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She bowed her head and fiddled nervously with her hands, smoothing out her dark dress yet again. A pair of worn hands reached over and clasped them gently. Barbara glanced up to see the calm, small smile on her father’s face.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Gordon asked quietly. At her hesitation, he continued, “We can try again another time, if you’d rather go home now.” Barbara glanced at the tall doors before them, hearing the murmur of socialite mingling coming through. She took a deep breath, and looked back up at her father with determination.
“No. I want to do this. Get it over with. They’ll talk even more if I don’t show up, and hopefully once tonight is over and done with, they’ll move onto something else,” she replied.
Gordon’s gaze softened. “You really are a hell of a tough girl, Babs. I couldn’t be prouder of you, you know that, right?” He gave her hands a light squeeze before letting go and straightening up. He paused a moment, and only moved forward and opened the doors when Barbara gave him a firm nod.
Barbara took another breath before moving her hands from her lap to the wheels of her chair. This is it, she thought. Just another gala. You’ve done this before. Even with that thought, the nerves settled harshly in her stomach. She’s been to plenty of galas with her father, yes. But this is the first one since she had been paralyzed. The first one she’d be attending in a wheelchair. And yes, while she was proud of herself and the progress she made, it was terrifying knowing that all night the Gotham elite would be judging her or pitying her. She could picture the headlines tomorrow: “Commissioner’s Daughter Seen for First Time Since Joker Attack.” It made her feel sick. The only thing that motivated Barbara to follow her father through those doors was that sooner or later the press would move onto the next thing and leave her the hell alone. She’d be ‘old news’.
She rolled herself forward, allowing a small nervous smile on her face when a few faces of those closest to the doors turned to look at the newcomers. Her father moved forward and began exchanging pleasantries with some people Barbara recognized but whose names she couldn’t quite remember at the moment. She was too busy trying to figure out what to do first.
Should she go chat with some people by the hors d'oeuvres? Go get a drink? She could already feel the awkward glances of socialites who previously would have walked up to her and began making small talk, now hesitating and unsure of what to say when they saw her. Drink it is.
Barbara made her way through the crowd, giving small smiles and nods as she passed various groups of people. Reaching the bar, she ordered a cocktail and idly returned to smoothing her dress as she waited for it to be made. She thanked the bartender and had taken her first sip when a voice spoke up at her side.
“How are you, Ms. Gordon?” Barbara turned to see Mr. Muller, who worked in the DA’s office, standing beside her with his wife. He gave her a smile, which she returned.
“I’m doing well, Mr. Muller,” she answered. “Mrs. Muller.” The woman gave a small smile and nodded. They made a little bit of small talk about how their kids were doing, the latest Gotham Knights game, and the weather before Mr. Muller changed topics.
“I have to say, Ms. Gordon, I was terribly sorry to hear what happened to you. You seem to be handling it quite well,” he said. His and his wife’s demeanor changed to a more awkward atmosphere. Barbara gave a tight lipped smile.
“Yes, well. I have no other option, do I,” she replied, taking another sip from her drink.
“Quite right, I suppose,” Mrs. Muller replied, now looking unsure of how to move forward in their conversation. “Well, look at that!” she said, motioning to the side. “Looks like the Havershams are waving us over.” Barbara glanced in the direction she mentioned, but didn’t see anyone even looking towards them.
“Ah, yes, I see them too,” Mr. Muller said. The couple looked back down at her and gave a smile each. “It was lovely to see you, Ms. Gordon. Best of luck moving forward,” he said before the couple made their way back into the crowd.
Barbara let out a sigh and took another drink. One conversation down. She glanced at the clock. Hours left to go, she thought. Great.
The next few conversations went much the same way, mingling for a little while before the inevitable topic of her wheelchair came up and the socialites made an awkward exit. It was painfully awkward each time, but she reminded herself that tonight would be the worst of it and each successive night would get better. She hoped.
Barbara had finally gotten used to the usual rhythm of galas, moving between groups of people with as much grace as she could manage, when she was met with a question that she didn’t know how to answer.
