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The final 2 episodes of Birds of Prey will air as one 2 hour movie on February 19th from 8-10 p.m. on the WB (doublecheck local times and dates)

Title: Breakable
Author: trancer (michkidd@earthlink.net)
Rating: R
Summary: Helena hits rock bottom.
Character/Pairing: Helena/Barbara
Category: Pre-relationship, angst
Disclaimer: "Birds of Prey" and characters are copywritten by Miller/Tobin Productions, Warner Brothers, DC comics et al. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. "Breakable" copywritten by Fisher and FarmClub.
Notes: This is a sequel to "Because Sometimes You Hurt The One You Love".

Birds of Prey Ė Breakable


Tell the world that sheís breaking your heart
Go tell them nothingís ever your fault
Go tell them all...

"Breakable", Fisher


"Youíre standing awfully close."

"No, Iím not." Which is no where close to the truth. Iím leaning over her, deep inside her personal space. I like being close to Barbara, a satellite in her orbit. Nose a hairís breath from her ear, drinking the smell of her skin, burning from her warmth.

"No?" She turns to me, a soft smile on her lips. "Any closer and weíll have to make it legal."

"Thatís not such a bad idea, is it? You, me, a couple cats, a house in Vermont."

I can taste the apprehension in her body. Her pulse rapid. Blood pounding through her veins. Eyes dilated. She wants it. I want it. Just need to close the space between our lips.

"You almost had me there." Barbara pulls away from me. "Vermont was the tip off. You know Iíd rather gargle broken glass than live in Vermont."

"Even with me?"

"I already live with you, I donít need to move there for that."

"But we still havenít made it legal. Or illegal." I push into her space again. Close. Barbara swallows hard.

Kiss her. Kiss her.

The phone rings. She quickly reaches for it, killing the moment. Always something. Coming between us.

"Wade? Hello."

And now itís Wade. I move away from her, outside her space. She continues talking to HIM. Words soft and cooing. Images float into my mind. Barbara. Touching Wade. Kissing Wade. Fucking Wade. It boils my blood. Desire turns to rage. And I feel like I need something to hit. Something to hurt.


"Is that the best you got?" Dinah sneers at me. Her hand wipes the small trickle of blood leaking from her nose.

"Iím just getting started." She balls her hands into fists, taking her stance. I circle around. Wait for an opening.

I pounce.

Punch. Block. Kick. Block. Sweep. She counters everything I throw her way. Anticipates my blows. Dinahís gotten fast, and smart. Just not fast enough. My fist connects with her jaw. Dinah rolls with the punch, spinning on her heel. Catches me off guard with a backhand to my skull.

Definitely didnít see THAT one coming. Cobwebs clog my senses. Iím on the defensive, blocking, ducking, swaying from her assault. Another move ending with a roundhouse kick to the stomach sends me back a couple steps. Now itís me wiping the blood off my face.

"Pretty smooth." I admit.

"I have my moments." Dinah pauses to enjoy the moment. "Youíre holding back."

"Believe me, you donít want me in full force."

"I donít? Or maybe you donít wanna admit youíre getting slow in your old age. Wouldnít wanna be upstaged by the younger, prettier, faster protťgť."

I know sheís bating me. I KNOW IT. But canít help falling for it anyway. Dinah knows how to push my buttons. Takes her tiny little daggers, pries through the cracks in my armor. Until sheís under my skin, poking, jabbing, sticking me until I bleed.

"Iím gonna tell Barbara I kicked your ass." She sneers at me.

Blood boiling, molten hot. The taste on my tongue, scent in my nose. Dinahís scent. Her bodyís covered in it, thick and heady. The scent that says she wants it, all of it. Itís no longer sparring. Something else. It comes from deep within me. A darkness that seeps over my brain until there is no other thought.

Do it Helena. Do it! Do it!

"Címon Helena, give it to me. You know you want to."

Yes, give it to her. Lash out. A being of arms and legs, punching, kicking. It takes everything she has to block my assault. Itís still not enough. A blow to the face. A kick to the stomach. Dinahís feet leave the ground. She crashes into the weapons rack. Wanna hurt her. Wanna taste her on my tongue. I lunge towards her, killing blow locked and loaded in my fists.

