Hermes
Modern Mythology #6
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 people talking. A few bad words.
CONTINUITY and SPOILERS: This is an Alternative Universe as it’s a blend of the Birds of Prey television show and a variety of DC comic books, particularity The Killing Joke and the Batman titles between 1983 and 1991. There will be spoilers for all 13 episodes of the series now that I’ve seen them all.
CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: We'll boil it down to BG, Warped and Nik as being the chief prods to this particular muse.
SERIES NOTES:
1) Imagine my surprise when it turns out that Gabby appeared in two episodes and was mentioned in (so far as I can remember) one other. So this Gabby is pretty much made up from whole cloth. Plaid, I think. Greens and browns and dull yellowy-gold. Nothing too garish, a hunting tartan rather than a piper's.
2) Timing. Right. Darned if I know. I'm going with the events of the final episode happened near the end of Dinah and Gabby's junior year (grade 11 for us Canucks) and that Policy and Procedure happened at least six months after that. Modern Mythology, therefore, starts in the middle of their final (senior, grade 12, 12th grade, year 12, whatever) year. I think. Kind of hazy.
STORY SPECIFIC NOTES: Great liberties are taken with the accepted "fan-canon". More will be taken as this series progresses. I'm trying hard not to muss too badly with the "show-canon" but no guarantees. Just to warn ya.
FEEDBACK, COMMENTS AND FLAMES: Email at maven369@sympatico.ca
No doubt about it; I'm pinned. Weight on my thighs, hands pinned over my head with arms that feel like steel bars when I roll against them. Grinning down at me just beyond the range of an effective head butt.
Altogether a most compromising and helpless situation.
I run through my various martial arts options, all of which require me to be either quicker or stronger than my opponent. Right. That leaves my ace in the hole.
When in doubt, guerrilla kiss.
It's like she's developed telekinetics as she levitates upward in shock. I twist, using my torso and momentum to roll through her suddenly weakened left arm. There's a thud as she hits the mat and I scramble to my feet.
"I win!"
I spare a glance around. Dinah is laughing, bent over with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Ms Gordon is merely rubbing the bridge of her nose, glasses hanging loosely from her right hand. Helena is furiously rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand.
I decide to get the focus on the result rather than the methodology. The methodology is likely to get my ass kicked.
"C'mon, guys. Am I clear? School's out, I've done backup duty on the Delphi, the high speed driving course Uncle Jim arranged with the police instructor, the Red Cross gives me a discount on courses and I kinda beat Helena…"
"Cheated," Helena mutters.
"…and I'm not getting any younger here. What you say?"
The three share a long look. Finally Helena nods, grudgingly. "Yeah, Red, she's jumped through the damn hoops. More than you made me or Dinah go through."
It's like a dam being burst. Ms Gordon pauses before she nods and Dinah begins to jump up and down. "Yes, yes, yes."
"Looks like you're in, hero to be named later," Helena says. "Just need to see the duds and hear the code name to make it official."
"They're…" I begin but my cell phone rings. Dinah tosses it to me and I read the display.
"Everything okay?" Dinah asks.
"Yeah. Urgent thing, not an emergency. And I need to pick up the stuff. Later?"
I don't actually wait for a reply, just grab my bag and head for the elevator.
+++++
"Well?" I demand as Alfred comes into the small office from the examination room. The doctor enters slightly behind him. "Well?" I ask again.
"Your grandfather is in excellent shape for a 72 year old man," the doctor says, pausing until Alfred is seated before sitting on a wheeled examination stool. He looks at Alfred and pauses.
"I have no secrets from my granddaughter," he says. The doctor nods.
"As I said, excellent shape for a 72 year old but, Alfred, you're still 72."
"The dizzy spell?" I ask.
"Spells," the doctor says in a firm voice. Alfred tsk-tsks at him.
"Spells! Plural? More than one?"
"Minor things, really," Alfred assures me.
"I'd like to run more tests, try an alternative blood pressure medication. ECG was normal so I'm not overly concerned," the doctor continues. "And, as I've been saying for the last ten years, it'd be great you'd cut back a bit. Take it easier Alfred. Winter in the warmth. You know. Play bingo and go on birding hikes. Stuff that 70 year olds are supposed to do."
"I will, as I always do, take it under serious consideration."
