Who: Oracle and Black Canary What: Teaming up When: Recently Where: Wayne Tower
Babs was nervous. Well, distracted and nervous. A wall of monitors flashed images and information before her, keeping her eyes darting to and fro as she watched the everyone on the ground, rattled off instructions and let her fingers dance on her keyboards. It didn’t stop her feeling nervous, knowing that one more would join the fray. At least she would, after she met with Babs.
She knew Dinah, of course. Or rather, she knew of Dinah. A few chance encounters in her days at Batgirl were all she really had other than Oracle’s very extensive files. The files she had poured over for days when she first arrived, and there was a very strange sense of knowing the other woman. Plus, as she had noticed with some of the other faces in Gotham, they might all come from different places, times, and universes, but a lot of the core attributes seemed to be the same. She had little doubt that this Dinah was much like the Dinah she had met and the one she had read about.
Still, this was a first meeting, and the nervousness still fluttered in her all the same. She was glad she had a poker face for it, no worry lining her features and no anxiety making her tremble. Babs was pulling her Oracle hat on, her mind on her work and her ears open for any sounds that would let her know when her guest had arrived.
There were no files that covered waking up in the room above the florist shop located in downtown Gotham and finding out the city had gone to wreck. Dinah cussed a blue streak, felt if not satisfied then at least better, and had dug out a pair of tights that didn’t have a hole in them from getting thrown against brickwork one too many times to count. She’d ticked off Ollie (stoic: when had her Ollie ever been stoic?) and the kid with her last name and by the time Barbara G’s tag-line showed up in the paper notebook covered in other people’s scrawl, she’d been ready to kiss the woman.
Wayne Tower and she could pick it out of the Gotham skyline blindfolded: she’d grown up learning Gotham streets back when they were dirty and the rot hadn’t crept in so far around its bones, when it had been points on a map and trailing her dad to see if he noticed and Gotham’s lights were out but she could still find her way in the dark.
Boots. Not high-heeled but cut high enough that they looked enough like sex to distract, and the fishnets layered over leg that went on forever, and the close-cut jacket drawn over the bustier. Not thinking about what Barbara Gordon was like in the space between then and the now she’d come from, where normal was a chair and a voice in the ear. It was good, this Babs didn’t know that - but she’d seen Barbara through from red pigtails and backyard games right through to suits and capes and she wondered what difference not being benched would make.
“You know,” a voice at the back of the room, thoughtful wrapped around an old joke, “I’m never going to like them. But you make it look freaking sexy.” Smile.
Babs smirked as she deftly tapped at her keys a few more times as she leaned to her computer. “You could give them a whirl. Third or fifth or eighth time’s a charm.” Another tap and she spun around. She was all smiles, a little tired around the eyes, and oh yeah, there bump on her belly. The green tank top and a pair of dark grey leggings did little to disguise that new development. While some things hadn’t changed, some certainly had.
She picked up a spare comm that she had on her desk, and nimbly held it up for Dinah’s perusal. “This is just as high tech as that, you know.” She inclined her head towards the wall of monitors, her long and loose red hair spilling back over her shoulder.
Dinah’s eyes slid from the face (familiar as all hell, usually scowling over some infraction heard over the comm line) and took in the belly too. Wide, wide eyes. That part was new. The Birds liked to celebrate (some more than others, she’d take that on and brush it off) but the only peeing on sticks Dinah had in memory was the kind where you prayed to God and all the holy saints that what came up wasn’t up.
“Well look at you,” drawl, and she hugged the woman, a quick, hard embrace that dodged the belly as deftly as if it had been unexploded nitrogen. Maybe it was worse. That was real, adult grown-up territory. “Who the hell did this to you? This is what you meant by being benched?” The squeeze came with the green, fresh smell of growing things, of Gotham streets and the kind of perfume that promised to be sultry, all dark warmth.
“This,” she reached out to take the comm and fitted it behind her ear, without mussing a strand of blond hair: that had taken weeks and if she felt more comfortable on the streets with someone in her ear to hear her yell, she wasn’t going to admit it to anyone except the woman in front of her, “Is not high tech. This is like hitting a panic button. They give those to old people.” Grin.
