I saw that you write about Helena Bertinelli, the Huntress. I really like her, and there are almost no fanfics about her here. I'd like to ask a female reader who is a teacher for young children. Do you know what their relationship would be like? The female reader can also be Italian or half-Italian. The reader is more gentle and shy, but courageous and devout, since the Huntress is Catholic.
I loved this request! I'm not religious or catholic but I hope I did okay, there is slight comphet bc I thought it could add a layer and also my best friend struggled with it a little growing up in the church
Asks/requests are open! Gotham Database
The bell above the classroom door chimed softly as another parent stepped inside. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Romano!" you greeted with your usual warm smile, crouching beside one of your students as she struggled to zip her tiny pink backpack. "Sophia did wonderfully today."
The little girl beamed. "I got all my sight words right!"
"You certainly did." You zipped the backpack the rest of the way before gently tapping the end of her nose. "And I expect you'll practice them again tonight."
Sophia nodded with all the seriousness only a six-year-old could manage. "I promise."
Mrs. Romano laughed quietly. "Thank you again, Miss L/N."
One by one, your classroom emptied. Children hurried into waiting arms. Tiny voices echoed down the hallway with stories about finger painting, multiplication games, and whose turn it was to feed the class hamster tomorrow. You waved goodbye to every single one until the room fell blissfully quiet. Well... Almost. You glanced toward the reading corner where one little boy remained stubbornly seated with his arms crossed. "Luca?" Nothing. You smiled knowingly. "I know you're still here."
"I know," came the tiny grumble.
You walked over before lowering yourself onto the colorful rug beside him. "You don't want to go home?"
He shrugged. "My mom's working late."
"My uncle's picking me up."
"And you're disappointed."
Another shrug. "He forgets sometimes."
Your heart squeezed. Before you could answer, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway. A man appeared in the doorway, hair slightly disheveled, tie hanging crooked. "I'm so sorry!" he called, looking absolutely mortified. "Traffic was—"
Luca shot to his feet. "Uncle Marco!"
The man immediately scooped him into a hug. "There he is." Marco laughed breathlessly before looking toward you. "Miss L/N... I'm really sorry."
"You're only five minutes late."
The tension visibly melted from his shoulders. "...Thank you." After a quick goodbye, the two disappeared into the hallway, Luca already excitedly explaining today's art project. Silence settled over the classroom once more. You let out a small breath before beginning your usual routine. Crayons back into their bins. Tiny chairs tucked beneath even tinier desks. Construction paper stacked neatly. Someone had left behind a glitter-covered paper butterfly. You smiled. That would probably live on your bulletin board for the next month.
An hour later, Gotham's autumn evening had settled over the city. You locked the classroom door behind you before adjusting the knitted scarf around your neck. The old Catholic school stood nestled between a modest church and a neighborhood community center, its brick walls worn by decades of students racing through its halls. You loved it. The stained-glass windows. The smell of old books. The sisters who still baked enough cookies for every holiday imaginable. Father Donnelly insisting everyone leave with leftovers after parish dinners. It reminded you of growing up. Large family gatherings.
Your grandmother speaking rapid-fire Italian whenever she got excited. Your mother insisting there was always room for one more person at the table. Faith that wasn't loud or performative, but woven quietly into everyday life. You crossed yourself almost absentmindedly as you passed the church steps. The sanctuary doors were still open. Just for a few minutes. You stepped inside. Candles flickered beneath statues of saints. Someone quietly prayed several pews ahead. The world outside seemed impossibly loud compared to the peace that settled over the sanctuary. You slipped into your usual pew. Hands folded. Eyes closed. Your prayer wasn't elaborate. It never was. Just gratitude. For your students. For your family. For the chance to make even one child's day a little brighter. "...And keep everyone safe tonight," you whispered softly. "Amen."
Several rooftops away... A crossbow bolt embedded itself into the rusted fire escape with a metallic clang. A man yelped as a purple-clad figure landed in front of him. "You picked the wrong church to rob."
The mugger stumbled backward. "H-Huntress."
Helena spun her staff into her hand with practiced ease. "You know," she sighed, "that's actually kind of flattering." Three more men emerged from the shadows. She rolled her eyes. "Of course there’re more." One rushed her. She sidestepped effortlessly. A sharp strike to the ribs. An elbow to another's jaw. A sweep of her leg sent the third crashing into a dumpster. The alley erupted into chaos. Helena moved like she always did, precise, relentless, almost beautiful in her efficiency.
Within moments, the four men lay groaning across the pavement. She exhaled slowly. Another night. Another handful of criminals delivered to the police. As she retrieved her crossbow bolt, the distant ringing of church bells echoed across the neighborhood. She looked up. The church doors had opened. People drifted out after evening prayers. Among them was a young woman in a cream-colored coat, waving goodbye to Father Donnelly before beginning her walk home with a canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder. A few sheets of brightly colored construction paper poked out of the top.
Teacher. Helena recognized her immediately. Not personally. But by reputation. She'd heard Father Donnelly mention her before while helping at one of the parish food drives. "Miss L/N somehow convinces thirty first-graders to sit still for Mass. I think it's a miracle greater than anything in Scripture." Helena had almost laughed. Almost. Now she watched as the woman stopped halfway down the sidewalk because a little stray cat had wandered into her path. "Oh, hello." The cat meowed. "You must be hungry."
Without hesitation, the woman crouched onto the cold sidewalk, opening her lunch bag. Helena frowned. You're giving away your dinner. The teacher broke off part of the sandwich she'd apparently forgotten to eat and carefully placed it on the ground. "There you go." The cat purred almost instantly. The woman giggled, a quiet, genuine sound that carried farther than she probably realized. It was... nice. Simple. Uncomplicated.
Helena couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that. The teacher scratched the cat gently behind the ears before standing again and continuing down the sidewalk. The cat happily trotted after her for half a block. Helena found herself watching until both disappeared around the corner. Only then did she realize she was still standing there. "...Huh." She shook her head at herself. It wasn't any of her business. Just another good person in Gotham trying to make the world a little kinder. Still...