"Of course," the doctor says dryly. He scribbles some instructions onto a script pad and hands it to me. "Call the office to set up an appointment for tests, Alfred. A pleasure to meet you, Ms Miller. See what you can do to convince him."
"Thanks, doctor," I say. He nods, exiting to another room and I gather up my stuff and follow Alfred out of the maze of examination and waiting areas to the ER parking lot.
"Very well," Alfred says once we're settled in the car and on our way to the Tower.
"Well what?"
"You may begin to harangue me."
"Harangue? Me? Look, gramps," I say, shaking my head, drawling out the word "gramps". "I know you. Nothing I say will get you to cut back or retire. And it's your decision so I…"
"Perhaps you should pull over until you've finished crying?"
I pull over into a strip mall parking lot and punch the steering wheel a few times. "You scared me!"
"I scared myself."
"You're cutting back, you stubborn coot."
"One cannot exactly call in Molly Maid to dust the Delphi nor take the Batmobile to Jiffy Lube for a tune up," he says. He's staring out the windshield, ignoring my emotional outburst as best he can.
I glare at him and punch the steering wheel some more.
"However, I will put the maintenance of the Manor proper under an agency," he continues.
"I can help. Drop out of the accelerated track."
He reaches over, taking my hand in his. "You are an immense help already. Your education…"
"Will take five years instead of three. Not a biggie."
"Gabrielle."
"Alfred."
"You are most obstinate."
"Like my grandpa?"
"You don't mind the deception?"
I take a deep breath and pull back into traffic. "Nah. I never knew my own grandparents. I kinda like having one."
We drive in silence for several minutes.
"Alfred?"
"Yes, Gabrielle?"
"People I love aren't allowed to die. Not anymore. Got it?"
"Got it."
+++++
I feel nervous and stupid and like everyone's looking at me.
Which they are.
I tug on the coat, a driving jacket rather than a long duster like Helena and Dinah wear, and wait.
"Alfred," Ms Gordon says. "You helped?"
"Indeed. I used the usual suppliers and manufacturers. I think you'll be very interested in the advance of Kevlar-like materials."
"The colours..." Helena says, using the tone of voice usually described as 'strangled' by writers.
"Yeah, well, you two had the market on black leather cornered so I had to diversify."
"But... green?"
"You make is sound like lime or puke green when it's really more of a hunter green."
"And the... I'm having a lot of problems with this," Helena says, waving a vague gesture towards me.
"Nelson wore a red vest. And I get to choose," I remind them.
Helena ignores that little piece of history trivia. "But we get veto. Right, Barbara? I get veto."
"Actually, senior superhero gets the veto. And I don't a problem with this. Have you come up with a code name?" she asks me.
"Yeah," I say, suddenly twice as nervous because if Helena's acting like this over the colours she's likely going to go ballistic over the name. Obfuscation is needed. That or a head start. "I tried to pick something with some history and some link to Dinah's code name. You know, bird like." Maybe if I don't actually say it out loud Helena won't kill me.
"Oh. Fuck. Me. No." Helena says slowly, arms crossing, hip canting and expression darkening. Dinah's looking confused and Ms Gordon looks like she's going to cry. Maybe this was a bad idea. "No way are you wearing the Boy Blunder's colours and using his name and..."
"Helena," Ms Gordon says quietly but I guess it's too quiet or that Helena's anger is too loud.
"Turning us into some extension of HIM and not something Barbara and I have built when he fled like the fucking cowardly..."
"Ms Helena," Alfred says sharply but he too is ignored.
"Heartless bastard."
"That is enough!"
The rafters don't quiet rattle but it's close and everyone stares in shock at Alfred.
"Your father has many faults. His incapacity to show love is one of them. But never think that he doesn't care and love deeply," he pauses, hand to the back of a nearby chair for balance or support. "You and Ms Barbara have created a wonderful team but it is on the foundation of those who have gone before you. Some of who have died. Some who have become so weary that they cannot continue. Gabrielle honours them and I would appreciate it if you would not belittle them in my presence. Now, if you will excuse me, I will leave. I have no say in this discussion and, frankly, I find it distasteful. Good bye."
"Alfred?" Helena calls after his retreating back but he ignores her. "He said good bye, not good night or something," she says, voice subdued and questioning.
