Darker Shades of Grey - Part 2 (M15+, angst)
Darker Shade of Grey
Continued in part two
Helena
I should be at home with Barbara. I should be cuddled up in her arms smirking as she tells me just how wonderful I am and how great I make her feel.
I should be. I could be if I could just get Mr. Jerk-o-rama to quit asking for drinks and let me go home. He’s already completely off his face, how much more can he possibly drink before he’s just a decorative door mat? Not a very attractive or stylish decorative door mat.
“You missy are one…two really attractive ladies. Are you twins?”
He’s seeing double! I cheer loudly in my own head. Can’t be much longer until he passes out and then I can leave.
I grab a dish cloth and polish a shot glass. “Yes sir, identical,” I grin. I put the shot glass down and pour him another shot. He grins at me, “Cheeky, cheeky.”
“Only when I work.” This is so boring.
“Well…” he hiccups loudly, “maybe when you finish work you two beautiful ladies could show me how cheeky you are when you aren’t working.”
I think I might throw up.
This is ridiculous. I’m bored out of my mind I can’t believe I’m talking to the last drunk in the bar. Surely we can throw him out. I quickly scan my surroundings. No boss, no other patrons. I grin at the drunk and he jumps from the shock.
“Well sir,” I say seductively as I run my finger along his jaw. “Maybe I could show you some of my moves.” With a gentle tap to the side of his face his eyes roll into the back of his head and he slumps unconscious onto the floor.
“Last drunk is down!” I call out as I throw my dish rag away and hop over the bar, “I’m going home.”
“Goodnight Helena.”
I grab my jacket and whistle as I push open the front door and make sure it locks behind me.
Barbara.
I feel like singing.
Or dancing a jig.
Or writing my own Broadway play.
I sigh into the cold night air.
This is what that woman does to me. She turns the wild cat, Helena Kyle - The Huntress - into a little fluffy kitten. Somehow I don’t think ‘The Fluffy Kitten’ will strike fear into to many hearts.
She might find it cute though and I wouldn’t mind that. She finds a lot of things cute about me.
She says I cross my eyes when she touches my cheek and apparently that’s cute.
She says I scratch her lightly when I hug her and that’s cute. She says that when she’s upset and I purr for her she finds me irresistibly cute.
Irresistibly cute? Even my mother never described me as cute. Wild, untameable, beautiful but never cute. Maybe adorable.
I wonder if she’s in bed by now. I doubt it even though I told her if she wasn’t there would be consequences. She’s not scared of me, not even a little bit.
Dinah isn’t scared of me either but at the moment Dinah thinks she’s invincible.
Nothing can hurt her.
She survived a big fall so she can’t be harmed again. Of course that’s not true, no one is invincible I know from experience that she’ll keep pushing the line until something big and bad happens to her again. That’s when everything will come crashing down.
I just hope I’m there when she needs me.
I remember when Dinah first moved to New Gotham and she was easy to please, a smile here, a compliment there. I didn’t realise at the time that she just wanted my approval, someone to love her.
She was untainted, innocent. She saw everything in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong.
She doesn’t anymore. It’s obvious.
She’s seen the grey in the corners. She’s feels that when she’s hitting a perp its ok to hit just a little harder than necessary because he deserves it.
She’s seen the line between the grey and the black where it’s ok to hit but not to kill.
She’s seen the line between the grey and the white where it’s ok to stop but not to give up completely.
Barbara says she has the calling. Barbara says she’ll be alright. She says it a lot actually and each time I wonder if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
At night I listen to Barbara cry herself to sleep. Dinah does sometimes too but I never see the tears I just hear the whimpers and the sobbing. Her pillow is never wet and Gabby never says a thing.
Barbara wants to help. Dinah doesn’t want help.
Dinah wants to be left alone. Barbara is alone.
Barbara can’t walk. Dinah can’t cry.
Dinah’s losing her mind. Barbara’s losing her heart.
I feel so completely helpless, Gabby is the same. We sit in the background while they argue and scream and curse. Then when they’re finished Barbara hides in her computers and Dinah hides in the darkness of the New Gotham streets.
Sometimes Gabby goes to Barbara and I stay with Dinah. Sometimes we go to our lovers and comfort the only way we know how. Other times Gabby and I sit together on the balcony with the doors open and listen to the hurtful words being exchanged, sometimes for hours at a time.
