"Hey, Dad." Barbara knocked on the partially open door, trying not to peer in unless she wanted to be potentially traumatized. "Can I talk to you?"
James glanced over his shoulder, a warm smile—as well as clothes—visible through the crack. "Sure, honey. What's up?"
Pushing the door back to its full width, Barbara rolled inside and frowned at the rented tuxedo laying on the bed. "I see you're already getting ready."
"Well, the wedding is only a few hours away," he chuckled. "Maybe you should start getting ready too?"
Barbara nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Uh, yeah. I will. It's just... I was wondering if you were having any second thoughts?"
"No, not at all." James pushed his glasses up against the bridge of his nose, studying her with a curious look on his face. "Why do you ask?"
How could she even begin to answer that question? Because Pamela was a literal monster? Because she's going to eventually kill him? Because it would save both their lives? As much as she wanted to scream all these answers out, Barbara settled for the one that wouldn't get her sent off to Arkham again. "Because if you are, it's not too late to call this off."
The corner of James's mouth tugged into a smile. "You know I can't do that, honey."
A strangled laugh bubbled up from deep in her stomach, one she was unable—and unwilling—to hide once it escaped her mouth. "Why not? No one will be upset. Okay, maybe some of the guests will blame you for wasting their time, but who cares about them? They're not the ones paying."
She placed her hand on his wrist, gently wrapping her fingers around his sleeve. Blinking back tears, Barbara looked up at her dad and mustered a smile. "You don't have to do this, Dad. I want you to know that."
A rush of warmth spread through Barbara's hand as James took it into his own. "You know, Bruce told me the same thing at the shower," he sighed. "I knew he was never fond of Pamela and thought I was rushing things even at the beginning. But I told him, 'you of all people should understand what it feels like to be alone.' Of course, he had no response to that."
"But I want to do this. I'm ready to be married again. Barbara..." Her dad squeezed her hand. "You might not understand this yet, but it's a terrible thing to be alone in the world."
If Barbara didn't know any better, she would've thought he was talking to himself—as if he were trying to convince himself that a wedding was the answer to his loneliness.
He reached out and wiped a stray tear off Barbara's cheek. "Besides, what would Pamela think? I couldn't do that to her. Not after how she's been on me for weeks to do this. It would break her heart and—"
Okay, that was just grasping at straws at this point.
"But you're not alone," Barbara assured him. "You have your squad. You have your friends. And most of all, you have me. I'm here for you. And as long as I'm here, you'll never be alone again."
James blinked at her, tears brimming in his eyes. "Barbara, I—"
"Knock, knock!" Harleen burst into the room. "I've been looking all over for ya'! C'mon, Barbara, it's time to get ya' all dolled up!"
"Yes, I'm coming." Yet, she made no attempt to turn around as she stared at her dad, awaiting his answer.
"Go on, Barbara." James gestured to the impatient blonde waiting by the door. "You don't have a lot of time."
If Barbara's heart was glass, then his answer was the rock that shattered it to pieces. So that was it then. He was really going to go through with it. For a second, she actually believed he was getting cold feet. That he could be talked out of it. For the briefest second, she tasted the sweet, irresistible flavor of hope on her tongue again.
What a damn fool she had been to believe her dad would give in so easily.
Forcing a smile to her face, Barbara choked back a fresh set of tears and turned around. So this was what hopelessness tasted like. Not bitter like she imagined, but like the saltiest of tears.
"I hope ya' don't mind if Pam's in the bathroom too," Harleen said as Barbara glided past her.
"I guess I should get used to it, right?" Barbara shrugged. "It's going to be a long ten years."
Harleen tilted her head to the side and frowned. "Geez, you really don't have any hope for this marriage, do you?"
Barbara nearly laughed out loud. Oh boy, if that wasn't the understatement of the year. "None whatsoever," she retorted as she rolled into the bathroom, nearly choking to death from all the aerosol inside.
"Ugh, I get you want to kill us and all but do you really have to do it with hairspray?" Barbara glared at Pamela, who was curling a long strand of red hair in front of the mirror.
"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." She picked up the can of hairspray and sprayed a cloud of mist over the ringlet.
"I have to agree with her, Red!" Harleen wheezed as she pulled out a bottle of shaving cream from the drawer. "What are ya' trying to do? Give us cancer?"
Pamela rolled her eyes as she grabbed another lock of hair. "Anyway, what were you babbling about, Barbara?"
Barbara opened her mouth, ready to tell Pamela it was nothing, only to snap it shut when she suddenly realized the opportunity before her. This was it. This was her last chance. She couldn't lose her cool. She couldn't show any fear. She couldn't afford to screw this up. If her dad wouldn't listen to her, maybe the thing in front of her would. After all, if she could make a deal with Bruce, why couldn't she try with Pamela?
"I know what you are." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "What you and Bruce both are. He showed me how it is you kill. How you eat."
A deafening silence fell over the bathroom, one not even the low hum of the curling iron could fill. Pausing mid-curl, Pamela exchanged a wide-eyed look with Harleen, not noticing the smoke rising from her burning hair. Even the once bubbly blonde who Barbara had always seen with a beaming smile on her face had her jaw hanging open.
Pamela whipped around, slamming the curling iron on the sink. "How the hell did you—"
"Know you drink human blood?" From the side of her, Harleen let out a sharp gasp. "Bruce had the decency to show me. Yeah, it came with no warning whatsoever. And thanks to him, I haven't been able to sleep for the past week."