"He's 72," I mutter, not bothering to hide my anger on his account. "He has to pause at the top of each flight of steps. He takes five different medications in the morning and three more before he sleeps. He needs glasses and a hearing aid and he's 72 and he's buried more heroes than any other person alive. You're training Dinah but he's training me."
"Gabby," Ms Gordon says but she's not my teacher anymore and I ignore her. I'm focused on Helena.
"I've been in on the secret for over a year now. Everything new I've learned, I learned it from him." She turns away from me and I grab her arm. "Helena," I start. And the tone of my voice startles me because usually people don't sound this aggressive when talking to an angry Helena.
"Don't worry. I got the message," she growls and I can see her anger morphing into some other emotion. "Barbara?"
"He's headed to the Mansion," Ms Gordon says after a quick glance at one of her monitors.
"Better get going then. I'm taking the Ducati. Don't wait up," Helena says, brushing a quick kiss across Barbara's forehead before leaving.
"Ms Gor... Barbara?"
She turns from staring at where Helena's back disappeared a few moments ago to look at me. "Yes, Gabby?"
"I didn't... I won't..."
She smiles and shakes her head. "It's not you. This has been simmering for years," she says.
"What about patrol?" Dinah asks tentatively.
"Take it," Barbara says. She turns to me. "Gabby, in the vehicle at all times, understood?"
It takes a few seconds for the meaning of the words to sink in. "Got it, Oracle," I say calmly. Apparently practicing in front of a mirror pays off.
"And Gabby?" Barbara says as she heads toward the Delphi. "There is a reputation associated with those colours, with that name."
"Screw up?" I mutter softly, remembering some of the stories Alfred had shared, but she just smiles and shakes her head.
"Rule breaker and pain in the ass. Try to live up to it, okay?"
"Oh yeah. Not a problem," I assure her and I hear a snort from the Dinah's general direction.
+++++
For an "above-a-bar, one bedroom, kitchen barely big enough for a fridge and toaster oven" Helena's place packs a hell of a security system.
"Stop it," Dinah mutters, pressing the yellow 'correct' button and punching the keypad again. She doesn't sound very sincere so I continue.
"What's the worst that can happen?" I mumble against her neck.
"Barbara shows up in the Hummer, Helena on the bike and Reese with the New Gotham SWAT team."
I step back quickly; wait patiently for the 12-digit code picked out by a clearly paranoid Oracle to be typed out, the little amber light to turn green and for her to turn. She's looking a little dishevelled, a little flushed and a little…
Wary.
Our journey back to intimacy has been baby steps and reserve. Parents and siblings inadvertently working to keep things from getting too intense, too fast. Controls that are removed here and now.
I wonder if Barbara knew that when she suggested this or if she was only thinking of Helena. Likely both.
"You okay?" I ask Dinah, pushing some hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She smiles, nods and pushes my jacket back over my shoulders. I try shrugging it over my wrists as she gives the Kevlar vest a firm yank.
Thank you, Alfred, for suggesting Velcro rather than buttons.
"What's the quote?" she asks. "From the show?"
"Hungry and horny?" I ask, trying to pop the jacket's wrist snap. The stiff vest is adding to the challenge.
"Not hungry."
"God, no," I agree. "Listen, how do you fell about bondage?"
She freezes on the third button down. "What?"
"Because my arms are totally trapped here."
She relaxes, shaking her head and turning me around to free my arms. I toss the tangled jacket and vest in the general vicinity of the couch. "Nice shirt. Why yellow?"
"Duffle popcorn," I mutter. I've been doing buttons since age four and they really shouldn't be so hard. "Not yellow. the colour is duffle popcorn."
"Gabby."
"Yeah?"
"You pop the buttons, you sew them back on."
I force my hands to slow, going with the pressure against the back of my head, guiding me for a kiss, and allowing the unbuttoning to proceed by touch alone. Warm hands scoot under my yell… duffle popcorn shirt to draw tiny patterns against the small of my back and shoulder. More hands pull me closer along her length, pressing us together.
"Bad porn," I gasp.
Dinah freezes, drawing back to stare at me. "What?" she asks, voice equal in amazement and confusion.
"Too many hands. Like badly written porn. Sorry, my brain just isn't working properly here."
"Guess I was using the powers. That okay?"