“It really is a shame that you’re in that chair now, darling,” said Mrs. Harrison, a CEO of an oil company that operated out of the docks. Barbara almost choked on her drink at the bluntness of the statement. The expression on the woman’s face was hard to read, stuck somewhere between pitying and ambivalent. “Is it permanent?”
Barbara’s face turned a shade of red, both in embarrassment and anger. How does she answer that? A question she’d asked herself time and time again while recovering and only just came to terms with. Is this woman an idiot, socially unaware, or just rude? She’s in a wheelchair now, not dead.
Before she could reply, another voice chimed in from behind her. “Is your nose job permanent? Cause if it is, you might want to sue your surgeon.”
Mrs. Harrison’s expression morphed to one of offended rage. “Why, I never!” she huffed. “I would think your father would have taught you better! I’m sure he would be very interested to hear that you’re still behaving like a street urchin,” she sputtered out. She looked back down at Barbara. “Ms. Gordon, it was a pleasure. I’m sorry for your loss,” she said with what composure she still had before turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd in anger.
As soon as she had left, Barbara felt the tension ease out of her shoulders. She turned her chair to see her defender behind her, her eyes lighting with fondness when she saw him angrily adjusting his tie. “Thank you, Jason,” she said sincerely. “I’m glad to have you in my corner.”
Jason cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable with her thanks. “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re any different now than before,” he said. “Rich people are assholes.” That drew a laugh out of Barbara, and he gave her a small grin. “Hey, think you can sneak me a drink?” he asked.
“Jason Todd. Last I checked you were still underage,” she answered with a laugh. At his raised eyebrow, she continued, “That means no, by the way.” He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘whatever I’ll sneak one later’ that Barbara pretended not to hear. “So do these galas live up to your expectations?” she teased, knowing that Jason had hated every one he had attended since joining Bruce.
He huffed and ruffled up his hair again, no doubt trying to mess up whatever product Alfred had put in it to look more dignified for tonight’s event. “Every one of these makes me feel like an animal in the zoo,” Jason said.
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” she answered, glancing around. She could see the occasional person in the crowd pretending like they hadn’t been looking her way. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Jason at her side glaring at the people sneaking glances. A warm smile graced her face, and she patted his hand. Who would have thought the prickly presence of Jason Todd would give her so much comfort. Barbara loved the way he cared so fiercely. “It’s fine, Jason. They’ll move on to something else tomorrow.” He didn’t look very convinced, but accepted her statement and dragged out a chair from the table they were next to and sat down next to her. They chatted together for another 10 or so minutes, giving her a much needed break from mingling with Gotham’s elite.
After a while, however, Jason saw Bruce motion to him from across the room. He grimaced. “Ugh,” he complained. “Looks like Bruce wants me to meet yet another rich couple whose names I’ll never remember.” Barbara let out a chuckle.
“Yeah, unfortunately it’s something you’ll have to get used to doing at these things, kid,” she said, following his gaze to where Bruce was smiling with an elderly couple, drinks in hand. He made eye contact with her, and his smile softened a little into more of a genuine one. Bruce tilted his head in greeting, which she returned with a little wave.
“Yeah, well, if you don’t hear from me within the next 10 minutes send a rescue party,” Jason groused before returning the chair to the table beside them and making his way over, leaving Barbara alone once more. Talking with the grouchy teenager had done wonders for her mood, and she felt ready to continue with the night.
She had another few conversations, happy when a few of them went perfectly normally. Maybe the initial awkwardness of the night was behind her. Barbara began making her way back over to the bar to get a drink of water, when suddenly her chair turned to the right.
With a startled yelp, she gripped the wheels and turned her head to look behind her. A man in a suit she didn’t even know smiled at her, holding the handles of her chair and pushing it through the crowd.
“Excuse me!? Let go!” Barbara bit out. His smile changed to an offended look as he stopped pushing her forward and crossed his arms.
He frowned deeply at her. “Ms. Gordon, no need to be so rude. I saw you heading to the bar and was simply helping you,” he said angrily.
