(no subject)

[l33t_winged_bat]

They call him the Thinker and he's coming for me. With the microchips in his head he controls people with a word and computers with a thought. I'm good. Truth is, I'm better then I thought I'd be, but I'm not him.

There's a .38 in my hand. It's well-oiled by my care and sweat. I don't want to think anything about it. I hate guns, but I'm a cop's daughter. I can - I have - loaded and unload this thing in the fading autumn sunlight about five times just...waiting.

I'm going to stop seeing the shrink. There's just too much to tell and not enough I want to say about it. She says I'm angry; that I blame my father and Batman for what happened. She's not wrong or right. I opened the door without looking.

There's files for Waller, for Dad, for Tim, for Him when should the worst happen. There's only one message left to write and this one will be the hardest. There's my gun in one hand; pen on postcard in the other.

Forgive me? Way too maudlin. He'd think I was replaced by pod person.

I love you? Way to leave on a guilt trip, Babs.

I'm sorry? Yeah, that works - but for what? Should I just add the words "for everything" to the end of that? It wasn't like he wasn't a young idiot right along with you. In fact, he was a younger idiot. Oh hell, Barbara, leave with some dignity and if dignity for a cripple isn't moving you right now then at least leave him some - pixie boots and all.

I'm sorry for helping to make life complicated.

A couple stamps later, a fight with the building's elevator, and all I have to do now is wait.