HER NINETEENTH && FINAL crudely etched tally mark was the last image she had
of that dank hole of a home she’d made for herself in that cargo ship; a memory which
she planned on burying deep in a bottle of whiskey within the hour. a throb of pain in
her abdomen resonated through her as she hauled herself onto the dock, finally free of
the ship’s confines && it’s less than pleasant sailors. there were few things in her past
that topped the misery of her last three weeks of existence.
how she managed onto the ship ( && undetected at that ) was a true mystery; she had
no recollection beyond the assumption of an adrenaline-powered determination, or hell,
maybe arthur was involved— the alternative couldn’t be anymore far-fetched. but the
salvation she had thought she’d found had been short-lived once she’d realized she’d
become a stowaway on-board the same organization that’d shot her in the first place.
gotham’s glowing high-rises greeted her like a warm smile; it was rare a sight like that
filled her with such reassurance— but the bright, round, orange beacon of the clocktower
…of her clocktower— it loomed in between the cracks of it’s taller steel brothers, calling
her home.
her feet began to carry her on their own accord, dinah pulling up the borrowed shirt she’d
managed to scavenge earlier in the week to check her poorly attended bullet wound. the
shot had been clean through ( something she felt incredibly lucky for; just another scar to
join her already plentiful collection ) so cleaning && dressing the thing hadn’t been as
horrific as it could have been. she knew babs would force a proper doctor on her &&
she would oblige, though she felt could live without–
her feet moved faster, closing the remaining blocks between her && goal in a trot;
the motivation of the relief on the best friend’s face cancelled out every single jolt her
wound sent her as a reminder. it’d been nearly three weeks && the bat symbol painted
the overcast sky— there was no way to even tell if she would be there, but she wasn’t
going to let that stop her.
she ascended the same way any other costumed street lackey would, slowly making
her way through the lower roof’s trap door ( a little slower than normal; she never made
note of how much twisting was involved before ) && closed her eyes as the smell of
herbal tea && the hum of computer servers wrapped around her. following the promise
of the cold glow of computer monitors around the corner, her heart leaping into her throat
at the sight of red hair silhouetted like a halo.
‘ hey—- ’ her voices rasped out with barely a whisper, another reminder she
hadn’t spoken or slept in nearly three weeks && a wave of exhaustion washed over
her. she leaned into the doorway for support, clearly her throat && wetting her lips.
‘ —-please tell me some of that chicken fried rice is for me. ’
nineteen days... NINETEEN cycles of the sun ripping open the purple blanket of the sky && screaming bright flames onto the backs of her eyelids. raw nerves pinch, scrape over tender-touched membranes tucked away behind her glasses. instead, the night hangs its colors underneath in hammocked smudges that darken && grow thicker, swell up as though just waiting for the proper moment to burn wide && into tears for her loss. barbara counts by the hours like constellations tossed, freckling like the dust on her nose. she wonders if dinah is still out there
( she prays they’re watching the same, yellow-bellied moon. )
there’s no way. denial roots firmly, tugging tightly to the tops of her collar bone && hoisting her tall to sail ahead. stubbornness, which has always been a defining characteristic, keeps her afloat now.
( but she remembers the coppery slick of red splashed across a familiar hand && the plummeting tunnel vision shrinking as dinah tumbled further && further away from the project. && it had all been her fault... again. the cradle of her pelvis, numb below her belly button’s notch, stopping past the feathered, pink opalescence of scar tissue, opens like a trapdoor && sends her stomach SHOOTING straight for the clocktower floor.
she grits her jaw, picks up her flagging energy, && gets back to searching for her best friend. her best friend, who ALWAYS finds a way out, her best friend who can’t be gone because of her own negligence... )
&& it’s there, that her shoulders give way && her elbows lock. she falls forward onto the splay of her palms with her steaming tea && soy-rich dinner all but forgotten. too many hours of staring at that eerie green until it burns all the way to the cones of her vision && she can’t hold it back any more. a dry sob racks at her form because short of dick && his study arms, she hasn’t told a soul.
the tower defenses clang like alarm bells to rouse her from the broken back of her self-loathing, her self-pity...
she drags, hoists herself to look at the cameras && wonders briefly if it’s worth it anymore. what good is oracle if she loses her team?
like a ghost, standing starkly, illuminated by barbara’s hardware, strong form bent, listed off to one side ( favoring an edge of the door that she can match to a bullet wound ) && decidedly worse for wear, she recognizes her canary anywhere. barbara’s gaze sweeps up from the pins of her legs, still powerful after nineteen mornings && evenings counted down, to the hourglass of her waist.
&& her hands churn the wheels of her chair before she manages to get the words out of her own mouth.
❝ DINAH ❞ acid rushes the back of her throat; desperation crowds the lump welling up tall. she reaches out, arms open to accept her friend, to feel the weight of her presence underneath her touch. ❝ i thought you were... ❞ shattered laughter crumbles in her throat, gathering the other woman close, pulling her to where she can reach.
relief flushes cool && calming along with the pulse of her thundering heart. she frames dinah’s face, clutching her close. wonderment bounces off her tongue with so much brightness it could blind.
2087
titsay
areudirty
stormborns