"Will it get us naked faster?" She shrugs, nods and grins. "Then, fuck yes, it's perfect."
The grin turns into a laugh and, eventually, less articulate noises. I plan on taking advantage of this. No worries about when the Disocuri will be home from football practice or parents from work or if Helena's around to smirk and tease. Just her and me and the muffled music from the Dark Horse below.
"God, no wonder Barbara and your maw..." Ego realizes what id is about to blurt and is saved by libido and a Catholic ex-girl friend. "Mother of God."
Dinah draws back again. "What?"
I decide that bringing ex-girl friends is not a good idea and try to explain the bit about Barbara. "Go at it like ferrets after patrol."
"I so did not want to know that," Dinah hisses at me.
"But I got it from your head," I protest. I'm grinning more at Dinah's expression than anything else.
"Yeah, but *I* didn't *know* it," she says in a woeful whine.
"Then put the walls up unless you want more to leak out."
"Don't worry. Just you and me."
Our Place blinks in, the walls going from a foggy translucent to a black opaque as hum of the memories quiets until there's just the roar of Dinah and me, me and Dinah and the explosion of what has to be The Best. Sex. Ever.
"Better than without the powers?" Dinah asks from far away as Our Place slowly changes to Helena's apartment. Doubtless on some level I said it out loud. "Better than without the telepathy?"
There's this state, where your brain is so in tune with your lover that you can say the perfect thing. Answer the 'does this make me look fat' with panache and sincerity.
"Uh-uh," I assure her.
And then there's the state when your brain is so overloaded with endorphins that you just answer all questions with the most stupid answer in the world. Perhaps the universe.
"Oh."
It's such a dead answer. I replay the conversation until I get to the part where perhaps I didn't give the best answer, marvelling over the inferiority complex of Dinah and the insensitivity of me. I can hear the next question.
"Would you love me if I didn't have the powers," she asks, voice quiet and calm.
Well, I'm not going to fall for it twice. On the one-to-ten 'dress-equal-fat' scale this is an eleven. I roll over, brush the hair from her face and wait patiently until she looks at me instead of some point over my shoulder.
"Imagine you didn't have the powers so you didn't see Barbara and Helena and what happened that night. Didn't see New Gotham in your dreams." She frowns slightly and I continue. "Imagine you didn't have your powers so weird shit wasn't happening around you all the time, pushing your foster parents away. Making you odd man out in a small town." She nods but it's a 'continue' nod and not an 'I get it' nod. "You would have no reason to run from there, no reason to run to here. And I wouldn't have met you."
"Oh."
"I fell in love with you before I knew about the powers but they shaped who you are. The question, the real question, should be would you love me if you didn't have the powers."
"I..." There's a mask that Dinah wears to hide herself from pain. She's wearing it now.
"I shouldn't have asked that," I say, brushing the mask away, tracing Horus marks on her face, "because it doesn't matter. You love me now."
She nods and a dozen hands pull me to her. And I kiss her until she believes me.
+++++ Epilogue +++++
There's this thing. No matter how quiet I am Barbara can spot me. Maybe not right away. Might take a few minutes for it to sink into her reality. But waking or asleep, eventually, she'll turn and stare right into the shadows that hide me.
"Wha' y'r doin'?" she asks, sleep slurring her words.
"Watching you sleep."
"Why?"
"Because I like watching you sleep."
"No. Why there?"
I jump from the back of the big reading chair and walk to the foot of the bed. "Felt like perching."
She sits up, using her arms to lean back. There's a few blinks and I can sense her becoming more alert, more aware. Little switches in her brain activating and synapses snapping. Her head cocks to the side and she smiles slightly.
"Gonna come to bed?"
"Soon," I answer, rising to my toes and then easing back again. I know my fists are clenching in time to this because I can see Barbara focus on my hands.
"You going to talk?" Barbara asks, her pronunciation improving as she wakes up more and more. I shrug and try to still. My mom said my body and my mind where linked, if one was racing the other had to as well. "Okay," she says. And she waits.
I can feel my body start to still and I lean forward, knees bumping up against the bed and, slowly, I ease onto it until my head is resting on her knees, my body tucked into a ball along her legs and the foot of the bed. The posture of confession. I can feel her shift her balance from both arms to one.
