Barbara Gordon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bodilesswarrior) wrote2012-07-23 11:07 am
bodilesswarrior) wrote2012-07-23 11:07 am
Graviloquence
Five drabbles. Five graves.
I
They drive her to Ohio several times a year.
The first time she barely spoke as she knelt before their shared grave, silent tears streaking her cheeks. She only whispered that they hadn't been replaced and would never be forgotten, sombre sincerity lost to the wintry wind.
Later on, she begins to tell them everything that's happened since her last visit. She leaves tokens of her new life behind, burying new memories deep in the soil to keep them company.
She see them more sporadically as the years pass, but that only means more time with them when she goes.
II
She is overwhelmed with memories when she visits him.
Three years. Three short years of a salacious smirk that hid a bitter smile, of a defiant gaze that never wavered, of a laugh that taunted and tendered. Of callous vulnerability, brash compassion, brutal grace. Of midnight patrols and twilight stories, bonding in blood and bathos.
"I'm so sorry, Jay."
It's always the first thing she says, and she can always hear him answer, arms crossed and eyes rolling.
Not your fault, Babs. Blame the bastard with a crowbar.
It never helps, but sometimes it makes her smile through the tears.
III
She planned to track down where Flo was buried herself, but Amanda just happened to mention the location. Ever since then, she's taken care to visit one of the first friends she made as Oracle.
She tells Flo about the newest advancements. She tells her about the Squad, long after she leaves it. She tells her about her clandestine conversations with her cousin.
Her speech is soothing and steady right up to the end, when she remembers asking where Flo was only to hear of yet another senseless death.
She apologises for that, and she leaves, and she mourns anew.
IV
She never called her Mother.
She does now, now that Sarah can't answer.
She tells her so many things she never would have, could have. She tells her of a life never known, of legends that were family and ghosts that were friends. She tells her of common enemies and shared struggles.
She tells her of loves and losses, lies and liaisons. Of chill wind in her hair and forbidden knowledge at her fingertips. Of flying high enough to see stars, low enough to hear everything.
Sometimes she feels closer to Sarah in death than she ever did in life.
V
She wants to tell him how much he meant to her, how their chats lightened her life before she ever knew his name.
She wants to tell him how much she misses him, his laughter and his passion and his genius.
She wants to tell him how his memory can curve her lips on the darkest days and dim her eyes on the brightest.
She wants to tell him how much she loved him, loves him, will always love him.
Instead, she stares at Ted's name for a long time, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to the it.
I
They drive her to Ohio several times a year.
The first time she barely spoke as she knelt before their shared grave, silent tears streaking her cheeks. She only whispered that they hadn't been replaced and would never be forgotten, sombre sincerity lost to the wintry wind.
Later on, she begins to tell them everything that's happened since her last visit. She leaves tokens of her new life behind, burying new memories deep in the soil to keep them company.
She see them more sporadically as the years pass, but that only means more time with them when she goes.
II
She is overwhelmed with memories when she visits him.
Three years. Three short years of a salacious smirk that hid a bitter smile, of a defiant gaze that never wavered, of a laugh that taunted and tendered. Of callous vulnerability, brash compassion, brutal grace. Of midnight patrols and twilight stories, bonding in blood and bathos.
"I'm so sorry, Jay."
It's always the first thing she says, and she can always hear him answer, arms crossed and eyes rolling.
Not your fault, Babs. Blame the bastard with a crowbar.
It never helps, but sometimes it makes her smile through the tears.
III
She planned to track down where Flo was buried herself, but Amanda just happened to mention the location. Ever since then, she's taken care to visit one of the first friends she made as Oracle.
She tells Flo about the newest advancements. She tells her about the Squad, long after she leaves it. She tells her about her clandestine conversations with her cousin.
Her speech is soothing and steady right up to the end, when she remembers asking where Flo was only to hear of yet another senseless death.
She apologises for that, and she leaves, and she mourns anew.
IV
She never called her Mother.
She does now, now that Sarah can't answer.
She tells her so many things she never would have, could have. She tells her of a life never known, of legends that were family and ghosts that were friends. She tells her of common enemies and shared struggles.
She tells her of loves and losses, lies and liaisons. Of chill wind in her hair and forbidden knowledge at her fingertips. Of flying high enough to see stars, low enough to hear everything.
Sometimes she feels closer to Sarah in death than she ever did in life.
V
She wants to tell him how much he meant to her, how their chats lightened her life before she ever knew his name.
She wants to tell him how much she misses him, his laughter and his passion and his genius.
She wants to tell him how his memory can curve her lips on the darkest days and dim her eyes on the brightest.
She wants to tell him how much she loved him, loves him, will always love him.
Instead, she stares at Ted's name for a long time, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to the it.