[flashfic] BoP
Fandom: Birds of Prey
Characters: Barbara Gordon, an old friend/acquiantance, and the remembered
Words: 1268
Notes: This wasn't what I thought I was going to write. I'm sorry? Spoilers for One Year Later arcs: Robin #151 and everything up to and including BoP #99.
Barbara bought the flowers at Sherwood Florist II. Dinah was delighted to see her, and only a little puzzled. Barbara asked for bright colors, a small arrangement of Dinah’s choice, but bright colors… and maybe some purples. Barbara didn’t tell her who the flowers were for and, to her surprise, Dinah didn’t ask. The flowers might have been an excuse to check up on her former partner and make sure she was doing well adjusting to her new life. They weren’t. Seeing Dinah and Sin-and taking note of Rhosyn Forrest trying to be quietly unobtrusive behind the counter-was just a bonus.
Or maybe not, Barbara thought, as she wheeled herself over the well kept lawns. Maybe she’d needed to bask in the glow of Dinah’s cheerfulness, in Sin’s laughter, in the brightness of the flower shop’s heady aromas. So that she could brace herself. For this.
“Hello, Stephanie,” Barbara said softly as she came upon the headstone. A light breeze swept over the rolling hills, sending the grass swaying and the trees rustling. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Barbara leaned forward and placed the small bouquet of flowers at the base of the stone.
There were no other flowers.
Barbara sat silent and still for a very long time. In her photographic memory, there was a memory of a photograph, cold and still, a tag hanging from one toe.
She traced the name on the headstone.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
It took a second for Barbara to convince herself she had actually heard a voice, another to realize that the voice was not Stephanie Brown’s, another to determine that it had come from behind her, and another to start reaching for an escrima stick.
“Don’t,” the voice said and Barbara felt a shiver crawl up her spine.
She knew that voice.
Barbara turned her head slowly, only to find her unexpected company practically next to her. The young woman casually lifted a handful of flowers in one gloved fist. “We’re both here to do the same thing. Hello, Barbara.”
“Cassandra,” Barbara said evenly, feeling muscles tense along her back, in her arms.
Cassandra Cain ignored her and knelt before the gravestone, placing the flowers gently beside Barbara’s. Pulling a glove off one hand, she brushed at over a year’s worth of dust and grime, saying nothing. She pressed her fingertips to the engraved letters.
“I never expected to see you here, Barbara,” Cassandra said, clearly enunciating. The tonality of her voice, the ease of her language, sounded odd in Barbara’s ears. She’d known, of course. They all knew, now, after Tim’s encounter with her. “You didn’t come to the funeral.”
“No,” Barbara said, softly. “I didn’t.”
“What brings you here?” Cassandra asked, still kneeling. If Barbara wanted to, if she were fast enough, she might have been able to deal a disabling blow to the back of the neck.
And even as she thought it, sorrow and regret clutched at her heart.
Once, looking at Cassandra had filled her with hope. Too many things had changed in a year.
“I was in Gotham. I thought I should pay my respects,” Barbara replied.
Cassandra turned her eyes on her at last. “Really?”
No.
“You mean, after all this time, you just decided to visit?” Cassandra asked. Her eyes were calm only on the surface, intense and searching.
No. But Barbara couldn’t tell her about a girl in a batsuit who had tried to claim the name that they had each possessed in turn, or the photographs that she kept on her computer, on file, the ones that she had displayed like a vicious warning, the ones that she herself hadn’t wanted to look at again.
Unlike Bruce, Barbara didn’t need an entire cave filled with reminders.
She couldn’t forget.
Not a single mistake.
Should have checked on Stephanie sooner-should have listened to that simple request, it might’ve taken only a minute, could have-
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders even as another pressed on her heart. “I’m sorry, Cass.”
“Me, too,” Cassandra said softly, voice rough and raw, closer to what Barbara remembered. The young woman tapped the tombstone. “But to her.”
Barbara exhaled in a long breath. It didn’t ease the tightness in her chest, the butterflies in her stomach, the hint of nausea teasing at the back of her throat.
“It still hurts,” Cassandra said. “It’s been a year, but it still hurts. I miss her.” She rocked back onto her heels and rested her elbows on her knees. “She saved my life. At least once. But I haven’t seen her since... since Shiva.”
Barbara, who had been following until the last part, consciously had to stop herself from blinking. She’d heard the stories, the rumors, but….
“You think she’s watching over me? Now?”
“What do you mean, Cassandra?” Barbara asked slowly.
“Do you think she…?” Cassandra pressed her lips together. “I know you don’t approve. Of what I do. Now.”