"He gave me cookies. Ginger snaps. They tasted… you know how smells and tastes and sounds can trigger a memory?"
"Yes."
"When I was around three or four mom had to go into the hospital for a day or two. And this relative of hers, some cousin or uncle, Michael, looked after me. We made cookies and…"
She smoothes my hair and simply waits. Physically I'm exhausted. Three hours of riding the Ducati through the streets and alleys. Emotionally I'm still on a rollercoaster.
"I figured if this guy was making cookies, he wasn't worried. And if he wasn't worried then I wasn't," I say, trying to explain the logic of a three year old. "Did he ever make cookies for you?"
"Alfred?" she asks, "Or Bruce?"
"My dad."
The fingers scratch lightly around behind my ears and base of my skull.
"No. Alfred sometimes made them for us."
I nod. "Sorry I played hooky."
"It's okay. Dinah patrolled and Gabby stayed with the vehicle. Put the fear of God in some kids about to decorate the alley on Davis."
"They at Gabby's?" I ask. The Clocktower had been silent except for the ever-constant ticking clock, humming computer and Barbara.
"I took the liberty of offering them your apartment."
"How did you know I wouldn't be using it? I mean, I told you not to wait up and I basically stormed out of here..."
"I knew you'd come back here."
"How?"
"I know you."
I can feel the last piece of tension ease from my body, brushed away with her fingers and words. Or, to be precise, the sound of her. I rub my cheek against the blanket and her leg. Confession always feels better because Barbara always forgives me.
"I did something bad," I say in a low voice.
"Sweetheart, I'm too tired for Naughty Student and Strict Schoolmarm."
The laughter bursts from me like a dam. She doesn't join in, just continues stroking my hair.
"You remember a couple of months ago, you planned that pop essay for a Monday morning?" Of course she does.
"Of course I do."
"I sort of implied to Gabby that it was my revenge for her keeping me awake all night."
There's a slight pause as she works that through, doubtless cross referencing our activities both Saturday and Sunday night and giving me a firm whack on the head before resuming her strokes.
"That explains why Gabby failed..."
"Failed!" I say, sitting up and scooting away. "Can you fix it? It was my fault. Is it too late to..."
She takes my arm and tugs me gently back down so that my head's on her lap. "Failed to meet my eye. And the shade of red she turned," she adds. "And the subject of the essay."
"Oh," I manage.
"It was on the petty vengeance of gods upon mere mortals. Very impassioned," she says, calming me with gentle strokes.
"You scared me."
"Stop pouting."
"I'm not pouting."
"You are too," she says, laying her hand briefly against my mouth to prove it. I taste it with the tip of my tongue before she resumes stroking my hair. "With great power comes great responsibility. I remember that from that movie you dragged me to."
"Don' wanna grow up," I mumble.
"Tough."
"No fun," I continue, hopping she'll argue the point.
"Maybe," she says. Not what I wanted to hear. "But more rewarding," she adds.
"How long have you known?"
"The benefits of maturity, the pitfalls of vengeance or that Bruce knew about you?"
"The last."
"I didn't know so I never said anything. But Selena moved here, to his city, and didn't exactly maintain a quiet presence. Bruce would have had to be stupid or wilfully blind to facts and he was neither."
"I'm still not... he's still not my favourite person."
"I expect not."
"I'm still not touching any of the money or that stone monstrosity."
"Of course not," she says. Slowly she lowers herself back onto the bed and, just as slowly, I inch up until my head rests on her heart.
"Genetically speaking," I mutter. I can feel myself calming as her heart and breathing slows. "I'd make a lousy parent."
"You'll be a great mother."
Her words catch my breath. Even half asleep Barbara is precise with her words. You will be, not you would be, could be, might be.
"You want kids?" I ask with forced casualness and all of a sudden I'm no longer the wild animal being tamed. I can hear her heart thudding and scent the metallic taste of adrenalin.
"That's a long discussion that we shouldn't have at three o'clock in the morning."
"Nah," I say, trying to keep it light. "It's a one word answer. If, when, how... those are the long discussion questions."
"Yes," she says softly.
"Okay," I say. "Barbara?"
"Yes?" she asks, tone wary.
"Sure you're too tired for Naughty Student and Strict Schoolmarm?"
END
Next: Apollo
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