She turned the chair around to face him, brows furrowed in anger. “I don’t need your help. I have been getting around completely fine on my own,” Barbara snapped back.
The man let out a grunt. “Well I won’t apologize for helping make things easier for you when–”
Barbara cut him off. “It does not make it easier for me to have a stranger randomly move my chair without my consent. Do not do that again,” she ground out. “Have a good night.” Barbara turned her chair around again, moving towards the bar once more. She grumbled under her breath as she ordered another drink instead of the water she had originally been planning on getting.
She took her drink and went to an empty table, hoping for a moment’s reprieve from socializing. Her eyes scanned the crowd for her father, wondering if she’d be able to find an opening to ask to ditch the gala early. When she heard someone sit down in the chair next to her, Barbara let out a quiet sigh of exasperation and closed her eyes. “Listen, I just need a quick moment to myself if you don’t mind,” she said, not turning to look at them.
The voice that answered was filled with concern. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Sorry, I can go–” came the reply, with the sound of the chair pushing back out. Barbara’s eyes flew open upon hearing him, and she turned, leaning forwards and grabbing the man’s arm before he could leave.
“Dick!” she said. “God, no, please stay,” she rushed out. Dick looked surprised for a moment, but gave her a warm smile and sat back down.
“Rough night?” he said gently, putting a hand over her’s. Barbara let out a sigh and dropped her head down before straightening up and sitting back in her chair.
She took another sip of her drink. “That’s one way to put it,” she replied. Then she turned and gave him a small smile. “Glad I can count on the Wayne boys to make it bearable,” she teased. Dick let out a small laugh.
“Yeah, well, you know we’d do anything for you,” he said sincerely. And Barbara truly loved that about him: the way he so casually committed himself 100% to the people he cared about. He and Jason were finally on good terms with each other, which she knows is probably how Bruce had been able to rope him into visiting from Bludhaven for a gala of all things.
His expression stayed light, though had a touch of worry. “You said you needed time alone. What do you need from me right now?” he asked. Barbara smiled at him fondly and ruffled his hair. Dick let out a small sound of indignation with a muttered ‘Alfred did my hair all nice’ but didn’t truly seem too upset.
“Just having you by my side is all I need, Dick,” she said warmly. “Tonight’s just been…I knew it was going to be hard.”
“Knowing it’s going to be hard doesn’t make it any easier,” he said gently.
“No,” she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. “But you and Jason help.”
Dick gave her his classic Grayson smile, squeezing her hand back. “Glad to be of service, Babs,” he answered. He glanced left and right conspiratorially before leaning forward. He motioned her to do the same.
“Now, have you seen the hat Mr. Wells is wearing tonight? Honestly should be a crime in and of itself. Have your dad throw up the Bat Signal,” he whispered. The joke caught Barbara off-guard, and she let out a loud laugh and snort before slapping her hand over her mouth and sending an apologetic glance to the gala-goers around them for her loud laugh. Somehow, Dick’s smile got even bigger as she gave him a slap on the arm.
It was easy to count on her best friend to make her heart lighter. The next little while with Dick at the table made her feel miles better, and she was sad when he had to excuse himself to go rescue Jason from a prolonged conversation with some middle-aged women.
“Go,” she laughed. “You’ve already saved me from having more uncomfortable conversations. Probably about time you swoop in to save Jason as well.” Dick grinned and stood up, leaning down to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Hang in there, Babs,” he whispered. “Night’s almost over.” And with that, she watched as he easily moved through the crowd, pulling up behind Jason and slinging an arm over his shoulders.
Barbara shook her head fondly at the pair before backing up and turning back to the main crowd. She took another deep breath and dove back in, trying to make small talk as much as possible.
Just when she thought the awkward conversations had been done for the night, a large group of newcomers made their way over. She steeled herself for their approach, and once again had to deal with a new slew of awkward condolences. It was even worse, when one of them introduced herself as a journalist.
“Ms. Gordon,” she said, sticking out her hand for a handshake. Barbara took it and gave a restrained smile. “I’m Chloe Fields with the Gotham Gazette. I want to let you know how brave we all think you are after facing such a terrible attack.”
