See What I Might
Title: See What I Might
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Character: Oracle/Barbara Gordon
Rating: PG
Orientation: Het
Word Count: 937
Prompt: Mirrors/doubles
The mirror that Helena brought back to the Clocktower had seemed innocuous at first. It was an antique glass in an ornate but faded gilt frame. It was kind of ugly, actually. After a brief discussion of what to do with the recovered museum piece, Helena had propped the mirror up against a wall and taken Dinah out to get dinner and see a movie. Barbara had declined the invite to go with them, she had no interest in the latest action hero flick, she had enough of that in her reality.
She rolled her chair over to the mirror and stared down into it. She frowned. How had she gotten that bruise on her shin? She didn’t remember banging into anything. That was yet another major drawback of her paralysis, she could be injured below the waist and not even know it. Once again, she wished she had not answered the door that night. If she had done something different, maybe the Joker wouldn’t have shot her. Maybe her life wouldn’t be like this, maybe she’d have boyfriends and dates and romantic evenings.
The mirror in front of her suddenly shimmered.
She recognized the bedroom from her old apartment by the painting on the wall and the hand-me-down drapes from her dad that she had hated but never got around to changing before she had moved out. What she did not recognize was the bare male rear end she saw rolling about on the bed. Hairy male legs entangled with female legs. It was quite obvious what was going on. Barbara blushed.
What was she seeing here? She looked around to see if it was possibly a projection, but it was not. There was no sound, just the the moving images, like a TV. She rolled closer to the mirror and leaned over to brush her fingers across the glass. Solid. The movement on the glass stopped, not because of her touch but rather because the couple seemed done with their frolic. The woman kicked her legs and arms and then rolled free of the man, standing up beside the bed with her back to the mirror.
Barbara held her breath, waiting for the redhead to turn around. When she did, Barbara gasped, it was her face. Her face as it was now, the same age she was now, the same lines and wrinkles, a middle aged Barbara Gordon, one that had use of her legs. How was this possible? The Barbara Gordon in the mirror was walking around the bedroom, laughing as she swatted at the man on the bed. She left the room and the man sat up and looked after her. Barbara gasped again, she knew that face, knew that man. She and the Huntress had put him in Arkham Asylum not too long ago.
He slid off the bed and went to his clothes on the chair in the corner of the room. He withdrew a syringe and held it behind his back as he stalked to the bedroom door with a feral look on his face. Barbara gulped, wanting to warn her other self. She called out “No!” but the man obviously didn’t hear her or he would have jumped at the sound of her voice. When Barbara-in-the-mirror came back into the room, he pounced, jabbing the needle into her throat. She crumpled to the floor and he stood over her. He reached down and grabbed her hair, pulling her head up, exposing her throat. Barbara thought she caught sight of a glint of metal before the mirror faded to black.
“No. No, come back. What happened?” Barbara demanded. She ran her hand over the edge of the mirror, only then noticing that there was something engraved on it, covered by the paint. She wheeled over to her computer station and pulled up a diagnostic program. Then she went back to the mirror with a hand scanner and ran it over the bumps she felt along the frame, sending the data to one of the most sophisticated computer systems in New Gotham City.
A while later, the programs she ran the data through came back with a vague interpretation that said something about destinies seen and possibilities unrealized.
Rolling back over to the mirror, she tapped her chin as she stared at her reflection. Did she dare to ask it something again? Did she want to know?
“How many other Barbaras ended so violently?” she murmured. Then she groaned as the mirror shimmered and images began to flash quickly across the surface; Batgirl figuring prominently in most of them. She watched twenty versions of herself meet their ends before she could take no more of it.
“No more! Stop. Please, stop.” She pushed back and away. This was knowledge she did not want. The mirror had to go away, back to the museum it had been taken from. And it had to happen before she was tempted to ask more questions, before she let her curiosity bring her back before the antique soothsayer and make more inquiries that would disturb her and haunt her nightmares. She was certain she would not sleep well for a long time after seeing what she had seen.
Barbara was alive, here and now. Batgirl might be dead, but Oracle lived and it was a rich, full life. She was content. She really was. Barbara was not at all lonely.
She pulled her cell phone from the bag hanging on her chair and dialed Helena’s number. “Hi. What theatre are you going to” What time? I’ll meet you there. Yeah, I changed my mind.”
