Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dinah baby, I’m leaving!” 

Dinah stops sorting through her newest shipment to follow the voice into the front of the shop, smiling at the sight of her mother’s long burgundy coat as she slides it up an arm. 

“Don’t forget to call miss Patty to confirm your appointment, those braids need to be redone.” 

Dinah rolls her eyes in the brief second her mother looks away, grateful that her mother hasn’t reached out to touch the hair at the side of her head the way she’d been doing all morning. “Yes, mom.” 

Something in her inflection must give her away because when her mother turns back to her, the eyes are a little narrowed and her gaze rakes down Dinah’s body and back up, studying her closely and Dinah manages a teasing smile at her mother’s judgment. 

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, the question not quite unexpected but Dinah still fumbles for an answer. 

“I don’t know yet, why?” 

“Don’t go spending it with some random sleaze at that bar you like so much,” her mother says, gesturing vaguely behind her, in the direction of the Sad Man’s Tongue and Dinah doesn’t try to prevent the laugh from bubbling up. 

“When I asked you to live with me, I didn’t think it meant you’d be on my case about what I do with my free time,” she says with a smile on her lips to show she doesn’t mean the words maliciously, crossing her arms and lazily leaning her hip against the glass counter. 

Dinah hadn’t needed to worry about her mother taking it the wrong way though because the sweet smile there widens an unnatural amount, a warm hand reaching up to pat Dinah’s cheek and there’s a patronising air to it that immediately makes her squint her eyes. 

“Oh, baby, but who’s going to keep you from bringing someone home for a disappointing one night stand if not me?” 

She wrenches out of her mother’s grip and tries to be annoyed about it but the laugh that flows from her mom’s lips is too melodic, too delighted in its purity and Dinah can’t keep the smile off her own face, the sound of her mother’s laugh warming her from the inside as much as she tries to fight the awful insinuation. 

“You need to get out of my house.” 

“You don’t have a house,” her mother throws back effortlessly. “And as it is, I was only asking because I’m gonna be out tonight.” 

“Oh,” Dinah says with interest, leaning forward to prop her hands on the counter and level her mother with a curious look. “And where are you going?” 

“That’s none of your business, young lady.” 

“You live under my roof and it becomes my business,” she replies, challenging her mother’s brush off with a sentiment she’s said to Dinah one too many times in order to get her to open up or abide by her rules. Her mother clearly struggles with her comeback and Dinah just knows it’s because she’s both proud of her daughter for being so skilled at this exchange and annoyed that the technique has been turned onto her. “Fess up,” Dinah prods. 

“I’m just having dinner with a friend.” 

The way her mother turns away and lifts her chin haughtily gives her away and Dinah’s distaste escapes in the form of a groan and her head falling back, looking to the skies and her father’s spirit for strength. 

“Aw, mom, come on, you can’t be serious.” Her mother turns to her with the world’s least impressive innocent look, as if she has no idea what Dinah is reacting to and that just makes Dinah roll her eyes, this time in plain view of her mother, the move deliberate. “I’m not stupid, I know that means you’re having dinner with Captain Montoya.” 

A shudder makes her whole body twitch and she fakes a gag and her mother scoffs, waves at her dismissively. 

“Oh, Dinah! Don’t be so dramatic!” she says. “We’re just friends.” 

“Does she know that?” 

As if the words weren’t nauseating coming out of her mouth already, her mother’s lack of answer adds to that, the way she’s studiously avoiding Dinah’s eyes and pretending to refasten her coat disconcerting. 

Her mother taught her many things when she was younger, and her stellar observation skills and sharp wit were amongst them, but it’s her father’s lessons to never hold her tongue that most gets Dinah in trouble, made abundantly clear when she can’t keep her mouth shut long enough to finish this conversation and bid her mother goodbye. 

“Dinah Drake, GCPD groupie.” 