As she fired her grapnel toward the next rooftop, she couldn't help but think of the construction paper sticking out of the woman's bag, the quiet prayer she'd seen through the church doors, and the way she'd shared her untouched dinner with a stray animal without a second thought. For someone who had spent so many years believing Gotham only produced broken people... It was strangely comforting to know that someone like her still existed.
A week later, Gotham was treated to something rare. Sunlight. The children had insisted recess simply had to last "five more minutes," which somehow turned into fifteen. You laughed as little Emma sprinted across the playground with a superhero cape made from an old towel tied around her shoulders. "You'll never catch me!"
"I don't think anyone's trying to!" you called back.
"I am!" Another little boy took off after her, both of them dissolving into squeals of laughter. You leaned against the fence, smiling to yourself. Days like this reminded you why you loved teaching. Not because every day was easy, it certainly wasn’t, but because there was something special about watching children discover the world with such unfiltered joy. A voice interrupted your thoughts. "Miss L/N?" You turned to find Sister Margaret stepping onto the playground. "Father Donnelly needs a small favor."
"He asked if you'd walk over to the parish hall after school. Someone from the community outreach program is coming by this afternoon."
You nodded. "I'd be happy to."
The parish hall buzzed with activity. Volunteers carried boxes of canned food, folding chairs scraped against the floor, and someone in the kitchen was already arguing, in affectionate Italian, with another volunteer about the proper amount of garlic for the pasta sauce. You smiled. Some things never changed. "Ah!" Father Donnelly called, spotting you immediately. "There you are."
You walked over, smoothing your cardigan. "You needed me?"
"I did." He rested a hand on your shoulder before turning toward a woman standing across the room. She was tall. Dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. A black leather jacket. Sharp eyes that seemed to assess every exit without meaning to. There was something guarded about her. Not unfriendly. Just... careful. "Miss L/N," Father Donnelly said warmly, "this is Helena Bertinelli."
Your eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Oh."
Helena looked mildly concerned. "'Oh?'"
"I've... heard about you."
"Only good things," Father Donnelly interrupted quickly, earning an amused look from Helena.
You offered a small, slightly embarrassed smile. "You've helped with the food drives before."
Helena gave a small nod. "A few."
"And Father Donnelly says you're very dependable."
Helena looked at the priest. "...Do you tell everyone that?"
A faint pink dusted Helena's ears. "So," Father Donnelly continued, clearly pleased with himself, "I have a favor to ask both of you." Both of you? You and Helena exchanged a brief glance. "The children's reading corner is being renovated, but all the new books arrived early." He gestured toward half a dozen large cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. "I need someone to help carry them over."
You looked at the boxes. Then at Helena. Then back at Father Donnelly. "I can certainly help."
"Wonderful!" Father Donnelly clapped his hands together. "I'll leave you two to it." Before either of you could protest, he'd disappeared into the kitchen. Silence settled between you.
"...Well," you said after a moment.
"...Well," Helena echoed.
You couldn't help smiling. "I suppose we'd better get started."
The first box was heavier than it looked. You bent to lift it. "So," Helena said casually as she picked up two boxes without any visible effort, "how long have you been teaching?"
There wasn't a second of hesitation. Helena noticed. "You answered that pretty fast."
You laughed softly. "I've wanted to be a teacher since I was little."
"My grandmother used to line up all the cousins after Sunday dinner." You smiled at the memory. "I'd make everyone sit down while I pretended to teach them."
"They didn't have much choice."
Helena huffed a quiet laugh. "I like your grandmother already."
She glanced sideways at you. "You always smile when you talk about people."
You hadn't realized. "Oh." The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a few moments before reaching the classroom. As soon as you unlocked the door, Helena stopped. The room was empty now, but colorful. Construction paper lined the walls. Crayon drawings covered nearly every bulletin board. Tiny handprints painted into flowers stretched across one window. One picture immediately caught Helena's eye. It was clearly drawn by a child. Two stick figures stood beneath an enormous rainbow. One wore a yellow dress. The other had a cape. Across the top, written in careful first-grade handwriting, were the words: Miss L/N is my hero.
Helena stared at it longer than she meant to. "...Looks like you've got competition." You followed her gaze before smiling sheepishly. "You kept them?”
"You keep... all of them?"
You nodded as though it were obvious. "They work very hard on their drawings." Helena looked around the room again. There had to be dozens. Maybe hundreds. Every single one carefully displayed. Every single one treasured. She looked back at you. You were already kneeling to unpack books, humming quietly to yourself, completely unaware that she'd gone still. For someone who spent nearly every night trying to save Gotham... Helena couldn't remember the last time she'd seen someone change lives so gently.
A few days later, Helena found herself standing outside the elementary school. She frowned at the brick building. "...How did I end up here?" Father Donnelly had asked if she could drop off a few more boxes of donated children's books while he attended a meeting across town. It should have taken five minutes. Drop off the books. Leave. Simple. Instead, she was standing in the front office balancing a cardboard box against one hip while the receptionist smiled. "Miss L/N's class is just down the hall."
Helena gave a small nod. "Thanks."
The hallway was quieter than she'd expected. Children's artwork covered nearly every wall. Construction paper apples. Hand-painted leaves. A lopsided paper turkey that proudly declared I am thankful for my dog and mac & cheese. Helena couldn't help the corner of her mouth lifting. She reached the classroom just as laughter drifted through the open doorway. "...And then," your voice said dramatically, "the dragon sneezed."
A chorus of tiny gasps filled the room. "No!"
You flipped the page of the picture book with theatrical suspense. "It accidentally roasted every marshmallow in the kingdom."
The room erupted. "Nooo!"
"But I like roasted marshmallows!"