The endOriginally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Character: Oracle/Barbara Gordon
Rating: PG
Orientation: Het
Word Count: 937
Prompt: Mirrors/doubles
The mirror that Helena brought back to the Clocktower had seemed innocuous at first. It was an antique glass in an ornate but faded gilt frame. It was kind of ugly, actually. After a brief discussion of what to do with the recovered museum piece, Helena had propped the mirror up against a wall and taken Dinah out to get dinner and see a movie. Barbara had declined the invite to go with them, she had no interest in the latest action hero flick, she had enough of that in her reality.
She rolled her chair over to the mirror and stared down into it. She frowned. How had she gotten that bruise on her shin? She didn’t remember banging into anything. That was yet another major drawback of her paralysis, she could be injured below the waist and not even know it. Once again, she wished she had not answered the door that night. If she had done something different, maybe the Joker wouldn’t have shot her. Maybe her life wouldn’t be like this, maybe she’d have boyfriends and dates and romantic evenings.
The mirror in front of her suddenly shimmered.
She recognized the bedroom from her old apartment by the painting on the wall and the hand-me-down drapes from her dad that she had hated but never got around to changing before she had moved out. What she did not recognize was the bare male rear end she saw rolling about on the bed. Hairy male legs entangled with female legs. It was quite obvious what was going on. Barbara blushed.
What was she seeing here? She looked around to see if it was possibly a projection, but it was not. There was no sound, just the the moving images, like a TV. She rolled closer to the mirror and leaned over to brush her fingers across the glass. Solid. The movement on the glass stopped, not because of her touch but rather because the couple seemed done with their frolic. The woman kicked her legs and arms and then rolled free of the man, standing up beside the bed with her back to the mirror.
Barbara held her breath, waiting for the redhead to turn around. When she did, Barbara gasped, it was her face. Her face as it was now, the same age she was now, the same lines and wrinkles, a middle aged Barbara Gordon, one that had use of her legs. How was this possible? The Barbara Gordon in the mirror was walking around the bedroom, laughing as she swatted at the man on the bed. She left the room and the man sat up and looked after her. Barbara gasped again, she knew that face, knew that man. She and the Huntress had put him in Arkham Asylum not too long ago.
He slid off the bed and went to his clothes on the chair in the corner of the room. He withdrew a syringe and held it behind his back as he stalked to the bedroom door with a feral look on his face. Barbara gulped, wanting to warn her other self. She called out “No!” but the man obviously didn’t hear her or he would have jumped at the sound of her voice. When Barbara-in-the-mirror came back into the room, he pounced, jabbing the needle into her throat. She crumpled to the floor and he stood over her. He reached down and grabbed her hair, pulling her head up, exposing her throat. Barbara thought she caught sight of a glint of metal before the mirror faded to black.
“No. No, come back. What happened?” Barbara demanded. She ran her hand over the edge of the mirror, only then noticing that there was something engraved on it, covered by the paint. She wheeled over to her computer station and pulled up a diagnostic program. Then she went back to the mirror with a hand scanner and ran it over the bumps she felt along the frame, sending the data to one of the most sophisticated computer systems in New Gotham City.
A while later, the programs she ran the data through came back with a vague interpretation that said something about destinies seen and possibilities unrealized.
Rolling back over to the mirror, she tapped her chin as she stared at her reflection. Did she dare to ask it something again? Did she want to know?
“How many other Barbaras ended so violently?” she murmured. Then she groaned as the mirror shimmered and images began to flash quickly across the surface; Batgirl figuring prominently in most of them. She watched twenty versions of herself meet their ends before she could take no more of it.
“No more! Stop. Please, stop.” She pushed back and away. This was knowledge she did not want. The mirror had to go away, back to the museum it had been taken from. And it had to happen before she was tempted to ask more questions, before she let her curiosity bring her back before the antique soothsayer and make more inquiries that would disturb her and haunt her nightmares. She was certain she would not sleep well for a long time after seeing what she had seen.
Barbara was alive, here and now. Batgirl might be dead, but Oracle lived and it was a rich, full life. She was content. She really was. Barbara was not at all lonely.
She pulled her cell phone from the bag hanging on her chair and dialed Helena’s number. “Hi. What theatre are you going to” What time? I’ll meet you there. Yeah, I changed my mind.”
The endOriginally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/