She’s not wrong per se but the way her mother looks at her after whirling around on the spot, hair a little wild and eyes a little dangerous, still manages to strike the fear of God into Dinah’s heart and she takes a step back, exhale coming out a little sharply as her eyes go wide with regret. 

“Now you listen here—” 

Dinah has never felt so much relief in her life as when the phone rings, utterly grateful for the interruption and she’s about to pick up the phone when her mother intercepts it, going into full business mode as her voice drops any previously held edge, her tone like honey. 

“Hi this is Petal and Bloom Floral Boutique, how may I help you today?” 

Dinah watches with a little lingering apprehension as her mother chats to whoever is on the other end of the line, only dropping back into reality when she sees her mother reach for a pad and a pen and start taking notes. She hears her confirm an appointment and Dinah’s eyes immediately go wide as she tries to get her mother’s attention, waving wildly as she shakes her head, hands gesturing to her mother to stop but the woman just slowly lifts her head and stares at her with a cold smile as she continues the call. 

“Yes, of course she’d be interested in meeting with you,” she says, smile turning just the right side of wicked for Dinah to know that this is her punishment for her earlier taunt. “The whole building? How many square feet is that roughly?… oh, amazing! No, absolutely… we would be so delighted.” 

Dinah doesn’t hear the square footage mentioned but she doesn’t need to, body suddenly relying on the hands she has pressed against the counter to hold her up, the knowledge that her mother’s just roped her into a massive project enough to make her mourn for any free time she thought she’d have this month and it draws a small pout from her that her mother only briefly mocks before returning to her now very clearly evil smile. 

“So lovely, we’ll absolutely be in contact, yes… okay, buh-bye now.” 

Her mother hangs up the phone with a smile, finishing her notes with a flourish before dropping the pen back in the drawer with all the others. 

“I know you saw me telling you no,” Dinah tries to say as her mom hands her the legal pad full of half-decipherable scribbles.

“This is too big to pass up,” she says with a saccharine smile. “It’s for the Bertinelli family.” 

Her fingers tighten around the pad as she snaps her head up. “The Bertinelli family?” 

“There’s only one, baby girl,” her mother says, patting her cheek again and this time Dinah does let a small grumble of annoyance slip free. “They’re looking to spice up their headquarters with some green and the woman on the phone asked specifically for you.” 

“By name?” 

“Even knew your middle name.” 

“Huh,” Dinah says, looking down at the legal pad, eyes hovering over the name Bertinelli. 

“You’re meeting with a woman named Helena at three on Thursday.” 

“Okay,” she says distractedly, already looking around her shop to start brainstorming ideas to take with her on Thursday. “Thanks.” 

“You have fun, honey,” her mother says but Dinah barely hears her. “I’m gonna head home. Got lots to get ready.” 

That snaps her back to the present, and to their earlier conversation. 

“Please don’t come home too late,” she almost begs, a request she would not have otherwise made because she’d had no intentions of being home but now that she has a large new potential client, she wants to prepare as much as she can in the limited time she has and the idea of her mother stumbling in late is not something she plans on having to face, ever. “My imagination will run wild and I’ll start thinking you’re hooking up with the captain.” 

She tries to cover her revulsion with teasing words but her mother sees right through her, that honeyed smile making a comeback. 

“Just for that, I might,” she says as she turns to go, hand lifting over her shoulder to wave goodbye at Dinah. “Bye-bye, baby girl.” 

“Mom, no!” 

Chapter Text

“Hi there, I’m Dinah Lance, I have an appointment at three with H—” 

“Me,” Helena says distractedly from her perch against the reception desk before lifting her eyes from the brief she’s been trying to read for ten minutes now and at the sight of the woman she stops in her tracks, arm falling limply to her side. 

“Hello,” Dinah Lance says, her polite smile widening just enough to reveal adorable dimples in her cheeks.

Helena briefly forgets how to breathe.

Dinah shifts her portfolio to her left hand so she can stick out her right, offering a handshake that Helena stares at for a beat too long and it’s not until the smile wavers just slightly that she realises what she has to do. 