“Thank you,” Barbara clipped out. She glanced away, scanning the crowd for a way to get out of the conversation. She made eye contact with Dick, who was taking a drink from whatever he’d gotten from the bar. He gave a small frown and moved to take a step forward, but was blocked from her view when another man stepped up to talk to him.
Barbara let out a sigh. There goes her rescue. She turned back to Fields when she continued. “Now, I’m covering tonight’s gala and have been chatting with the attendees. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I was just wondering if you’d give a statement. It would be great if I could have something interesting to report,” the journalist stated.
Barbara gave a tight smile. “I’m sorry,” she answered politely. “I don’t have much to give you. Most of my conversations tonight have been the usual small talk. My father and I are glad to see citizens of Gotham are able to come together at events like these and show camaraderie.”
Fields frowned, clearly not getting the response she was hoping for. “Well, Ms. Gordon,” she pushed on, “I was actually referring to your…accident. What do you want all of Gotham to know?”
The smile faded from Barbara’s face as Fields waited for an answer. Accident? What happened to her was far from an accident. Guess this confirms they’ll be writing about me in the paper, she thought bitterly, unsure of what to tell the woman.
“Uhm, well…” she hesitated, trying to buy some time. But before she could answer, the gentle classical music over the speakers cut out with a whine of feedback. Barbara and many others reached up to cover their ears at the sudden noise, and then the feedback stopped and it was quiet. People looked around in confusion.
Then suddenly the sound of brass and drums began playing loudly from the speakers, someone having started the song “Candy” by Robbie Williams instead of the usual gala-approved ambience. Barbara held back a laugh of surprise when it became clear who took over the sound system.
Dick Grayson stumbled forward to the center of the room, drink in one hand and the other outstretched. “Thanks for coming, everyone!” he yelled over the music. His words sounded like they slurred together a little bit, and if Barbara had to guess she would assume that drink in his hand was far, far from his first drink of the night.
All eyes were on him as Bruce stepped forward and whispered something fiercely to him, likely trying to get him to change the music back and stop making a scene. Dick obviously didn’t agree, as his face looked petulant as he took a step back. As the lyrics began, Dick’s face broke into a sloppy grin and he turned and jumped up onto a table, nearly falling off as his feet barely stayed under him. Bruce stepped forward and growled at him to get down.
Dick ignored him completely and began singing and dancing along to the music. The crowd was alight with people talking and staring at the scene, some shouting at either Dick to get down and act decently or Bruce to control his son, and Barbara could also hear a “Get, it Grayson!” which she had no doubt came from Jason somewhere.
When the chorus hit and Dick threw out his arms to belt out the words, his drink sloshed out of the glass and got all over a socialite who grew red in the face from anger. Bruce hurriedly apologized for his son, and he and a couple other men tried to get Dick down off the table. To avoid their hands, Dick dodged and began jumping from table to table. As if the chaos couldn’t get any worse, just when someone almost succeeded in grabbing him, he bent down and then leapt upwards.
He caught onto the chandelier above him right when the next chorus hit and it began spinning and swinging around, shouts of surprise ringing out from the crowd as they moved out of his path. Being the acrobat he was, he swung his legs upwards and swapped out his hand grip with hanging upside down by his legs.
Barbara felt a presence come up next to her laughing loudly, and she looked up with a grin on her face to see Jason at her side cackling with amusement. He let out a whistle, earning glares from the socialites around them. “Go, Grayson!”
Thankfully, Fields seemed much more enticed with the chaos going on before them, and had dashed over to take photos of the scene and write notes. When the song faded, Dick yelled out a slurred “Should we hit replay?” that made Barbara and Jason burst out laughing. Bruce looked red in the face as he finally managed to grab a hold of him and yank him down (safely) from the chandelier. Bruce grabbed Dick’s phone and disconnected it from the speaker system before profusely apologizing to the guests around him.
