ACT VII

Helena let out a low groan as she shuffled another load of dirty drink glasses into the back of the bar, her back and shoulders aching after several hours of grunt work. After settling the latest tray in a sinkful of glassware waiting to be put into the industrial dishwasher that did glasses by the ton every night after work, she glanced at her watch, noting the number of hours left on her shift with a soft groan. She had a job---albeit a lousy one as a barback at one of the college hangouts where the beer flowed fast and furious during the Friday and Saturday night, and the frat boys were slowly but surely learning there was at least one girl in the place who didn't appreciate being grabbed. So far she hadn't had to break any wrists, though she was seriously debating the option. The Alpha Tau guys were particularly obnoxious when they were drunk, and they were always drunk.

Forcing down a tired sigh, she grabbed a fresh crate of mugs and ran them out to the bartender, valiantly struggling to ignore the pain in her feet. She wasn't even a bartender, just the poor sod schlepping glasses, restocking the liquor, cleaning up messes, bussing tables, and occasionally taking orders when things got really wild, which meant she got ten cents on the dollar of the bartender's tips, and twenty percent off the food---mostly french fries and fried cheese sticks, both of which were mildly edible as opposed to the burgers and dogs they served. She'd seen the ingredients on the hot dog packs, and what the hamburger looked like raw---she hadn't known before that meat came in that color---no way in hell was she touching those.

It had never occurred to her that she might get out into the world and find out that crime fighting was actually easier than real life. As a black-garbed vigilante stalking the night she'd never needed to worry about the mundane realities of making the rent, stopped up plumbing, fighting with the landlord, breaking glasses, or a myriad of other boring details. Barbara had paid the bills and handled the intel, Alfred had seen to matters of personal comfort, and Helena had handled the ass kicking. She found she rather missed that division of assignments. She was good at ass kicking. Cooking, laundry, and finances were another matter entirely.

She reracked the latest batch of clean mugs for the bartenders on duty, her mind still on other things, though she was aware of the speculative glances Bill Chambers, the older the two 'tenders, threw her way. He'd been hitting on her virtually since she'd gotten the job, and tended to leer even when not actively pursuing. He also liked to 'accidentally' grab her ass now and then. She would have preferred to break his arm. Unfortunately, he was best buddies with the owner, and it would probably cost her the job which, cruddy as it was, she still needed.

She'd managed to get a bank officer to explain the financial reports Barbara had brought over, and the money had seemed like a huge sum until she'd started calculating just how much she needed to cover her rent, food, clothes, and everything else, then it started dwindling rapidly in her head. No two ways, a job was an utter necessity if she was going to avoid having to slink back to the clocktower to beg for a handout in fairly short order. And no way in hell was she going to do that. No, this time, if someone gave ground, it was going to have to be Barbara. Three weeks apart had given her just enough equilibrium to make that decision. She'd been pining after the other woman for years, and all it had gotten her was an ever-thicker wall between them. Not this time. This time the ball was in Barbara's court. And if she didn't want to play, then maybe it was time for Helena to just grow the fuck up, accept it, and move on.

Even as that thought went through her head, it struck her as mildly comedic given that it didn't seem to be working. Oh, she'd tried, but ... well....

Oh hell, who was she kidding? The chances of that happening were almost nonexistent. Three weeks away and her feelings were no less intense. And no more stable. In the course of the average day, she whipsawed between love, anger, resentment, the certainty that Barbara would appear at any moment and beg her to come back, and the terror that she'd never see the other woman again. Meanwhile sleep was close to impossible and seldom restful when it came, broken as it was by dreams and nightmares that never failed to leave her emotionally devastated. They ranged from tormentingly furious, to kinky as hell, to sweetly erotic, but they all left her shaking for one reason or another ... and Barbara was always the key factor, whether they were fighting, making love, or doing both.

It was enough to make her half crazy to the point that she regularly fantasized about going back and not stopping until she had Barbara in bed and moaning her name. She shivered as a fantasy slid through her brain, her attention momentarily swallowed up by the near palpable thought of blunted nails digging into her shoulders, low moans echoing in her mouth, shared sweat coating bare skin, the taste of silky flesh on her tongue, the smell of--

"Hey, Kyle," Bill Chambers' voice shattered the momentary illusion, and she glanced back as she realized she'd stood frozen for a second or two, "the boss doesn't pay you to stand around. Table four needs cleanup."

Right. Back to cleaning up dirty drink glasses. It would have been infinitely more fun to heave a few of them at Chambers' head, but she still needed the job ... at least ... well ... for now, though some part of her still hoped that maybe later ... well ... it wouldn't be necessary.

And in the meantime, Helena would just ignore the homesickness, the loneliness, and the general lack of focus by working until her feet hurt like hell and she never wanted to see another frat boy as long as she lived. Of course the frat boy thing had come about five minutes after she met her first one, so it wasn't much of a stretch, but still.... She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this.

She was nearly finished clearing the table when a small crowd entered, their voices cheerfully raucous. She glanced up, then stiffened when she saw a tall, bearded, bear of a man slide an arm around the slender figure at his side, laughing as he swung her around, his voice rising above the usual bar chatter. "Rack 'em up, bartender, the doctor is in the house."

It struck Helena that by the look of things, racking them up would be on the redundant side as Allison Robicheau squirmed in his hold, nearly stumbling when her feet hit the floor again.

"Danny," she chided, her voice happily slurred, "try not to be too big a pain in the ass, would you?" Somebody'd been barhopping big time by the look of it.

A blonde woman, cute in a slightly zaftig way, leaned over Robicheau's shoulder, sounding no more sober than the others. "Doc," she said pointedly, "try to just kick back and enjoy it for once." Judging by the way the brunette jumped, the blonde goosed her from behind as she offered a bleary grin. "Tomorrow, you can be your usual self and torment your students, but dammit, tonight, eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we graduate."

"I think it's still officially a couple of weeks away ... and tomorrow's Sunday ... no students to torment ... dammit," the brunette riposted, the smartass tone trailing off into a laugh as someone else grabbed her from behind by slinging an arm around her neck. Helena wasn't entirely certain of the gender of the latest one, just that Kool Aid was no better a hair dye now than it had been when she was in high school.

"Stop being a hopeless tightass for just one night ... Doctor," the lanky androgyne chided, adding extra emphasis to the final word. There was a chorus of agreement from the rest of the small group, though their answers were mixed with laughter.

"Love you too, guys, I just--" The grad student's voice chopped off rather abruptly as her gaze accidentally landed on Helena's lean frame and brown eyes clashed with blue.

Helena straightened, tossing the last of the glasses into the bus-tub and slinging the bar rag over her shoulder, her expression silently defiant. She hadn't heard from the other woman since the night of Alfred's visit when they'd talked for hours about everything but emotions or feelings, arguing art, history, and politics with the ease of two people who knew far too much.

Then the other woman had moved to leave, and Helena had found herself afraid of being alone again, terrified of the whispers of her own mind and the mental games that seemed to torment her whenever things got quiet. She'd touched a slender shoulder lightly --wishing it were more muscled, but willing to settle---her tone openly pleading when she'd admitted she didn't want to be alone. She'd seen the reticence and used her innate charisma to turn the tide. Before it was over with, they'd wound up in bed instead, bodies touching, moving together....

Ally'd been gone in the morning without a word or a hint of communication since.

It had left Helena feeling anything but good about the situation, even though she knew logically, she was the one who'd set the rules of engagement. Still, she couldn't help but resent the way the other woman had turned away so easily and so totally---too much like Barbara. So much so that her resentments of one woman blended into her resentments of the other, magnifying both grudges in illogical ways. She supposed she should let it go, but that just wasn't possible. A hint of a sneer curving her lips, she hefted her load and did a neat turn on her heel, pointedly ignoring the other woman as she headed toward the back kitchen.

Thankfully, she had work to do in the back, so she could escape the sounds of happy laughter and teasing jokes. She didn't feel like listening to other people enjoying themselves when, for three weeks, she'd been doing well when she worked her mood all the way up to miserable, and she felt best when she was too tired to think. Mostly she worked, and when not working, she tried to sleep, and when she was tired of staring at the ceiling, she hit the clubs and danced until she was completely mindless. Despite the offers that invariably came her way, she'd avoided repeating the trap of losing herself in anonymous sex. Somehow it no longer felt so anonymous. She already had enough complications in her life from that sort of thing. She didn't need anymore.

So she buried herself in work. It was mindless and physical, and both qualities appealed to Helena. Work, she'd learned, was a decent escape from her own thoughts. Ignoring any tasks on the floor, she dug in, rearranging and cleaning out the main stockroom ... right up until she became aware of a prickling at the back of her neck. The sensation was familiar enough that she instantly recognized it. Crouched down and glaring at a row of bottles, she shifted her weight, automatically on the defense as she came around in a slow pivot that put her weight on the knee she lowered to the cement floor. She relaxed considerably when she laid eyes on the figure leaning against the door jamb, arms folded across her chest, silently watching. As their eyes met, she raised an eyebrow.

Blue eyes turned flinty. "No customers allowed in the back, Ma'am," Helena said, her voice dripping icicles. "The manager wouldn't like it if he found you back here."

The other woman shrugged, unimpressed by the insulting tone. "I just looked like I knew where I was going. I doubt it'll be a problem."

It was the sort of thing Barbara had said somewhere in the past, and the attitude she often took in dealing with things. It made Helena's teeth grit. Moving almost too gracefully---Huntress mode engaged, though she kept her powers at bay---she rose, a mocking smile on her lips. "Not supposed to talk to the customers ... Ma'am," she added, her tone pointed.

Allison had the good graces to flinch. "Oka-aay," she exhaled after a beat, "I guess I deserved that."

Helena just glared, mouth pursed angrily, then folded her arms across her own chest, her nonchalant pose a complete work of fiction, and not an especially believable one either.

Another moment of uncomfortable silence passed before the older woman dropped her hands to her sides, fidgeting under the intense gaze directed her way. There was something very disconcerting about the way the younger woman was capable of taking control of a situation, her self-confidence and steely-eyed looks more than a little intimidating. Certainly far more so than most people her age. "Look," Allison said after a moment, "I just wanted to make certain that...." She paused for a long moment, apparently dissatisfied with whatever she'd been about to say. "Are you okay?" she asked at last.

Full lips twisted and Helena shook her head. "Don't pretend you give a shit," she growled. She was sick and tired of people who offered all the right words and made her feel like she actually mattered, then turned around the first chance they got and made it obvious that it was all a lie. "We both know you wouldn't be talking to me if you hadn't stumbled in here with your friends." It wasn't like the other woman had looked her up on purpose.

Gnawing on her lower lip, Allison fought the temptation to back away from the angry young woman glaring at her. Social skills were clearly not Helena's strong suit. "Believe it or not ... I do care ... it's just that--"

"That it was embarrassing that you fucked someone young enough to be your kid," Helena snapped, wanting the other woman gone and hitting hard to achieve that end. She didn't want to feel, and certainly didn't want to be reminded of all the emotions this woman brought up through her similarity Barbara.

Brown eyes sharpened. "Only if I was exceptionally precocious," Allison shot back, then continued, her voice hard, "Just for the record, your first shot's free, second one's highly discounted. Along about number three, I start charging full price." It was a clear warning shot across Helena's bow. She wasn't going to take any abuse.