Helena leaned slightly around the doorway. Twenty tiny faces sat in a semicircle around you. You sat cross-legged on the rug, holding the book open while using your hands to act out every character. You weren't just reading. You were performing. Every child hung on every word. Even the little boy in the back, who looked like he'd been struggling to sit still all day. You looked up to turn the page and spotted Helena. Your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
The class immediately turned. Twenty little heads swiveled toward the doorway. Helena froze. Twenty children stared at her. One little girl raised her hand. "You forgot to knock."
You bit the inside of your cheek. "I think she did."
Helena cleared her throat. "...Sorry."
"It's okay," the little girl assured her. "You can come in."
Another child whispered much louder than intended, "She looks like a superhero."
Helena almost laughed. Almost. You stood, smoothing your skirt. "Class, this is Miss Helena."
The greeting came in cheerful, uncoordinated unison. "...Hi."
One tiny hand shot into the air. "Yes, Oliver?"
"Why do you have so many muscles?"
The room dissolved into giggles. Helena blinked. "...Uh..."
You pressed your lips together, desperately trying not to laugh. Oliver continued before anyone could answer. "My dad says muscles come from vegetables."
"They can," Helena managed.
He nodded thoughtfully. "So... do you eat broccoli?"
You couldn't hold it anymore. A soft laugh escaped you. Helena glanced over. It wasn't loud. It wasn't teasing. Just genuine amusement. For some reason... It made answering the question easier. "...Sometimes."
Oliver looked impressed. "I don't."
"I gathered." The class erupted into another fit of laughter. Even Helena found herself smiling. A real one. Small. But real. You noticed immediately.
After story time ended, the children scattered toward different activity stations. Helena set the box of books beside your desk. "I brought these."
You smiled. "They're going to love them."
"You say that like you already know."
"I do." You knelt beside the box, pulling out the first book. "'The Very Hungry Caterpillar.'" A grin spread across your face. "Oh, they're going to fight over who gets to borrow this first."
Helena leaned against one of the tiny desks. "You really get excited about books."
She raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"
"They let children become anyone."
You carefully ran a hand over the cover. "A firefighter. An astronaut. A princess. A dragon. They learn empathy before they even know what empathy means."
Helena watched you as you spoke. There it was again. That smile. The one that reached your eyes whenever you talked about your students. She'd seen people passionate about their jobs before. But this... This felt different. It wasn't ambition. It wasn't obligation. It was love. "You care about them," Helena said quietly.
You looked up as though the answer was obvious. "Of course I do."
Just then, a tiny tug came at Helena's jacket. She looked down. Emma. The same little girl who'd worn the superhero cape on the playground earlier that week. Emma held up a crayon drawing. It was... purple. Very purple. In the center stood a woman with long dark hair. "You."
Emma nodded enthusiastically. "Miss L/N said we should draw someone who helps people."
For a moment, Helena forgot how to speak. She looked at the drawing. Then at Emma. Then at you. You offered only a gentle smile. You hadn't told the children who Helena really was. You hadn't exaggerated who she was either. Just... Someone who helped people.
Helena accepted the drawing with surprising care. "...Thank you." Emma beamed before skipping away. Helena stared at the crayon portrait for several long seconds. Finally, she murmured, almost to herself, "...No one's ever drawn me before."
Your heart ached just a little. Very softly, you replied, "I think she drew exactly who she saw." For the first time in a long time, Helena wondered what it might be like to be seen not as the Huntress, not as a vigilante, not as the last Bertinelli...but simply as someone who helped people.
The parish kitchen smelled like tomatoes, garlic, and fresh basil. Somewhere near the back, two elderly women were arguing passionately in Italian over whose family recipe had been "the real one." "It needs more oregano."
Father Donnelly wisely chose not to intervene. You stood at one of the long folding tables tying ribbons around small paper bags filled with canned goods, pasta, soap, and children's snacks. Every bag had a little handwritten note tucked inside. We are praying for you. God bless you. You are loved. You had insisted on writing every single one. "You know," a voice said beside you, "those probably take forever."
You looked up. Helena had appeared carrying another box of supplies. A loose strand of dark hair had escaped her ponytail, and the sleeves of her black sweater were rolled to her elbows. You smiled. "I don't mind."
She set the box down. "I know you don't."
There was no teasing in her voice. Just observation. You handed her a marker. "Would you like to help?"
Helena looked at it as though you'd handed her a bomb. "...Write notes?"
"I don't think anyone wants encouraging words from me."
You tilted your head. "Why not?"
She shrugged. "I've never really been good at..." Her hand vaguely gestured through the air. "...this."
You smiled softly. "Being nice?"
Helena looked offended. "I can be nice."
"I know. But you sound unconvinced."
She narrowed her eyes. "Oh?"
"You carried six boxes by yourself so Sister Agnes wouldn't have to."
"I was already carrying boxes."
"You fixed the loose step outside without telling anyone."
You couldn't help smiling a little wider. "...you stayed twenty minutes after everyone else left because Mrs. Romano couldn't figure out how to fold the tables."
Helena blinked. "You noticed that?"
She hadn't expected that answer. Most people noticed the loud things. The sarcastic comments. The intimidating stare. Very few noticed the quiet things. "...It wasn't a big deal."
Helena looked down at the marker in her hand. "...What do I even write?"
You slid one of your finished cards toward her. "'Hope today is a little brighter than yesterday.'"
She read it. "...That's good."
"It doesn't have to be complicated."
Helena hesitated before pulling a blank card toward herself. Her handwriting was surprisingly neat. After a minute, she pushed it across the table. You read it aloud. "I hope someone shows you kindness today."
You looked up. "I like that one."
She gave a tiny shrug. "I figured everybody could use that."
The afternoon passed easily. Much easier than either of you expected. Conversation drifted naturally between packing bags. Favorite books. Your students. Helena admitted she hated olives. You gasped dramatically. "As an Italian?"
"I've been disappointing Italian grandmothers my entire life."
You laughed. A real laugh. The kind that made your shoulders shake. Helena stared for half a second longer than she should have. "...What?"