"HELENA!" Her voice cuts through the haze. Douses my rage like ice water.

Barbara rushes to Dinah. "I told you two to spar not kill each other. Okay, YOU not kill her."

She hovers over Dinah, inspecting her wounds. I remember when she used to touch me. Hands, gentle as a feather just as soft. It should be me there underneath her hands. Caressed by her touched.

"Whatís gotten into you?"

"She wanted it."

"Helena." Barbara gasps.

"No," Dinah pipes in. "Sheís right. I told her not to hold back."

"Does this mean weíve learned our lesson." Barbaraís eyes never leave mine, angry, accusing. "Just because you can doesnít mean you should."

"Iím fine." Dinah limps to her feet. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. Iím getting better. Lasted three rounds instead of one."

"Yeah, you wish."

"You just donít wanna admit Iím right." Dinah raises her fists. "Ready for another round?"

"Bring it."

"Enough!" Barbara moves between us. "Did I miss the round of testosterone shooters? Cool it, you two."

"Fine." She still glares at me. Something else in her eyes besides anger. "Whatever. I have to be at work anyway."


Itís slow. Wednesdayís are always slow. I donít need to be here. Should be out there, in the night, the dark. But, somehow, I still find myself here, pouring booze, inhaling smoke, listening to drunks tell me how much better Iíd look on them.

Sheís here. I can sense her. Always under my skin, like a rash or a disease. Invading my space. Again.

"What the Hell are you.." I pause, blood beginning to boil, "Doing in my shirt!?!"

Dinah sashays to the bar like she owns it. My black vest is tight around her, pushing her breasts up in a way that can only be described as gravity-defying. I hate to admit, it looks good on her. Too good.

"Bartender, give me a drink."

"Fuck you and take off my vest."

"Fine. You want it?" Dinah rolls her eyes then tosses me a half smile. Her hands move to the top of the zipper. Itís just a dare. Dinah doesnít have the balls. Yet my eyes are glued to her chest. Teased by the hint of possibility. Can feel the eyes in the room turning towards the scene.

"Okay Dinah, thatís enough."

She giggles at me. Calls my bluff. "Now, whereís my drink?"

I slide a soda to her, drop in a cherry and a straw.

"Drink this."

Dinah takes a healthy pull, pouting over the lack of alcohol. She pulls the cherry out by the stem, twirling it in her fingers.

"God, this sucks. You wonít let me get drunk. Barbara wonít let me fight."

"Aw poor baby, still canít get your cherry popped. Here, maybe I can help you out."

I clasp my hand around hers. Keep our eyes locked together, watch for her reaction. And she will react. I wrap my lips around forefinger and thumb, deep throating them. Dinah gasps, face flushed red, our thoughts now one. Only mine are dirtier. I pull her fingers from my mouth, taking the cherry with me.

"Is that all you think about?" She stammers nervously.

"Pretty much." I shrug. "Why arenít you at Barbaraís?"

"Wadeís there." She spits and for a moment I think there might be someone who hates that tool more than I do. "I think heís going to propose."

Something seizes my chest. Jealousy. Anger. Fear. I grab a bottle of vodka from under the counter.

"I need a drink." I fill a shot glass to the rim, slam it down.

"Can I have one?"

"No." I swallow another one.

"Iím not a child."

"I didnít say you were."

"Then why are you treating me like one?"

"Iím not treating you like a child. Iím treating you like someone whoís legally not allowed to drink. And Iím damned sure not gonna get fired over you."

Dinah slumps back in her chair, wounded. Pangs of guilt seep into my body. Must be the alcohol. Itís the only thing that could make me feel sorry for her. The interloper.

"Heís not worthy of her." Dinah sighs.

"What, and you are."

"No, but I will be."

"Barbaraís way out of your league." I canít hold back my snigger. "Besides, you donít have it in you."



