Blowing a warm breath over the frosted window, Barbara wiped the glass with her sleeve before peering inside. Her eyes darted around the darkened room, searching for any sign of life. But unless a moth fluttering around the empty tables counted, this place was as dead as a graveyard.

"I don't think anyone's here." Harleen shivered from behind. "Can we go somewhere warm now?"

"It's nearly thirty minutes past ten." Barbara checked her watch and frowned. "Mrs. Kringle is never this late. She's usually here an hour before."

"Well, maybe the lady slept in." Harleen shrugged as her teeth continued to chatter. "Or maybe she took a fall. Old people tend to do that, ya' know. One time, this old man came into the clinic-"

"Wait, you might be right." Barbara couldn't believe she said that, but Harleen did have a point. Mrs. Kringle was elderly and lived alone. What if she had fallen? What if she had been on the floor all night, scared and injured, wondering how long it'd be before someone stopped by? Hours? Maybe even days? "I should check if she's okay."

"All right, but can you make this quick?" Harleen danced on her tiptoes like she was standing on hot coals instead of a pile of slush. "I need to pee."

Barbara groaned, moving back from the window. "Why didn't you go before we left?"

"Because I didn't need to go then!" Harleen followed behind as Barbara wheeled herself over towards the nearby payphone. The same payphone she almost used from the night before.

Barbara shook her head, reminding herself that was over and done with. The past was the past, and it needed to stay dead. What she needed to focus on was the future, like how she could even begin to explain to Mrs. Kringle that her treasured newspaper had been stolen from her.

After inserting some pocket change into the slot, Barbara was only thankful she wore mittens today as she lifted up the germ-covered and possibly tetanus-infected phone.

"Hello? Operator?" Barbara spoke into the receiver, holding the phone as far as possible from her face. "I'd like to speak to a Mrs. Isabella Kringle in Gotham City."

As she waited, listening to the shrill ringing on the other end, Barbara watched as Harleen drew smiley faces on the clouded window with her finger. At least one of them was in a good mood.

"Hello?" An unfamiliar voice answered, one that sounded as if it either had a cold or smoked one too many cigarettes.

"Hello? Mrs. Kringle?" Barbara brought the phone closer to her mouth. "It's Barbara Gordon."

"Barbara Gordon?" The voice croaked. "The girl from the library?"

"Um, yeah." Barbara knitted her brows. Just how many Barbara Gordons did Mrs. Kringle know? Oh man, maybe she was in worse shape than Barbara originally thought. Maybe this was the beginning stages of dementia. "I just wanted to call to check up on you since I'm here at the library and it's still closed."

"You haven't heard?" There was a loud sniffle on the other end, followed by the sound of someone blowing their nose.

"Heard? Heard what?" The phone was dangerously close to her ear now. "Wait, who is this?"

"This is Mrs. Kringle's daughter. She passed away this morning," the woman replied with another sniffle.

"Passed away!" Barbara exclaimed, drawing the attention of Harleen, who by now had stopped drawing on the windows.

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way-"

"Wait, that can't be possible!" Barbara pressed the receiver against her ear; germs be damned. "I just saw her yesterday! She was fine!"

The woman blew her nose again. "I found her this morning. At the bottom of the stairs." Her voice cracked. "I told her so many times to come live with me! That a two-story house was no place for a woman her age! But she-she never listen-"

Hearing her break down into incoherent sobs, Barbara quickly apologized for the woman's loss before hanging up the phone. None of this made any sense. She had just seen Mrs. Kringle the previous day, not even twenty-four hours ago. And she was never clumsy or off-balance. Hell, Barbara was clumsier, and she couldn't even walk.

"Hey, what's going on?" Harleen's lively voice snapped Barbara back to the present, back to a reality without Mrs. Kringle.

"Mrs. Kringle is dead..." she trailed off, slowly removing her hand from the phone. "You were right. She fell."

Harleen's blue eyes widened. "Whoa... I just said that! I didn't actually think it was true!"

Barbara sighed, feeling a headache coming on. She seemed to be having a lot of those lately. "Can we just go home?"

"Sure." Harleen offered her a gentle smile as she grabbed the back of the wheelchair.

For once, Harleen was quiet as they made their way back towards the station, something Barbara was grateful for. With her head pounding like a bass drum at a rock concert, she wasn't sure she could handle Harleen's incessant chatter without her brain exploding into goop. But maybe this silence was ultimately worse since it only gave her more time alone with her thoughts. More time to overthink her already fried brain and come up with questions that only raised more questions instead of answers. More time to wonder where she went so wrong in life that she ended up in a wheelchair with a failed law enforcement career and zero friends.