"Nothing." She looked away almost immediately. You smiled to yourself.
By the time everything was packed away, the parish hall had emptied. Father Donnelly poked his head through the kitchen doorway. "You two are lifesavers."
"We finished already?" you asked.
You frowned. "...Really?"
"You've just been talking ever since." You and Helena looked at one another. Then, almost simultaneously— "Oh."
Father Donnelly hid a smile behind his coffee mug. "I'll lock up." He disappeared again before either of you could say anything. Silence settled between you. Not awkward. Just... quieter. You picked up your cardigan from the back of your chair. "I should probably head home."
"I'll walk with you." The words came out so naturally that Helena almost didn't realize she'd said them.
You blinked. "You don't have to."
"I know." There was that answer again. The same one she'd given you weeks ago. "I'd like to."
A warmth spread through your chest. "I'd like that too."
The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving Gotham painted in deep blues and amber streetlights. For a while, the two of you simply walked. "You know," you said after a few blocks, "you're quieter than I expected."
Helena glanced over. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know." You laughed sheepishly. "I think Father Donnelly talks about you like you're this..." You searched for the word. "...force of nature."
Helena barked out a laugh. "A force of nature?"
"I'll have to speak with him."
"You could try. I don't think he'd listen."
That earned another laugh. You smiled. "I like hearing you laugh."
Helena's steps slowed almost imperceptibly. "...You do?"
You thought for a moment. "When you first came to the parish..." You looked ahead as you spoke. "...you always seemed like you were waiting for something bad to happen."
Helena's expression softened. "And now?"
You looked over at her with a gentle smile. "...I think you're starting to relax."
For a long moment, Helena said nothing. Because the truth was... She was. She couldn't remember the last time she'd walked through Gotham without scanning every rooftop or every alley. Yet somehow, beside you, she had gone nearly three whole blocks before realizing she hadn't checked over her shoulder once. It should have made her nervous. Instead... It made her feel safe. And that terrified her just a little. Because Helena Bertinelli knew exactly who the Huntress was. But she was beginning to wonder who she was when she wasn't wearing the mask. And somehow, she had a feeling that if anyone could help her find the answer... It might just be the quiet schoolteacher walking beside her.
The following Tuesday brought one of Gotham's inevitable spring rainstorms. Not the dramatic kind. Just a steady drizzle that painted the sidewalks silver and sent everyone hurrying beneath umbrellas. You balanced a stack of graded spelling quizzes against your hip as you stepped out of the school. "Miss L/N!" You turned. Oliver came sprinting back toward you, nearly tripping over his own rain
boots. "You forgot this!" He held up your cardigan, which had been hanging on the back of your chair all afternoon.
"Oh my goodness." You laughed. "Thank you."
He proudly handed it over. "My mom says teachers forget stuff because they think about us too much."
You couldn't help smiling. "Your mom might be right."
He nodded with complete confidence before racing back toward his waiting car. You watched him go, shaking your head fondly. "They really adore you."
You jumped slightly before turning. Helena stood beneath the awning, one hand tucked into the pocket of her leather jacket. An umbrella rested over her shoulder. You smiled. "I didn't hear you."
"What are you doing here?"
She shrugged almost too casually. "I was in the neighborhood."
You raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"
A laugh escaped you. "I thought I'd see if you wanted company on your walk home."
You glanced toward the rain. "I'd like that."
Helena opened the umbrella. "You take it."
"You're carrying papers."
You frowned. "We can both fit."
Helena hesitated. "...Yeah." She stepped closer. The umbrella wasn't particularly large. Not small enough to be awkward. Just... close enough that your shoulders brushed every few steps. Neither of you moved away.
"You know," you said after a few blocks, "my students have started asking about you."
Helena looked over. "They have?"
You laughed. "Emma wants to know if you're secretly an Olympic athlete."
Helena snorted. "That's oddly specific."
"Oliver still believes you only got muscles because you eat broccoli."
"I told him 'sometimes.'"
"He has informed the entire class that broccoli is apparently optional."
Helena smiled to herself. "...Oops."
"And Lily..." You smiled warmly. "...she drew another picture."
Helena looked genuinely surprised. "Really?"
You reached into your tote bag before carefully pulling out a folded sheet of construction paper. "I was going to save it for tomorrow." You unfolded it. Two stick figures stood beneath a bright yellow sun. One wore a green dress. The other was dressed entirely in purple. Above them, written in oversized letters, were the words: BEST FRIENDS
Helena stared. "...Best friends."
"That's what Lily thinks."
A comfortable silence settled between you. Finally Helena spoke. "...Would that be so bad?"
You looked up at her. "No." A small smile found its way onto your face. "I'd actually like that."
Helena felt something in her chest loosen. She hadn't had many friends. Barbara. Dick, occasionally. A few people in the Birds of Prey she trusted with her life. But this felt... Different. Gentler. Less complicated. She found herself smiling without realizing it.
The rain picked up slightly. You instinctively stepped closer beneath the umbrella. Your arm brushed Helena's again. "I'm sorry."
"You've apologized three times."
"I have? I didn't notice."
You laughed quietly. "I guess I do that a lot. My grandmother used to tell me I apologized when someone else bumped into me."
You thought about it. "...I think I still do."
Helena shook her head with amused disbelief. "You shouldn't."
"I know." Another laugh slipped between the two of you. You reached the small neighborhood bakery a few blocks from your apartment. The lights inside glowed warmly against the gray afternoon. You stopped. "Oh."
"I was going to pick something up."
Helena glanced through the window. "You hungry?"
You smiled sheepishly. "I usually buy something for the sisters at the church on Wednesdays."
Helena nodded toward the door. "Come on."
"Oh, you don't have to wait."
"I know." She held the door open. "I'm still going to."
The familiar scent of espresso and fresh bread greeted them. Glass cases displayed rows of pastries. Cannoli. Sfogliatelle. Biscotti. An older woman behind the counter brightened immediately when she saw you. "Tesoro!"