"Oh please, like youíve cornered the market or something." Her eyes darken. She leans forward, elbows on the counter. "How about a little wager? I will bet you that I can get the number of any woman in this bar, your pick. If I win, you give me the strongest drink in the house."

"And if you lose?"

"I donít know." She shrugs. "Iíll stop borrowing your clothes."


My eyes scan the bar, searching for Dinahís mark. "I pick her."

"Her? Puh-leeze, she has uber-skank written all over her."

"Iíd do her." I shrug.

"You would." Dinah points in a different direction. "What about her?"

Sheís alone. Brunette. Expensive blouse, designer shirt, legs that have Ďhurt meí written all over her. And Iím thinking about being in the middle of an uber-skank, corporate queen bee sandwich.

"She is definitely out of your league."

"Are you sure?" Dinah slides off the bar stool. Casually walks towards the woman. My eyes canít help but wander down, admiring the painted on jeans and smooth curves. Nope, definitely not a child.

I watch the two, charging more vodka to my tab. Dinah has the womanís attention, completely. The woman smiles, laughs, edges herself closer to the blonde girl across from her. Itís all fun and games until someone asks for some ID.

Dinah saunters back to the bar, smiling like the cat who ate the canary. She flashes me the number, pulling it out of my grasp as I reach for it.

"Now," She slams her fist onto the counter. "Whereís my drink?"


This is going to hurt. A lot. My head throbs. Things spin if I think too much. I park Barbaraís car in front of her apartment. Dinah hasnít stopped giggling since we left the bar. Itís infectious. Iím not sure whatís so damn funny, but it is. Real funny.

"God, Barbaraís going to kill us."

"Nu-uh," She wiggles her finger at me. "Sheís going to kill you Ďcuz you popped my cherry." Sheís laughing. Iím laughing. I think the carís laughing. Stop laughing, have to stop laughing. Lean back. Close my eyes. Gotta stop the spinning.

"Youíre beautiful."

Thatís new. I open my eyes. Dinahís slumped against her seat, staring at me.

"I guess people say that to you all the time."

"No," I admit. "They donít. Okay, they do, but itís usually much cruder."

"Well, you are. Especially your lips. Theyíre amazing." She reaches out to me. Presses her palm against my face, thumb tracing my lips. I want to pull away, swat her hand from my face. But it feels good, she feels good.

"Itís like they have a million expressions and they all end with Ďkiss meí."

Dinah floats towards me. Eyes clouded, glazed, alcohol, desire. Fuck, I canít tell.

"I thought you got over the whole bad girl thing."

"I lied." Lips, soft and warm, press against mine. Itís like some clichť, my mind says no but my body says yes. More of this, more of her. Deeper, open my mouth to her. Taste cherry and vanilla, innocence and light. I pull her towards me, she straddles my lap. Yes. Feel her. Under the vest, smooth and soft, trembling under my touch.

She commands my mouth and I let her. Our kisses wet, sloppy, flames turning into an inferno. She moans into me, my fingers tease under the tight vest. Want more.

Car turns into bedroom. Car seat into a bed. I pounce on her, more of her. Need it, want it. No more vest. I rip it open. She gasps, arches under my gaze. Wants it.

I want more. Lips on her skin. Taste, lick, suck, mark my territory with tongue, lips, teeth. Slide my hand between her legs. Hot, wet, wanting. Slide into her. She digs her teeth into my shoulder. Wants it. I drive us both, pushing, thrusting. More. Ride her leg. Want her.

Take her.

She whimpers as I pull out. Sex on my fingers. Can smell it. Heavy and intoxicating. Tear her jeans off her legs. Spread her open. Soft, smooth, wet, sweeter and tastier than candy. Part her with tongue and lips, consume, drive my tongue deep into her, until sheís flowing like water. Holding on for dear life.

Where I want to be. Where I belong. All she had to do was ask. Say the words. With her, connected, shoving her over the edge. Need to hear it. My name on her lips. Please Barbara, say my name.

Say it.


My name.


She pushes me away. Scampers back onto the bed. I look up. Blue eyes, terrified, stare into mine.


