FANDOM: Birds of Prey TV
PAIRING: Barbara/Helena, suggested Helena/Dinah
RATING: PG, probably even just G
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. I don't make money of them. I'm broke, so suing would be useless. Also, this deals with one woman in love with another. If that's not your thing, don't read, and if you do, deal.
SUMMARY: Short piece on Helena's thoughts.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been into writing character fics lately, just little pieces on what I think the chars might be thinking. I apologize if it's getting old.
FEEDBACK: It would be nice... very, very nice... great Holiday present kinda nice... please? email@example.com
It's fitting that we live inside of a clock. Always, no matter where I am, although Barbara makes sure to have the computer generate white noise at night, I can hear the tick tock tick tock tick tock of the gears clinking together, ever so silently, yet so loudly that it penetrates into my head. Always I can tell that time is slipping through my fingers, that my time here on earth is passing me by, that all the chances that are given me, all the choices I have to make, are only going to be there for so long. Before they're taken from me, by good will or bad will, battle or sleep, but always by time. It's enough to drive a girl mad.
I hate it, really, and yet it's saved me more often than not. Oh, I don't mean that in some battle with supervillain number 2148 the clock figured in somehow to save my neck. I mean that because of that clock, I was never late anywhere when it really mattered. Barbara always knows the time because of it, so I always know the time. She's made sure I have never been late to a dentist's appointment in the past seven years.
But always it's the knowledge of chances passing me by that makes me want to take a hammer and smash the gears to pieces. To sit there and listen to the gears move while the opportunity to make a witty comeback comes and goes. To sit there while on the phone with a friend and miss the point where I should tell them they're boyfriend or girlfriend is cheating on them. And worst of all, to sit there and watch as the chance to tell Barbara how I feel whizzes past, over and over and over again. To know how many seconds have passed since that opening arrived, how many seconds have passed since I became a coward with a strip of leather in my mouth instead of a tongue, because I can't tell her I love her.
I'm not the only one with these moments. Sometimes I'll be sitting with Dinah at the table, talking nonsense with her, and she'll open her mouth to say something. Then, she'll close it again, give me a strange look, and spend the next hour or so staring at the clock gears move and muttering to herself occasionally. If I don't knock her out of whatever funk she's in as soon as it starts, the scowl will remain for longer than an hour. I used to wish to know what made her do it, but when I mentioned it to Barbara, who pointed out that I do the same thing sometimes when I'm with her, I decided I didn't want to know. I don't want to know if the kid's dealing with the same kind of problem I am, especially since it's such a painful one. Especially if it has to do with me.
I'm surprised with the two of us here, the clock's lasted as long as it has.
So, it's not surprising that every time I hear a clock, I think of Barbara, and missed chances. What is surprising is that I've finally decided to do something about it. I was passing this flower shop, and stopped to smell the lilies, when I heard a watch tick. And then another, and another, and soon all I could hear was watches. I looked up to see one of those watch salesmen, you know, the one's that lift watches off of poor tourists who don't know any better? He smiled at me, and asked me if I liked the lily. I told him I was thinking of getting it for a friend, and what does he do? Watches still ticking in my ears, he buys me a couple of the flowers. Says, "You give these to your friend, y'hear? Tell her," he added as an afterthought, "that she's very lucky to have you." And he walked away, whistling.
So I'm heading to the Clocktower, the sound of time passing in my ears, hands trembling as I hold the lilies for Barbara. And I'm wondering how the watchman, who seems vaguely familiar now, knew that my friend was a woman, and how Dinah will react when she finds out, and whether or not I'll ever get the sound of clocks going tick tock tick tock tick tock out of my head.
But most of all, I'm wondering how she'll like the flowers.