"Buonasera, Signora Lucia." The woman rounded the counter to kiss both your cheeks before launching into rapid Italian. Helena caught bits and pieces.
She almost laughed. Some things really were universal. The conversation continued for another minute before Signora Lucia finally noticed Helena standing politely near the door. "Oh!" She looked between the two of you. "And who is this?"
You blinked. "Oh." Heat crept into your cheeks. "This is my friend, Helena."
The word settled warmly somewhere deep inside Helena. Signora Lucia smiled knowingly. "It's lovely to meet you."
"She's been talking about you."
Your eyes widened. "I have not!"
The older woman looked completely innocent. "You mentioned the nice volunteer from church."
"You said she carried all the heavy boxes."
"I was simply describing what happened."
"And that she was kind with your students."
You covered your face. "Signora..."
Helena looked at you, fighting a grin. "You've been talking about me?"
You peeked through your fingers. "...Maybe a little."
"I didn't know that counted."
"It counts." You groaned softly as Signora Lucia chuckled to herself. Helena couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so... Normal. Not Huntress. Not the daughter of the Bertinelli family. Not someone haunted by vengeance. Just Helena. Standing in a neighborhood bakery while an Italian grandmother gently embarrassed the woman she'd begun looking forward to seeing. And strangely enough... She realized she wouldn't have traded that moment for anything.
Signora Lucia clapped her hands together as though she'd just solved a puzzle. "Well," she declared, "if she's your friend, then she's getting something too."
"Oh, Signora, that's not—"
The older woman was already reaching into the display case. "You can't come into my bakery and leave hungry."
Helena lifted both hands in surrender. "I don't think I have a choice."
"You never had a choice," Signora Lucia replied.
You laughed into your sleeve. "I tried to warn you."
"I don't think anyone could have."
A few moments later, Signora Lucia set a small plate on the counter with two miniature cannoli dusted in powdered sugar. "On the house."
You sighed dramatically. "You're impossible."
"I've been called worse."
Helena accepted one of the cannoli with a grateful smile. "Thank you." The first bite was enough to make her pause. "...Wow."
"This might be the best cannoli I've ever had."
Signora Lucia looked smug. "I told you."
You folded your arms. "Now she'll never stop coming back."
"Good." The older woman winked. "Then I'll get to see both of you." Your cheeks warmed all over again.
The rain had eased to a light drizzle by the time the two of you stepped back outside. Helena carried the white pastry box while you held the umbrella. "Trade?" you asked.
"You'll get powdered sugar on the box."
"I'll survive." She looked at you for a second before handing it over. "You know," she said as the two of you started walking again, "everyone seems to know you."
"Oh." You looked around the neighborhood. "I suppose they do."
"The bakery. The church. The parents at school. The crossing guard waved at you."
You smiled sheepishly. "I've lived here a while."
"It feels more like..." Helena searched for the right words. "...you've built a community."
You were quiet for a moment. "My parents always said that if you wanted to belong somewhere, you had to help build it." Helena glanced over. "So I volunteer. I get to know the shop owners. I remember birthdays. I check on Mrs. Alvarez upstairs because her knees aren't what they used to be." You shrugged as though none of it were remarkable. "It's just... what neighbors do."
Helena looked ahead again. She wasn't sure she agreed. Not because you were wrong. Because she'd spent so much of her life believing Gotham was a city where everyone looked after themselves. Yet somehow... You had carved out this little corner of kindness. As you reached your apartment building, you stopped beneath the awning. "Thank you. For walking me home."
Helena shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. "It wasn't exactly a hardship."
You smiled. “Still thank you anyway." There it was again. That smile. Soft. Completely genuine. The kind that always made Helena feel as though she'd accomplished something, even when she hadn't. "I should probably..." You gestured toward the front door.
"Right." Neither of you moved. Rain tapped gently against the umbrella above your heads. "So..." Helena said.
Another silence. This one felt different. Almost expectant. You laughed first. "I think we're both bad at saying goodbye."
"I'll see you at church on Sunday?"
Helena nodded. "Then... I'll see you Sunday."
She started to turn before your voice stopped her. "Helena?" She looked back. "Thank you..." You hesitated, searching for the words. "...for letting yourself become my friend."
The sentence caught Helena completely off guard. Not for being my friend. For letting yourself become my friend. As though you understood that it hadn't been easy. As though, somehow, you'd noticed how guarded she'd been when the two of you first met. A lump formed unexpectedly in her throat.
"...Thank you," she said quietly.
Your expression softened. "I don't think you get asked very often."
Helena's smile was small. "No. I don't." For a moment, you considered saying something else. Instead, you stepped forward and did something so natural you didn't even think about it. You reached up and gently brushed a dusting of powdered sugar from the corner of Helena's mouth with your thumb.
"There." You smiled. "You missed a spot." The world seemed to stop. Your hand lingered for only a heartbeat before you realized what you'd done. "Oh." Your eyes widened. "I'm so sorry." You immediately pulled your hand back. "I shouldn't have—"
"It's okay." Helena's voice was softer than you'd ever heard it.
"No..." You looked flustered. "I just— You had powdered sugar. I know, but I could've just told you."
Helena couldn't help it. She laughed. A warm, genuine laugh that echoed beneath the awning. "You really do apologize for everything."
Your face fell into your hands. "I do."
"You do." When you peeked through your fingers, Helena was still smiling. Not the polite smile she gave volunteers. Not the amused smirk she'd worn when Oliver asked about broccoli. This one reached her eyes. It made them lighter.
You found yourself smiling back without thinking. For the first time in years, Helena walked away from someone's home wishing the walk had lasted just a little longer. She waited until she turned the corner before allowing herself one impossible thought. I could get used to this. She didn't notice the familiar silhouette watching from a distant rooftop. A man in a black cape remained hidden in the rain, saying nothing. He had only intended to check on Huntress after she'd left patrol early the night before. Instead, he'd watched Helena Bertinelli laugh more in ten minutes than he had seen in months. Without a word, Batman disappeared back into the Gotham skyline, leaving Helena her secret, and the small, ordinary happiness she didn't yet realize she was beginning to build.
