The Elephant Wades in Molasses
by maven
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The characters of Birds of Prey are the property of Warner Bros. and DC Comics, all other characters are the property of DC Comics.
RATING: PG/PG13. Just two or three people talking. A few bad words. Implied -heck, stated- same sex relationship but nothing graphic.
CONTINUITY and SPOILERS: This story is in no way related to either of the Policy and Procedure or the Modern Mythology series.
CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: Well, I usually blame BG and Landslide for the BoP fics. This one, as will soon be obvious, I blame on BG and Tailspin. About half way through Tailspin I thought I'd figured out the twist. Turns out I was only half right. This is the other half.
STORY SPECIFIC NOTES: None.
FEEDBACK, COMMENTS AND FLAMES: Email at maven369@sympatico.ca
"How many do you see?"
"About, um, twenty of them. Damn."
"I don't like those numbers without backup."
I sigh. "Plan B?"
Plan A was to take them down the four guys meeting tonight, during the meet. Guns, drugs, cash. Cops called, criminals in jail, me home within the hour.
"Surveillance. Try to plant some tracer bugs on any vehicles. Continue to follow and plant more bugs and taps. Wait for the next meet."
"Yeah," I mutter. It makes sense. I can handle four guys, blind folded, drunk and one arm tied behind my back. Twenty is a bit much. We could call the cops but exchanging bad things for bad things -such as guns for drugs- happens quickly. Either the cops would arrive too late or, worse, too early without enough men and equipment to keep their asses safe.
Barbara has a soft spot for cops. Skipping this meet in order to gather more information and spring a trap next meet makes total sense.
"Orrrrrr..." I drawl out. Because "total sense" and "the Huntress" are rarely used in the same thought.
"Huntress." Her voice is full of caution and concern.
"The kid'll be home tomorrow."
"Yes," she agrees. "Are you reminding me of that to reinforce the wisdom of Plan B or to..."
"You promised."
"I did," she assures me even though I don't think I was whiny or needy in reminding her. "Tomorrow it changes."
"Then," I say, standing tall before coiling and springing, "I definitely want tonight."
"Plan A?" she asks, resigned but not surprised.
"Plan A," I confirm.
+++++
When I was twelve my mom took me to see a movie for my birthday. An adult movie or, rather, a grown up movie instead of some badly dubbed kiddie movie. It was the story of an ugly poet who loved a beautiful girl. And, when he thought that she loved him back, he fought a hundred men because he was so happy. I loved the scene, him all gleeful and happy and in love. They didn't have a chance.
That was me tonight. Twenty instead a hundred. An alley, not a bridge. Fists versus knives but no swords. They didn't have a chance.
I was invincible.
+++++
She's at Delphi when I hit the balcony, her back toward me. I don't try to be quiet or particularly noisy. Just me.
Her shoulders tense as she hears me and then relax as she recognizes my step. She doesn't turn until I touch her, guiding her around to face me; crouching to meet her eyes. Smile as she smiles at me. Feeling like a teenager.
"Happy anniversary," I tell her.
"The prefix signifies a year."
"Happy month-iversary, then."
"Our last night," she whispers as we kiss. "Before breaking the news."
"Thank God the kid lives in a dorm."
+++++
I wake all tangled in sheets, happier than I can remember being.
A month ago she walked into the Dark Horse at closing, inviting herself up to my place and dropped the bombshell.
She knew I loved her. That I'd loved her since before I was capable of the emotion. Then she dropped bombshell number two.
She loved me. Had for a while, just been slow in realizing it and doing the last resolution of her feelings for Wade. Typical Barbara versus emotion thing. Pack, tape and label the old before opening the new.
And, just like I imagined, she stayed and we'd made love and woke and made love and grinned at each other like teenagers with a secret. And made love a few more times.
She'd asked for a month and I agreed. A month for just the two of us before telling the kid and her dad and Alfred and world.
That had been easy. Well, hard but easy. I'd had years of practice keeping my hands and feelings to myself around her in case I freaked her out. So another month of being careful during the day and dusk at the Tower was easy. Because at my place, at night…
At night she was this third person, this new person that I was learning about. Not Barbara Gordon, Bachelor of Education, Honours Master of Science, Master of Library Science who was coolly logical and inquisitive. Not Batgirl-Oracle, vigilante superhero and cyberspace avenger who was all decisive action and passion. I was meeting a blend of the two that I'd only seen brief glimpses of in the past.
I stretch, listening to the apartment and the outside world. Sunday traffic and the murmur of two voices, female so I'm guessing Barbara is starting to lay the ground work. I figure I could just leave the bedroom as I am and let Dinah figure it out. After all, naked is a pretty big clue.
But Barbara wouldn't appreciate it so I snatch my shirt from last night and a pair of boxers that I brought over a few weeks ago, trying to wipe the shit-eating grin off my face as I greet the two people sitting in front of Delphi. And suddenly it's pretty easy to lose the smile.
Dr. Harleen Quinn, MD waves at me cheerfully.
I'm sure Barbara would wave but she's holding a mothering big handgun to her temple.
"What the fuck?"