Pamela clenched her teeth into a snarl. "Damn him."
"Yeah, so I know everything, Pamela." Barbara watched as Pamela's gaze narrowed. "I know you're not human, but whatever you are, you seem to be capable of rational thought. Which is why I'm going to try reasoning with you."
Pamela crossed her arms out in front of her, looking as if she had taken a bite out of the world's sourest lemon. "All right. I'm listening."
"Wow, you're not even going to deny it?" Barbara lifted an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Red." Harleen glanced up at Pamela from her seat on the toilet. "You ain't even going to deny it?"
"No. What's the point?" Pamela shrugged. "It's not like she can tell anyone, not without everyone thinking she's crazy at least. Plus, I'm curious to hear what she's going to say. So please continue, Barbara. Before my patience really does run out and I start acting like I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're right. You don't have to worry about me telling anyone. Bruce warned me no one would believe me and I would get sent to Arkham again," Barbara said.
Pamela snorted. "That's one thing him and I agree on."
"Right..." Barbara cleared her throat. "Well, I'm asking you to call this whole thing off. I know you said it's about protection, but why not marry Harvey Dent instead? He seems into you."
Holy shit. Where was this confidence coming from? Each time she talked to Bruce or Pamela, she either ended up crying, screaming, or both. Maybe she should've been a lawyer like her mom originally wanted.
"I did consider it, to be honest." Pamela lifted the curling iron back up and resumed her arduous task. "This was when I first met your dad, of course. It was a tough choice, police commissioner or district attorney. Ultimately, I went with the one who could provide more protection from not only the wealthiest man in Gotham but one who clearly wanted me gone."
"Okay, but you'll have your money soon enough. And a mansion. Can't you just, you know, live your days out there?" Barbara pursed her lips as Harleen rolled up her pant leg and practically squeezed the entire bottle in her hand. Maybe it was just Phantom Sensation, but she could've sworn she felt the cream smeared across her skin. And holy shit was it cold. "I'm sure Bruce wouldn't care if you became a hermit. You know, you'd just have to stop eating his employees and everything. But that's doable, right?"
Pamela shut off the curling iron with a sigh. "Even if that were true, I might not collect my inheritance for another year. You can thank Bruce for that." She stuck a bobby pin in her mouth as she began pinning her luscious curls back into an updo. "So I have no choice but to marry your father if I want to have a home, especially one that's safe."
"Okay, but why can't you live with Harleen? Surely, she lives somewhere!" Damn it, she was beginning to sound desperate, which was exactly what she had been trying to avoid.
"In that rinky-dink apartment?" Pamela quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think so."
"Hey! It's not like your mansion is any better!" Harleen spun around, shaking a cream-filled razor at the redhead. "At least my apartment doesn't have a deer problem!"
"And whose fault is that?" Pamela glared at Harleen through the mirror. "I told you to leave a dead deer there, not a skinned one!"
Harleen giggled, dragging the razor across Barbara's kneecap. "You told me to leave something there that would explain the scent! And since this is Gotham, I figured the bloodier the better—"
"Shit!" Barbara hissed as a red stream oozed down her leg. It wasn't a deep cut, but holy shit that was a lot of blood. Paper cuts already stung like a bitch, so she could only imagine what one from a razor would be like. For once, Barbara was glad she couldn't feel anything.
"Oops." Harleen glanced up, offering Barbara a sheepish grin. "Sorry."
Barbara fought the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, Harleen was careless enough to cut her. "Whatever. Just get me a band-aid—"
All color drained from her face as she caught a glimpse of Pamela's reflection in the mirror. Eyes flashing red and teeth-gnashing, Pamela resembled a wolf about to tear into its prey, her hungry stare locked on something out of sight near the floor.
Slowly shifting her gaze downwards, Barbara nearly gasped once she saw what Pamela was practically salivating at.
Her bleeding leg.
Gripping her nails into the counter, Pamela closed her eyes and clenched her teeth shut as if the sight of blood was too much for her. Without another word, Pamela dashed out of the bathroom, snarling as she left.
"Uh, I'm going to go check on her." Harleen scratched the back of her neck before fleeing out the door.
Seeing she would have to tend to her cut on her own, Barbara started unraveling a roll of toilet paper, knowing that if she wanted to stop the bleeding, she would have to act fast. But as she pressed the thin strip of paper against her leg, watching as it turned red with blood, something suddenly dawned on her.
Blood. Their power—their strength was drawn from human blood.
And so was their weakness.
Barbara tilted her head back and laughed. The answer had always been there, right in front of her. She just needed a little push—or in this case, a razor to the leg to realize it. Pamela and Bruce might be stronger, smarter, and faster than the average human, but they weren't completely invulnerable. All that murder and bloodshed might save them from the effects of time, but not from the pangs of hunger.
Like any human, they needed to feed to survive.
Chucking the red-stained toilet paper into the trash can, Barbara turned to the mirror and stared at her reflection. For the first time in months, a fire burned in her eyes. She had never needed those demons for any bullshit deal or guarantee of safety. She could do it all on her own. But it was going to take more than a simple razor.
With one final smirk, Barbara flicked off the light switch and left the bathroom.
If it was a distraction Bruce wanted, then she'd give him one.