Oh Shit.

My brain snaps into focus. Ice water in my veins. Dinah jumps off the bed, pulling the sheet around her body. Face flushed with embarrassment. Shame.

Donít look. Donít look.

Canít help it. Canít help my eyes as they move on their own, towards the doorway, towards her. Her rage is intense, white hot.

"Downstairs. NOW!"

Guilt. It weighs down on me, hard. I follow her downstairs. Wade is there, waiting. I can handle the accusing looks from Barbara. From him? Fuck off and die comes to mind. I can smell him. Smell him on her. All over her. Inside her. It should be my scent on her, not his.

"Wade, could you leave us alone for a minute?"

"Yeah sure," He nods. "Iíll be right outside if you need me."

She waits until he leaves, until weíre alone. Locked, loaded, ready to fire.

"What the Hellís the matter with you? Sheís sixteen!"

"I donít know. It just happened."

"Happened? No, Ďjust happenedí is when you put a red sock in with the whites."

Too much alcohol in my system. I know I should feel bad, I do. But, Iím tired of the yelling and the accusations and how itís always my fault. I didnít ask for this. None of it.

"Are you even listening to me? Jesus Helena, one of these days, Iím going to.."

"To what? Get out of that chair and kick my ass? Hey, maybe you could send Dinah in here to do it for you. Hey, how about Wade. Jesus Barbara, itís always about you. What youíre going to do to me. Except, you donít DO anything. You hover and dictate and smother me until I canít breathe. You treat me like your property. Then you have the NERVE to act all self-righteous when I donít live up to your fucked up delusions about my father. Iím tired of you treating me like some pet. Iím, Iím tired of THIS, this.."

The words trail out of my mouth, gone. As is everything of me has poured out and thereís nothing left. Only those werenít the words I meant to say. What I wanted to say. I can see the hurt on her face, again. Always hurting her. Canít take this anymore. Have to leave.

Barbara grips my arm. "Donít you dare. Donít you dare walk away from me!"

I yank my arm. Hard. A reflex, an instinct, eons of genetic coding bred into me, not my choice, like some bizarre Mengela experiment gone wrong. Except, I misjudge. Her grip harder than I realize, my tug harder than I intended. Everything freezes, except Barbara and Iím frozen in my tracks watching her fall to the floor.

I want to reach for her. Can FEEL myself moving towards her. Only Wadeís here now. He shoves me away from her, away from Barbara. I could never hurt her. Except, I always do.

"Get away from her!" He hisses at me. Crouches to Barbaraís side. I used to be the one at her side. I used to be a lot of things.


My hands shake. Knuckles red, swollen, bleeding from punching the wall over and over again. They yank the drawers open, throwing anything within reach into my duffel-bag.

"What are you doing?" Sheís here now. It takes everything I have not to look at her, to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness.

"Iím leaving. Getting as far away from New Gotham as possible."

"Donít go."


"Because I need you."

"No you donít. You have Dinah now, and Wade. And God knows who else, because you sure as Hell donít need me."

"Helena, please." She places her hand on mine. My heart stops somewhere in my throat. Her touch is like acid, burning into my skin. Only I donít pull away.

"Youíre hurt."

"Itíll heal." I shrug. She grabs a cloth. Uses it to dab the blood away from my knuckles. Like old times, me battered bruised broken, Barbara picking me up and putting the pieces together.

"I hurt you." Falls from my lips.

"I know."

"I didnít mean to."

"I know."

We sit in silence. Barbara continues cleaning my knuckles. Me waiting and watching. Her admission an opening Iím not sure I want to follow. But I have to know. Have to know whatís behind her eyes, in her head, her heart.

"If I asked you what you thought of me, really thought of me, would you tell me?"

She swallows hard, like this is the question sheís been asking herself for years.

"You terrify me."

Mengela must be laughing. I pull my hands from hers.

"Helena, donít." She clasps a hand onto mine. Her other cups my chin. I donít want to look. Donít want to hear.

