snowglobe
The wind outside was absolutely howling, the shitty single-paneled windows rattling in a way that had Barbara concerned about the damned glass blowing straight in. It was day two of one of the angriest winter storms Barbara had ever witnessed, no end in sight, and she was just counting her lucky stars that the power in her apartment building had managed to stay on…and ever-thankful for her tendencies towards being prepared that had her apartment well-stocked in necessities (cereal, vodka, coffee and ice cream mostly; other groceries as well, even if she planned on living off of the cereal until it ran out) since there was absolutely no going out when the weather was like this. An upside, considering the police and satellite scanners ever-running in the background had been silent: crime and everything else had paused, the general consensus evidently being it was too damn cold and snowy for any of the usual nonsense.
A downside being that the wi-fi had certainly slowed down to a rate that was infuriating by Barbara’s standards, outright unacceptable by Oracle’s, and the programs and servers that Barbara needed for her current projects were moving slower than the drip of frozen molasses. Green eyes were squinted in a glare at the two monitors she was working from, an exaggerated sigh leaving her nose as she tried to run and test the program she’d been working from, the error message and corresponding noise that followed forcing a frustrated noise from the back of her throat. She imitated the noise right back at the computer, resisting the urge to slam her keyboard against the desk out of frustration.
A particular loud, outright ghoulish, gust of wind caught her attention and her gaze drifted upward towards one of those rickety windows instead. The snow outside was an absolute blur of white, visibility reduced to nothing as the snow blew sideways in the dull yellow light of the flickering street lamp outside. It reminded her of the snowglobes she’d collected as a child, lining the many shelves of her childhood bedroom - ones brought back from trips they’d taken as a family, sent by family members as presents to see her light up with excitement in her eyes on Christmases and birthdays. The snow was constant, swirling and falling in a way that mimicked a snowglobe being shaken and spun upside down.
Gotham would always be Gotham, though the concrete toilet she called home always felt more peaceful under a solid layer of snow. The snow here was arguably much more pretty (and ferocious, with another reminding whoooosh of wind rattling her windows), though the sense of nostalgia that settled warm in her stomach was undeniable. Her favorite nights were ones spent on Gotham rooftops as Batgirl with Robin, red-cheeked with her breath blowing in front of her, footsteps and laughter quiet in the snow-filled air. Driving through the city, looking at snow packed roofs and lights when they were given a reprieve from the near-constant crap Gotham slung their way. Quiet days spent in the library of Wayne Manor or in her bedroom, snow quietly falling outside the window with their noses buried in books, sharing favorite passages and quotes as they came up.
A quiet grave, fresh with frozen-over flowers and snow on the headstone. So cold. Too cold.
A second chance, an impossible chance, an unusual snowfall in March with the windows of her Burnside apartment left open to let in the snow-smell. A soft “pause” pulled from kiss-swollen lips despite the urges to do anything but that, labored vodka-tainted breath and messy hair and want coursing through her veins, hot like fire with the cold wind from outside becoming welcome. Pause because this meant more than a vodka-fueled, desire driven moment. Pause because he was important, he was Jason, and she wanted to remember this.
A third chance, someway, somehow, so many years later: still air, quiet snow outside a nearly comical contradiction to the scurry and shuffle her apartment had seen, lips pressed hard against a sweat-slicked forehead, a staggered breath exhaled before she made the jump to press a desperate kiss against his mouth. “I don’t know what I’d do if I’d lose you,” quiet enough to nearly get lost in the too-quiet sound of snowfall outside and an otherwise silent apartment. Because she’d already lost him once, twice, and now he was here and there was no time for fourth chances or waiting around when life was so fucking short.
Like the few snowglobes lining her shelves now - ones of the New Jersey beaches with the boardwalks depicted, of Gotham’s towering skyscrapers that looked quiet and peaceful in stark divergence from its reality. Shake shake, swish swish.
The wi-fi may be unstable, the windows were absolutely questionable and the lights may be making her a little nervous with the flickering they did every once in a while…but things could be worse, especially considering her company, and Barbara would be a bold-faced liar if she didn’t admit that curling up next to him on the couch underneath a pile of throw blankets sounded far more appealing than continuing to struggle with the wi-fi. A different sort of pause, maybe a more specific unpause five years in the making, no more wasting time when there wasn’t time to waste.
Their own snow globe - undisturbed, quiet except for the blowing snow outside. Arguably her favorite one.