As the subway lurched over the tracks, Barbara was nearly tossed from her seat. Forced to grip the sides of her chair to keep from jolting side-to-side, she glanced up at the map above as the next stop was announced through the broken intercom. Of course, it would be broken. What wasn't broken, graffitied, or dirty in Gotham?
Looking around at the stained and torn seats, she was grateful she had her own chair to sit in. Probably the only time she would be grateful for such a thing. She had been careful not to touch anything while getting in, but she still felt filthy.
"When I get home, I'm taking a bath," she muttered.
The lights above flickered before suddenly going dark as the train entered into a tunnel. If the empty cart had been dim before, then it was pitch-black now. Barbara couldn't even see the seat in front of her despite it only being an arms-length away.
With a weary sigh, she pressed her hand against her forehead and waited for the tunnel to end. She tried not to think about what else might be lurking in the dark with her. Roaches as long as her index finger. Rats with teeth as jagged and sharp as steak knives. She shuddered, hoping she wouldn't be stuck in the dark for long.
But after only a few seconds, the fluorescent light finally returned, and Barbara could finally breathe again. She lifted her head up, noticing something out of her peripheral vision. Something that hadn't been there before.
A teenage boy, sitting in the back.
No, she knew no one had been sitting there. She had been alone in this cart. So then how could he have appeared out of thin air?
"Barbara?" His face broke into a toothy grin.
"I'm sorry, but do I know you?" She shifted in her chair, still trying to figure out how he got there.
"It's me. Richard." He pointed at himself as he moved towards her. "We met before. At a Christmas party. It was about... hmm, maybe four years ago? When you were last in Gotham."
Barbara searched her mind for the memory. She vaguely remembered speaking to a boy around his age at a Christmas party, but damn. That was four years ago. It felt like an entire century worth of events passed between then and now. But the more she stared at him, the more she realized how familiar he looked. Same pale skin, same black hair, same blue eyes. Richard was a mini version of his father, Bruce Wayne. He could have even passed as his biological son. That's how much alike they looked.
"Right, right." She ran a hand through her orange strands. "I remember now. Wow, you haven't changed at all. I can't believe I didn't recognize you sooner!"
He gave a cheerful laugh. "Yeah. You look pretty much the same, though. Well, except for...um..."
Barbara sighed, trying not to let it get to her. This was just the type of reaction she should expect from now on. But that didn't mean she would ever get used to it. "Yeah..."
"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" He leaned in closer to her. Much like Bruce, he didn't blink either. However, there was one striking difference between the two. Richard's stare wasn't nearly as cold as his.
"A car accident," she said. "A drunk driver hit me and my mom. She was fine, but me... Well." She gestured to her useless legs.
"I'm so sorry." His voice softened. "That's just terrible."
Barbara nodded, unsure of what else to say. So she stared back up at the map, letting an uncomfortable silence fall between them.
"I forgot your parents were divorced." Richard had been so quiet she had almost forgotten he was still there. "So what do you think of Pamela? Doesn't really seem like she's 'mom material,' to be honest."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you know about Pamela?"
"Bruce told me, of course."
"She's very beautiful." Barbara turned her gaze back to the map. "But let's just say she wouldn't have been my first choice."
Richard chuckled. "At least you know she isn't marrying your dad for his money."
"Wait." Barbara whipped her head around, nearly hitting Richard in the face with her hair. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You mean you don't know?" He raised an eyebrow. "Pamela's an heiress to the Isley fortune. That's why I don't understand why she's living with you all when she has a mansion of her own."
Before Barbara could even think to utter a response, the subway slowed to a stop.
"Gotham Superior Courthouse," a muffled voice announced through the speaker.
"I—I'm sorry, this is my stop." Barbara quickly unstrapped her wheelchair and started for the doors. She didn't even glance back as the doors slid shut behind her, but if she had, she would have seen Richard waving at her through the window.
Eager to get home, Barbara nearly ran down several people as she sped down the sidewalk. After hearing this tidbit of information, the only thing on her mind was asking her father if he also knew, not the innocent pedestrians standing in her way.
"Oh, dad," she whispered, feeling a pang of guilt ripple through her. Had he done this for her? "Don't tell me you're marrying her for the money."
Her dad was not someone who liked charity and still believed the man should be the sole provider of the house, so this seemed out of character for someone as proud as him. On the other hand, with a crushing pile of medical expenses weighing on him, maybe he realized he had to swallow his pride and accept a handout for once.
But it seemed like the answer to that burning question would have to wait. As Barbara came into view of her house, she let out a groan when she saw the driveway empty. Because of course he wouldn't be there, and she was an idiot for even expecting he would.
She had just crossed the porch when the door flew open and a hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her inside.
"Where were you?" Pamela slammed the door shut as if she feared something was right outside to get her. All the while, she continued to grip Barbara's sleeve with her nails.
"I went to the doctor." She jerked her arm back. If it hadn't been for her sleeve, Pamela would have surely scratched her.
"And you didn't think to tell me?" Pamela demanded.
Barbara rolled her eyes from behind her glasses. Maybe she was a little cynical, but she highly doubted Pamela had been beside herself with worry. "You were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you. I was being considerate."
"You could have left a note." She crossed her arms. "Just something to let me know where you were."
Barbara scoffed, lifting her body as high as she could in an attempt to match Pamela's height. "Oh, stop trying to act like you're my mother! Because guess what? You're not my mother and you will never be my mother."
Pamela's scowling lips twisted into a smirk. "Well, Barbara. Guess what? I am going to be your mother. Your father is in love with me and we're going to get married. Whether you like it or not."
It took every ounce of willpower not to slap that smirk right off her face. Refusing to do something she would end up regretting, Barbara spun around and glided down the hallway into her room. But as she did, she not-so-accidentally knocked a potted plant over and let it shatter to the floor.
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