Helena drops her tablet onto the counter with an undignified clatter and leans far enough across to be able to take Dinah Lance’s hand, warm skin against hers as Dinah Lance shakes her hand. 

“I’m Helena, welcome to the building.” 

She gestures vaguely behind her and she can hear the receptionist try to stifle a laugh at her awkwardness, earning her a quick glare that makes her return to her work, before turning back to Dinah Lance with a wide smile. 

The amusement there is clear, lines around her mouth twitching with barely held mirth but she doesn’t say anything, stares Helena head-on. 

She’s not used to the directness of it and her first instinct is to look away, but her father’s stern words about leadership and strength in her head keep her from doing so and channeling her inner “head bitch in charge” — as her brother had put it — to hold her chin high and not bow under this stranger’s curious, dark eyes. 

“It’s nice to be here.” 

Those dimples make an appearance again and Helena dies a little bit inside.

The receptionist clearing her throat behind her drags Helena’s attention away, nails pointedly tapping at a clipboard holding a form. 

“Does she need to fill that in?” Helena asks. 

“Not if you choose to waive it.” 

The woman holds out a visitor’s badge and Helena thanks her as she takes it, and her tablet, before rounding the reception desk. 

“This is for you, won’t you follow me?” Helena says. 

Dinah clips the badge to her belt, drawing Helena’s eyes to the spot, the curve of her hip down her tight pants to sensible boots and back up to the dark blue jacket over a soft-looking dress shirt. 

She blushes when she realises what she’s doing, wishing she hadn’t pinned half her hair back this morning so she could hide behind her dark curls, feeling suddenly warm and like the turtleneck she chose to wear today was a mistake. 

She clears her throat as she turns away, nodding at the men waiting at the security checkpoint as she walks past them and Dinah Lance lets out a small hum as they walk towards the first bank of elevators. 

“You’re not letting them check me for weapons?” she comments lightly when Helena calls for an elevator. 

“No,” she says. “I can handle myself.” 

That sparks a surprised little laugh from Dinah Lance, a shake of the head as she watches Helena closely, the scrutiny almost making her want to squirm. 

Helena’s not sure what to say in response to her amusement and she’s mercifully saved by one of the elevators pinging their arrival and when the doors open, a frazzled looking woman practically jumps out of the elevator, only stopping when she sets eyes on Helena. 

“You have an appointment at three!” she says and Helena can appreciate the way she’s trying to modulate her voice because the first few times this had happened, the woman had almost yelled at her. 

“I know, Anna, I already picked her up,” Helena says, pointing to Dinah Lance. 

“That’s my job!” She lets out a frustrated whine and oh, there’s the yelling. “The whole deal is that I do those things for you. I pick up your visitors, I make phone calls, I get your coffee.” 

“But I can do them myself.” 

“You’re killing me here, Lena,” she says in a low growl and the appearance of the ages-old nickname in Anna’s usually well-hidden Italian accent is what makes her nod. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Anna turns to Dinah with a suddenly very sweet smile that has Helena wondering how she’s able to school her features so well. 

“Would you like something to drink, Ms. Lance?” 

“Just some water is fine.” 

Anna smiles at Dinah as she steps around them, holding the beeping elevator open with her arm so that Dinah and Helena can get on it.

She barely waits for the doors to close before turning to look at Dinah Lance, finding her much closer than she’d expected and trying not to show her surprise at that. 

“I’m sorry about that, Ms. Lance.” 

“Please, call me Dinah,” she immediately says. “What was that all about?” 

“I only just started working here and I’ve never had an assistant before,” she admits with a sheepish smile. “So we’re having some adjustment troubles.” 

“You were the one who called my shop?” Dinah asks, fingers reaching up to adjust one of her earrings and Helena gets distracted by the glint of her multiple rings. 

“Yes.” 

“That really is an assistant’s job.” 