Helena looked away, teeth grinding furiously, but she didn't mouth off this time.

After a long moment spent in separate corners, Allison tried again. "Now, believe it or not, I do give a damn," she began carefully "...and I'm sorry if I hurt you when I left--"

"To quote you, I guess I deserved that," Helena ground out, the admission making her want to scream and rage.

"Not particularly," Allison sighed, then took a moment to gather herself, suddenly wishing she'd followed her initial instincts and avoided this confrontation altogether ... which led her to wonder why the hell it was that she kept doing things she ought not when she was around this woman. "It's just that you're very ... hard ... on my ... equilibrium," she admitted haltingly, then paused for a second, shaking her head, her expression perplexed. "Getting out just seemed like the best idea for all involved ... because things get out of hand when I'm around you. I intend to walk out ... and somehow find myself in a bed with no sheets ... again." She exhaled an annoyed sigh and reached up to ruffle her hair. "Which just isn't good for either of us." It was just that she kept finding that charm turned her way, and saying no ultimately seemed anywhere from impossible to downright idiotic. The younger woman continued to glare. "It would be too easy to slide into using each other. I'm past the point in my life where that's something I'm willing to be a part of." She wasn't in love with the younger woman, and Helena wasn't in love with her ... and the sex was too tangled and confused to be even remotely healthy. Simple, happy-go-lucky fornication it wasn't. That she might have been able to deal with.

"Right," Helena bit out, teeth grinding together. And once again she was the one out in the cold. Light fingers reached up to the hair that fell across her brow back, drawing her head up as she twitched away from the faint caress. "Don't," she hissed and backed up a half step, lip curling into a jeer at the pity she saw in the other woman's expression. It was no more real than anything else she'd pretended to feel. She was just another one who knew how to float above the real world, making people think she cared when her brain was probably somewhere else entirely. Maybe it was some weird skill that teachers learned.

Allison dropped her arm back to her side, struck once again by the young woman's fierce beauty. As young as she was, there was something frighteningly experienced in those eyes, as though she'd been born already knowing more about the world than anyone else, and her youth was more a matter of still figuring out how it all fit together than a lack of knowledge. "Have you talked to her?" she asked at last.

No doubt who 'her' referred to.

Helena's eyes slid to the side, focusing on a point somewhere in the distance, and shook her head. "She knows how to find me," she growled. Barbara had proven that much.

"And you know where to find her, I'm assuming," Allison pointed out with quiet logic.

Helena winced. Yeah, she knew, except she wasn't going back there, especially since she wasn't sure what kind of welcome she'd find. "I'm always the one who gives in ... does things her way." She shook her head. "Not this time."

That declaration was met by a long moment of total silence, then Allison reached out, resting a hand lightly on Helena's shoulder, drawing her attention back up. "Let me give you a piece of advice ... talk to her ... call ... write a letter ... something--" Maybe then she could stop feeling so damned responsible for a situation over which she had no control.

"You don't understand--" Helena snapped, only to find herself interrupted.

"Maybe not ... but I'll tell you what I do understand, lines of communication degrade very quickly ... anger builds up, multiplies, and even when it fades, there's an ugly kind of resentment left in its place ... that kind of bitterness ... it has a habit of destroying people." It was said in a tone of voice that said she knew too well how easily things could go that way.

Helena's lips pursed. It was the story of her life ... then again she was more comfortable with anger anyway. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Actually, I was thinking of her," Allison said softly, surprised to feel so much sympathy for a woman she'd never met, could only even imagine through the subtle clues expressed as much by what Helena didn't say as what she did. She'd managed to assemble all the clues Helena steadfastly refused to see into a picture that the younger woman simply wouldn't understand---even though it might well be the answer to her every dream. It had to be a special kind of hell to want what you couldn't have---what you couldn't even contemplate wanting for fear of what it would make you. She was barely dealing with her own actions, and could barely imagine the daily temptation of the raw longing that glittered in blue eyes at the mere mention of the mysterious Barbara's name. To have resisted so long, whether or not one was really interested---and Allison was oddly certain that Barbara, whoever she was, was more than just interested---was an impressive feat. Hell, she was doing well when she made it for five minutes every time those eyes turned her way. And she wasn't even in love, just somebody with healthy hormones. She couldn't imagine holding out for years, especially if there was real emotion there. Instinct told her denial had played a healthy part in the successful effort.

That got a bark of grim laughter from Helena. "Oh, don't worry, she's fine ... probably relieved to be rid of me." Except she couldn't help but remember the shattered look in Barbara's eyes just before she'd turned and fled Helena's tiny studio apartment. Helena had tried to chalk it up to a dozen different things, but she always came back to that look of pain ... and it made her ... what? Hurt? Want? Afraid? She didn't even know how to categorize the emotion. She just knew she was afraid to find out it was something other than the hurt and loss some part of her desperately wanted it to be. Had it been something like relief, she wasn't sure she could survive the news.

"Even you don't believe that," Allison's voice broke in on her thoughts, "no matter how much easier it would be if you did."

Helena's mouth opened and she drew breath to deny the charge, only to find the words wouldn't come. She snapped her jaw shut. "I don't know," she said at last.

"If nothing else, write her a letter. From what you said, you were close once. She's probably just as frustrated by things as you are ... may not understand what happened any better than you do."

Feeling chased onto a corner by the softly spoken suggestions, Helena bristled. "Why do you care?" she demanded, her tone aggressive enough to back all but the most ham-handed off a pace or two. It was just that she didn't understand the sense she was getting from the other woman at all. In her experience one night stands typically fell into two groups, those who never wanted to see her again---generally fine by her since she felt much the same---and those who instantly proclaimed their undying love---a breed she'd largely learned to avoid. Trying to get her with someone else just didn't compute, and at that point, she wasn't inclined to trust anything she didn't understand.

Allison was human enough to tense ever so slightly, though she'd dealt with enough football players angry over less than impressive grades that she didn't back down. "I suppose because once upon a time I screwed myself over by being bone-headedly stubborn." No doubt how she saw Helena. "Wound up sleeping with people I didn't want ... and losing someone I did." She glanced down at the floor between her feet for a brief second, gaining a little distance before continuing. "Sound like anyone you know?" she asked as she directed a pointed look at the younger woman.

Helena didn't answer, just stood grinding her teeth, her eyes blazing and wild, making it clear that the advice wasn't welcome.

Allison waited a moment, then shook her head, wondering why she bothered. Habit, she supposed even as she vowed one more time to stop picking up strays and trying to save the world. "Y'know, you're right, this is none of my fucking business," she ground out, silently berating herself for not resisting the urge to check on the younger woman. Clearly she was an adult capable of looking after herself. "Be as stupid as you want ... chalk it up as a learning experience. That's what the rest of us do." She shoved her hands in her front pockets. "And now I have a party to get back to." She offered a brittle smile. "I passed my orals ... the rest of my work is done ... and I plan on getting extremely drunk to celebrate." Without waiting for a response from the younger woman, she turned on her heel and started back toward the main room of the bar.

"Wait!" Helena said abruptly, and Allison froze, half turning her head without looking back. "Congratulation. I-I know how important it was to you." The other woman's passion for her field had been obvious during the hours they'd spent arguing history and philosophy, and Helena suddenly felt bad about taking her anger out on someone who wasn't the rightful target when she was just out to celebrate something she'd spent years working on.

The older woman's chin bobbed in a nod of acknowledgment. "Have a nice life," she muttered, then hurried out, leaving Helena feeling more alone than ever, suddenly struck by how much she missed Barbara. The loss of their closeness was an actual physical ache, one that left her wanting to rage and scream---or run home, climb into Barbara's arms, and just feel safe again.

"Hey, Kyle," Bill Chambers interrupted his thoughts as he stepped into the back room and flashed a look her way that was half leer, half jeer, "you're here to work, not make dates." She was comfortably certain he wouldn't have been so pissy about it if he'd been the one with a shot at getting a date.

"I wasn't," Helena ground out, then hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "The storeroom needed straightening ... stuff was getting pretty haphazard in there. Could've fallen and broken stock ... and if the health department saw some of that stuff, they'd pull the food licence." She straightened her shoulders and stared him down. "And you know Vic would feel if that happened." It was the first time she'd managed to use the bar owner against the bartender, rather than the other way around. He was constantly threatening to get her fired, but this time, she'd turned that on its ear. Victor Standish was paranoid about losing his liquor licence or his health department rating since either one would reduce what he could offer and there was plenty of competition on college row.

Chambers' eyes flashed, his mouth thinning with dislike. He'd cheerfully get naked with her, but her refusal to see him as anything but a slug had not triggered his most gentlemanly qualities. Not that he had any gentlemanly qualities to be triggered anyway. "Fine then," he sneered and nodded toward the main part of the bar. "Looks okay now. Get back on the floor."

Helena's mouth twisted into a dark smile. "Right," she said, offering up a sneer of her own. He leaned against the door jamb and didn't move as she drew close and started to step past him.

Helena felt the older man start to move almost the instant he thought about it, and her hand snatched out, catching his wrist before he could make contact with the portion of her anatomy he'd been aiming to 'accidentally' grope. She looked at him, barely containing the urge to go feral. "Only if you want to lose it," she warned him. She'd hit her limit. That was it. if he touched her, she was going to do serious damage. No job was worth putting up with this sort of thing.

His eyes narrowed and he drew breath.

Helena spoke before he did, her brain running fast and furious, combat mode engaged, even if the combat was just a matter of words and looks instead of the punches she would have enjoyed throwing. "Don't ever touch me," she growled, then full lips twisted in a confident smile. "In fact, don't even look at me. And if you're thinking about trying to get me fired, you should know that there are plenty of lawyers who'd love that sexual harassment case. Might not win, but I guarantee you it'd be all over the papers in short order ... and I'm guessing your wife and both girlfriends would be interested in all sorts of details I could come up with."

Bill Chambers paled noticeably, leaning away from the wild look in her eyes.

Helena's smile broadened as she opened her fingers, releasing his wrist and silently daring him to push her. She'd had it with the world and wasn't especially averse to the idea of beating the bartender senseless. The pleasure the thought gave her showed in her expression alongside the absolute confidence that it wouldn't even make her work up a sweat. "I don't think we'll have any more problems ... you?"

He just glared.

"Didn't think so," Helena drawled and swept out, adding an extra bit of sway to her hips when she heard him mutter, "Bitch," under his breath.

She barely resisted the urge to turn around and confirm the insult, but it just wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it. Consciously ignoring the small knot of partying grad students, she went back to her job, though she was well aware that at least one of them was ignoring her every bit as pointedly.

Which was fine by Helena. Christ. She didn't want any goddamned attention anyway. If it wasn't Barbara, she just wanted to be left the fuck alone. She didn't want to be spoken to, didn't want to read the paper, see a TV---not that she could afford one anyway---didn't want to know there was a world out there. She couldn't literally cease to exist, but if she worked hard enough, she could come close enough, especially since she was so low on the totem pole that nobody much noticed her or cared to treat her with any respect. She knew she was wallowing in her misery, but, Christ, didn't she had a right to do a bit of wallowing? The world was a miserable, fucking place as she knew from hard won experience. Her mother was dead, her father didn't give a fuck, and the one person she'd thought she could rely on apparently felt just about like a father did.