"Look at me Helena. You were right, I do push you too hard. All these years, Iíve tried to instill in you everything Iíve learned, my morals, my ethics, everything that I am and it terrifies me to watch you throw it all away. I wish I could walk, to be by your side, kick your ass when you need it. Instead, I have to use my words. Itís all I have left. What you did tonight was unforgivable. Yet, here I am, forgiving you. Do you know how much it scares me to know, no matter what you do, what you say, I will give everything to be by your side. That Iím willing to break myself to be with you, no matter the cost?"

Her hands are shaking. Body trembling and it all falls into place. Iíve always thought of Barbara as the strong one. Always so confident, so sure of herself.

"Even if it means living in Vermont?"

She smiles. "Even if it means living in Vermont."

"Do you love me?"

The silence is deafening. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, ready to burst.

She answers me with a kiss. Her lips against mine. Everything I wanted, everything I dreamed. I open to her. She tastes warm, of hearth and home.

Barbara starts to laugh. I pull away. Her eyes are dark, menacing. Her smile wicked and maniacal.

"Did you really think I could love you?" She laughs at me. "You repulse me. Make me sick."

I slink back onto the bed. Donít wanna hear. Donít wanna see.

Barbara climbs onto the bed. Crawls over my legs, straddles my hips until Iím pinned beneath her. She leans over me, her breath hot on my face. She smells of death and destruction, she smells of me.

"I could never love you. Youíre everything I abhor. Did you think you could break me? Make me crumble with promises of hot sweaty nights."

Her fingers wrap around my throat. I offer no resistance, canít. Can feel the blackness around my eyes. The dark creeping towards me, beckoning me. She stares into my eyes, her face a death mask. Her eyes ablaze. A shiver runs down my spine because even now, I want her more than life itself. Even as she ends it.


Itís dark. An alleyway. The walls lurch and sway threatening me, laughing at me. Red eyes stare at me from the shadows. Something slivers across my feet. I want to run. The fear grips my entire body, planting me to the black cement.

Laughing. Low and menacing. It comes from all around. I see a shape, a person. A woman sitting relaxed on a ledge. Light seems to gather around her, illuminating her in the dark.

Itís my mother. Dressed in black, twirling her tail from her hand.


My mother, except sheís not. Her face is dark, maniacal. She laughs at me.

"Helena, Huntress sat on a wall, Helena, Huntress had a great fall."

A figure joins her on the ledge. Bruce Wayne. My father. Batman. He joins the chorus, taunting me.

"All the Batís horses and all the Catís Men."

They jump from the ledge, circle around me. The walls close in. The eyes grow brighter and darker at the same time. A hole opens up behind me. A dark cavernous pit.

"..couldnít put Helena back together again."

They shove me into the hole. I watch them as I fall, laughing at me. The entrance quickly closing and Iím left in the darkness, falling. The only place to go is down, the last place I wanna go.

Into the dark.


Light. It pierces into my brain. A hand goes to my head. It takes several moments to realize itís mine. I dare to open my eyes again.

Iím in an alleyway. Flotsam in a garbage heap. The stench is nauseating. It sets camp in the back of my throat, mixing with the acrid taste of vomit. An empty Vodka bottle tumbles from my other hand, its contents now oozing from my pores. Flickers of the night before enter my mind, a bar, a bottle, another bottle. A phantom kiss from a faraway dream and I can still taste her on my tongue.

It still hurts. A raw aching emptiness in my soul that refuses to end. Once again, hurled myself over the abyss shattering into a million pieces. Before, Iíd drag myself to Barbara, melt under her touch as she pieced me back together. This time, I took Barbara with me.

I pull my body out of the heap, stepping into the light. My feet lumber forward. I know where I have to go, where I need to go. Just donít want to. Can feel the fear and doubts twisting themselves in my brain. I donít wanna hurt anymore. Donít wanna be broken into a thousand pieces. Pieces that cut and jab leaving my soul bleeding and raw. Iíve gone too far, broken too much.

Broken, walking towards Barbara, the only home Iíve known, riddled with the thought that maybe, this time, she canít put me back together again.


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