've seen before. A glint of uncertainty, the one Dick used every time before we officially broke up.
"I'm sorry, Babs I..." is all he's able to say.
I'm left laying there feeling like a moron expecting him to walk out of the room altogether. But instead, Dick just stands there as I look up at him. That same look on his face. He rubs the back of his neck out of nervous habit.
I begin beating myself up mentally for having the idea in the first place. What possessed you to think kissing him was a good idea in the first place? Why, why did I have to kiss him! Just as I'm about to apologize for my actions, he explains himself.
"I, I'm with someone. I didn't know how to tell you."
Is that the only reason he came back to Gotham to tell me he's with someone else? My heart breaks a little hearing the news. I also feel a little jealous, which surprises me because I didn't think I was the jealous type.
"Her name is Starfire. Technically it's Koriand'r, but she goes by Kori for short. She's a superhero too. I met her when I was with the Teen Titans. I actually think you'd like her."
I'm livid. My heart and ankle are in too much pain for me to think clearly. I try to react as calmly as possible. I muster a little smile before replying. "I'm happy for you." Unable to look at Dick any longer, I turn my head away from him.
"Babs, please don't shut me out."
What I say next comes out harsher than intended. "Don't "Babs" me. You don't get to "Babs" me after telling me that!"
I take pity on myself, which is not something I usually do. I also start to cry, another rarity. What Dick does next is completely unexpected, which is crawl in bed next to me. He holds me, assuring that no one and nothing can replace what we have and that there will always be a special place for me in his heart. He's such a boy scout, but I love him. I'll always love him. I feel myself relax as I fall asleep in his arms, but when I awake the next morning, he's gone. The rest is history. A week later, my ankle healed, Dick left, and three months later, I had my accident, if you can even call it that.
7:45 PM | Wayne Mansion | 1-Month Later | Barbara Gordon's POV
It's now a month after my accident, and I'm bound to this stupid chair at the mercy of around-the-clock care provided by Alfred and Bruce. I wait until dinner that night to break the news that I no longer want to live with them at the mansion. Bruce is argumentative, but I make a compelling argument the mansion simply isn't handicap accessible; the bedrooms mine included are all on the second floor, so Bruce has been carrying me like a small child for the past few weeks up to and down the stairs. I always pictured being carried in his arms. I just never imagined having to lose the use of my legs for it to come true.
Once Alfred is done clearing the table from dinner, I tell him to draw me a bath. Bruce carries me upstairs to the guest bathroom testing the water to make sure it's not too hot. He insists on sitting in the bathroom with me to ensure my safety. I tell him I may not have the use of my legs, but that doesn't mean I can't use them to kick his butt. I'll be damned if he sits in to watch me while I bathe. Bruce reassures me that he'll be right outside the door if I need him. I lock the door then listen through, only to hear him pull up a chair right outside the door.
I wheel away from the door catching a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the door. I look tired; I look defeated; I feel depressed. I try to see if my reflection is visible in the mirror that hangs just above the sink, but it's no use. I can just about see the top of my head. I'm definitely one of those people who are long in the legs but short in the torso. It dawns on me that the mirror also doubles as a medicine cabinet.
Once I manage to get the cabinet door open, I notice a pill bottle on the first shelf. With the help of a loofah brush, I am able to reach the pills. The label reads ZOLPIDEM prescribed to BRUCE WAYNE by doctor LESLIE THOMPKINS. These are sleeping pills! I see the date they were prescribed, noting they were given to him a little after the Jason Todd tragedy. That was a difficult time for Bruce; he really did have trouble sleeping after that.
I figure, what harm could it be to take a few myself? So I pop a couple in my mouth. I'm unable to put the pills back in the medicine cabinet, so I just leave them on the counter near the sink. I undress then lift myself out of my wheelchair and into the tub. As I submerge myself into the water, it feels so good to have a moment alone so I can relax. At this point, I've been in the bathroom for at least thirty minutes.
After a while, I start to feel the effects of the medicine kick in as I begin to drift off to sleep. I can feel myself slowly but surely sinking in the bathtub but am unable and unwilling to stop it from happening. Suicidal thoughts flood my mind that I've never thought before, such as If I were to die, would anyone miss me? Maybe it's better this way, just drift away.
