Disclaimer: All characters are owned by someone else (i.e not me, unfortunately). Hopefully, no copyrights were breached in my making of this fic (I didn't mean to!) and I made no money doing this whatsoever. This is purely for my entertainment, instead of studying! Some strong language.







She was standing on top of the Clocktower, shivering. * How could she shiver in a dream? * The thought lasted only momentarily before her subconscious rejected the notion and the dream continued. She could almost feel the whip of the wind against her skin, her usually protective leathers doing nothing to protect her from the piercing gale. She was soaked through, and she almost didn't feel the rain anymore.

* Almost *. In front of her, two people stood. Her mother, and Wade Brixton. The people she had let die. Harley Quinn stood behind her, mocking her.



"You got what you wanted, didn't you Helena? Barbara's precious little boyfriend is dead, because of you. I wonder how Barbara feels about that?"



Helena bit her tongue, dying to tell the ghost behind her to shut the hell up, but decided that she needed the torture. It was all her fault. She had caused Barbara pain, ever since she had been taken on by the older woman. Ever since her mom died. Silent tears coursed down her cheeks as she remembered that fateful evening. Her mom, dying, her blood staining Helena's hands and the snow around her crumpled body. The crimson pattern on the snow was beautiful, in a sick kind of way, and Helena watched it in her dream, mesmerized, as it ran and seemed to absorb everything beneath it.



She was distracted by an intense stare levelled at her. Wade. * I wonder if he knows I killed him? *



"Of course he knows. Barbara knows, too," came the voice behind her. Helena hadn't noticed it before, but now it was clear who her psychiatrist actually was, she detected a slight hint of insanity in that confident voice. * And I trusted her with everything *.



Angry at her previous uncharacteristic openness towards her former psychiatrist, Helena clenched her fists. * And Barbara wonders why I never open up to people. It gets them hurt *.



"You know, I'm surprised Barbara lets you sleep under the same roof after what you've put her through."



Helena turned around, but instead of Quinn, she saw a younger version of herself. A rememberance of her troubled teenage years. Sure, most people went through a lot of pain at that age, but Helena saw them as not only painful, but symbolic of her weakness, her vulnerability; her guilt. She remembered Barbara discovering a syringe she had carelessly left on her desk, obviously used. Prompted by concern for Helena's well-being, Barbara had done something she would never have normally done: she searched Helena's drawers, discovering in the process some razorblades and lighters. When she had been confronted with them, Helena barely remembered feeling anger at Barbara for invading her privacy: she felt immediately guilty and upset that she had disappointed Barbara and caused her pain, the very thing she could do without. It was kind of ironic that Helenas means of escaping the pain would cause Barbara more pain than she would ever admit. She had known Helena to be a 'free spirit', skirting on the edge of everything she thought worth living for. How had two so different women managed to live together all these years?



"You're digressing," the younger Helena said, almost rolling her eyes at the apparent melodrama of the situation.



"Fuck off," Helena snarled, angry at an interruption of her thoughts, no matter how unhappy they were.



"Oooh, temper temper," younger Helena said, wagging a taunting finger. "Remember, that's what got you into trouble in the first place."



Helena did indeed remember. If it hadn't been for her temper, she would have never had to see Harleen Quinzel and revealed everything. After such a violation of trust and her emotions, Helena felt raw and exposed, guilt being her foremost feeling of recent weeks. If it hadn't have been for Quinn, she wouldn't have admitted her dislike of Wade, and he would never have been killed. Of course, the one thing she didn't reveal to Quinzel was the reason for her dislike. It was more than dislike: it was jealousy. The arrival of Wade had caused her to realize that she wanted Barbara to herself: that she loved Barbara. This only made things confusing, as Helena was sure it was unrequited.



"Lets face it, Helena. You've always loved her but haven't had the guts to admit it. You're a chicken, a failure, and your weaknesses have caused Barbara more pain than you could ever imagine. Its all your fault...."



"I said, FUCK OFF!"



Helena swirled around to face her antagonist. And instead, she came face to face with Barbara. Shock at the current twist of events made her momentarily speechless, and she grasped for words, her tongue feeling foreign in her mouth. The only words she could come up with seemed woefully inadequate.



"I'm sorry."

On to part 4...