I take one step and freeze. The soft click of the safety sounds like a bell.
"Barbara?" I ask. It's a revolver the size of a paperback book. I took it off some bad guy and she said we should keep it around. Know thy enemy and their tools. Bought a 50 pack of bullets the size of my thumb for it. Wasted about two hundred bucks on forensic jello and Swiss cheesed a couple of targets. Totally reaffirmed my resolve to not get shot.
"Barbara's not really home right now. Are you Barbara?" Quinn asks brightly.
"Not really," Barbara agrees.
I stare from one to the other. I pinch the flesh on my upper arm and, when it hurts like hell, I do it again harder.
Not a dream.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"The problem with taking over the 'brain' of the operation," Quinn says to Barbara, "is you have to explain everything to the 'brawn'. In small words. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Absolutely," Barbara agrees. My fists clench at my sides.
"Do you remember I once asked you your fondest dream?" Quinn asks me.
I shake my head.
"No, of course you don't," Quinn says, more to herself than me. "I told you to forget that particular conversation. Would you care to guess what you answered?"
"Barbara," I manage, a horrible sense of deja vu creeping into my senses. "Coming to me. Telling me…"
"Telling you what?"
"That she knew how I felt. That she felt the same way. That she wanted..."
"Wanted what?"
I smell blood and feel moisture on my fingertips. "Wanted me. Wanted us."
"And how is that working out?"
I take an involuntary step forward. The sound of the gun being cocked stops me cold.
"You know, Helena," Quinn chides, "there's only one more thing she can do to that gun to make a noise."
"I know." I've fired that gun. At the police range. A breath of air can trigger it when it's cocked. The fight leaves me.
"Are you going to behave?" Quinn asks sternly.
"I'll behave." I hear my knuckles crack as I force my fists to open before I do serious harm to my palms.
"Good," she says, voice bright and happy again. "So. Was it like you dreamed? Like you imagined?"
"Yeah. Exactly."
"Because I went to a lot of effort, Helena. To make it seem real. A lot of re-wiring in here," she says, reaching across and rapping lightly on Barbara's forehead. Barbara doesn't blink or move.
"She does care for you," she adds, leaning forward, sincerity dripping from her voice and body language. "Loves you even. Just, not 'that' way," she adds, leaning back, air quoting for emphasis.
"No," I say softly, "No, I don't suppose she does."
"Oh. Poor Helena. You sound so defeated."
"Guess I do. You win this one, Harleen."
"I do," she exclaims, clasping her hands in glee.
"Now what?"
"Well, for me... I have a full slate of experiments at Arkham that I simply must get back to. This has been a wonderful vacation but, really, duty calls. Scientific research, the quest for knowledge..."
"And Barbara? Me?" I interrupt. I regret it because Quinn has a low threshold for bad manners. But she doesn't seem annoyed by the question, almost pleased that I was the one to bring it up, to ask.
"See, you're bright enough to know what questions to ask. That's good," Quinn says. "What I was going to do was give you your fondest wish for a month and then take it away. Kill her. Leave you. Wouldn't that have been a good revenge, Barbara?"
"Absolutely," says Barbara. I nod.
"But not poetic revenge," Quinn continues. "Revenge should be poetic, don't you think? Don't bother to answer that one Barbara. I've always thought revenge should be artistic. Have style and panache. Now listen carefully, Helena. The elephant wades in molasses."
"The ele..." I break off in confusion as Quinn raises her hand.
"Until she hears you say that," Quinn says, smiling brightly, "she loves you. Worships you. Take you home to mommy and daddy. Church wedding or whatever equivalent. Adopt two point five kids. Dog in the yard. The whole ball of wax."
"I don't understand," I say. Even though I think I do.
"Yes, you do. Say it to her and it's as if the month never happened. Oh the day-to-day things she'll remember. Can't have a hole in her memory that big. But the nights..." she says, eyebrows waggling and voice lowered to a knowing leer.
"Why are you doing this?" I grit out.
"Oh, because I can," she says, voice turning colder and the false brightness disappearing. "Because for a few minutes you let me think I'd won and then you took it away. That was very cruel." I nod and her face lights up again. "And because it amuses me. Peeks my scientific curiosity because I'm not sure if you're going to be greedy or moral. And, whatever you choose, it'll hurt you far more than merely killing her," she says, standing and straightening her blazer, the perfect picture of professional sanity. "But mostly I'm doing it because I can. Now, I'm going to take my leave and Barbara's going to hold that gun to her head for a half hour and then we shall see what we shall see. Or hear. Or not hear."
"I am going to kill you," I say as she walks past me.
"Oh... I do hope so. But not today."
Epilogue
She comes out of the bedroom, smiling at me as I sprawl across the couch doing the attention deficiency thing with the remote control. At a second a channel I can flip through the lineup in five minutes.
"I didn't expect you here this morning," she says to me. "I thought you had a hot date last night."
I manage a smile and shrug. "Didn't turn out like I planned."
"So Plan A was for naught?" she asks, her tone amused sympathy as she turns toward the Delphi. "And you so brave."
"Oh," I whisper to myself. "I've been braver since then."
THE END