It was almost comical, really. If someone would have told her at the beginning of the year she would be living in Gotham, trying to solve a supernatural mystery while in a wheelchair, she would have laughed in their face.

But now, as Barbara boarded the grimy subway, she couldn't even bring herself to smile.

Was something wrong with her? She had learned her last friend in the world had died and she couldn't even shed a single tear. Truth be told, she felt nothing at all. Just empty, like the last ounce of life had been poured out of her. She was nothing, but a broken, empty shell of her former self. A shadow of what used to be the "unstoppable" Barbara Gordon.

Now? Now, she honestly couldn't care less if this train went off the tracks and killed them all.

She was so tired. Tired of this city, tired of feeling useless, tired of living life in a wheelchair. But most of all, tired of watching her life spiral downwards and knowing she couldn't do anything about it.

If this train ended up crashing and killing everyone on board, Barbara only hoped when she woke up in the next life she would be able to walk again.

"Gotham City Courthouse." Even the voice on the speaker sounded sadder than usual.

"That's us!" Harleen chuckled, immediately letting it die out after seeing the frown on Barbara's face. "Um, or not..."

With a nervous gulp, Harleen unstrapped Barbara and pushed her out of the cart. Barbara knew she should be nicer to the woman. It wasn't her fault what happened. And to her credit, Harleen might not even know what Pamela was. If people like her and her dad could be so easily duped, then Harleen was like a babe in the woods.

"Ah! It's snowing!" Harleen gasped as they exited the bustling station. "And it's actually sticking!" She tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue.

Barbara sighed through her nostrils as she watched a snowflake land on Harleen's tongue. On any other day, she would've reminded her that if the rain in Gotham was acidic, then who knew what its snow was like. But today was not any other day. Lacking the energy to even open her mouth, Barbara let her be. She might be a lot of things, but she didn't see the point in being a killjoy, unlike a certain redhead.

So as Harleen pushed the wheelchair through the iced-over sidewalk, continuing to catch snowflakes with her tongue, Barbara thought back to her last moments with Mrs. Kringle. She had been such a kind woman, one who hadn't let this filthy city corrupt her. She didn't deserve to die that way, so violent and unexpected. She deserved to die peacefully in her sleep, surrounded by loved ones.

"Looks like your dad's home." Harleen pointed to the car in the driveway. "Must've been a slow day."

Barbara narrowed her gaze. A slow day in Gotham was practically unheard of. No, there had to be another reason he was here so early. But before she could even begin to guess, the front door swung open and James stepped out, enveloping her into a bear hug.

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." He petted the top of her head. "I came straight over here after hearing what happened on the radio."

"Oh, yeah..." Though hesitant at first, Barbara returned his embrace and buried her face into his chest. Oh, how she missed her father's hugs. "I found out from Mrs. Kringle's daughter."

"I was hoping I could get here before you left," James sighed as he took the wheelchair from Harleen. "Poor woman. She had no business living alone at her age."

"Yeah..." Barbara's gaze flickered to the figure in the corner as James pushed her inside. Humming a soft song to herself, Pamela watered one of her many plants, hardly paying attention to the pair of eyes staring at her.

Although she had tried to keep her distance from the woman, it proved to be a challenge when they both lived in the same effing house. Even more so now than before. Maybe it was because there was no longer any lingering doubt in her mind about Pamela. Maybe it was because whenever she saw her, Barbara felt her eyes narrow in suspicion. Or maybe it was because Pamela knew she knew the truth and thus, was the reason why she never returned to her own bedroom.

Barbara only wished she could've driven that stake through her back when she had the chance.

"Oh, you're home." Pamela finally glanced up, putting down the canister. "I'm sorry about what happened to the librarian. I know she was a dear friend of yours."

Barbara nodded, continuing to regard her warily. "Yes. She was."

"Which is why I was wondering if you would like to come shopping with us." Pamela smiled, though Barbara knew it was as fake as the rest of her. "Harleen still needs a dress for the wedding."

"Yeah! Shopping always cheers me up!" Harleen chirped as she pranced around the den.

"Um, no thanks," Barbara muttered. "I just want to sleep."

"Barbara, I would very much like it if you came with us," Pamela repeated, her voice losing whatever gentleness it held before. So much for asking politely.

"Pam, I think Barbara should rest." James frowned at her. "She's had a long day."

"Oh, all right," Pamela huffed as she grabbed her sunglasses and hat.

Barbara blinked, wondering if this was really James Gordon, Gotham City Police Commissioner, in front of her. Maybe her dad wasn't as whipped as she thought. Maybe he had a backbone after all.

"Well, I've got to get back to the station. I'll be back as soon as I can." James gave his daughter one last quick hug. "Be sure and rest, okay?"