She managed to finish her shift without speaking a single word to another human being, which even Helena would have acknowledged probably didn't do a lot of good for her already lousy mood. She'd already done so much that cleanup was a five minute job, and she was out the back door before Chambers even had a chance to make another pass. She didn't have keys, so she didn't have to stay while the others finished up their jobs. Not that she had anywhere to go, just a crummy apartment, though she'd finally managed to get sheets for the bed. Not much else, but sheets.

The air whipped with an early spring chill, too cold to feel good, but no longer bitter winter icicles turned to air just so they could slice right through a body. She glanced at her watch. Too late for the buses to be running, and she didn't own a car. Thank goodness, there was nothing in the night that scared her. The last thing to do that---the Crimson Claw---was safely locked up in Arkham, thank god. She could never have walked away as long as he was slaughtering at will. Helena sighed softly in response to that thought, tempted to curse herself for the brief notion that maybe catching him wasn't such a great thing after all. After all, as long as he'd been on the loose she'd had no choice but to stay with Barbara. Even thinking such a thing in the grimmest of jokes sent a bolt of guilt through her as she remembered what he'd done ... and how. Her stomach rolled with the memory, and she reached up, massaging her temple as though she could somehow reach inside her skull and pull out the images that played in her mind's eye. She just wished she could blank the memories, degauss her brain as though it was a videotape.

She was about to do a quick, scrambling leap to carry her to the top of the nearest building, more comfortable well above New Gotham's streets than she was at ground level, when she realized she wasn't entirely alone. A slender figure was standing beside one of the few remaining cars in the parking lot, wavering on her feet, and cursing softly as she fought with the keys. Helena briefly considered just leaving, but if the other woman managed to actually unlock the car door and killed someone while she was behind the wheel, Helena wasn't sure she could live with herself. She knew what broken bodies looked like, whether by murder or accident. That sort of knowledge changed how a person viewed some things.

The decision made, Helena moved inhumanly quickly and perfectly silently, lean body a black-clad ghost, her coat winging out behind her like a swirling, ebony cape. She was within reach in a heartbeat, one hand darting out before her target even knew she was there.

"Hey!" Allison Robicheau yelped as the car keys were snatched from her hand. She spun too quickly for reflexes dulled by far more alcohol than was prudent, and nearly went down as the world wobbled crazily around her. Breathless, the woman leaned against the side of her car, staring at Helena as though she'd seen a ghost.

"You're too drunk to drive," Helena ground out, furious at the sheer irresponsibility of the act.

The other woman would have grabbed the keys, but Helena held them just out of reach, and pushed her back with her other hand. They tussled briefly until Allison leaned back, accepting that she wasn't going to achieve anything that way, and glared at the younger woman. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice less slurred than Helena expected, though it was obvious from the way she was clinging to the side of the car that her balance was in bad shape.

"I repeat," Helena said, her voice deadly soft, "you're too drunk to drive." She looked around. "Where are your friends?" Maybe she could catch a lift with one of them, though Helena doubted any of them were any more sober.

The question earned a faintly mystified shrug. "I think Danny went home with Angel ... and Rick picked up some blonde. Terry and Sandy left early, and I don't know about Stan."

Given that Helena didn't have the faintest idea who any of those people were, it wasn't quite the answer she was looking for. She cursed under her breath.

"Now, may I--"

"Christ," Helena snarled furiously, "get behind the wheel of a car drunk and you could kill someone." Really, it wasn't like it was a complicated concept.

"It's only a couple of blocks, and I'm not that--"

"Drunk?" the younger woman demanded angrily, then shook her head in disgust. "You can barely stand up," she disagreed pointedly, then shoved the keys in her pocket. No way in hell was she going to let anyone drive in that condition. She'd seen so many acts of brutality during her nightly sweeps, and it was the most avoidable of them all.

Allison drew breath to argue, then the swirled around her and she felt her knees threaten to buckle. Okay, so maybe she had drunk a bit much to be getting behind the wheel of a car. She ignored the temptation to wilt under the hard look directed her way, not liking the sudden sense that Helena was the more mature one. "Fine," she snapped after a beat, "I'll catch a bus." Careful not to let her feet tangle despite their best efforts to send her tumbling, she turned away and started in the direction of a nearby bus stop.

"They stopped running forty-five minutes ago," Helena pointed out practically.

"Then I'll fucking walk," came the response as Allison stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and lengthened her stride. The cold air would probably help clear her head anyway. "Just lock my keys in the car."

Helena snarled a curse under her breath, then called out, "Not smart ... even this late." New Gotham had more than its fair share of criminals who'd cheerfully take advantage of a woman alone---particularly one for whom sobriety was a distant concept.

"Don't worry, little girl," Allison called without looking back, "I was clubbing when you were still in diapers." It occurred to her as the words left her mouth that her accent had slipped for the first time in ages, a touch of a Louisiana drawl slipping in unwanted. God, she really was tanked. And maybe walking home wasn't such a brilliant idea. Except doing anything else meant turning back and facing blue eyes that shot sparks and angry looks. God, what was it with the woman? She kept popping up at the strangest times, all accusation and wild sexuality---appealing, confusing, pathetic, and more than a little frightening. That sort of wild child, half-woman, half-girls was always a heartbreaker in her experience. All fire, and totally unattainable. And this one was in love with someone else into the bargain. Just looking at her too long was asking for a nice bout of emotional devastation.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn't notice the eyes that watched her pass by from a densely shadowed alley.

* * * * * * *

Helena watched the other woman stride away, her lips pursed disapprovingly. She, of all people, knew the sorts of dangers that prowled the New Gotham nights. Letting the other woman walk home alone went against her every instinct. Maybe she should just--

No.

No, no, no. It wasn't her goddamned business. She wasn't a blasted hero charged with protecting the city anymore. It wasn't her responsibility. She got to be just another body in the night now, no longer an avenging angel. On the other hand, speaking of things she wasn't sure she could live with. If she just stood there, and something did happen to the other woman---after she'd let her wander into the night, drunk and alone---oh yeah, that'd mean a lifetime of guilt.

No. It was none of her damn business. She was out of the hero game, and if people wanted to act like dumbshits, it was no longer her problem. Besides, Allison would probably be just fine. Hell, she'd hit thirty-five, apparently without major incident. She probably knew what she was doing. Helena turned away, long strides eating up the ground as she headed in the opposite direction. She was still moving quickly when she heard the first, distant squeal of sound. Sharp ears pricked instantly, hunting for any further sounds that might indicate a problem. It was late enough that there weren't many traffic noises to distract her from what she was looking for. Not that the noisy, metallic crash that followed several seconds later would have been easy to miss. Helena spun and broke into a run in one, graceful move, moving fast, though she wasn't entirely certain exactly where the crash had come from. She rounded a corner, pulling up short as she hunted for any sign of the other woman with eyes that saw as well at night as most saw in daylight. The street was empty, but there were several dark alleys. Helena paused, not wanting to waste time searching the wrong one.

Another crash, softer than the first, and followed by a strangled sound that was frighteningly human. She was able to locate the noises this time, and she moved fast, running hard, nearly gliding, her feet barely touching the sidewalk. The world was clear and sharp, her heartrate smooth, every move controlled. The Huntress was back in her element. She rounded the corner at full tilt.

And abruptly skidded to a halt.

Allison was down, but didn't appear to be hurt. It looked more like she'd been shoved clear. She was on her backside, leaned back on her hands, head tipped back, staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of her. Helena couldn't really blame her. A blonde Amazon standing a good foot above the ground, clutching a grimy looking thug by the collar wasn't exactly your everyday sight---even for her, and she was a damn superhero vigilante for god's sake. The floating woman was taller than average---six feet if she was inch---her wheat blonde hair cut in a fluttery page boy, and dressed in a mix of white and pale cream, with a long milky, suede coat that fluttered behind her like a cape. A white domino mask hid something of her face, though Helena had a hard time believing that anyone would fail to recognize her if they saw her again---mask or no mask---six foot plus, blonde Amazons being on the unusual side.

"You've been a very bad boy," the blonde ground out as she lifted the would be mugger up until they were eye to eye. His legs worked helplessly where he dangled in mid-air. The blonde showed no sign of noticing. She glanced at Allison where the woman sat on the ground, staring up with disbelieving eyes. "You really shouldn't be alone in this neighborhood at night, Ma'am."

Allison didn't reply, just stared, though she did manage to bob her head in acknowledgment.

"It's really not safe," the blonde lectured helpfully. The mugger made another desperate attempt to escape and she just shook him until he went limp. A sly smile curved her mouth. "Time to be on my way," she told the sprawled woman who managed to nod her head again. The blonde pointed her toes, rising another foot or so, then spoke, but clearly not to her prisoner or the woman on the ground. "Oracle, I'll see you in a little while. Just have to drop something off, and I'm finished for the night."

Helena felt like she'd been hit by a forty pound sledge.

Oracle. She'd said Oracle. She was talking to Barbara.

As she watched, the blonde shot straight up, not jumping, but flying. Helena did a slow pivot, tracking the pale figure until she disappeared into the night.

No wonder she hadn't heard from Barbara. Three weeks and she'd already been replaced. Helena drew in a ragged breath as she realized her body was screaming for oxygen. She'd forgotten to breathe for a moment. She shook her head slowly. She should have known Barbara couldn't stay out of the game. When it came to the redhead, nothing was more important than the life.

And one superhero was just as good as the last. Maybe better. This one could fly.

She released the oxygen from her lungs, her breath coming out as a ragged sob, then gasped air in again. Even autonomic responses seemed to have shut down, because she could have sworn her heart had stopped beating and it was taking considerable effort to breathe.

"Jesus, I must be tanked," the woman behind Helena muttered, her voice slurring, though Helena barely heard her. "Cause I coulda sworn I just saw a flying woman ... a blonde, flying woman ... very muscular for a fucking angel, but definitely flying ... and that's just not possible." A few soft rustling sounds followed, but Helena's mind was still on what she'd just seen. "Seen some really weird shit in my life ... I mean, it happens if you spend much time in the French Quarter ... but ... no ... I'm jus' drunk ... really fucking drunk ... and never touching that shit again. It was probably the Long Island Iced Tea. Man, those things are lethal...."

Helena couldn't have cared less about the inane, inebriated babble.

Replaced. She'd been fucking replaced.

It was just that easy for Barbara. One hero out, one in.

Helena wanted to scream, rage, cry, stomp over to the clocktower and demand to know how in the hell Barbara could do such a thing. Christ, how could she....

She couldn't even finish the thought. It just hurt too damn much.

"Gonna be seein' pink elephants soon ... maybe hephalumps and woozels. Jesus, now I remember why I don't drink."

The muttered comments brought Helena around, her gaze sharpening as she brought Allison's gently wavering figure into focus as the woman stumbled to her feet, ruffling her hair dazedly. The other woman shook her head slowly, muttering something about not seeing what she thought she'd seen, and how this was worse than Mardi Gras. Her voice was softer than usual, slurred with drink, and a soft southern drawl that wasn't normally there. Helena didn't give a damn about any of it. Her mind was still on the tall blonde who'd flown away from the scene. A low growl escaped full lips, the fury sliding over her in dangerous ways.