The water level is just above my bust line. My eyelids get heavy as I sink further. The water level is up to my neck. I sink a little further. The water level is at my nose, where I continue to sink effortlessly. Bruce knocks on the door to check on me, but when I don't respond right away, he kicks the door down. It startles me, but I am unable to react accordingly since I'm under the influence of prescription medication. I hear him call for me, but my response is a gargling sound from me being completely submerged underwater.
"BARBARA!"
Bruce quickly gets over his own embarrassment from my nudity once he realizes I'm drowning in the bathtub. He is but a blur to me as I force my eyes open to watch through the water. Bruce stands over the tub, pulling me up and out, carrying my soaking wet, drugged-out, paraplegic body over to the bed. He screams for Alfred to call an ambulance then spots the pill bottle on the sink. Bruce races over to it to see how many are left in the bottle. Meanwhile, I lay there soaking wet, nude, shivering, going in and out of consciousness and struggling with whether or not I want to be saved.
"Barbara, can you hear me? It's Bruce. How many pills did you take?"
He grabs me by the shoulders, expecting an answer, and does something completely out of character. Although my vision is blurred I know Bruce began to cry because I felt his tears fall into my face as he cradled my head to his chest. All I remember after that is being hospitalized for how long, I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say overnight and was discharged the next morning. Dad brought me back to the mansion where he and Bruce ambushed me. Between the two of them, I was more afraid of Bruce than my dad if you can believe it.
Bruce sat at the head of the dining room table upon my arrival. "Thank you, Jim. I'll take it from here."
My dad wheeled me up to the table, where he left me alone to talk with Bruce. I sat at one end of the table while Bruce sat clear at the other end. Rather than get up, I think he purposefully sat that far apart from me for dramatic effect. So he could do what he did next, taking the pill bottle rolling it clear across the length of the table without falling off. It stopped in front of me.
I knew a lecture would follow, so I tried to stop it by speaking first. "Listen, I know what I did was wrong..."
Bruce furiously slams his hands down on the table, causing me to jump. "NO, You knew!" His voice, rising with each syllable echoing throughout the walls causing me to feel smaller. "You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew it was wrong, and yet you went through with it anyway." He shook his head disapprovingly. "I thought you knew better, Barbara? I thought that you knew of all of the decisions and choices we're forced to make that suicide is NOT one of them!" Bruce got up from his seat, making his way over to sit in a chair closer to mine. "I want to know why."
I swallow hard. "Why did I do what I did?"
"No. Why you didn't tell me how truly depressed you felt. Why you didn't feel like you could tell me and why you felt you had to hide it from me."
I got defensive with him. "Look who's talking Mister-stuff-all-my-emotions-deep-down into my core to the point they've started to rot. "I don't want to feel my feelings. It's scary!" With however long you've been playing superhero it's no wonder you aren't afraid of the villains. No! You're afraid of your own feelings!"
Bruce shoots me an unamused look before he takes his turn to speak again. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It is scary feeling something for the people that you love." He scoots out of his chair, exiting the room.
"Don't take it so personally, Miss Gordon," says Alfred from behind.
Had he been there the whole time? Alfred steps into my view, pulling up the chair Bruce was in next to mine. "Why not? Isn't that his intention to make those around him feel smaller and less significant than himself."
"Master Bruce has experienced more pain and trauma in a lifetime than anyone should."
I avert my eyes from Alfred's, unable to look at him simply staring down at my lap. "Not that I would wish it on anyone, but until he loses the use of his legs, I seriously doubt that."
Alfred frowns. "I assure you, Miss Gordon, he may not know what it's like to lose the use, or feeling in his limbs, but he has experienced the pain of loss."
"He doesn't strike me as the kind of person who's afraid of losing anything or anyone."
"On the contrary, my dear, he was afraid of losing you."
This caught my attention. I direct my eyes on Alfred and see the sincerity and genuineness of what he said to me. "Really?" I feel like a jerk for suggesting that Bruce has no feelings.
"He might not know how to show it, but he does care."