"Bye, Dad." Barbara flashed a tired smile as she watched the three of them leave. With James in front and Harleen skipping after him, that left Pamela the last one to close the door. But as she started to shut the door behind her, she suddenly paused and looked right at Barbara.

Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "We'll be back soon."

It wasn't as much of a promise as it was a threat for Barbara to behave herself. And Barbara knew that.

But if there was one thing Barbara realized since coming here was that behaving herself rarely ever did any good. It was time to raise some hell, starting with finding that stake. Screw being defenseless and vulnerable. After what she had seen last night with Bruce, there was no freaking way she would let her and her dad be sitting ducks.

Bruce.

His name made her blood turn cold. Not because of what he was-well, not completely-but because of the startling realization of what he might've done. It had only been minutes after leaving him when she had run into Richard, who Bruce claimed had no idea where he was. It was Richard who had taken Mrs. Kringle's newspaper from her. And it was only hours later Mrs. Kringle had died.

No. No! Barbara had made sure not to tell him her name. There was no way Richard could've known. It would have taken sheer luck to have even guessed Mrs. Kringle's name.

But who's to say he and Bruce couldn't have figured it out? There were only so many people Barbara knew, only so many people who had been there that fateful day in '67.

Forcing the bile in her throat back down, Barbara rushed down the hall towards her father's room. It was too much of a coincidence, and frankly, Barbara didn't believe much in coincidences anymore.

Burning tears blurred her vision as she scoured through his nightstand for the stake. It had to be here somewhere. Unless... Oh, God, no.

Had her dad thrown it out? Or even worse, had he given it back to Bruce? The thought was enough to make Barbara's skin break out into a cold sweat. Please, no. Her dad might have made many questionable decisions in the past, but this might have just been the dumbest. One that could have very well have cost them their lives.

Barbara ran a trembling hand through her hair, wondering why it came back damp. Shit, even her forehead was slick with sweat. Quickly wiping her palm on her pants, she kept scouring through the nightstand, becoming more and more convinced it was actually gone with each drawer she opened.

Just when she was about to give up hope on ever finding the damn thing, she moved to the desk in the far corner of the room and yanked the top drawer open. Or at least tried to. Confused, she tugged at it again, but it didn't budge.

But why?

"Hmm." Barbara slipped her hand under the desk, groping around for the unmistakable feel of metal. If she was correct, then this drawer had to be locked for a reason. Either her dad wanted to keep whatever was in there inside or keep her from finding it. Knowing her dad, it was probably the latter.

A-ha. Just like she thought. Taking out the key stuck underneath, she unlocked the top drawer, unable to suppress a gurgling laugh at the sight. Though it was nothing but a sharpened stick, she had never seen a more beautiful sight. Feeling its smooth wooden shaft in her hand, Barbara slid the stake beside her thigh, hiding it from view.

Bruce had no problems killing people, and neither did she.

That was what ultimately made her decide to head for Wayne Tower first. She could always deal with Pamela later, but Bruce? He was the more clear and present danger. He hadn't even hesitated to show her his true nature, which made getting near him even harder since he would surely be on guard.

So she had about twenty minutes from here to Wayne Tower to figure out how she'd ever get close enough to stab him. But what would throw him off and also give her enough time to impale the stake through his heart? Kissing him?

The thought nearly made Barbara gag. She must've been hanging around Pamela too long because that was totally something she would do. Sadly, that seemed to be the only thing that would catch him off guard, as disgusting as it might be.

The sudden sound of a car door slamming outside drew her attention. Well, that was fast. Had Pamela and Harleen finished already?

Curious, Barbara pressed herself against the front door and looked through the peephole. But as she saw the tall, manly figure of Bruce Wayne start up the driveway, a shudder so raw and visceral rippled through her she felt it deep within her bones.

Oh, shit.

Without thinking, Barbara's hand went to the doorknob, locking it. Not a second later had the lock clicked into place, was there a sharp knock on the other side, startling her.

"Hello? Ms. Gordon?" he called. "Are you there?"

Worried her shaky, uneven breaths would give her away, Barbara pressed her hand over her mouth and slowed her breathing. Let him think no one was home.

"Barbara?" He knocked again. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn't he just go away already?

"Barbara, I know you're there."

Her eyelids snapped open. Shit. How the hell did he know?

"You need to let me in." The doorknob twisted, only to be stopped midway by the lock.

Biting her lip, Barbara reached for the stake in her chair, grazing the tip with her nails. But before she could wrap her fingers around it, she suddenly froze. She had seen this scene play out somewhere before, almost with the exact same words. But where?

It didn't take long to recall. It had happened right here at home. But instead of Bruce, it had been Richard on the other side, waiting to be invited in.