Barbara wasn't the only one who could move on. She crossed the distance in a couple of long strides, her every move preternaturally graceful, eyes feral and gleaming. She was an inch or two taller than the other woman, but even if she'd been a half a head shorter, it wouldn't have slowed her. She straight-armed Allison firmly into the alley wall, stepping into her space, brushing impossibly close as she curved one hand to the side of her face and drew her head up. Helena saw a flicker of fear and felt the other woman tense, the reptilian part of her brain sensing that she’d become nothing but prey. Her response only made the hunting instinct more acute. It certainly wasn't about love. Wasn't even about anything as pure as lust. It was pure domination and punishment with sex used as a calculated tool for control. As Helena's lips came down, Allison tried to push her back and pull away, but Helena just crowded her more firmly into the wall, using superior strength and experience to control her quarry with automatic ease.

"No," her prey gasped through the beginnings of the kiss. When it didn't even slow Helena down, Allison pushed even harder, and even succeeded in forcing Helena's shoulders back a little, making her pursuit slightly more difficult.

"Yes," Helena disagreed, easily overwhelming the other woman. In contrast to the overpowering strength, her mouth was perversely gentle, teasing and seducing while her hands fended off any efforts to shove her away. After a moment, she tasted a low groan and pressed harder, her knee grinding, mouth taking command. Another moment passed and she felt taut muscles relax fractionally.

Surrender.

A small, triumphant growl bubbled up from Helena's chest, her hands shifting, confident that she'd won her prize.

Victory didn't last long, and triumph turned a snarl of pure rage as sharp teeth suddenly bit into her tongue, and a panicked shove sent her stumbling backward. Caught by surprise, Helena momentarily staggered, then regained her balance, her eyes wild as she started forward.

"No!" Scared and confused, the word momentarily held the younger woman at bay, but it didn't stop her.

Helena stepped back into the other woman's personal space, grabbing, pulling close. "Just for the record," she purposely repeated Allison's earlier words, hot breath playing over her face, "your first shot's free, second one's highly discounted. Along about number three, I start charging full price." Her pupils were little more than narrow slits, but the world was as sharp and clear to her as it would have been at high noon. She was in a profoundly dangerous place, well past kindness or caring, so thoroughly lost in her rage at Barbara that she didn't care who she hurt so long as she got what she wanted. It wasn't that she wanted to cause physical pain. It was that she longer cared either way, so long as she got what she wanted. She'd already had too many years of denial. That this woman was nothing more than a stand-in for another no longer mattered. "Don't fight me," she said, her tone a sultry command, while her lips were soft, even tender as she trailed them along the curve of Allison's throat, using the knowledge she'd gained during their brief encounters against the inebriated woman. "Not when we both know you want this," she coaxed, her hands moving and doing intense things to the older woman. Nothing like alcohol to lower inhibitions, and she was more than willing to use that advantage.

"Don't," Ally pleaded, squirming uncomfortably, her body hot and uncoordinated. This was all wrong. She could feel the dark emotions pouring off the other woman despite her superficial gentleness, the dual impact of lust and anger leaving her confused and eager to simply escape.

Helena laughed softly, the sound little more than a low rumble. "Why not?" she drawled as though she wasn't on the hunt in an alley at 3am.

Liquid brown eyes tipped up. They were full of pain and accusation despite the arousal that also burned there. "Because you don't care about me," Allison whispered. "You just want someone to hurt as much as you do."

The softly spoken accusation took a moment to work its way through Helena's brain, slithering in past her defenses, forcing her to see what she was doing---and why. It was the second time in minutes that Helena had felt like she'd been hit by a forty pound sledge, and she reacted accordingly. Losing her grip on slender shoulders, she stumbled back a pace, suddenly so uncoordinated, she was close to toppling as she watched the other woman slowly slide down the wall into a sitting position. "I don't..." she tried to deny the drunken charge, but the words wouldn't come. She fought them, tried to tell herself she was just looking for a little oblivion in a strange pair of arms, but what had almost happened wouldn't have been an escape. It would have been something else entirely, something that sickened her.

"Yes, you do," Allison choked, her voice suddenly so thick with tears that it came out raw and tremulous. She shook her head, wondering how the hell she could have gotten herself into this mess, felt more hot tears burning at her eyes and rubbed at them with clenched fists, trying to remove the embarrassing evidence that the other woman had managed to inflict the pain she seemed to thrive on. "I don't know what I ever did to you ... but even that first night ... you wanted to hurt." It was one of the reasons she kept trying to run away, except she'd also found herself playing the proverbial moth to the flame every time those violet eyes swung her way, full of equal measures of pain and pleading, making her feel like she should be doing something---fixing the world and making it better, but she didn't know how. How the hell was anyone supposed to resist the potent combination of beauty and need? And how the hell was anyone supposed to live up to the pedestal she kept the mysterious Barbara on? Her eyes narrowed, resentment of the burden Helena seemed to feel she had a right to inflict burning in her breast. "God, no wonder she runs away from you," she said, her tone sulky, going for the jugular with the sort of cruelty often seen in the very drunk, the lack of inhibitions making it far easier for even the kindest soul to draw blood.

For just a millisecond, the emotional bloodletting very nearly resulted in a far more literal one as Helena's temper came dangerously close to exploding, then the woman on the ground coiled her arms around herself, her body shaking with rough tears. The brunette felt something inside of her snap, the fury draining away in an instant. How many times had she found herself in a similar pose, sobbing her own tears, emotionally shredded, and pushed to the edge. It had never occurred to her that she could do that to someone else, but clearly she had. Fighting a sick well of shame, Helena dropped hands to her sides, narrow shoulders deflating, her stomach suddenly roiling with nausea. Finally, she crouched down, reaching out and cupping one hand to a narrow shoulder. "Shhh," she whispered, using the tone she'd often used when speaking to victims of horrible crimes. "I didn't mean to hurt you," she sighed and eased a little closer. Part of her wanted to just run the way she normally did in the aftermath of crime. The asskicking was easy, but she was always relieved to be away once that part was over. Evil she could deal with---just beat it to hell, and be done with it---but the reality of loss and pain wasn't so easy to fix. She always felt painfully helpless as she watched people begin to realize that their lives had changed for good. She'd been there and done that. Reliving it just hurt too much. "I just...." She sighed again and ruffled her hair, understanding no better than the woman seated on the ground in front of her. She didn't want to look at her actions too closely. When she even came close to it, she didn't come off too well in her own estimation.

"You want me to fall in love with you," Allison accused, drunken logic the only kind that could make any sense of the whole sorry affair. "To break my heart the way she's breaking yours." As the words left her mouth, she paused, staring up at Helena with a vaguely bruised expression as though she either didn't quite believe it herself, or maybe was afraid of another explosion of temper. She shook her head, her expression screwed with inebriated determination. "But I won't let you do that to me ... I won't...."

Helena recoiled from the charge, not liking what it said about her at all. Unfortunately, there was probably some truth to it. She'd made this woman into some kind of twisted stand-in for Barbara and some of the emotions she felt for the redhead had transferred. Not the affection, but the anger, the desire, and the resentment. It made for a potentially dangerous mix.

"Is it something about me that makes people set me up for shit like this?" the mournful question broke in on the younger woman's thoughts, and she looked up to encounter brown eyes that were lost and confused. "I mean, am I that awful a person that I deserve to be the punching bag for everybody's emotional shit?"

There was history there, Helena realized in a blink, cruel, hurtful history---and she'd unintentionally played on it, adding to the pain. She'd never really considered before that people who weren't buried in violence---whether by choice or accident---might be just as emotionally fucked up as the rest of the world. It had always seemed to her that their complaints were just whining. 'Lose a few people you love to violence, then we'll talk,' had always been her attitude. For the first time in a long time, it occurred to her that maybe she was all wrong. The violence might make some things worse, but maybe nobody got off easy. "No," she said at last and reached out, gently brushing a few stray curls off the other woman's forehead. "You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time ... and reminded me too much of the wrong person." She offered a quirky smile, the attempt to lighten the situation probably in poor taste, but then good taste under stress had never been Helena's strong suit. "In a way it's kind of a compliment ... given that I've been in love with her all of my adult life."

The older woman's head cocked to one side, then she shook her head. "That would be more of a comfort if you'd actually had some semblance of an adult life," she sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets as she struggled to get shredded emotions back under control. "God, no more alcohol for me ... ever. It's not worth it."

"But you're back to insulting my age," Helena teased very gently. "You must be doing better."

The crack got a soft sigh in return. "Not insulting," the other woman disagreed quietly, "just being realistic." She pulled her hands up, eyes sliding open as she peered up at Helena. "You're so damn young you don't even know how young you are."

Helena wanted to argue, but then again, maybe there was some truth to the words. God knew, she'd spent most of the previous three weeks feeling just like she had the first time her mother had dropped her off for the first grade. She hadn't known the other children---many of whom did know each other from daycare---hadn't known the routines, the teacher, or anything else. She'd hated the not knowing, the structure, the sense that any moment, she might just screw up and everyone would laugh at her. That every other child in that room had probably been afraid of the same things---or at least of things just as serious to a six year-old---had never really crossed her mind until that very moment. She accepted the tiny flush of maturity with surprising equanimity. "Come on," she said at last, curving one hand lightly to a narrow shoulder. "Time to get you home." Where before this woman had accepted a share of responsibility for Helena, now the younger woman recognized her own obligations. "Can you stand?"

The nod she got in response was slowly given, and Allison staggered faintly as Helena helped her stand, too drunk, worn, and exhausted to maintain much semblance of balance.

"What's your address?" Helena asked and was a little surprised when the other woman didn't argue, simply answered.

"2621 Hamilton."

Which was a healthy four blocks away. No problem for Helena, but Allison was already stumbling. She'd never make it alone on foot---not that Helena had any intention of letting her try---and if they walked together, Helena had a funny feeling she'd be carrying the other woman before they were halfway there. She could do it, but after a night on her feet---her very sore feet, one of several side effects of real life that she'd discovered she was none too fond of---shuffling glasses back and forth, she was in no mood for lugging another hundred pounds down the street. She rested a hand lightly on the other woman's upper back. "Gimme your keys. I'll drive you." She half expected an argument, but Allison simply fished into her front pocket and handed over a heavy key ring. It was as though the brief explosion had wiped them both out so thoroughly that contemplating even the smallest argument was too overwhelming.

Allison waited while Helena unlocked the passenger side, then all but fell into the front seat before folding one forearm across her face and heaving a heavy sigh.

That was the problem with emotional bloodlettings, Helena mused as she slid into the front seat. They were so goddamned exhausting. She felt like she'd gone ten rounds with Superman, and she hadn't even drunk anything. Add alcohol to that kind of turmoil, and it had to be a helluva mess.

The woman tipped her seat back, and moaned very softly as Helena started the car, though she settled down once they were moving. As she pulled to a halt at a stoplight, Helena glanced over and realized that Allison had fallen asleep, or more correctly, passed out. She was snoring very gently and the arm that had been across her face had fallen into her lap. She looked very young and very vulnerable which only made the guilty weight in the pit of Helena's stomach feel that much heavier. She found the building and parked on the street.

Allison never moved.

Helena slid out and opened the passenger side, briefly debating her options when the woman showed no sign of waking. After a moment, she leaned into the car, easing Allison's wallet free and checking the address on her driver's license. Fourth floor. Hopefully the elevators were working because she really didn't feel like lugging a deadweight up four flights of stairs.