Dinah’s attempt at a stern look wavers, corners of her mouth trembling and Helena has to look away as she gives a small laugh. 

“I’m learning.” 

“Let me ask you this,” Dinah starts, her voice like a melody. “How come you just started here and the people at the top are just letting you change their decor?”

The way it’s phrased gives Helena pause as it becomes suddenly clear to her that Dinah has no idea who she is. 

Every person working in this building knows exactly who she is, and knows her connections and her family name, and it’s a refreshing feeling to be talking to someone that doesn’t know that and as much as she’d hate to lead Dinah on by pretending to be someone she’s not, she doesn’t want to lose that open honesty that Dinah’s been looking at her with. 

So instead of coming clean about how far up the chain she actually is, she pivots to another topic. 

“I grew up in Italy surrounded by green so when I started here I asked if we could make some changes.” 

It’s not a lie and Dinah nods in understanding as they step out of the elevator to the top floor. 

“This building, it’s so…” 

“Bleak?” Dinah supplies with a small smile to let Helena know she doesn’t mean it too maliciously. 

“Exactly.” 

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” 

An hour and a half later they have a tentative plan for the whole building, with Dinah wildly taking notes and humming as she looks around, underlining a few things on her notepad. 

“I realise that you’re a floral shop and not plants so a lot of this is out of your range…” she says, shoulders bowing slightly forward and she’s not sure what it is about this woman that makes her want to melt and speak softly and smile often and taste the dip of her neck. 

“Oh, no, don’t even worry about it,” Dinah waves away with a quick smile thrown her way. “I can get most of this stuff, it’s just the green wall that’s very specific but I have a contact I can ask for help.” 

“Okay. Good. Great.” Helena stops talking before she keeps saying single syllable affirmatives. 

“I’ll contact you with tentative plans and then we can meet again after?” Dinah asks, lifting her head to look at Helena briefly and at her nod, she tucks the pen next to the notepad and snaps her leather portfolio shut. “Then, it was really nice to meet you.” 

“Same here,” Helena says and this time she decides to be proactive to avoid coming across as a moron and sticks her hand out. 

When Dinah takes her hand and shakes it, Helena feels a crackle in their touch travel up her arm and then down her spine, the sparks in the air almost tangible and she wonders if Dinah feels it too. 

Dinah tilts her head slightly when they pull away and the light catches on the row of studs in her ear, the soft skin over her cheekbone seeming so inviting and Helena’s trying not to focus on all of the sensations too much, on staying professional because she’s Helena Bertinelli, dammit. 

And then Dinah smiles as she turns to go and Helena’s grateful for the reprieve as she lets out a deep breath. 

“Hey, how did you know my middle name?” Dinah asks, turning back almost immediately and Helena’s spine straightens painfully as she whips up her head, eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“My mom, she told me that you asked for me by my full name. Dinah Laurel Lance.” 

“Your mom?” 

“She’s my shop assistant,” Dinah says with a shrug. “You spoke to her on the phone.” 

“I looked you up.” 

The words spark a brightness in Dinah that takes Helena’s breath away, her shoulders squaring back as her smile widens and the dimples reappear and the shift is so alluring and Helena is so, so lost. 

“Me?” she asks in the softest voice Helena’s heard her use all afternoon. 

“Well, I was just—” She stutters as she tries to get through her explanation without sounding like a total stalker, eyes briefly skittering around the lobby. “I was looking for a flower shop and yours kept popping up and then I found an article about you in the Gazette.” 

Dinah laughs softly then, eyes closing briefly. “The one with that cheesy picture of me in a field?” 

“It’s a beautiful picture,” Helena says, words a little strong and something in Dinah changes, something Helena can’t put her finger on but the crackling tension in the air makes the back of Helena’s neck feel warm. 

“Thank you,” Dinah says, head tilting as those dark brown eyes study Helena intently. “Is it easier if I get a direct line to you?” 

“What?” 