Barbara's jaw dropped as her gaze shifted to the door. Did the power actually lie in Barbara's spoken invitation and not the locked door? Was there some invisible barrier protecting her from these-these monsters?

Was she safe then?

"You can't come in here." Her voice cracked as she swallowed back a triumphant laugh. "Not unless I invite you in."

Hearing nothing but deafening silence, Barbara dared to look through the peephole once again, thinking Bruce had finally given up and left. But to her horror, he was still standing there on the porch, staring right up at her through his sunglasses.

"It's a good thing your father already had." His hand shot out and gripped the doorknob, breaking it with a loud crack.

"What the fu-" Barbara reeled back as the door swung open. If she would have waited just a second later, she would have been hit in the face.

Stepping inside, Bruce removed his sunglasses before letting the brass doorknob fall to his feet. It hit the floorboards with a ringing thud, nearly cracking the wood.

Whatever thoughts she had about locking lips with him vanished from Barbara's mind as she gaped at him. "You-You-" she wheezed, struggling to find the words. Instead, her jumbled mind went to the last thing it actually wanted to know. "You could've killed Pamela this entire time! Why the hell did you need me?"

Brushing a couple of snowflakes off his coat, Bruce didn't even glance at her as he replied, "No. She would've known it was me as soon as I crossed the threshold."

"What the-Why are you-" Great. Now was not the time to have a panic attack, especially not in front of someone-thing who might eat her if she passed out.

Seemingly tired of Barbara's incoherent mumbling, Bruce silenced her panicked gasps with nothing more than his voice. "The wedding is only in a few days. What is it you plan to do?"

Barbara gave an audible gulp. "Um, what?"

He rolled his eyes with a breathless sigh. "What is it you plan to do as a distraction?"

Was he kidding? This is what he wanted to talk to her about? This was what he broke her door down for? Forgetting what she was talking to was something that could easily kill her, Barbara glared up at him and spat, "How can you just come in here and-and act like last night didn't happen? I know what you all are, and you're not even worried?"

"No." He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Because I know whatever you say or do will get you carted off to Arkham again."

"Oswald." The name left her lips without her meaning it too. "Someone will notice he's missing."

"Yes, but Oswald was notorious in Gotham's underworld," Bruce said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Once his body's found, everyone will think he, quote-unquote, pissed off the wrong people."

It was at that moment as she watched a faint smile play at his lips did Barbara realize just how untouchable Bruce really was. He was so sure he would get away with murder he could use a rumor spread about him and spin it against Oswald.

There was only one thing that could touch him, and it laid right beside her.

"And Mrs. Kringle?" Barbara's hand crept towards her thigh. "How do you plan on explaining that?"

"I heard she fell down the stairs and broke her neck-"

"Bullshit!" Barbara lurched forward, pounding her fists against the sides of her wheelchair. "No one might believe you killed Oswald, but-"

"But what, Barbara?" Bruce raised his brow. Did he somehow know she hated that he called her Barbara instead of Ms. Gordon like he did before? Is that why he kept repeating it?

"What do you plan to do? You're powerless, defenseless, and penniless." His shoe scraped against the floorboards as he took a step closer. "Tell me, Barbara. Who do you think helped pay for your medical bills? You didn't actually think your dad did it all on his own, did you?"

Barbara felt her heart drop to her stomach at this sudden revelation. But was it really all that surprising? At first, she too had thought her dad was with Pamela because of the crippling debt her accident had left them in. It turned out he just had friends in very high places. Ones-like the man standing in front her of subtly reminded-who owned James's soul as well as her own.

And all because she thought Bruce was going to do the impossible and give her back her ability to walk. But she saw now that he never would and probably never even intended to.

"Just leave," she choked out. "Get out of here."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Not until I know what your plan is."

"I don't know!" she screamed. "I'll probably just object to the wedding when the judge asks to speak now or forever hold your peace! Okay? Now get the hell out of here!"

Unable to look at him any longer, Barbara closed her eyes and slumped forward. She didn't care if he saw her break down into painful, heaving sobs. Her already wounded pride was shattered beyond repair at this point.

He was right, though. As much as she hated to admit it, Bruce was right. She was powerless and defenseless. She couldn't even confront him without shaking like a leaf in the wind.

She couldn't even kill him.

Barbara opened her eyes and blinked, seeing nothing but the broken doorknob lying in a melted puddle of snow where he once stood. How would she even explain this to her dad? A gust of wind had busted the doorknob? A couple of burglars? Well, that might work. This was Gotham, after all.

With a sigh, she reached forward to shut the door, only to be poked by something sharp under her thigh. She glanced down and gasped, thinking it must be her imagination. But no, it was really there.

By some miracle, the stake was still tucked beside her.