I never thought it was possible for Dinah to even know some of the words she yells. I never thought it was possible for my heart to break and pound so viciously all at once.
Well, that was before.
Before that night.
When Dinah lay in puddles of dirty rain water. Her left leg obviously broken, blood pouring from her nose and the back of her head.
I thought I would lose her and my heart broke.
That’s when I realise I was a cold hearted liar.
I told Dinah I didn’t love her.
I lied.
I may not be completely in love her but there is a part of me that yearns for something that I know only Dinah can give me.
There is one thing I’m sure of. I told Dinah I didn’t love her.
I lied.
Barbara
It’s past midnight and I won’t sleep until Dinah is safely in her room. Or on the couch. Or on the balcony. Or even in the Clocktower, locked in the basement where she can never escape from me again.
My bed is uncomfortable which is strange because for the last two years it’s been perfectly fine. I hate having to be so worried. About Dinah, about Helena, about Gabby and even about myself.
It feels like we’re riding in a rickety truck at 200 down a road filled with pot holes and broken branches. One of us will fail and all of us will fall.
Just like Harley Quinn wanted us to.
“This is ridiculous,” I sputter to myself and reach over to flick on the light. My digital clock reads 1:12. Helena should be home soon.
I smooth back my hair, which has finally started to get longer, and lever myself into my wheelchair. I wrap myself in a blanket before I stealthily head towards the Delphi platform to track Helena’s path home. I’ll be calmer knowing she’s ok.
A quiet sob stops me at my bedroom door.
I pull open the heavy door and crane my neck around the side to see into the Clocktower.
I don’t recognise Dinah at first. Her skin is so pale in comparison to her hair, her face is gaunt and she’s so tightly curled up into a ball that it’s hard to tell where she begins and ends.
Her cheeks are stained with dry tears, she looks tired and she can’t be comfortable sitting in the position she’s in. I want to know how long she’s been sitting there.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she stares at a spot on the floor in front of her. “Barbara, I’m so sorry.”
I can’t sit here and watch her beautiful heart break. I slowly approach her like she’s a wild animal and I’m the timid trainer, we’re meeting for the first time.
“Dinah, can you hear me?”
I get no response, no movement, nothing to show that she realises I’m sitting right in front of her. I decide that if I’m going to help her I need to be at her level. Slowly I lever myself out of my wheelchair and onto the floor in front of her shaking form.
“Dinah, sweetheart, can you hear me?”
I reach out and lightly touch the top of her head. My touch works miracles. Her head jumps up and she glances around the room with her wild eyes until they settle on my face, fear and hate. Within seconds the horrible emotions are gone and seem to be replaced with remorse and even hope. She stares at me as if she never thought she would again.
In two quick motions she surges forward and wraps her arm around my neck. I have to control the panic that immediately bubbles up inside my stomach. There’s a deep natural instinct that has built up over the last year. When ever I’m around Dinah I am constantly on my guard. It’s survival instinct.
I’m cautious as she starts to cry into my shoulder. It’s strange to feel the salty wet on the back of my neck. My eyes don’t seem to want to focus.
I have no idea how to react but I don’t want her to hurt, I want to comfort her, so I do.
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and rock her steadily as she mumbles apologies over and over again in my ear. I soothe her as best I can until she’s just a limp mass of flesh leaning against me as if I’m the only thing holding her back from the ledge.
“Dinah? How long have you been out here?”
She can’t seem to reply around the coughs, splutters and sobs that still erupt harshly from her throat. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles again, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?” I ask as I stroke her head trying to flatten one piece of shiny black hair. “Dinah look at me,” she seems to have trouble focusing on my face.
She blinks, “Barbara?”
I nod and touch her puffy red cheek.
For a second everything seems ok. She’s sitting in front of me and not screaming. We’re having an almost reasonable conversation. She’s not running.
The hope and euphoria I feel at the slight improvement we’ve made is abruptly squashed as she shoves at my hands and yells, “Get the hell away from me!”
Within seconds she’s on her feet and storming towards the balcony. Before I can call to her she’s on the edge of the balcony, arms spread ready to swan dive off.
I silently curse Helena for encouraging the young girl to learn how to ‘fly’.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I see her appear on the top of the apartment building across the road.