“Instead of emailing the company and having to jump through hoops to get to you, it might be easier for me to get your email address or phone number,” Dinah says. “Do you have a card?” 

“Oh—uhm, yes, hang on.” It takes a beat to get her brain working and she’s grateful to her legs for already walking her over to the entrance desk, leaning over it to ask the receptionist for one of her cards. “Right, here you go.” 

“Thank you,” Dinah says with a coy smile and the curve of her lips makes Helena want to feel it against her own. Dinah’s eyes are drawn to something behind Helena, a small, adorable furrow appearing on her face. “I think you’re needed.”

Dinah points and Helena twists to look, noticing her assistant hovering nearby looking equal amounts of impatient and nervous. “Right. Yes. I think I might be behind schedule. But it was really nice to meet with you.” 

“You’ll be hearing from me very soon,” Dinah says, holding up the card between her two fingers and making it look so suave. 

“Perfect.” 

It’s so easy to smile at Dinah, her cheeks warming by the woman’s sheer presence and Helena has never felt this unstable and it blindsides her a little bit, the way her chest feels tight as if she can’t get enough air into her lungs and the knot in her gut twisting with the promise of more contact with Dinah Lance. 

“Yo Ms. Bertinelli—” 

“Tim, I told you to call me Helena,” she says with a frustrated sound as she turns to the younger man but she hears the way Dinah stops in her tracks, mid-step and Helena realises immediately that she’s basically just given herself away. 

“Yeah, that’s never gonna happen, Ms. B,” Tim adds with a laugh but Helena doesn’t even hear him. 

“Bertinelli?” Dinah whispers, fumbling with the card in her hand in her haste to get it right side up and read it. “Helena Bertinelli.” 

Helena tries to mask her guilt with a smile when she sees how bewildered Dinah looks, opting for a formal goodbye so that she can’t make this situation any worse. 

“Have a good rest of your afternoon, Ms. Lance.” 

Chapter Text

To: Helena Bertinelli
From: Dinah L. Lance. 
Date: Thursday, May 21, 2020 17:43:08 EST
Subject: Post meeting check-in 

Dear Ms. Bertinelli,

—

Dinah groans as she deletes the introduction, dropping her face into her hand for a moment before straightening out to retype the first line of her email. 

She changes the Dear to Hi, then the Bertinelli to Helena, and then deletes the whole thing again. 

“Why is this so hard,” she whispers, fingers hovering over her keyboard as she considers how to phrase her email in a way that doesn’t give away just how stupid she feels for not putting two and two together and figuring out that the Helena making changes to the Bertinelli offices is the same Helena who’d been sent away to fancy boarding schools as a child to keep her out of the limelight of Gotham high society. 

In any case, Dinah prides herself on being a savvy businesswoman, knows that she would not be nearly as successful as she is now had she not been so focused and client-oriented and consistent and so as much as she’d like to abandon her email draft and deal with it tomorrow, the part of her that’s been prioritising her business over any other aspect of her life won’t let her do it. 

She always sends clients an email after meeting them and Helena Bertinelli will be no different. 

That doesn’t help of course that she has no idea how she’s supposed to formulate this email, and she’s retyped Helena’s name for maybe the fifth time when the bell over the door jingles. 

She doesn’t hear it, eyes squinted at the bright light of her screen and she doesn’t lift her head until she sees the rest of her vision fill with light, the roses finally coloured again and not just dark shadows in her periphery. 

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” 

“Hey kid,” Dinah says with an easy smile, briefly abandoning her email so she can look at Cassandra and give her a once-over to make sure she’s alright. “What are you doing here?” 

Cass frowns at her then, having already plucked one of the calla lilies from a bucket and twirling it between her fingers. “You forgot about me?”

“It’s six-thirty?”

Her eyes must go just a little wide and give her away because Cass’ mouth drops open and her arm falls limply by her side. 

“You did!” Cassandra chucks the flower at her and Dinah easily catches it, a small smile gracing her features at how less destructive Cass has become. A year ago she’d have kicked over a bucket and now all she could muster up was a simple flower toss? 