She wasn't so lucky, but at least the apartment was easy enough to find---a pleasant little one bedroom with a large livingroom that seemed small between the large computer desk, and wall to wall bookshelves, not to mention stacks of papers piled everywhere. A cat, the smallest, silliest looking tortoise shell Helena had ever seen, was sitting on the arm of the couch, tail curled around its body as it eyed her, looking regal despite the fact that it was mottled and splotched in none too attractive shades of black and orange, and had a bullet-shaped head that was half a size too small for the body that could politely be described as pear shaped. It quirked an eyebrow as Helena carried its mistress into the bedroom.

Helena settled Allison onto the bed, took a moment and pulled her shoes off, but left her otherwise dressed, then tugged the blanket at the foot of the bed up over her unmoving figure. When she looked up again, the cat had entered and hopped up onto the mattress to peer at the unconscious woman, wrinkling its nose when it got a whiff of the scent of alcohol still clinging to her. With that, it turned on its heel and strode out, disapproval etched on every line of its splotched and spattered face.

Helena couldn't help but smile. Typical cat. Homely as hell and yet it was still supremely confident it was the single most beautiful, elegant thing in the universe. Her mother would have approved.

The woman sprawled on the bed stirred gently, mumbling into the pillows as she rolled over.

Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, Helena considered her for a long moment. Allison would probably be okay on her own, but she'd had enough to drink that the younger woman wasn't as sanguine as she would have liked about the idea of leaving her alone. She couldn't help but remember all of those bad videos on teen drinking teachers had made their classes watch in high school. They'd been the sort of thing designed to scare kids away from alcohol, and while she knew they were probably about as factual as Reefer Madness, she also knew that there was very real danger if someone got sick while they were unconscious. Sighing softly, she stayed where she was for a long time, then moved to lean against the doorjamb, then finally peeled off her coat and crashed on the couch where she was still within hearing distance. She'd always been a light sleeper, so she knew she'd hear if there was a problem.

Helena was just drifting when a faint weight hopped up onto her hip, pawing firmly. Smiling she reached out and gently ruffled the animal's fur, enjoying the texture of silky fur and the soft purr that vibrated the small body under her hand. They'd always had cats when she was growing up, and the familiarity of the sensations was oddly comforting, reminding her of better times when she'd been far more certain of herself, and her path. She closed her eyes, summoning an image of her mother's cat, Isis---her fur black as night, while her eyes had gleamed an incredibly bright shade of gold---wending back and forth on her mom's shoulders. Helena hadn't thought about it in ages, but they'd lost her to old age only a couple of months before her mother's death. She could still remember watching her mother cry as she'd held her old friend during those final hours. Helena swallowed hard, remembering her own tears. Isis had been there all of her life. It was the worst loss she'd faced until that time. She'd never dreamed that just a few months later, the losses could be so much worse.

Now there was a thought likely to cheer her up. Still petting the cat absently with one hand, Helena reached up with the other, wiping away the tears gathered on her lashes and in the corners of her eyes. When she looked up again, it was too find green eyes peering into her own. Confident it belonged anywhere it wished to be, the cat ambled up her chest, still staring into her eyes. Finally it dropped its head to deliver a solid head butt to her chin. The gesture was oddly comforting, though it did little too soothe the complex tumble of emotions spinning through Helena's mind. Under different circumstances, Helena would have been bounding across the rooftops to escape her worries, but at that point, she was just too damned tired. Besides, the blonde was probably still out there ... doing Barbara's bidding. Tall, beautiful, blonde, flying chick. Not exactly someone Helena wanted to run into.

She sniffed back on more tears, scraping them away with a rough hand. She couldn't even figure out who the hell the woman could be. Not a member of the local meta community as far as she knew. In fact, not somebody she'd heard of or seen before. She'd heard rumors about some blonde who could fly up in Metropolis, but by all accounts, she was on the short side, and several descriptions had her bordering on the perky. The woman Helena had seen was definitely not perky.

God, where had Barbara come up with her?

And what else might be between them? Was it all just work, or was there something more?

Helena's stomach coiled tight as that thought slid, unwanted, through her brain. The blond said, 'I'll see you in a little while,' and just what would she be seeing? Barbara at her computer? Or maybe Barbara naked in bed? The image tormented Helena as her brain insisted on summoning it in entirely too much detail. Was she even now sliding under the covers and taking that elegant body in her arms? Had she imagined the note that entered that soft voice that somehow made the brief, overheard conversation with the unseen Oracle seem intimate? She carefully pulled her hand away from the animal sitting comfortably on her chest, a little afraid of her own temper with the thoughts suddenly running through her brain.

No, it couldn't be. She'd only seen Barbara date men, and precious few of those since the unlamented departure of Dick Grayson from her life and bed, none that Helena thought had gotten beyond dinner and a movie. She knew all too well how Barbara seemed to have shut off that part of her life, god knew. It had driven her nuts for years.

Annoyed at being ignored, the cat shifted down to her hip, pummeling hard enough for delicate claws to prick Helena's skin through her jeans. The tiny sting brought her attention back to the present, and she peered down at the animal. "She wouldn't," Helena said very softly, then waited a beat as though she half expected a response. As a child she'd often told Isis her problems, whispering into a warm, pointed ear all the secrets she couldn't tell anyone else. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Barbara asking her not long after they'd moved into the clocktower if Helena would like to have a cat again, and she'd refused. It had just seemed too painful, too much of a reminder of losses, but suddenly she wished she'd taken Barbara up on the offer. She could have used the sounding board during the previous years. And cats had a way of making someone feel listened to. "I love her, y'know," she sighed, feeling better for saying the words aloud. Cooler tempered, she reached down and began scratching behind pointed ears with a light hand.

Apparently satisfied that Helena's hip was sufficiently tenderized, the animal finally settled down, folding its legs beneath its body and staring expectantly up at her.

Her fingers still moving behind pointed ears, Helena sighed softly. "You want the whole story, huh?" The gentle purr that began seemed like an affirmative answer, so she continued quietly, "It's making me crazy," she admitted. She paused a moment, summoning the courage for the next admission. "I almost hurt someone tonight ... just because ... because I was hurting." She caught her lower lip between her teeth, digging in as though the pain might free her from the guilt, and more than that, the fear. "No wonder she runs from me," she whispered, purposely repeating the cruel words Allison had hurled at her, and feeling she deserved the ugly swell of emotion they caused. "Maybe I am some kind of freak."

The cat simply continued to stare.

"It's just that sometimes Barbara looks at me," Helena breathed, eyes sliding closed as she summoned an image of the redhead from better times, "and it's like she has to know what I feel..." her voice softened until it was no more than a delicate breath of sound that was thick with hope in spite of her fear and anger, "and like she feels it too." She paused, then continued, her voice gaining some strength as she explored her own confusion, and the sense of getting mixed signals. "And then it's like she pulls back. Her eyes go blank ... and suddenly everything's all business again." She shifted her hand, rubbing the bullet shaped nose with her thumb. "Sometimes I think I know what she feels ... and then everything changes, and I don't have any idea." The cat leaned into her stroking thumb, its purr gaining in volume. "I dunno," she sighed after a long moment, "maybe I'm just a responsibility that became a handy tool at some point." Helena settled more deeply into the couch cushions, still petting the cat's small head with a gentle hand. "Maybe it's Blondie I should feel sorry for," she mused after a long moment, but she knew even as the words left her mouth that she didn't believe them. As much as she hated it, she was feeling incredibly sorry for herself. She was the one banished from where she most wanted to be. After that, she fell silent, the urge to dump her problems fading away, not because they were any less real, but because she feared that if she started cataloguing them she might never stop. The small creature nestled on her hip finally slid into a restful sleep, and Helena followed a short time later, though her slumber was nowhere near as peaceful.

* * * * * *

Barbara barely resisted the urge to curse as she heard the soft whoosh of a flying body entering the clocktower at considerable speed. She glanced back, stormy gaze landing on the tall figure floating just above the edge of the computer platform.

The blonde was grinning, her head cocked to one side, eyes gleaming, clearly quite satisfied with herself. As she hovered there, she reached up, peeled off the domino mask, and shoved it into a jacket pocket.

"You shouldn't have gone off comm," Barbara clipped and turned back to glare at her computer screen. She heard the soft thump as the other woman landed on the edge of the platform.

"Oh please, it was just some lowlife mugger. I didn't need a voice in my ear to tell me how to deal with him."

No, she didn't, but they were still learning to work together and it was hardly time to go off script. A muscle compressed along the line of Barbara's jaw as she ground her teeth together. "I realize that," she said and turned to stare at the other woman. Her name was Karen Starr, though she went by the code name Power Girl when working. She'd been working the West Coast when she'd come up against a meta who'd drained her powers nearly two years before. She'd eventually healed from the attack, but only very slowly, and not yet completely. She'd been out of the game since, and her powers had only recently hit a level where getting back in was even an option. "But what if something else had happened and I'd needed to contact you?" Which wasn't the entire truth, if Barbara was honest. Karen's powers were mostly back in place, but she wasn't up to full strength, and she was out of practice despite her desperation to get back into the biz. Which was probably why she'd accepted the offer to work with Oracle, sight unseen. Barbara understood that need to play at any cost all too well. Which was one of the things that had her worried. She turned to face the computer monitor again. "You can't just cut off communications on a whim."

"I left the mic on," Karen reminded her as though that made all the difference. A long moment of uncomfortable silence followed and then Barbara heard the echo of footsteps drawing nearer. The response was impatient. Karen tended to be on the impetuous side, and, though she was smart, she had little appreciation for the possible value of intel during combat. "And once I'm in a fight, what good does your talking to me do?"

"Trust me, I've seen it make the difference," Barbara snapped, then added, "The point of two-way communications is that they're two-way. I can spot things and warn you before they become a problem ... not to mention help find ways to trap the target and minimize the threat to civilians."

Karen waved that suggestion off. "There was nothing likely to become a problem and your talking distracts me while I'm fighting. Besides it's not like I needed help to deal with a mugger."

"But you need to get used to getting information during combat," Barbara pointed out, trying to make the other woman see that they needed to get used to working together. "It may keep you or someone else alive."

Blue eyes ran over the woman in the wheelchair, not intentionally dismissive, but very doubtful she could possibly be of any help. Yeah, she was good at spotting trouble and relaying the message, and Karen had found that having that warm voice in her ear was good for entertaining herself during the boring hours that were a natural byproduct of patrolling all night, but other than that, she really didn't see how a woman in a wheelchair---no matter how smart or beautiful---could do her any good once things got physical. "Once you've found him for me, what more help do I need?" she asked, her tone practical.

The redhead glanced back, taking in the breadth of bodybuilder's proportions visible now that the other woman had stripped off her coat. Strong as she was, Barbara knew damn well it might not be enough. She'd seen the damage the Claw had done to the cops, the bullets he'd taken, and what he'd done to the police van, and Karen was neither invulnerable nor as strong as she'd once been. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating what the Claw can do."

Power Girl laughed softly, flexed a muscle and flew straight up several feet. "Now that my powers are back in place, I think I can handle some mindless thug, if need be," she chuckled.

