FIC: "Your Shield, Your Clarity" - Birds of Prey, Helena/Barbara
Look! I wrote fic. Birds of Prey, remember the show from the WB? This is solely based on the show. Go figure.
Your Shield, Your Clarity | 1090 words
by bionic
rating: PG
disclaimer: Belongs to DC and WB.
spoilers: End of Birds of Prey TV series, you kind of have to know these people/characters to understand this. Maybe.
summary: What friends are for.
It was late when Helena finally arrived at the clocktower.
A week to get all the damage repaired. Another two weeks to replace the broken hardware and little gadgets that Barbara relied on. They were just starting to function like a family, and she was starting to feel…better…about letting Wade in.
Now, Wade was gone.
Helena spent most of that second week listening to Barbara as she instructed her how to re-wire the security system so the alarm trips were more sensitive in case anyone were to come snooping around again.
Dr. Quinzel was locked up in Arkham, but it didn’t lift the silent echo of grief that permeated Barbara’s workstation, or fix the smile that never quite reached her eyes.
Dinah was busy with classes. She’d scored a perfect score on her algebra II exam. She was joining an after school chemistry club with her friend. It was all well and nerdy, but at least something was going right.
Helena’s personal life was not one of those things. Her and Reese had cooled off since she’d been patrolling long nights with little communication from Barbara, and without a fully restored command console to work from, police reports had to be obtained the old fashioned way - hanging around every crime scene she managed to find and parsing out the important information from a nearby rooftop or dark corner. Plus, she helped clean up the bar after the whole city went crazy. Enough responsibilities without having to worry about Reese, who seemed to know she needed some time and distance and kept himself scarce.
So it was late when she finished patrolling Sunday, with nothing to do but return to base. Try to relax.
Despite the hour, the tower still enveloped her with familiar warmth that chased the chill of rooftops and dank alleyways away from her bones. Silent, but it remained their collective home. Minus one, but it was theirs.
There were memories here, good and bad.
Rooting through the cupboards, she found the poptarts, ate two, then poured herself a small glass of Barbara’s finest wine, stashed in the topmost cupboard so Dinah wouldn’t stumble upon it by accident. The sweetness made her wince but it soaked more warmth into her belly, pooling and spreading throughout her chest. Kept drinking until she felt a flush on her cheeks.
Then, as was customary for the past two weeks, she checked in on Barbara. The woman was always concerned by Helena’s life decisions. It felt strange to have their roles reversed, however much Barbara tried to deny it. Before, worry would crinkle her forehead and be evidenced in the teeth marks on her pencils, but now it was Helena who stayed up too late, snacked too much, and slept too little.
She was coping. That’s what Barbara had said, every time Helena cast her sidelong looks that said she knew better. You didn’t cope if you bottled it up inside. She didn’t smile like she used to, and she certainly didn’t laugh.
Sometimes, Helena almost wished she’d let Barbara kill the doctor.
She’d been quiet as a mouse, but apparently, not quiet enough.
“Helena.”
From the doorway, “Barbara. You’re awake.”
“No, I’m not.”
Helena crossed her arms and approached the bed. Barbara remained a lump underneath the fluffy comforter.
“You do know it’s four o’clock in the morning, and only I’m allowed to be awake right now.”
Her form shifted and the sheets rustled softly.
“Did you need something?”
Helena didn’t answer, but she sank down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on the covered form, fingers grasping gently on the curve of a shoulder.
“Do you?” Only the dark black shadow of Barbara’s hair was visible, until Helena snapped on the bedside lamp and cast the room in a dull bronze, and the red was as brilliant as ever, tousled on the pillowcase, Barbara’s face turned away from her. She didn’t answer Helena’s question, but she sighed at the light, winced a little when it became apparent Helena wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
Helena waited, and when Barbara did speak, her voice was heavy, tired.
“It’s not fair.”
It was the first time she’d heard her say something so defeated, so childlike. Like she’d finally let the doubting, scared, and lonely girl out of her strong, proud cage of justice.
For so long, Helena had followed her down the darkest alleys of the criminal underbelly that she’d forgotten she wasn’t a metahuman, she wasn’t genetically altered to be superior. It was only ever glaringly apparent whenever she wore the wretched device on her spine, granting her the ability to walk on two feet. An almost physical hurt would take hold of Helena’s chest, squeeze a little until she wanted to promise Barbara she’d do the dishes for a month and not beat the criminals to a pulp for two, anything just so she wouldn’t have to watch her struggle through the slow, jerky movement of her legs as she tried to be normal.
But she wasn’t normal, none of them were, and Helena didn’t want to pretend otherwise, especially not Barbara whom she’d grown to love, the wheelchair that was eerily silent, loved it because it was a part of Barbara, an extension of her for better and worse.
And maybe, in some twisted form of love, she wanted to protect her, from both the evils of criminals and the evils of thoughts, shifting eyes. Pity.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Barbara snapped, as if reading her mind.
She ignored the bitter edge to her voice and instead pushed until Barbara scooted over, begrudgingly dragging most of the covers so Helena couldn’t have any. Barbara needed this. To know that not everyone who loved her died. To feel a warm body, and not just the ghost of one, when she woke up in the morning.
Might’ve been cruel, if Helena weren’t so selfish for the contact. If she’d stopped to think that maybe not all her intentions were so noble.
She lay down on her side and folded her long legs behind Barbara’s, the sheets shifting soft as sand underneath them. Barbara’s socked feet were cold, so Helena held them gently between her own, then wrapped one arm around her shoulder. She clasped her hand on top of Barbara’s and rubbed circles into the back of her palm. Kissed the back of her head, smelled sweat and faint fruit.