The annual spring festival was only three days away, which meant the parish hall had become complete chaos. Children's artwork covered nearly every table. Someone had misplaced an entire box of raffle tickets. Father Donnelly had disappeared twice already, only to return carrying more folding chairs each time. And somehow... You'd been placed in charge of decorating. Which explained why you were currently standing on a step ladder, attempting to hang paper flowers across one of the support beams. "Almost..." You stretched just a little farther. "...There..." The tape refused to stick. You sighed. "Come on."
It peeled away again. From somewhere below, a familiar voice spoke. "You know..." You looked down. Helena stood with both hands tucked into her jacket pockets, watching with obvious amusement. "...this seems inefficient."
She stepped closer. "You're going to fall."
"I'm not." The step ladder gave a tiny wobble. You froze. "...Maybe."
Helena raised an eyebrow. Without another word, she walked over and steadied the ladder with one hand. "There."
You smiled down at her. "Thank you."
"Now finish before Father Donnelly finds another decorating project."
You laughed. "He's been doing that to you too?"
"He gave me a staple gun."
"I don't think he should trust me with power tools."
"I think he trusts you with everything." Helena didn't answer. Because that wasn't true. Not really. Father Donnelly trusted Helena because he knew who she was. You trusted Helena... Without knowing. The thought settled heavily in her chest.
An hour later, the hall looked transformed. Bright banners stretched across the ceiling. Children's drawings lined the walls. Fresh flowers sat in mason jars on each table. You stepped back beside Helena. "I think we're done."
Helena looked around. "...You did all this?"
"You told me where to hang things."
"So..." She folded her arms. "...You supervised."
You laughed. "I supervised."
Before either of you could say anything else, a little voice interrupted. "Miss L/N!" Emma came barreling across the hall, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders. She stopped in front of you, slightly out of breath. "I forgot my picture!"
"Oh." You crouched immediately. "The one for the art wall?"
Emma nodded frantically. "I made another one."
"I'm sure it's beautiful."
She looked over at Helena. "I drew you too."
Emma nodded proudly. "But..." She leaned in dramatically. "...I made you smile this time."
Helena blinked. "...You did?"
Emma reached into her backpack and pulled out the drawing. There you stood, surrounded by smiling children. Next to you was Helena. This time the purple stick figure wore an enormous smile that took up nearly half her face. Above both of you, Emma had written: THE HELPERS
Helena stared quietly. "Why helpers?" she asked.
Emma looked confused by the question. "'Cause you both help people."
"You help us." She pointed to you. "And Miss Helena helps everybody carry stuff."
You laughed softly. "She's right."
Emma nodded. "My mommy says helpers make the world less scary."
The words landed harder than the little girl could possibly know. Helena looked down at the drawing again. Less scary. How many nights had she tried to do exactly that? How many times had she wondered if any of it mattered? "...Can I keep this?" she asked quietly.
Emma gasped. "You want it?"
The little girl grinned so widely it looked like it might hurt. "You can have it forever!"
She threw her arms around Helena's waist without warning. Helena stiffened for only a second. Then... Very carefully... She hugged the little girl back. Not because she knew how. Because she wanted to. When Emma skipped away, Helena looked almost bewildered. "I don't think I've ever been hugged by a child."
You smiled. "They seem to like you."
"I do." She looked over. "You never talk down to them. You listen when they tell you about imaginary dragons. You remember all of their names. And..." You smiled just a little. "...they can tell you're gentle."
Helena actually laughed. "Gentle?"
You nodded without hesitation. "You hide it well...But it's there." Helena's smile faded, not from sadness, but because your words had caught her off guard. She had spent years cultivating the image of someone untouchable. Someone dangerous. Someone people thought twice about approaching. Yet somehow... You looked at her and saw gentleness. You saw something she wasn't sure anyone else ever had.
Emma disappeared down the hallway, proudly showing her mother the drawing she'd made. The parish hall slowly emptied around them. Volunteers stacked chairs. The sisters gathered leftover decorations. Someone turned off the radio that had been quietly playing Italian love songs all afternoon. For the first time all day, it was peaceful. You carefully rolled up one of the painted banners before tying a ribbon around it. "I think that's everything."
Helena looked around the room. "...You say that every twenty minutes."
You laughed. "I keep finding something else."
"I noticed." She reached for a cardboard box sitting on the floor. "I'll take this to storage."
"You carried almost everything today."
You folded your arms. "You're very stubborn."
You smiled. "I believe it."
Helena bent to lift the box. The movement sent a sharp, burning pain through her side. Her breath caught. Just for a second. It was small enough that almost no one would have noticed. Almost. You did. "...Helena?"
She straightened immediately. "I'm fine."
"You looked like something hurt."
"You've been lifting boxes all afternoon."
"You've never made that face before."
Helena looked away. "It was nothing."
You didn't answer. Instead, you quietly picked up the other box sitting beside her. She frowned. "I said I've got it."
"I know." You smiled gently. "But humor me."
The walk to the storage room was noticeably quieter. You weren't upset. Just... thinking. Helena could almost see the questions forming behind your eyes. When they reached the tiny storage closet, she set her box onto the shelf with more force than she'd intended. Pain flared again. She managed not to react. Barely.
"You really don't have to pretend."
You leaned against the doorway. "You don't always have to be the strong one."
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally Helena let out a quiet breath. "I've always been the strong one."
The words came so naturally she didn't realize she'd said them aloud until she saw your expression soften. "...That sounds lonely."
Helena gave a small, humorless smile. "It can be."
Something in your chest ached. You'd only known Helena a few weeks. But every conversation felt like discovering another piece of a puzzle. She was thoughtful. Patient. Quietly funny. Always helping someone. Yet every now and then she'd say something that made it sound like she'd spent her whole life carrying a weight no one else could see. "You know..." You stepped a little closer. "...you don't have to tell me what's wrong." Helena met your eyes. "But... When you're having a hard day..." You shrugged softly. "...you don't have to convince me you're okay."