Continued in part two
Helena
I should be at home with Barbara. I should be cuddled up in her arms smirking as she tells me just how wonderful I am and how great I make her feel.
I should be. I could be if I could just get Mr. Jerk-o-rama to quit asking for drinks and let me go home. He’s already completely off his face, how much more can he possibly drink before he’s just a decorative door mat? Not a very attractive or stylish decorative door mat.
“You missy are one…two really attractive ladies. Are you twins?”
He’s seeing double! I cheer loudly in my own head. Can’t be much longer until he passes out and then I can leave.
I grab a dish cloth and polish a shot glass. “Yes sir, identical,” I grin. I put the shot glass down and pour him another shot. He grins at me, “Cheeky, cheeky.”
“Only when I work.” This is so boring.
“Well…” he hiccups loudly, “maybe when you finish work you two beautiful ladies could show me how cheeky you are when you aren’t working.”
I think I might throw up.
This is ridiculous. I’m bored out of my mind I can’t believe I’m talking to the last drunk in the bar. Surely we can throw him out. I quickly scan my surroundings. No boss, no other patrons. I grin at the drunk and he jumps from the shock.
“Well sir,” I say seductively as I run my finger along his jaw. “Maybe I could show you some of my moves.” With a gentle tap to the side of his face his eyes roll into the back of his head and he slumps unconscious onto the floor.
“Last drunk is down!” I call out as I throw my dish rag away and hop over the bar, “I’m going home.”
“Goodnight Helena.”
I grab my jacket and whistle as I push open the front door and make sure it locks behind me.
Barbara.
I feel like singing.
Or dancing a jig.
Or writing my own Broadway play.
I sigh into the cold night air.
This is what that woman does to me. She turns the wild cat, Helena Kyle - The Huntress - into a little fluffy kitten. Somehow I don’t think ‘The Fluffy Kitten’ will strike fear into to many hearts.
She might find it cute though and I wouldn’t mind that. She finds a lot of things cute about me.
She says I cross my eyes when she touches my cheek and apparently that’s cute.
She says I scratch her lightly when I hug her and that’s cute. She says that when she’s upset and I purr for her she finds me irresistibly cute.
Irresistibly cute? Even my mother never described me as cute. Wild, untameable, beautiful but never cute. Maybe adorable.
I wonder if she’s in bed by now. I doubt it even though I told her if she wasn’t there would be consequences. She’s not scared of me, not even a little bit.
Dinah isn’t scared of me either but at the moment Dinah thinks she’s invincible.
Nothing can hurt her.
She survived a big fall so she can’t be harmed again. Of course that’s not true, no one is invincible I know from experience that she’ll keep pushing the line until something big and bad happens to her again. That’s when everything will come crashing down.
I just hope I’m there when she needs me.
I remember when Dinah first moved to New Gotham and she was easy to please, a smile here, a compliment there. I didn’t realise at the time that she just wanted my approval, someone to love her.
She was untainted, innocent. She saw everything in black and white, good and bad, right and wrong.
She doesn’t anymore. It’s obvious.
She’s seen the grey in the corners. She’s feels that when she’s hitting a perp its ok to hit just a little harder than necessary because he deserves it.
She’s seen the line between the grey and the black where it’s ok to hit but not to kill.
She’s seen the line between the grey and the white where it’s ok to stop but not to give up completely.
Barbara says she has the calling. Barbara says she’ll be alright. She says it a lot actually and each time I wonder if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
At night I listen to Barbara cry herself to sleep. Dinah does sometimes too but I never see the tears I just hear the whimpers and the sobbing. Her pillow is never wet and Gabby never says a thing.
Barbara wants to help. Dinah doesn’t want help.
Dinah wants to be left alone. Barbara is alone.
Barbara can’t walk. Dinah can’t cry.
Dinah’s losing her mind. Barbara’s losing her heart.
I feel so completely helpless, Gabby is the same. We sit in the background while they argue and scream and curse. Then when they’re finished Barbara hides in her computers and Dinah hides in the darkness of the New Gotham streets.
Sometimes Gabby goes to Barbara and I stay with Dinah. Sometimes we go to our lovers and comfort the only way we know how. Other times Gabby and I sit together on the balcony with the doors open and listen to the hurtful words being exchanged, sometimes for hours at a time.
