Well, today was the day. Today would be the day Barbara was, hopefully, released from this hellhole and back into an even bigger one. Unlike most prisoners awaiting their release, she couldn't even look forward to the sight of a blue sky or the fresh scent of the crisp autumn air. No, what she had to look forward to was the sight of perpetual smog and black clouds and the fresh scent of exhaust mixed with sewage.

From the side of her, the door creaked open, letting in a shaft of bright light into the room. "Barbara, are you ready to go?" Dr. Crane called from the crack in the door.

Barbara shifted herself to the edge of the mattress. "Yes."

As soon as the words left her mouth, the door was yanked backward and a bulky silhouette stepped inside. Already familiar with how this went, and wanting to get the hell out of here, Barbara allowed herself to be lifted into the wheelchair and strapped in by the orderly she had come to know as Frank. Up ahead, Dr. Crane waited in the doorway, tapping his foot against the tile as if he were in a hurry. Or maybe-and more likely-he was in a hurry to get her out of there.

"So that's it? You're just releasing me?" Barbara tilted her head up at his looming figure. "I was deemed fit to re-enter society?"

Though his face was half-hidden in the shadows, Barbara could make out the grimace etched across his mouth. "Yes," he hissed. "There's no need to keep you here any longer."

"Well, doctor." Barbara folded her arms over her chest with a smirk. "I can't say it's been a pleasure."

Dr. Crane narrowed his eyes, making a grunting noise in his throat as she was wheeled past him.

It took every ounce of willpower not to turn around and match his stare when she felt it burning holes into the back of her skull. Times like these made her wish she was less mature and could do something crazy like throwing him the finger. But no, she was a mature adult woman. No matter how much she didn't feel like one.

As the elevator doors started to close, Barbara caught a glimpse of the doctor standing in the hallway, watching her. Though his eyes were completely obscured from the reflection of the light above, she knew from behind that eerie glow he was studying her every move.

God, what a creep.

Thankfully, the doors closed and that was the last she ever saw of Dr. Crane. Good riddance.

When the doors finally opened again, James was waiting for her just a few feet ahead in the lobby. Too absorbed with the clock on the wall, he didn't even notice her until one of her tires squealed, drawing his attention. "Barbara!" he cried as soon as he saw her.

"Hey, Dad." Barbara tried not to stare at his haggard appearance. She had seen her dad on some pretty rough days before, some of which included a fistfight or two. But not even all those cuts and bruises could compare to how he looked now with his sunken face and deep black circles coloring the wrinkled skin around his eyes.

"Oh, honey." He rushed to her side and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to come sooner, but then this shootout happened. And whatever time I did have free was dedicated to interrogations and paperwork. It's chaos. Everyone's overworked and I'm understaffed. The department's never been this swamped before," he finished with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, I get it. Work always comes first, right?" Okay, that might've been a little harsh. With her dad looking like he was running on nothing but caffeine and two hours of sleep, the last thing he needed right now was an attitude from her. "But you're here now, and that's what matters." She gave him a tired smile, taking in the lingering smell of cigarettes clinging to his jacket as she returned his hug.

He ran a hand along his unshaven face, a glassy look coming over his eyes. "Barbara, I just want you to know that I did this for your own good, all right? I couldn't bear the thought of you in jail, but I couldn't just-Not after what you did. I did this for your own safety."

More like Pamela's safety. But now was not the time to have that discussion. It could wait until she was far away from this horrid place. When she was back in the safety and comfort of her own house.

"Dad." Barbara frowned. "I get it, okay? Really. Can we just get out of here now?"

"Yes, yes. Of course." He nodded his head eagerly. "Let me go check you out."

Taking the wheelchair from Frank, James wheeled her towards a desk with a sliding glass window in the corner. As her dad filled out the proper paperwork, Barbara waited to the side, fiddling with a lock of greasy hair. When was the last time she had showered, anyway? It certainly hadn't been while she was in here, seeing that she was still wearing the clothes she had been brought in with. And thank goodness for that. Just the thought of those freaks laying a hand on her was enough to make Barbara shudder.

"All right, we're all set." James turned around, forcing a smile to his face. "Should we get something to eat?"