Helena looked at you for a long moment. No one had ever said that to her before. Not Barbara. Not Bruce. Not even Father Donnelly. Most people either demanded answers... Or accepted the lie. You did neither. You simply... left the door open.
"I'll think about it." It wasn't much. But it was honest.
You smiled. "I'll take that."
A voice echoed down the hallway. "There you two are!" Father Donnelly rounded the corner carrying a clipboard. "I've been looking everywhere."
"We were putting the decorations away," you explained.
"Perfect timing." He looked between the two of you. "I have one final favor."
Helena laughed under her breath. "I knew it."
The priest pretended not to hear her. "The sisters have been invited to dinner tomorrow evening, and someone needs to lock up after the festival committee finishes." He looked directly at Helena. "Would you mind?"
"And..." His gaze shifted to you.
"I'd appreciate it if Miss L/N wasn't walking home alone afterward."
You blinked. "Oh, Father, I'll be fine."
"I know you will." He smiled knowingly. "But I also know Helena was planning to walk you home anyway."
Helena opened her mouth. "I—"
Father Donnelly's smile grew. "Wasn't she?"
You looked toward Helena. A faint flush crept into her cheeks. "...Probably."
"I thought so." The priest gave one satisfied nod before disappearing once again. Silence lingered.
You looked at Helena, unable to hide your smile. "Were you?"
She rubbed the back of her neck. "...Maybe. I figured..." She shrugged, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "...it's become a habit."
Your smile softened. "I think it's become one of my favorite habits too."
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still. Helena looked up. The sincerity in your eyes caught her completely off guard. You meant it. You genuinely looked forward to those walks home. A warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the parish hall or the spring afternoon. It also came with something else. Guilt.
Because tomorrow night, after she walked you safely to your apartment... She would disappear into Gotham. She would trade her leather jacket for armor. Her warm smile for a mask. And if the night went the way most nights did... She'd come back with another bruise she'd have to explain away. For the first time since meeting you, Helena found herself wishing there wasn't another life waiting for her after dark.
The following night, the spring festival was everything you had hoped it would be. Children darted between games with faces painted like butterflies and tigers. Parents lingered over homemade pasta and pastries while the church choir sang from the front steps. Laughter carried across the courtyard as Father Donnelly somehow lost another raffle drawing to Sister Agnes for the third year in a row. "You rigged it," he declared dramatically.
"I prayed harder," she answered with a satisfied smile.
You laughed from behind the bake sale table. "You know," Helena said beside you, "I think she actually believes that."
The two of you had spent most of the afternoon together. Helena helped children win stuffed animals at the ring toss. She let Emma paint a tiny purple flower on the back of her hand. Oliver proudly informed everyone within earshot that Helena had eaten broccoli at least once in her life. By the end of the afternoon, nearly every child in the parish seemed convinced Helena was their friend. You watched as Lily tugged on Helena's sleeve. "Miss Helena?"
Helena looked down. "...I don't actually know how."
Lily blinked. "You don't?"
The little girl considered this very seriously. "...That makes sense."
You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. "I can teach you."
Helena looked at the untied laces. "I feel like I should already know this."
Five minutes later, she was sitting on the church steps while a seven-year-old patiently demonstrated bunny ears. "There," Lily announced proudly. "Now you know."
Helena looked at the neat little bow she'd somehow managed to tie. "...Thank you."
The child skipped away. You walked over, unable to stop smiling. "You've become quite popular."
"I think they're using me for free labor."
"...I'm okay with that." You looked at her. She meant it.
As evening settled over the parish, families slowly began saying their goodbyes. The courtyard grew quieter. Volunteers folded tables while Father Donnelly disappeared inside to lock up the church. You carried a box of leftover decorations toward the parish hall.
"I'll get the lights," Helena called.
"I'll meet you inside." She watched you disappear through the doorway before turning toward the breaker panel mounted along the outside wall. Just as she reached for it, movement caught the corner of her eye. Across the street. Three men. One of them shoved an older man against the brick wall outside the convenience store. The old man's grocery bag burst open. Oranges rolled across the sidewalk. Helena's body reacted before her mind did. She took one step toward the street. Then stopped.
You were inside. Waiting for her. She looked back toward the parish hall. Then back toward the men. The old man stumbled. One of them raised a fist. Helena closed her eyes for the briefest moment. "...Damn it."
She hurried into the parish hall. You looked up immediately. "Everything okay?"
"I..." She swallowed. "I just remembered something."
"You don't have to apologize."
"I do." She was already backing toward the door. "It's important."
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Apologizing." Despite the urgency twisting inside her chest, Helena smiled. "...I guess it's contagious."
You laughed softly. "I'll see you soon?"
She looked at you. Really looked at you. "I hope so." Then she was gone.
You watched the door swing shut behind her. Something about that exchange settled uneasily in your stomach. Helena had left quickly before. She'd cancelled plans. She'd shown up with mysterious bruises. She'd disappeared for days at a time. But tonight... Tonight she'd looked almost... frightened. Not for herself. For someone else. You gathered the last of the decorations before stepping outside. The street seemed strangely quiet. Then you noticed it.
Across the road. The older man from the convenience store was carefully gathering oranges from the sidewalk. A police officer stood beside him taking notes. "What happened?" you asked gently.
He shook his head. "Three fellows tried to rob me."
Your eyes widened. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." He smiled with obvious relief. "Some vigilante came out of nowhere."
Your heart skipped. "A vigilante?"
"The Huntress." He pointed toward the rooftops. "Scared those boys half to death." You looked up instinctively. The rooftops were empty now. Only rain clouds drifted overhead. The older man chuckled. "I never even got the chance to thank her."
You smiled. "I'm just glad you're safe."