Hugs were a good sign, as far as she was concerned, and Babs laughed a little as they parted and the barrage of questions started. “Who do you think did this to me?” Sure, there had been hints at others in the pile of information her future self had left but there was really only one constant. And from the way most people seemed to be easily assume who the father was, the constant was obvious to anyone with eyes. “Definitely can’t wear my suit anymore. It stopped fitting months ago.” If there was ever a time to stop being Batgirl, she liked to think she had a great excuse.
The laugh tumbled out again, watching as Dinah fitted the comm to her ear. “Next thing I know, you’ll be asking for chair escalators for the stairs here. And if you call me and tell me you’ve fallen and you can’t get up, you’re going to get an earful.”
No, that suit didn’t come in maternity. But the smile, the way Babs grinned like a kid proud of a secret that said she didn’t mind being benched at all, that wiped out the prickle of worry that maybe Babs had sent up a pee-prayer to the fertility gods not that long ago. Stretch-kevlar did not do up-sizing, or infant-size. “This is Grayson’s work? I owe him a drink,” Dinah’s hand, casual on Barbara’s shoulder but it was a squeeze that said maybe this step toward adulthood was bigger than one-liners had room for. Babs wasn’t wheels but she was still tech, and children were terrifying but Babs didn’t look like she was all that scared.
“No chair escalators until I’m done with the tights. I can still climb the side of a building.” She hitched herself a seat on the desk, swung her legs uncaring that she’d nudged a keyboard out of the way with one hip. The smile came easy, but the blue eyes narrowed in on seriousness beneath all that light-hearted. “So before we get into it: where’s the best party in Gotham now I’ve got my invite?”
Babs wouldn’t have said she didn’t mind being benched. There was still so much uncertainty with her about her place there in Gotham. But if she was going to be off the streets and replaced, it was she who would decide it, and this was definitely one hell of a persuasive argument. “Hey, I’m the one who’s doing all the work. You can’t give him all the credit.” Not that she could drink of course, but she could keep a tab.
One finger pointed to the screen behind Dinah’s shoulder. “We’re making headway but I’ve got a few holes in coverage. Are you thinking something fancy or something dingy. I’ll let you pick, since we’re supposed to be partners and all.” It had been a while since Babs had encountered someone she’d eventually know but didn’t. Dinah had been exceptionally close; she had guessed it would have been only a matter of time before she appeared. Now to see if they worked as well in this universe as in others. So far, so good.
What Dinah remembered about pregnancy (what she hadn’t tried to forget the minute she hit old enough to get that way) was a whole list of don’ts. Don’t eat this, don’t do that, don’t drink this: it wasn’t vigilante, it was sit there and hold on tight until it went the hell away. Barbara hadn’t been sit still since she was pigtails and dirt on her knees and the chair hadn’t made her still, it had just been wheels, instead of feet. The monitors lit the sides of her face, profile thrown into shadows and the look slid sharply into the thoughtful. “He managed to get you to do all the work and he gets a kid at the end. That’s some con-job he pulled off.” The voice was carefree.
She rolled her chin over her shoulder to look at the screen which didn’t make any kind of sense Dinah understood. It was a lot of pictures, and pictures weren’t people. Clarity came from a voice in a mic in her ear, telling her where to go and what to do. It was simple, and she liked simple more than she liked the world on a computer monitor.
The smile was lazy, it curled at the corners. “I always did like coming in with fireworks. Give me fancy.” She slid off the workbench, boots hitting the floor soundlessly and her arm slid around what remained of Babs’ waist whilst her chin hit the woman’s shoulder in a brief, passing squeeze.
Babs’ lips rose to mirror that smile. “Good thing you’ve got the right shoes on. You’re ready for a night of dancing.” As the arm came around her and the chin hit Babs’ shoulder, she merely inclined her head to press a temple to Dinah’s head. Completely different universes and times they might come from, Babs had spent enough time reading the files to feel like she had some semblance of a connection with the other woman. A hug was fine, and after long days and nights coordinating heroes and cops, she welcomed a hug.
“Come on,” she said, her temple brushing Dinah’s hair, “we’ve got to show these boys how it’s done.”