Barbara licked her lips. “There are other ways-”
“Batman’s way, you mean,” Cassandra cut in, voice sharpening on his name. “Or yours. Become one of your little birds.”
Barbara leaned back in her chair and regarded the young woman. “If I offered, would you accept?”
“I can read now,” Cassandra said offhandedly.
A brief smile touched Barbara’s lips and maybe a little guilt passed through her eyes. “I always knew you could learn.”
“It didn’t make anything easier,” Cassandra said, folding her hands. “Or clearer.”
“What do you mean?” Barbara asked. It hadn’t been like this. Cassandra hadn’t been vague before, and if she had, it had been unintentional, the barriers of communication. Talking like this, guessing at her meanings without the benefit of being able to read her body language, it felt like talking to a stranger.
“I thought about calling you,” Cassandra continued, undeterred. “Do you remember what we said the last time we saw each other?”
“Yes,” Barbara said, evenly.
“Did you ever think about calling me?”
The phone’s two-ways.
Barbara didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Cassandra’s eyes studied her face, her body, reading her, and then she abruptly stood, wiping away imaginary dirt from her pants.
“I have to go,” Cassandra said. Then, to Barbara’s complete surprise, she laid a hand on her arm, pressing lightly, her fingers warm.
Barbara automatically covered her hand with her own, shocking herself. “The offer stands. There are other ways, Cassandra.”
Cassandra tilted her head and regarded her at an angle. “Shiva put me in a Lazarus Pit, did you know?”
Barbara didn’t blink. She knew Cassandra had suspended Shiva, her mother, above one.
“I know where it is,” Cassandra said simply.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. She fought the urge to swallow. With difficulty, she said, “I don’t think so, Cass.”
For a moment, Barbara thought there might have been sadness in Cassandra’s eyes. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“You have my number,” Barbara said softly.
“Mine’s changed,” Cassandra said, drawing her hand away. “Goodbye, Barbara. Take care… and be good.”
Then she was leaving, her name on Barbara’s lips unsaid, her warning ringing in Barbara’s ears, a red back bleeding slowly across the green fields, leaving only a woman in a wheelchair, a gravestone, and two bouquets of flowers.
For a long time afterwards, Barbara sat there and felt as if she were mourning two people and when she said “Goodbye,” the wind whipping the word from her lips, she wasn’t sure who she was addressing. Or if it mattered if there was no one to hear.
Characters: Barbara Gordon, an old friend/acquiantance, and the remembered
Words: 1268
Notes: This wasn't what I thought I was going to write. I'm sorry? Spoilers for One Year Later arcs: Robin #151 and everything up to and including BoP #99.
Barbara bought the flowers at Sherwood Florist II. Dinah was delighted to see her, and only a little puzzled. Barbara asked for bright colors, a small arrangement of Dinah’s choice, but bright colors… and maybe some purples. Barbara didn’t tell her who the flowers were for and, to her surprise, Dinah didn’t ask. The flowers might have been an excuse to check up on her former partner and make sure she was doing well adjusting to her new life. They weren’t. Seeing Dinah and Sin-and taking note of Rhosyn Forrest trying to be quietly unobtrusive behind the counter-was just a bonus.
Or maybe not, Barbara thought, as she wheeled herself over the well kept lawns. Maybe she’d needed to bask in the glow of Dinah’s cheerfulness, in Sin’s laughter, in the brightness of the flower shop’s heady aromas. So that she could brace herself. For this.
“Hello, Stephanie,” Barbara said softly as she came upon the headstone. A light breeze swept over the rolling hills, sending the grass swaying and the trees rustling. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Barbara leaned forward and placed the small bouquet of flowers at the base of the stone.
There were no other flowers.
Barbara sat silent and still for a very long time. In her photographic memory, there was a memory of a photograph, cold and still, a tag hanging from one toe.
She traced the name on the headstone.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
It took a second for Barbara to convince herself she had actually heard a voice, another to realize that the voice was not Stephanie Brown’s, another to determine that it had come from behind her, and another to start reaching for an escrima stick.
“Don’t,” the voice said and Barbara felt a shiver crawl up her spine.
She knew that voice.
Barbara turned her head slowly, only to find her unexpected company practically next to her. The young woman casually lifted a handful of flowers in one gloved fist. “We’re both here to do the same thing. Hello, Barbara.”
“Cassandra,” Barbara said evenly, feeling muscles tense along her back, in her arms.
Cassandra Cain ignored her and knelt before the gravestone, placing the flowers gently beside Barbara’s. Pulling a glove off one hand, she brushed at over a year’s worth of dust and grime, saying nothing. She pressed her fingertips to the engraved letters.