“Go to sleep,” she said, and turned off the light.
author's note: I really love this show! So, what do you think?
Also, can someone recommend any communities I can post this to?
Your Shield, Your Clarity | 1090 words
by bionic
rating: PG
disclaimer: Belongs to DC and WB.
spoilers: End of Birds of Prey TV series, you kind of have to know these people/characters to understand this. Maybe.
summary: What friends are for.
It was late when Helena finally arrived at the clocktower.
A week to get all the damage repaired. Another two weeks to replace the broken hardware and little gadgets that Barbara relied on. They were just starting to function like a family, and she was starting to feel…better…about letting Wade in.
Now, Wade was gone.
Helena spent most of that second week listening to Barbara as she instructed her how to re-wire the security system so the alarm trips were more sensitive in case anyone were to come snooping around again.
Dr. Quinzel was locked up in Arkham, but it didn’t lift the silent echo of grief that permeated Barbara’s workstation, or fix the smile that never quite reached her eyes.
Dinah was busy with classes. She’d scored a perfect score on her algebra II exam. She was joining an after school chemistry club with her friend. It was all well and nerdy, but at least something was going right.
Helena’s personal life was not one of those things. Her and Reese had cooled off since she’d been patrolling long nights with little communication from Barbara, and without a fully restored command console to work from, police reports had to be obtained the old fashioned way - hanging around every crime scene she managed to find and parsing out the important information from a nearby rooftop or dark corner. Plus, she helped clean up the bar after the whole city went crazy. Enough responsibilities without having to worry about Reese, who seemed to know she needed some time and distance and kept himself scarce.
So it was late when she finished patrolling Sunday, with nothing to do but return to base. Try to relax.
Despite the hour, the tower still enveloped her with familiar warmth that chased the chill of rooftops and dank alleyways away from her bones. Silent, but it remained their collective home. Minus one, but it was theirs.
There were memories here, good and bad.
Rooting through the cupboards, she found the poptarts, ate two, then poured herself a small glass of Barbara’s finest wine, stashed in the topmost cupboard so Dinah wouldn’t stumble upon it by accident. The sweetness made her wince but it soaked more warmth into her belly, pooling and spreading throughout her chest. Kept drinking until she felt a flush on her cheeks.
Then, as was customary for the past two weeks, she checked in on Barbara. The woman was always concerned by Helena’s life decisions. It felt strange to have their roles reversed, however much Barbara tried to deny it. Before, worry would crinkle her forehead and be evidenced in the teeth marks on her pencils, but now it was Helena who stayed up too late, snacked too much, and slept too little.
She was coping. That’s what Barbara had said, every time Helena cast her sidelong looks that said she knew better. You didn’t cope if you bottled it up inside. She didn’t smile like she used to, and she certainly didn’t laugh.
Sometimes, Helena almost wished she’d let Barbara kill the doctor.
She’d been quiet as a mouse, but apparently, not quiet enough.
“Helena.”
From the doorway, “Barbara. You’re awake.”
“No, I’m not.”
Helena crossed her arms and approached the bed. Barbara remained a lump underneath the fluffy comforter.
“You do know it’s four o’clock in the morning, and only I’m allowed to be awake right now.”
Her form shifted and the sheets rustled softly.
“Did you need something?”
Helena didn’t answer, but she sank down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on the covered form, fingers grasping gently on the curve of a shoulder.
“Do you?” Only the dark black shadow of Barbara’s hair was visible, until Helena snapped on the bedside lamp and cast the room in a dull bronze, and the red was as brilliant as ever, tousled on the pillowcase, Barbara’s face turned away from her. She didn’t answer Helena’s question, but she sighed at the light, winced a little when it became apparent Helena wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
Helena waited, and when Barbara did speak, her voice was heavy, tired.
“It’s not fair.”
It was the first time she’d heard her say something so defeated, so childlike. Like she’d finally let the doubting, scared, and lonely girl out of her strong, proud cage of justice.
For so long, Helena had followed her down the darkest alleys of the criminal underbelly that she’d forgotten she wasn’t a metahuman, she wasn’t genetically altered to be superior. It was only ever glaringly apparent whenever she wore the wretched device on her spine, granting her the ability to walk on two feet. An almost physical hurt would take hold of Helena’s chest, squeeze a little until she wanted to promise Barbara she’d do the dishes for a month and not beat the criminals to a pulp for two, anything just so she wouldn’t have to watch her struggle through the slow, jerky movement of her legs as she tried to be normal.
But she wasn’t normal, none of them were, and Helena didn’t want to pretend otherwise, especially not Barbara whom she’d grown to love, the wheelchair that was eerily silent, loved it because it was a part of Barbara, an extension of her for better and worse.
And maybe, in some twisted form of love, she wanted to protect her, from both the evils of criminals and the evils of thoughts, shifting eyes. Pity.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Barbara snapped, as if reading her mind.
She ignored the bitter edge to her voice and instead pushed until Barbara scooted over, begrudgingly dragging most of the covers so Helena couldn’t have any. Barbara needed this. To know that not everyone who loved her died. To feel a warm body, and not just the ghost of one, when she woke up in the morning.
Might’ve been cruel, if Helena weren’t so selfish for the contact. If she’d stopped to think that maybe not all her intentions were so noble.
She lay down on her side and folded her long legs behind Barbara’s, the sheets shifting soft as sand underneath them. Barbara’s socked feet were cold, so Helena held them gently between her own, then wrapped one arm around her shoulder. She clasped her hand on top of Barbara’s and rubbed circles into the back of her palm. Kissed the back of her head, smelled sweat and faint fruit.
“Go to sleep,” she said, and turned off the light.
author's note: I really love this show! So, what do you think?
Also, can someone recommend any communities I can post this to?