Dinah knows she should be mending the issue and talking Cassandra down but her smile is hard to budge. 

“I can’t believe you forgot me!” 

Cassandra frowns, crosses her arms and scuffs a foot on the linoleum. 

She glares at Dinah for so long, face the perfect image of anger and annoyance and betrayal and Dinah just stares at her with her cool expression, lips slightly turned up and she arches an eyebrow in challenge to see how long Cass will hold her attitude. 

“I didn’t forget you,” Dinah whispers after a long silence. “I just lost track of time.” 

“You promise?” 

Cass’ chin is so close to her chest as she watches Dinah carefully so she rounds the counter and walks right up to Cass, doesn’t wait for her to lift her head and just wraps her arms around the teenager, pulling her into her body in a tight hug. 

“I promise,” Dinah whispers, dropping a kiss to the crown of Cassandra’s head and holding on until Cassandra returns the hug, sinking into her as the tension inside her releases. “I got busy and lost track of time.” 

“Okay.” 

“Do you wanna call Pamela?” 

Cass squirms out of her grip long enough to look up at Dinah with wide eyes, her nodding immediate and enthusiastic so Dinah just smiles and tilts her head sideways to the phone, letting go of Cass so she can scramble across the small shop to the counter. 

“Do you know the number?” 

“Duh,” Cass says, already punching it into the phone and holding the receiver up to her ear. “Hi Harley!” 

Dinah rolls her eyes but she can’t stop the endeared smile from taking over her features as she lazily strolls closer and drags her laptop across the glass counter towards herself, giggling to herself when she hears Cassandra ask about Harley’s hyenas. 

She wakes up the display and is faced with her email draft, her cursor blinking back at her, mocking her lack of composure in the final moments of her meeting with Helena Bertinelli. 

She hears Cassandra ask about when Harley will take her pickpocketing again and she promptly reaches out and wrestles the phone away from Cass, easily batting away flailing arms as she lifts the phone to her ear. 

“Hey Harl, can you put Pamela on the phone please?” 

“Sure thing, doll.” 

Dinah frowns when she hears a loud clatter come from the other end, Harley yelling out incoherently and then another muffled noise before the line crackles. 

“Dinah?”

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s all fine. I think Harley tripped over a vine.” 

“I thought she wasn’t allowed in the greenhouse anymore?” 

“She’s not!”

Dinah flinches at the volume even as a laugh bubbles from her lips, knowing that the words aren’t meant for her and she waits for the long, bedraggled sigh. 

“What’s up, Canary?”  

“I need help with a project.” 

“Okay let’s hear it.” 

Dinah rattles off the basic details and proposed ideas, encouraged by Pamela’s intermittent hums with the sound of manual work floating through the phone and Dinah can just picture her tending to the rows and rows of plants she has in her greenhouse. 

She occasionally interjects with a question or a call for clarification but she lets Dinah continue on and there’s something so soothing about talking to Pam that completely moves Dinah away from the ledge and the weird sensation curling in her gut after that meeting with Helena Bertinelli. 

Cassandra listens along dutifully, pretending she’s not but Dinah can tell. The way she slowly brings a new shipment of quince flowers out to the front and to Dinah’s work table, the stilted way she unpacks the bunches, and even the careful manner with which she lays them out to avoid getting pricked by the thorns has a leisurely quality to it that comes from being focused more on Dinah’s phone call than the work at hand. 

“Who is this project for?” 

“What?” she asks, having gotten distracted by the rush of affection she’d felt for Cass while watching her. 

“The project. It’s amazing and I’d love to help you on it but it depends who it’s for.” 

The slight edge that accompanies the words gives Dinah pause, not because she’d ever lie to her friend but because she has no idea where Pamela stands on the whole Bertinelli thing. 

“Dinah?” 

“It’s for the Bertinelli Corporation.” 