For his part, Dick looked like he was doing his best to stand up straight but was clearly leaning heavily on Bruce. Dick and Barbara made eye contact, and he gave her a lopsided smile and wave and she laughed and shook her head fondly. He really needs to hold his liquor better, she thought.
Bruce looked over and made eye contact with Jason, jerking his head in a clear indication that they were leaving. Jason wiped the tears from his eyes and gave Barbara a side hug. “Looks like the fun is over, Barbie,” he said. He gave her a wink and called out “come over for breakfast tomorrow if you want!” as he made his way back over to Bruce and his brother. With the Waynes officially making their exit, the crowd–alive with murmuring of the ‘scandal’ that they’d just witnessed–slowly began following suit.
Barbara was beyond relieved when her father came over and asked if she was ready to leave. God, yes.
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The next morning, she made good on Jason’s invitation. After being let in and escorted to the kitchen by Alfred, she sat at the table with Jason while he gleefully showed her the front page of the Gotham Gazette.
“Look at this,” he crowed, finger jabbing into the photo of Dick hanging upside down from the chandelier. The headline read “Wayne’s Son Turns Formal Gala into Circus Show.”
“Can you believe last night?” Jason continued, clearly ecstatic with the turn of events. “Dick really put on a show!” Barbara smiled in response, laughing with him as Alfred set a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of each of them. Jason and Barbara picked up their utensils and began eating.
“I certainly cannot believe it, Master Jason,” Alfred said with a dignified huff. “I would have thought I taught him to behave in a much more refined manner when at a formal event.”
A new voice joined from the doorway. “Aw, come on, Alfie,” Dick said, a grin on his face. “I’m a performer,” he continued as he slid into the chair next to Barbara. “See?” He lifted up the Gazette. “That’s what the paper says.”
Alfred shook his head and put another plate full of food in front of Dick as well. Dick grinned up at him and gave a ‘Thanks, Alf’ before digging into his own plate.
“So how’s the head?” Jason asked with a smirk as Alfred put a cup of water with Alka-Seltzer in it in front of Dick. “Gotta say I’m surprised you’re not wearing sunglasses right now with how bright it is.”
Dick laughed and pushed the glass away. “I’m fine. No headache or anything. Need to drink more than one cocktail to get a hangover, Jason,” he replied. Jason and Barbara exchanged confused looks.
“I hate to break it to you Dick–maybe you forgot because you were, you know, wasted?–but you got trashed and made a scene last night,” Jason said, holding the newspaper in his face.
Dick snorted and pushed the paper back onto the table. “You were with me a lot of the night, Jason. I had a cocktail then just water. I’m not hungover,” he insisted, going back to eating his breakfast.
“But,” Barbara said with confusion, “if you weren’t drunk then why did you…” Her voice trailed off, and she saw his face turn a little bit red when he could tell she figured it out. A small smile graced her face as she pushed the paper in front of him on the table once more. “You did it for this. To get in the paper.”
Now it was Jason’s turn to look confused. “Why, though? You get plenty of attention as it is. Why last night?”
“Because,” Dick replied haughtily. “The Gotham Elite sucks. Might as well give them something scandalous to talk about then let them use Babs’s return to galas for their entertainment.” At his admittance, Barbara felt a warmth of fondness flood her system. She sat there, with the Wayne boys, feeling completely and totally loved and validated.
Dick turned to look at her sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to overstep or anything,” he muttered. “I hope you aren’t mad.” She laughed, surprising Dick for a moment before a hesitant smile came to his face.
Barbara leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Richard Grayson. Thank you,” she said sincerely.
"Anytime, Babs," Dick replied softly. They smiled together for a moment before she leaned back and went back to eating breakfast.
Jason let out an amused huff and gave Dick a fond punch on the shoulder. “Well, next time loop me into the plan, Dickiebird!” he said. “If you think you can cause trouble at a gala, just think of all the shit we could get up to together!”
“Language, Master Jason!” came Alfred’s reprimand from the kitchen.
The three of them exchanged glances and burst out laughing.
“Sorry, Alfred!” Jason called back.
And there, eating pancakes with Dick and Jason, Barbara knew. I can do this.