“I never expected to see you here, Barbara,” Cassandra said, clearly enunciating. The tonality of her voice, the ease of her language, sounded odd in Barbara’s ears. She’d known, of course. They all knew, now, after Tim’s encounter with her. “You didn’t come to the funeral.”
“No,” Barbara said, softly. “I didn’t.”
“What brings you here?” Cassandra asked, still kneeling. If Barbara wanted to, if she were fast enough, she might have been able to deal a disabling blow to the back of the neck.
And even as she thought it, sorrow and regret clutched at her heart.
Once, looking at Cassandra had filled her with hope. Too many things had changed in a year.
“I was in Gotham. I thought I should pay my respects,” Barbara replied.
Cassandra turned her eyes on her at last. “Really?”
No.
“You mean, after all this time, you just decided to visit?” Cassandra asked. Her eyes were calm only on the surface, intense and searching.
No. But Barbara couldn’t tell her about a girl in a batsuit who had tried to claim the name that they had each possessed in turn, or the photographs that she kept on her computer, on file, the ones that she had displayed like a vicious warning, the ones that she herself hadn’t wanted to look at again.
Unlike Bruce, Barbara didn’t need an entire cave filled with reminders.
She couldn’t forget.
Not a single mistake.
Should have checked on Stephanie sooner-should have listened to that simple request, it might’ve taken only a minute, could have-
“I’m sorry,” she whispered and she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders even as another pressed on her heart. “I’m sorry, Cass.”
“Me, too,” Cassandra said softly, voice rough and raw, closer to what Barbara remembered. The young woman tapped the tombstone. “But to her.”
Barbara exhaled in a long breath. It didn’t ease the tightness in her chest, the butterflies in her stomach, the hint of nausea teasing at the back of her throat.
“It still hurts,” Cassandra said. “It’s been a year, but it still hurts. I miss her.” She rocked back onto her heels and rested her elbows on her knees. “She saved my life. At least once. But I haven’t seen her since... since Shiva.”
Barbara, who had been following until the last part, consciously had to stop herself from blinking. She’d heard the stories, the rumors, but….
“You think she’s watching over me? Now?”
“What do you mean, Cassandra?” Barbara asked slowly.
“Do you think she…?” Cassandra pressed her lips together. “I know you don’t approve. Of what I do. Now.”
Barbara licked her lips. “There are other ways-”
“Batman’s way, you mean,” Cassandra cut in, voice sharpening on his name. “Or yours. Become one of your little birds.”
Barbara leaned back in her chair and regarded the young woman. “If I offered, would you accept?”
“I can read now,” Cassandra said offhandedly.
A brief smile touched Barbara’s lips and maybe a little guilt passed through her eyes. “I always knew you could learn.”
“It didn’t make anything easier,” Cassandra said, folding her hands. “Or clearer.”
“What do you mean?” Barbara asked. It hadn’t been like this. Cassandra hadn’t been vague before, and if she had, it had been unintentional, the barriers of communication. Talking like this, guessing at her meanings without the benefit of being able to read her body language, it felt like talking to a stranger.
“I thought about calling you,” Cassandra continued, undeterred. “Do you remember what we said the last time we saw each other?”
“Yes,” Barbara said, evenly.
“Did you ever think about calling me?”
The phone’s two-ways.
Barbara didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Cassandra’s eyes studied her face, her body, reading her, and then she abruptly stood, wiping away imaginary dirt from her pants.
“I have to go,” Cassandra said. Then, to Barbara’s complete surprise, she laid a hand on her arm, pressing lightly, her fingers warm.
Barbara automatically covered her hand with her own, shocking herself. “The offer stands. There are other ways, Cassandra.”
Cassandra tilted her head and regarded her at an angle. “Shiva put me in a Lazarus Pit, did you know?”
Barbara didn’t blink. She knew Cassandra had suspended Shiva, her mother, above one.
“I know where it is,” Cassandra said simply.
Her mouth was suddenly dry. She fought the urge to swallow. With difficulty, she said, “I don’t think so, Cass.”
For a moment, Barbara thought there might have been sadness in Cassandra’s eyes. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“You have my number,” Barbara said softly.
“Mine’s changed,” Cassandra said, drawing her hand away. “Goodbye, Barbara. Take care… and be good.”
Then she was leaving, her name on Barbara’s lips unsaid, her warning ringing in Barbara’s ears, a red back bleeding slowly across the green fields, leaving only a woman in a wheelchair, a gravestone, and two bouquets of flowers.
For a long time afterwards, Barbara sat there and felt as if she were mourning two people and when she said “Goodbye,” the wind whipping the word from her lips, she wasn’t sure who she was addressing. Or if it mattered if there was no one to hear.