Barbara shook her head. "I just want to go home. I haven't showered in like three days."

James's jaw dropped and anger flashed through his eyes. "They didn't bathe you here? Just what the hell is wrong with them?" Balling his fists, he started back for the window and probably would've smashed it to pieces if Barbara hadn't stopped him.

"Dad, please. Let's just go," she groaned, tugging at his sleeve.

"But-"

"Dad!" She cut him off with a glare, her patience long worn thin by now. Exhausted, frustrated, but most of all, pissed off, Barbara looked at him with a glint of something that hadn't filled her eyes in several years. Not since he first moved them to Gotham, ripping her away from the friends and life she once knew.

Blame.

He had done this to her. He had put her through this miserable, humiliating experience. And by the way he slowly unclenched his fists, he knew it too.

Without another word, James grabbed a hold of the handlebars and pushed her out the door. Shutting her eyes, Barbara took in the familiar odors and sounds of the city as she glided through the vacant parking lot. The sticky smell of freshly laid tar. The blaring police sirens. The choking aroma of cigarette smoke...

Barbara's eyes shot open as she realized the smoke was much closer, its overwhelming stench too powerful to ignore. "Dad." She felt her shoulders slump at the sight of a cigarette in his mouth. "I thought you had given that up."

James blew out a long breath of smoke, unable to meet her gaze. "I know. I tried. But it's the only thing that helps me sleep anymore." He plucked it out of his mouth and tossed it aside, smashing the cigarette with his heel. "Old habits, right?"

Barbara knew he meant it as a joke, but she couldn't find it within her to laugh. Nothing much made her laugh anymore nowadays. Especially if it had anything to do with her dad.

There was a time when this wasn't the case. He could always make her laugh, even when she wanted to do nothing more than cry. But as she wrapped her arms around his neck, she couldn't even bring herself to look him in the eye.

"Barbara..." James reached out to stroke her cheek, but she moved away, out of his grasp.

"Just stop." Her voice cracked. "I don't want to hear it. You did what you had to do, right? I get it."

Without another word, he shut the door and went around to the driver's side. From her peripheral vision, Barbara watched as he started the car, but not before remaining still for several seconds. Was he going to try apologizing again? She hoped not. Not because she was tired and just ready to get home, but because she knew the next time she spoke, she would really lose it.

"So did Pamela tell you about the wedding?" James asked after several minutes of unbearable silence.

He just had to remind her, didn't he? As if today wasn't already bad enough.

"Yeah." Barbara stared out the window, watching as the forest of dead trees shrank behind them. "November first, right?"

"That's right." He hummed to himself, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "It's going to be small, only a few guests. Pamela was the one who convinced me to have it sooner rather than later. I thought she might not want a small wedding, especially since it's going to be at the courthouse. But she was actually okay with it, which I'm glad. I don't think we could afford a big wedding right now."

Barbara winced at the sudden sting of pain in her hands. She glanced down and found deep crescent-shaped marks dug into her palms. "Please don't do this."

He looked at her as if she had just spoken another language. "What?"

"Marry her!" She turned to him, throwing her hands in the air. "This is all wrong! You met her like what? A few months ago and you're already going to marry her? It's too fast!"

"Yes, I can see how it would be-"

"No! No, you don't!" If her dad wouldn't listen to reason, then she would have to play on his fears. Or a husband's anxiety about getting cuckolded, as Bruce would probably call it. It would be a low and devastating blow, a complete betrayal. But hadn't he done the same to her when he threw her in Arkham? When he chose Pamela over her?

Well, let's see if the choice was worth it then.

Inhaling a deep breath, Barbara released a scream she had been holding in since she first arrived in this damned city. "She's cheating on you with that slimeball Harvey Dent!"

James's knuckles paled as his grip on the wheel tightened. "What did you say?"

"Harvey Dent," she repeated. "He was at the house at least twice already."

"He came in?" James whipped his head around and glowered at Barbara as if she were the man who had potentially cuckolded him.

"No, but I saw him outside! He was waiting for Pamela in his car. They drove off together-"

His sudden burst of laughter caused her to fall silent. "Barbara, this is why I tell you to not be giving half the story. I know about Harvey. He's been helping Pamela with all the legal issues with the Isley estate."