"Dammit, Karen," Barbara bit out, "this isn't a game. We've got one more week to learn to work together before he starts killing again."

Blue eyes rolled and the blonde dropped back to the platform, then folded her arms across her chest, her stance bordering on the pugnacious. "The only problem is that everybody but you figures he's as far from New Gotham as it's possible to get," she pointed out logically. "He's known here. He'd be crazy to stay in the area." Not that she wasn't happy to be there and working, but she just didn't think there was a time crunch. They had time to get to know one another.

"And I pray to god I'm wrong," Barbara said softly, though she wasn't so sure about that. She wouldn't wish that kind of evil on any town, but at least in New Gotham, there was someone trying to prepare to face him, even if the effort was feeling nearly impossible. "But in the meantime, you've been out of the game for quite some time ... and we've never worked together before. If he is here, we don't have much time to get things running smoothly."

"I'm fine now," the blonde bit out, her eyes flashing, not liking the reminder that she might not be up to the game ahead. "And I can take this asshole if need be."

Barbara sighed softly, fighting the urge to remind the other woman that she didn't have the raw power she'd once had. It wasn't something she handled especially well, and they didn't need any more tension in their working relationship. Power Girl had never been one to rely so much on training as brute strength, and Barbara was beginning to worry that maybe their styles were just too different to mesh well. Karen tended to be impetuous and just rush in---not that Barbara wasn't used to dealing with both traits, but Power Girl also didn't listen very well, and that was starting to grate on her nerves. "Maybe, but finding him is going to be tricky ... and I've seen how he fights. Trust me, stopping him will be harder than you seem to think. Helena nearly--"

"I'm not your runaway, trained lap dog," the blonde interrupted, resenting the reminder that she was only there because the other woman had walked away from the job. "I'll do what I have to."

Barbara snorted softly. Karen had been consistently dismissive of Helena, some weird resentment issue she didn't even care to understand, but it was causing definite problems. "We can't afford to assume anything." She turned back to her computer, entering a fresh set of commands that would start a search algorithm for a series of parameters she'd already entered. "I've seen what this bastard can do." A shiver worked its way down her spine as she remembered the images of torn and bloody bodies.

"I told you," Karen reiterated, her tone determined, "I can take him ... not that he's likely to be here. Nobody's seen a hint of the lunatic ... and he'd be crazy to stay in this area. All the headshrinks figure he's a thousand miles from here by now." Okay, so she wasn't the all-knowing Oracle, but she'd checked out all of the articles in the local paper, and they were all certain that with all the cops looking for him, the guy would move on. Since no one had seen hide nor hair of him since his escape, it made sense.

Barbara didn't bother to respond. She'd studied the Crimson Claw's patterns thoroughly enough to be comfortably certain the experts were all wrong. He was lying low, waiting for the full moon---and then he'd strike. And if she couldn't put the operation together, there'd be hell to pay. Except Karen kept going off comm every time she got involved with a suspect, and Barbara had visions of shouting at nothing while the animal was killing.

"Y'know...."

Karen's voice barely registered on Barbara as she saved a file she'd been downloading.

"You worry too much and you work too hard," Karen murmured, her tone conciliatory as she reminded herself that the redhead was just doing what she thought was best even if she was a total control freak. Hell, in some instances, the control freak thing could be definite plus. She drew closer, deliberately inserting herself into Barbara's line of vision as she hitched her hip against her computer station. "Why don't you let me take you out to dinner. I know an all night place that--"

"I ate earlier," Barbara said without looking up. Alfred had been by and she'd had something at his insistence, though her mind had been so thoroughly on other things that she'd barely tasted the food. She opened the downloaded file---one she'd worked hard to hack---and started reading, hooking a finger over her shoulder as she continued in a distant voice, "but if you're hungry, I think Alfred left something in the fridge." He tended to see to such things given that she was more or less useless when it came to the practicalities of looking after herself.

Karen stiffened faintly, though Barbara didn't notice. "Then just get outa this place for a little while. Even you need to lighten up now and then. Mitch's has--"

Green eyes flicked up, then back down. "Greasy burgers, undercooked fries, and cold coffee." It was said in the flat tone of someone who knew the place well. But then she'd eaten there plenty of times, dragged there by Helena after sweeps when the refrigerator was empty and Alfred hadn't been by to do the cooking. "Trust me, what Alfred left in the fridge is better." Whatever it was---and she suddenly couldn't remember---it had to be more edible than what she remembered choking down at Helena's favorite twenty-four hour greasy spoon. The mental image of her former ward wolfing down the most disgusting items on the menu made her chest tighten, just like any thought of Helena brought a fresh rush of pain. She tried to push it aside, the emotions far too intense for her to allow herself to go there. She'd already proven it was just too damn risky.

Despite the danger, her brain couldn't resist the urge to dredge up the subject in order to taunt her with her own failings. She still didn't understand why Helena had run ... or maybe she did. The band that seemed to be perpetually wrapped around her chest tightened another notch, threatening to restrict her ability to breathe. Trapped in the clocktower with a driven, obsessed woman in a wheelchair, Helena had probably been going nuts for a long time, wanting out, but too kind and too responsible to just leave. She tried to pretend she was tougher than she really was, but Barbara knew better. The stress must have built to incredible dimensions for her to have fled the way she had---which explained the rising tension that Barbara had been aware of, but hadn't allowed herself to consider might be more than just youthful defiance. Considering the resentment, rage and frustration that had apparently gathered to cause that storm, it was a wonder she hadn't run even sooner.

Barbara's hand tightened into a fist as she was reminded of the fact that she'd simply ignored what she hadn't wanted to see. And made Helena hate her in the doing. Thinking she was keeping Helena on the straight and narrow, she'd tried to hold her to a life she apparently didn't want, and if the misery she'd seen in blue eyes was any gauge, made everything far worse. She just prayed the younger woman was happier now and on her way to finding what she was looking for in life. She was far from certain that Helena would have believed her, but she only wanted the best for her. If she'd made mistakes in how to pursue that, then they were on her head. No matter how Helena felt about her, she would always love the younger woman as family, and do anything in her power to see that she got what she wanted. Even if that was to be as far away from Barbara as possible.

"Barbara?" Karen's voice, faintly annoyed and impatient broke in on her thoughts. "Barbara?" the blonde said again.

Barbara blinked, glancing over her shoulder as it occurred to her that she'd answered some query in the negative without even being aware of hearing the question or speaking. Apparently another restaurant suggestion, she decided as she noted the other woman's expression. "Sorry," she apologized automatically. "I just ... um ... what did you say?"

Blue eyes narrowed faintly, and Karen took a breath, catching her temper before she continued in a faintly peeved tone. "I said how about the IHOP on fourth?"

Barbara shook her head, annoyed by the pressure when she thought she'd made it clear that she'd already eaten---though now that she thought about it, she suspected that had been more hours ago than was entirely prudent. But she wasn't interested in getting out anyway, and could always grab something from what Alfred had left. "Really, I've got a lot of work to do ... a new file in that I want to read through, plus a couple of programs running that I need to stay on top of." Hearing an irritated sigh, she flashed a look at the other woman that Helena would have instantly known meant she should back off. Okay, so it probably would have been a temporary retreat and regroup maneuver, and sooner or later---if she really wanted---Helena would have gotten around her foul mood and charmed her into going, the coercion so skillfully applied that she would have found herself agreeing without meaning to, then having a good time in spite of herself. Power Girl, however, wasn't big on subtlety. She was more the brute force type. "I just ... can't." Though, if she was honest, she also didn't really want to. Karen was nice enough, but they had nothing in common beyond the biz, and she wasn't in the mood for trading stories of old glories. Discussing her days as Batgirl just hurt too much, and hearing other people's stories had never interested her much. It always felt too much like guys in a bar discussing their high school football days; all about ego and probably more bullshit than truth to it all. Blue eyes met green, and they stared at one another for a long moment in a silent battle of wills until finally the blonde's cerulean gaze broke away.

"Fine," Karen ground out, finally getting the message. "Then I'll just head out ... make a quick sweep on my way to my hotel."

Barbara nodded, turning back to her computer, already reading the report she'd downloaded. "Remember to keep your comm on until you're in for the night." Already focused on her work, she completely missed the frustrated look the other woman turned her direction, though she registered the soft whoosh of air that meant her lair was her own again.

After waiting a moment, Barbara glanced over her shoulder, making sure she really was alone, then heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair. No matter that she'd invited the other woman into her territory, it wasn't comfortable having a relative stranger in the clocktower. It just felt wrong. She shook that thought off. Now was not the time to let her hangups about personal space cause problems.

Massaging her temple, she settled in to read the information she'd downloaded, a internal report from New Gotham University's medical school on a new medical technology one of their researchers had been developing. The concept was comparatively simple. Using sensors and electrodes attached to the back, it was designed to bridge the injured area in a damaged spinal cord. The idea had promise, but the oversight committee had opted not to go ahead with any live trials since they considered it too dangerous to implement. Animal trials had shown considerable promise, but nearly half of the subjects had incurred further injuries from the electrical shocks used to transfer of the signals, and several had ultimately died. All of them had apparently been in considerable pain when the device was used, though there were varying theories as to why, ranging from the power of the electrical signal to a natural side effect from stimulating damaged nerve endings, which might well pass with time. To date no one had come up with any solutions or even certain answers, but the general consensus seemed to be that, while research should continue, the technology wasn't currently up to the complex task. Funding was to continue, but at a minimum, and further live animal trials were to cease until it was farther along. Human trials weren't even remotely discussed.

Barbara leaned forward, burying herself in what she was reading, already calculating ways she could improve the design. The idea was brilliant, but whole thing fell apart on the implementation. The kind of electrodes they were using were far too clunky and inefficient, and the software was an utter mess. With just a few changes to the hardware, and completely new software driving it, it might be possible to make it work. Gnawing thoughtfully on her thumbnail, she hit the command to send the entire document to the printer, then continued paging through the report, rapidly committing the contents to a memory so perfect it bordered on a meta talent and mentally redesigning it as she went.

Relieved to have an opportunity to lose herself in the heady flush and rushing flow of ideas, she opened another screen, making notes and calculating the best way to implement her improvements as she went through the research, thoughts coming too fast and furious for her to have the patience to wait until she'd finished reading the document. For the first time since Helena's exit from the clocktower, she felt almost like herself, the high flight of broad-ranging concepts as much her natural element as high rise rooftops had once been.

Lost in the mind-bending game she played as she redesigned the system on the go, Barbara barely noticed the passage of time. She was in her element and it felt good to just let go and soar there.

It wasn't until the soft sound of someone clearing their throat broke in on her wild, mental gymnastics that she even remotely noticed the real world again. Startled, Barbara looked up, refocusing on the worried pair of eyes watching her from behind a pair of thick lenses. "Alfred," she gasped, "you startled me."

The elderly butler arched on eyebrow, his expression openly disapproving. He noted the light pouring into the room through various windows, then looked back at her. "Have you been working all night?"

Barbara blinked, squinting against a bright yellow sunbeam that shot in through the round window along one side of the clocktower. "Uh ... apparently," she admitted, faintly embarrassed under the impact of the look directed her way. Alfred didn't do reproachful quite as well as her father, but he was close.

"Miss Barbara," Alfred chided and shook his head, tempted to reach out and shake the young woman. If he'd thought it might work a little common sense into that brilliant brain, he might have tried. "You simply cannot afford to push yourself until you drop."