I never thought it was possible for Dinah to even know some of the words she yells. I never thought it was possible for my heart to break and pound so viciously all at once.
Well, that was before.
Before that night.
When Dinah lay in puddles of dirty rain water. Her left leg obviously broken, blood pouring from her nose and the back of her head.
I thought I would lose her and my heart broke.
That’s when I realise I was a cold hearted liar.
I told Dinah I didn’t love her.
I lied.
I may not be completely in love her but there is a part of me that yearns for something that I know only Dinah can give me.
There is one thing I’m sure of. I told Dinah I didn’t love her.
I lied.
Barbara
It’s past midnight and I won’t sleep until Dinah is safely in her room. Or on the couch. Or on the balcony. Or even in the Clocktower, locked in the basement where she can never escape from me again.
My bed is uncomfortable which is strange because for the last two years it’s been perfectly fine. I hate having to be so worried. About Dinah, about Helena, about Gabby and even about myself.
It feels like we’re riding in a rickety truck at 200 down a road filled with pot holes and broken branches. One of us will fail and all of us will fall.
Just like Harley Quinn wanted us to.
“This is ridiculous,” I sputter to myself and reach over to flick on the light. My digital clock reads 1:12. Helena should be home soon.
I smooth back my hair, which has finally started to get longer, and lever myself into my wheelchair. I wrap myself in a blanket before I stealthily head towards the Delphi platform to track Helena’s path home. I’ll be calmer knowing she’s ok.
A quiet sob stops me at my bedroom door.
I pull open the heavy door and crane my neck around the side to see into the Clocktower.
I don’t recognise Dinah at first. Her skin is so pale in comparison to her hair, her face is gaunt and she’s so tightly curled up into a ball that it’s hard to tell where she begins and ends.
Her cheeks are stained with dry tears, she looks tired and she can’t be comfortable sitting in the position she’s in. I want to know how long she’s been sitting there.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles as she stares at a spot on the floor in front of her. “Barbara, I’m so sorry.”
I can’t sit here and watch her beautiful heart break. I slowly approach her like she’s a wild animal and I’m the timid trainer, we’re meeting for the first time.
“Dinah, can you hear me?”
I get no response, no movement, nothing to show that she realises I’m sitting right in front of her. I decide that if I’m going to help her I need to be at her level. Slowly I lever myself out of my wheelchair and onto the floor in front of her shaking form.
“Dinah, sweetheart, can you hear me?”
I reach out and lightly touch the top of her head. My touch works miracles. Her head jumps up and she glances around the room with her wild eyes until they settle on my face, fear and hate. Within seconds the horrible emotions are gone and seem to be replaced with remorse and even hope. She stares at me as if she never thought she would again.
In two quick motions she surges forward and wraps her arm around my neck. I have to control the panic that immediately bubbles up inside my stomach. There’s a deep natural instinct that has built up over the last year. When ever I’m around Dinah I am constantly on my guard. It’s survival instinct.
I’m cautious as she starts to cry into my shoulder. It’s strange to feel the salty wet on the back of my neck. My eyes don’t seem to want to focus.
I have no idea how to react but I don’t want her to hurt, I want to comfort her, so I do.
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and rock her steadily as she mumbles apologies over and over again in my ear. I soothe her as best I can until she’s just a limp mass of flesh leaning against me as if I’m the only thing holding her back from the ledge.
“Dinah? How long have you been out here?”
She can’t seem to reply around the coughs, splutters and sobs that still erupt harshly from her throat. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles again, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”
“Didn’t mean to what?” I ask as I stroke her head trying to flatten one piece of shiny black hair. “Dinah look at me,” she seems to have trouble focusing on my face.
She blinks, “Barbara?”
I nod and touch her puffy red cheek.
For a second everything seems ok. She’s sitting in front of me and not screaming. We’re having an almost reasonable conversation. She’s not running.
The hope and euphoria I feel at the slight improvement we’ve made is abruptly squashed as she shoves at my hands and yells, “Get the hell away from me!”
Within seconds she’s on her feet and storming towards the balcony. Before I can call to her she’s on the edge of the balcony, arms spread ready to swan dive off.
I silently curse Helena for encouraging the young girl to learn how to ‘fly’.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding when I see her appear on the top of the apartment building across the road.