"So am I." As you continued your walk home a few minutes later, your thoughts kept drifting back to Helena. The hurried goodbye. The worried look in her eyes. The way she'd vanished only moments before the Huntress appeared.
You shook your head almost immediately. "No..." You laughed quietly to yourself. "That's impossible." And yet... For reasons you couldn't quite explain... You found yourself glancing up at Gotham's rooftops all the way home.
Three nights passed. Three nights in which Helena kept telling herself she would say something. Tomorrow. After Mass. After the food drive. After one more walk home. There was always another reason to wait. Always another excuse. Tonight, however, Gotham had made the decision for her. The warehouse had looked abandoned. It wasn't. The smugglers had been waiting. By the time Helena escaped, the men were unconscious, but not before one of them managed to slash a knife across her ribs. It wasn't deep. It was deep enough. She pressed one hand against the wound as she landed on a nearby rooftop, breathing through the pain. "...Great."
The rain had started again. Of course it had. She looked toward your apartment building in the distance. One light was still on. You were probably reading. Or grading papers. Maybe planning next week's lesson. She should go home. Clean the wound. Forget tonight had happened. Instead... Without really deciding to... She found herself crossing Gotham.
A soft knock echoed through your apartment. You frowned at the clock. Nearly ten. Setting your book aside, you walked to the door. "Coming." When you opened it, your heart immediately dropped. "Helena?"
She stood in the hallway, her dark hair damp from the rain. One arm was wrapped tightly around her side. She attempted a smile. "...Hi."
You didn't hesitate. "Come inside."
She stepped in quietly while you closed the door behind her. Only when she moved beneath the light did you notice how pale she looked. "What happened?"
"I..." She looked down. "I had an accident."
You said nothing. Instead, you gently took her hand and led her toward the couch. "Sit."
"Helena." There was no frustration in your voice. Only quiet certainty. She sat. You disappeared into the bathroom before returning with a small first-aid kit and a clean towel.
Helena watched you kneel in front of her. "You keep one of these?"
You smiled faintly. "Children fall down surprisingly often."
Despite everything, Helena laughed. "Fair."
You carefully handed her the towel. "Hold this here for a second."
She obeyed without argument. Another first. You crouched beside the coffee table, opening the kit. When you looked back up, Helena was watching you. "What?"
You met her eyes. "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."
You reached for a roll of bandages. "Then I'll still help you."
Silence settled over the room. Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows. Helena looked away first. "...You're making this difficult."
"I've been trying to convince myself that keeping this from you was the right thing."
Your hands paused. "And now?"
She let out a slow breath. "I'm not sure anymore." Very carefully, she stood. "I need to show you something." Without another word, Helena walked toward the balcony door. You followed, confusion replacing concern. She unlocked the glass door and stepped outside. Rain misted across the small balcony. The city stretched endlessly beyond it. "What are you—"
Before you could finish, Helena reached behind her neck. With practiced movements, she pulled a small communicator from beneath her jacket. Then another hidden strap. A compact crossbow unfolded from where it had been secured beneath the long coat. Your eyes widened. "...Helena..."
She looked at you. Not as the woman who volunteered at church. Not as the woman who helped children tie their shoes. Not as your friend. Just... Helena.
"There isn't a bike accident." She swallowed. "There never was."
Slowly, she removed the leather jacket. Beneath it was dark tactical armor, scratched and worn from years of patrol. Your breath caught. "I've lied to you." Her voice shook. "I disappear because I'm working. The bruises. The cuts. The late nights. They're all because..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "...I'm the Huntress."
The words hung in the air between you. Only the rain moved. Only the distant hum of Gotham continued. You looked at the armor. The crossbow. Then back at Helena. "So..."
Your voice was almost a whisper. "You've been carrying this by yourself."
Helena blinked. That... Wasn't the response she'd prepared for. "You aren't angry?"
You stepped closer. "I am."
She nodded once. "I deserve that."
"I'm angry that you thought you had to do it alone."
Her eyes filled before she could stop them. "I didn't know how to tell you."
"I thought..." She laughed weakly through the tears threatening to spill. "...I thought if anyone saw this part of me, they'd leave."
Without thinking, you reached for both of her hands. They were cold from the rain. "You know what I see?" Helena slowly shook her head. "I see the woman who carries every heavy box so no one else has to. The woman who lets little girls paint flowers on her hand. The woman who stayed after everyone left just to help clean. The woman who walks me home because she wants to know I got there safely." Your thumbs brushed gently over her knuckles. "I also see the woman who spends her nights protecting people she'll probably never meet."
A tear escaped down Helena's cheek. "I don't think those are two different women." She stared at you. "I think..." You smiled through your own tears. "...they've been Helena all along."
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then Helena did the bravest thing she'd done in years. She leaned forward. Not far. Just enough to silently ask. You closed the distance. The kiss was gentle. Unhurried. The kind that spoke not of fireworks or grand declarations, but of relief. When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against hers. "So..." You smiled softly. "I suppose I should stop wondering why you always knew the safest route home."
Helena laughed, a genuine, bright laugh that echoed across the rain-soaked balcony. "I guess the secret's out."
You squeezed her hands. "Next time you get hurt..." Helena opened her mouth. "...You'll tell me."
She smiled sheepishly. "I was going to say 'I'll try.'"
"I'll accept 'I'll try.'"
She nodded. "I'll try." Somewhere in the distance, church bells rang the hour. For the first time in a very long time, Helena Bertinelli stood in Gotham with no mask between herself and the person she loved. Tomorrow night she would still become the Huntress. Gotham would still need protecting. Children would still race through the halls of your classroom. The sisters would still argue over pasta recipes. Life would go on.
But now, when Helena returned home after another long patrol, she wouldn't be returning to an empty apartment or carrying her burdens alone. She would be coming home to someone who knew every part of her, the woman, the vigilante, the wounds, the hope, and chose to love them all. And for Helena, that felt nothing short of miraculous.
DC Taglist: @theall-seeingone