Realizing her glasses had picked up enough dust to make the world swim now that she was trying to focus on something other than a computer screen, Barbara peeled them off, buffing the lenses with her shirttail. That it also gave her an excuse to avoid the knowing gaze directed her way was only a pleasant side effect. Or at least that's what she told herself. "I got involved in something," she said in hopes of deflecting Alfred's ire. "Just lost track of the time." She hoped he wouldn't ask. She didn't want to try and explain what she was thinking, well aware that if he knew any of the details, he'd try and talk her out of it.

His heavy sigh indicated that he was well aware she was trying to distract him, but he didn't call her on it, simply shifted topics. "How's the new partnership coming along?" he asked.

Amazing how one question could include so many levels. He was well aware that things hadn't been going smoothly, and she knew perfectly well just how much he disapproved of her refusal to ask Helena to come back at least until the Crimson Claw was recaptured. Speaking of things she was in no hurry to discuss. Nonetheless, she couldn't lie. "It could have gone more smoothly," she admitted.

"In consideration of the lack of time remaining before the next full moon, perhaps it's time to contact--"

"No," she cut him off before he could suggest she call Helena. It wasn't an option, and it was time he accept it. "She wanted out, Alfred, and I won't try and guilt her into coming back."

"But, Miss Barbara, if--"

"No," she said again, her tone sliding over into desperation. He came around the end of the computer station, and she wheeled the chair in a sharp pivot to face him. Deliberately softening her tone in an effort to sound like she was far more in control than she was, Barbara continued, "This story is all over the news, Alfred, and she knows where I am. It's her choice this time ... and I won't ... can't," the illusion that she was handling things slipped as her voice cracked on the last word, "try and force her back into something she hates ... or to work with someone she ... she...." Barbara couldn't finish and trailed off, the overwhelming nature of what she'd been about to say nearly enough to shatter her. If she'd been capable of standing, the sheer enormity of it would have taken her to her knees. She was silent for a long moment, her breath coming in shuddery gasps, then finally she got herself enough under control to add, "I simply won't do it."

Alfred considered pressing the issue, but looking at the crystalline clarity of her profile, seeing the hurt and confusion she was trying so desperately to hide, he accepted that she couldn't do as he suggested. It was simply beyond her to risk another rejection. And if asked, he would have had to admit that he feared for her if she approached Miss Helena and failed to bridge the gap between them. No matter how desperately Miss Barbara tried to project the image that she was completely in control, he could see just how frayed she was around the edges, far more so than at any time since those first awful weeks after the shooting, when her eyes were blank and he could see her floating away despite the medical technology arrayed to save her life. Miss Helena had drawn Miss Barbara back from the brink that time, and he feared she was the only thing that could do so now. Unfortunately, he feared that, where before they'd been able to cling to one another to gain strength, this time no such peace was available for either of them. She was facing the fire, but this time she was on her own. "In which case, perhaps it's time to let the police--"

"No," Barbara said sharply, no doubts in her voice this time. "We've already seen what he'll do to any cops who catch up with him. They don't have power to stop him." She reached up, massaging the back of her neck, suddenly aware of just how stiff and tired she was.

"And if you cannot maintain a cohesive working relationship with Miss Karen?" Alfred enquired practically. He might not have played the games his charges did, but he understood the importance of a solid working relationship, something he did not see developing between the two women. They simply had completely different ways of doing things, and to his eyes, no great impetus to find a way to work around that basic incompatibility.

"It's not that bad," Barbara insisted and leaned back in her chair, hesitant to admit to just how uncomfortable she was with that arrangement. "She's just a little too eager to prove herself ... and doesn't always listen very well...." She fell silent, opting not to detail the blonde's penchant for shutting off the comm and ignoring instructions.

Alfred nodded. He'd been present during enough of their interaction to note that tendency ... among other things. "Are you certain she's the best choice possible?" he asked carefully. Not that the other woman didn't care, and wasn't good at what she did, but he feared the situation was simply too volatile to make for a good working relationship. Karen Starr was smart, but she was also impetuous and temperamental. And while Miss Helena had certainly had her moments in that regard, it was different. Miss Helena and Miss Barbara had built trust between them over time and through the best and worst of experiences. They'd both known when and how they could push things. Personally, they might have hit critical mass, but professionally, they'd worked together as well as anyone he'd ever seen right up to the last moment.

Barbara reached up to massage her temple. No, she wasn't certain. She just didn't see any other option. She couldn't say that to Alfred though. If he realized just how uneasy she was with the current arrangement, he might just go ahead and contact Helena in spite of her instructions. He could be remarkably stubborn that way. "She's strong, damn near invulnerable, and can fly. Can you think of a better choice?" It was an honest enough question. She sure as hell couldn't do the job, and everyone else she'd come up with was either dealing with their own difficulties or simply didn't have the raw power needed. If he could think of anyone else who stood a chance against the bastard, she'd consider it.

Alfred shook his head stiffly. He'd already gone through the options he could think of, even made some calls. Everyone he'd been able to come up with was either insufficient in some respect or unavailable. "No," he admitted. "But I fear that Miss Karen's..." he paused to consider his words before continuing, "motivation for being a part of this effort may not be entirely based on her desire to capture the Crimson Claw."

Barbara nodded. "After being out of it for a couple of years, she's got a lot to prove," she allowed, "but that's not necessarily a bad thing." She'd had a few things to prove along the way---probably still did---and it had been a hell of a motivator at times.

"Yes," Alfred agreed, "there is that," and he knew very well it was no small thing, but he'd seen signs of other motivations as well, ones that worried him because they could only add more difficulties to an already chaotic situation. "But that's not exactly what I was referring to," he continued carefully.

Barbara frowned in confusion as she looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

Despite the temptation to lay out what seemed obvious to him, but which she was utterly oblivious to, he quickly realized it would do no good. Given the worries already resting on narrow shoulders, perhaps blissful ignorance was better. Certainly it was easier for him than trying to explain that her newest partner appeared to be interested in considerably more than simply crime fighting. And, while he loved Barbara like a daughter, and understood that she was a genius on par with some of the most brilliant minds of the day---no matter how thoroughly she kept that side of her nature hidden from the world---he was comfortably certain she'd never notice if someone didn't point the situation out to her. He wasn't sure whether it was simply her nature, whether winding up in a wheelchair so young had damaged certain aspects of her self-confidence to a degree that she simply avoided the subject altogether, or whether it was something else entirely. Whatever the cause, however, interpersonal relations simply weren't her strong suit. How else to explain any number of things that had conveniently slipped her notice for several years now?

"Nothing," Alfred sighed at last when he realized she was still staring at him with the faintly baffled expression she got at times when the vagaries of human nature defied her neatly delineated understanding of things. There were days he found it hard to believe that someone so brilliant could be so dumb. "As you say, she has a great deal to prove."

Concluding that Alfred had either made or backed off of whatever point he was trying to make, Barbara smothered a yawn and reached over to put the Delphi on automatic. That way it would notify if there was anything she needed to pay attention to, but she could get away from the monitor for a little while. She reached up to massage the back of her neck, encountering muscles that were more akin to airplane cables wrapped in cement than human tissue. "I think," she decided out loud, "that I'm going to get a hot shower."

"And then perhaps some sleep?" Alfred suggested hopefully. She'd been working far too many hours since Miss Helena's exit, pushing herself until he feared for her health. Despite her desire to pretend otherwise, she could no longer afford to simply ignore her body's needs as she once had.

Remembering the nightmares that had tormented her every time she closed her eyes long enough to enter REM sleep, Barbara shook her head. "Probably not," she admitted, finding exhaustion preferable to waking in a cold sweat, a strangled scream on her lips. Half the time she didn't even remember the nightmares beyond a vague sense that she'd been desperately hunting for something she'd lost, and would die without. "I've got some work I want to do in the lab ... and I've got a meeting with Kirk McKenzie from Wayne Medilabs this afternoon."

"The new wheelchair design?" he questioned. She'd been working on it off and on for several years, but had only recently started collaborating with an R&D team at Wayne Labs to bring her ideas to fruition.

She nodded. While she preferred her manual to an electric in some respects, spending her entire life face to belt buckle with the rest of the world had become more than a little tiresome. Besides, the new design would have a few innovations she'd been contemplating for years, but hadn't been able to implement any sooner. The technology simply hadn't allowed for the kind of responsiveness she wanted. "They've almost got the prototype finished, and I need to go over some of the programming specs with him." The programming would be the secret to making the gyroscopes and sensors work together so that she could control the new chair simply by leaning her body. It would still have joystick control---she wasn't eager to advertise the kind of work she was doing, but with luck it would be far more intuitive and allow her to fight if need be, something that was dangerously challenging in a manual. She'd done it a time or two when she'd had to ... and nearly gotten herself killed in the doing, though that had been a far better option than leaving Helena on her own against overwhelming numbers.

Alfred sighed very softly, accepting that she wouldn't take his advice to slow down or care for herself. The most he could do was make sure she had whatever resources she needed. After that, it was up to her at some point. "I'll make sure there's plenty of food prepared ... try and eat some of it this time."

Her back to him now, she waved a hand to indicate she'd heard the comment, but didn't otherwise acknowledge the remark. He watched as she disappeared into the elevator, listened while it ground its way to the upper floor, then tracked her by the faint sound of wheels rolling over various surfaces. He'd taken to keeping a closer than usual eye on her actions and condition since the scene where she'd lost control some weeks before. She was too determined to deny that she needed anyone or anything at any level beyond the obvious. With her secret life so effectively hidden from her father, Master Dick living in Blüdhaven full time, and her refusal to turn to Miss Helena, that left only Alfred to make certain she didn't harm herself.

It was a responsibility he took seriously.

* * * * * *

Pain, intense, throbbing, and focused in her lower back, dragged Helena Kyle back into the world of the living along with the awareness that her mouth tasted like rancid pondwater, and her deodorant had definitely failed during the night. Faint sounds of movement, then the soft rattle of someone gargling reached her ears as she struggled to remember what had happened the night before and where she was. She experienced the momentary terror that she'd done it again, picked up some stranger who would complicate things even further. No, she realized in an instant, she was on a couch. Probably why her lower back felt like Superman had spent a few hours getting his frustrations out on her spinal column.

Then it all came flooding back---all of her actions and reactions---the whole appalling scene. She felt mildly ill just thinking about it. Learning that Barbara was working with someone else had nearly pushed her over the edge into doing something she'd have spent her life regretting.

The feel of something hot and heavy pressing down on her chest distracted her from her thoughts, and she reached up to push it aside only to get a set of needle-sharp claws across the back of her hand for her efforts.

Helena blinked, still struggling for some semblance of consciousness---she'd never been a quick riser---and found herself facing an annoyed green gaze. The cat sprawled on her chest glared for a moment, then finally concluded she wasn't going to move any more and settled back in, clearly no more ready to face the day than her impromptu mattress.

Then a prickling slide down her neck alerted Helena to the fact that other eyes were watching her, and she looked up to meet the gaze of the woman standing in the hallway that led back into the bedroom. She'd gotten a shower and changed into sweats, but she still looked like hell, her eyes sunken and bleary, expression pursed with post-binge queasiness.