She blinked. "What?"

"You had me worried there, thinking he had come inside or you had seen something." A look of immense relief washed over him. "I might wear glasses, but I'm not blind, Barbara. I know you're not happy with this, and I know you don't like Pamela. And I don't expect you to. But could you at least try to get along with her? For me?"

Her father gazed at her with so much hope and sincerity, Barbara's heart would've had to have been made of stone not to feel the slightest tinge of pity. "Can I ask something?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"Of all women, why her?"

James sighed, his expression softening like that of a lovesick teenager. "I don't know. But what I do know is that I messed up once. I don't intend to do it again, not when I've been given a second chance."

And that was it. No passionate speech. No grand soliloquy. Just a short answer about righting his previous wrongs. If Barbara hadn't been so upset, she would've found it almost anticlimactic.

However, as they pulled up into the driveway, the universe seemed to sense Barbara's disappointment and decided to grant her a bit of excitement in the form of a young blonde running out the door.

"Uh, Dad?" Barbara gaped at the woman waving at her. "Who is this?"

Before he could answer, the passenger door was ripped open and a smiling face beamed down at her.

"Hiya there! I'm Harleen, your new caregiver!" she greeted in a bubbly Brooklyn accent.

Barbara narrowed her eyes at the strange, hyperactive woman. She knew her from somewhere. That accent was too distinct not to remember.

James chuckled as he climbed out of the car. "Pamela hired her. She's a character, but she seems to know what she's doing."

"Here, let me help you up!" Harleen unbuckled the seatbelt before grabbing Barbara by the waist and pulling her into her arms.

"Wait! No! Put me down!" Barbara wrapped her arms around her neck, clinging onto her for dear life as she was carried over to the wheelchair James had unfolded. Thinking there was no way this petite woman could carry her, Barbara braced herself for the inevitable face plant with the concrete. But to her surprise, Harleen somehow managed to sit her down in the wheelchair without the slightest hiccup.

"So I see you met Harleen." Pamela stood in the doorway, wearing a pleased smile on her face. "Unlike Richard, she's actually competent."

"That's right! I used to be a nurse, so I know a thing or two about caregiving." Harleen winked at Barbara as she began pushing her up the driveway.

Oh. Shit. That's where she recognized her from! She was that nurse at the clinic, the one with the ponytails. Though her hair was pulled into a tight bun now, there was no mistaking this was her.

What were the chances she'd end up here as her caregiver? Surely not high enough to be written off as a simple coincidence. The world might be small, but it wasn't that small.

"As you can see, there are going to be some changes around here." Pamela followed in after them, holding her head up high as if there was a crown above it. "You're not going to be running off when and wherever you like. And certainly not with whoever you like."

"But don't worry, I'll take good care of ya'." Harleen's red lips stretched into a grin, one a little too wide to be considered anything but disturbing.

Glaring at the two of them, Barbara wanted nothing more than to wipe those smirks off their smug little faces. If she could, she would walk right up to them and smack it right off their lips. Oh, what she wouldn't give to do so. But before she could even think about trying, the sound of her father's voice came calling through the door.

"Well, would you look at this?" He rushed inside with a shimmering ebony envelope in hand. "It's from Bruce Wayne. He's throwing us a wedding shower at the Wayne Botanical Garden, of all places."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "How thoughtful."

She glanced over at Pamela and nearly cackled. If it were possible, steam would be blowing out of Pamela's ears right now. She looked just about ready to sink her nails into her face and peel it off. Never before had she seen the woman appear so unpoised, so frazzled, and so far from confident. Not even that time Richard showed up.

Well, if there was someone who could knock her down a peg or two, it would be Bruce. And as much as she might despise the man, she despised Pamela even more. After all, he wasn't the one trying to come between her and her dad.

Barbara grinned to herself, wondering just what exactly he had planned up his sleeve. Maybe she had judged his big apology a little too quickly. Maybe he actually would get back in her father's good graces. He certainly had the wit for it. Yes, Bruce might not be half the liar Pamela was, but he was twice as clever and just as ruthless.

Pamela might have won the battle, but Bruce intended on winning the war.