Allison eyed the cat peacefully draped across Helena's chest. "Traitor," she muttered very softly, then looked up at the young woman holding the backstabbing beast. "She doesn't even like me half the time," she complained.

"My mom was good with cats." Helena offered a faintly embarrassed shrug as the creature passed out on her chest began purring noisily. "Guess I kind of inherited the ... whatever it is."

"Wonderful," Allison sighed and reached up to fingercomb damp hair back from her eyes. "Is there anyone who doesn't instantly succumb to your charms?" she demanded sarcastically.

Helena matched the sarcasm with her own ironic smile. "The one person I wish would," she shot back.

"Touché," Allison muttered, then pulled away from the hallway wall where she'd leaned when the world started to spin dizzily. Arms folded loosely across her chest in a subconsciously defensive gesture, she studied her guest for a long moment, carefully debating several responses before settling on the bland, "So, what do you like in your omelet?"

Confusion casting a pall over her expression, it took Helena a moment to decode the question, and when she did, arched brows drew into a frown. "Why are you always feeding me?" she asked after a beat.

She earned a shrug in response. "My mother's genes at work. She was always one to believe that when in doubt, feed someone ... and besides, I figure it's better than your usual solution." No question what Helena's solution had been, and it didn't involve food---at least it wasn't a requirement. Allison started toward the kitchen, only faintly unstable on her feet.

Not quite knowing what to say to that, Helena just scooped the cat off her chest and scrambled for her feet, while ignoring the annoyed swat that left faint red scratches on her forearm. Her first impulse was to refuse the food and leave, but her stomach growled just in time to point out that she was in no position to be picky, especially since her own refrigerator was empty except for a very moldy avocado. She still wasn't sure why she'd bought the thing since she didn't actually like them. Some weird flashback to Barbara's preference for natural, even healthy food on the rare occasion that she noticed such things. "Whatever you've got on hand, I guess," she said aloud. "I'm easygoing."

That earned her a look, but the other woman didn't argue, simply entered the kitchen and began digging through things.

Fifteen minutes later, Helena was wolfing down a plateful of food, relieved to have avoided any great need to talk so far. A post mortem on the previous night's traumas was something she'd just as soon avoid. She glanced up, noted she was being watched and opted to eat a little faster. Maybe if she got it down quickly enough, she could beat a hasty retreat and avoid the need to talk about things altogether.

She wasn't to be so lucky.

"I wanted to thank you for getting me home last night," Allison said at last, offering an embarrassed, uncomfortable smile when Helena glanced up. Her gaze dropped to take in her shifting surface of her coffee. In deference to the barnstormer style barrel rolls her stomach insisted on performing, she wasn't eating. "I ... um ... don't usually drink like that ... and I guess I didn't handle it very well."

Helena shrugged, but kept eating. Eating was good. Talking was bad. If she was eating hopefully she could keep the talking to a minimum. "I figured it was the least I could do," she muttered between bites. "Y'know ... after everything that happened." She tamped down the urge to curse herself for not making a run for it before the other woman got up. That would have been much easier and safer. She should have just stayed on her feet until she was sure the other woman was okay, then slipped out instead of crashing on the couch. Except her feet had been killing her and she'd been too damn tired. And ... well ... she hadn't really wanted to be alone after seeing the blonde and hearing her talk to Oracle. Even drunk, unconscious company was better than nothing, and the cat had been there to listen and....

Shit. She should have just run for it when she had the chance.

"Ah," the other woman exhaled, still studying her coffee as though it contained the secrets of the universe. "I ... uh ... what exactly did happen?" she asked at last and risked a quick look up, her expression a mask of confusion, brows drawn into a frown, lower lip caught between her teeth.

Caught by surprise, Helena flashed a rabbit in the headlights look. What happened? Nothing she wanted to talk about, that was for sure. "Ummm," she exhaled, drawing the uncertain sound out. "What do you remember?" she asked at last. There. The ball was in Allison's court now.

Allison's expression was a study in someone who didn't want to answer a particular question. Her brows twitched, her mouth worked, a tiny tic jerked the muscles under one eye, and her throat muscles worked convulsively. One hand released one half of the two-handed death grip she had on her coffee cup, then rose to her temple. "I ... uh ... it's kinda fuzzy," she admitted uncomfortably, then added, "but there seems to be a vague memory of...."

She trailed off and Helena braced herself to be blasted for her lousy behavior. She was caught by surprise when the other woman continued haltingly.

"This is nuts, but ... well ... I coulda sworn I saw ... well ... an angel, I guess." The loose hand waved in a nervous gesture. "Y'know ... beautiful ... blonde ... all in white...." Allison flinched as she added with a little, fluttery hand motion, her voice very nearly cracking mid-word, "Flying."

Helena just stared. Given everything that had happened, she didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed that that was the memory that stuck out. She had mixed emotions where Blondie was concerned. Well, no, actually they weren't mixed now that she thought about it. She pretty much just hated her.

Allison read the staring as disbelief and continued in a rush. "Obviously, I don't hold my liquor very well." She reached up, massaging her temple as she glared at the surface of the table and continued in halting syllables. "Though I've gotta say that I've never had hallucinations before ... so ... well, I'm really not insane or anything ... I don't think."

Helena froze, staring at the other woman's downbent head with something akin to guilt, unhappy with the notion of lying, and in a position where the truth wasn't exactly an option either. She sighed softly, tried to think of something clever to say to sidestep the whole issue. Except she just wasn't up to clever at that point. She paused long enough that Allison spoke up instead.

"Well, obviously, I didn't live through a twentieth century rendition of The Annunciation, so ... well ... you can understand if I don't really trust what little I remember." There was an implied question in the admission that warned Helena the other woman wasn't going to let go of her curiosity.

Stick as close to the truth as possible, Helena decided. "You closed the place out ... and were pretty tanked," she admitted. "Tried to drive home--"

"Oh Jesus," Allison moaned, shielding her face with one hand, utterly mortified by her behavior.

"I took your keys away," Helena quickly assured her.

"Thank you," the two words were softly uttered, nearly inaudible, but genuinely grateful.

"We argued," Helena continued, which was more or less the truth. Okay, so the argument had come after the attempted mugging and Blondie's entrance and exit, but hopefully it wouldn't be necessary to go into that part of the story.

The news only increased the mortification. "Wonderful," Allison exhaled. "I'm not just an irresponsible drunk, I'm a nasty one."

It would be so easy, Helena realized in a rush, to just leave it alone like that. The other woman didn't remember enough to know one way or another, and seeing an 'angel' meant she'd doubt any memories she might regain anyway. Sweep it under the rug and Helena could almost pretend she hadn't behaved like a complete and total utter lout. So easy. Just pretend she hadn't lost control. She could even play the victim. The other woman was ripe for that sort of manipulation, and had a soft nature that would easily fall into the trap Helena knew how to set as much from instinct as experience. She'd seen her mother play people that way so many times, knew exactly how easy it was to do---and how effective. Do it right, and as far as the world would know, she'd be absolved of any responsibility. Do it right, and she could almost pretend it was all true. Almost pretend she hadn't nearly....

She couldn't finish the thought.

Almost, but not quite.

Helena reached up, scraping overlong bangs out of her eyes on the journey to massaging her throbbing temple. "No," she said very softly. "You weren't nasty." She looked up, genuine contrition in her eyes. "I was."

Dark brows drew into a frown while brown eyes rose to consider the young woman with silent intensity.

Helena almost wished the other woman would speak, snap somehow, and give her an excuse to show some aggrieved outrage. Maybe that would make things easier. Not better, but easier. If she lost her temper, she could do something reprehensible and rationalize it away. She could still retrieve that self-interested amorality, and do the easy thing. She waited a long moment. No such luck. Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke carefully. "I got some news ... was in a bad space ... and...." She trailed off, pushing the plate away as her stomach rolled. She tossed her fork down and hid her face in her hands, her voice muffled as she forced herself to continue. "You accused me of wanting you to hurt as much as I do," she said at last, surprised to find how much more real it seemed after she said the words aloud. She suddenly found herself wondering if this was what growing up was all about, not flinching away from the worst damn thing a person could think of themselves. "And you were right."

"I ... see...." The soft exhalation had a strangled quality as though speaking presented a particular challenge to the woman on the other side of the table.

Helena didn't look up. "I acted like a total jerk ... and you should probably throw me the hell out and bar the door." She dropped a hand enough to claw at the tears that were suddenly burning her eyes and blurring what little she could see of the world ... mostly her own palms at that point. God, why the hell had she ever thought that Barbara could want her anyway? She was a thug. And a whiny thug at that. Hell, Barbara was probably relieved to be rid of her. She knew she would be. The blonde was probably sweet and thoughtful, and never had temper tantrums. She sniffed loudly, self pity nearly overwhelming her. Hell, Barbara was probably better off working with the other woman. She was probably all the things Helena wasn't.

And she could fly.

"Helena?"

Helena looked up, realized she was being stared at, and fought the urge to just crumple. She was scum, pure and simple scum. "I'd have left last night," she added in a rush, not wanting the other woman to think she was trying to move in on her, or stalk her in some way, which she suddenly wouldn't blame her in the least for thinking, "but you were in no shape to be left alone ... but I swear I ... I slept on the couch and didn't even try to--"

"Here, take this," the surprisingly dispassionate command broke in on Helena's raggedly uttered commentary as a handful of paper napkins were shoved into her hand to serve as makeshift tissues. "And don't worry about it."

Slim hands dropped and watery blue eyes rose. "But ... I...." Helena trailed off, unable to finish cataloguing her own evils.

Allison cocked her head to one side. "Well, I don't seem to have suffered any grave injuries ... and admitting the truth counts for something." She ran her thumb along the top edge of her coffee mug. "And it sounds like maybe it was harder on you than it was on me."

"I acted like an animal," Helena said aloud, sickened by her behavior. She'd been out to do exactly what the other woman accused her of---causing pain simply because she hurt so much. Some superhero she was. "I grabbed you ... nearly hurt you...."

Allison sighed, then took a long drink from her mug, buying time to think things through with a brain that was working at a decidedly slower clip than normal. Staring into the swirling dark surface of her coffee, she struggled to remember, but it was just too muddled, the images a confusing melange, none of which made any sense worth mentioning. Oh, and then there was the angel. She cringed, concluding there were some definite drawbacks to growing up Catholic. It caught up with one at the strangest times no matter how lapsed a body might be. "Maybe ... but you didn't ... so maybe not," she said at last, her tone a little uncertain as she tried to decide if she was turning into one of those women she rather despised who kept forgiving lovers and boyfriends after blows that led to seemingly-sincere apologies. No, she decided at last, at least not yet. No bruises, and it wasn't like they were suddenly entangled in some sick romance for all of the physical passion that had started the strange relationship. She wasn't even sure how to qualify it. It wasn't love, not close enough for friendship, though there was a strange attraction there. Or maybe it was just that Helena had such a fierce, near irresistible kind of charisma---along with a welling pit of need, that everyone who ventured anywhere near her was drawn in in spite of themselves. The younger woman was in a space where she needed someone, only she didn't have the someone she needed. Somehow, Allison mused, she'd been elected as the fill-in candidate. It had put them into some weird, swirling sort of contact that she couldn't ever quite get out of. Rather like quicksand, but much better loo