Cassandra’s head snaps up so hard Dinah can hear it without having her eyes on the kid, but she’s a little more focused on Pamela’s reaction, vague and enigmatic as always as she hums noncommittally. 

“Ivy?” she says softly, trying the nickname to see if it’ll draw out her friend. “You gonna help me out or what?” 

It’s quiet for a beat longer and then a soft sigh. 

“Yeah, alright.” The lack of background noise tells Dinah that Pam has temporarily stopped moving around and so she braces herself for the worst, for an inquiry as to how she’d even gotten a foot in the door of the usually closed circle that is the Bertinellis. “I didn’t know Franco had an appreciation for anything green.” 

“I don’t know that he does.” 

“He’s the only person giving out orders in that corporation,” Pamela says and were it any other day, Dinah would’ve been inclined to agree. “Who’d you meet with?” 

She hesitates for a beat too long and her old friend notices it immediately, the whole tone of her voice changing as she drags it out while saying Dinah’s name. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I met with Helena Bertinelli.” 

“Shut up you did not!” Dinah just hums softly and shakes her head at Cass, who’d lifted her head after hearing Pamela’s exclamation, ready to ask questions. “That’s insane, Dee. I didn’t even know she was back!” 

“You seem to know more about her than I do,” Dinah comments lightly, a thinly veiled attempt to coax more information out of Pamela. 

“Harley! You’ll never guess who’s back in Gotham!” 

Dinah rolls her eyes and puts the call on speaker, leaving the phone behind on the counter as she strides over to Cass and gently shows her how to rebundle the flowering quinces to move them to the bucket. 

After the third small bundle, Cass reaches for a few flower stems herself and Dinah steps back, watches as Cass follows the same steps she did just moments prior almost to perfection and when Cassandra turns to her with a bundle of flowering quinces in her hands and a questioning look in her eyes, Dinah nods and gives her a thumbs’ up and doesn’t say how proud she is of Cass for helping out without being asked to in order to prevent the teenager from feeling put on the spot.

Harley and Pamela are still loudly chatting, their conversation filling the small front space of the flower shop and Dinah considers hanging up and just calling back later when there’s a shriek of her name that makes both her and Cassandra jump slightly. 

“Did she get hot?” is followed by a soft chuckle and a “Jesus, Harl” that makes Dinah laugh just imagining the two women standing together. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes she was hot?” Pamela asks and her voice sounds much more interested now, Harley’s cackle of delight cut off harshly, presumably by Pamela muffling her mouth with a hand. 

“Yes, she was,” Dinah says, trying to prevent her voice from wavering when she thinks about the woman she’d met with. 

She doesn’t want to tell Pamela, and by extension Harley and an eavesdropping Cassandra, how brazen she’d been after Helena had complimented her article in the Gazette. 

She’d been so ready to throw out any professional conduct she usually held herself with, consequences be damned, because Helena was so damn adorable and captivating and tall and hot and Dinah had just wanted to see if her smooth skin felt as soft as it looked. She wanted to peel her out of the turtleneck so she could run her hands over the figure hidden beneath fabric and see the full expanse of the woman’s neck and just taste the long line of her throat. She doesn’t want to give away how ready she’d been to take this woman out and wine her and dine her and kiss her and f—

“Did you get to see any of her scars?” 

“What?” 

“You know, her scars?” Harley repeats, pitch jumping all over the place. 

“She has scars?” 

Cassandra whispers a quiet “what?” to herself that has Dinah grasping the phone and taking it off speaker to prevent her from hearing anything too intense. Even though Cass has been through a lot and there’s no violence in the world that could probably shake her anymore, Dinah’s sole mission in regards to the teenager is to keep her away from anything else that could add to the already existing pile of trauma, no matter how small the matters may be and from the sounds of it, the story of Helena Bertinelli living away from family for a long time was not a pretty one. 

“Do you really not know the story?” Pamela asks quietly and Dinah shakes her head before remembering that the redhead can’t see her. 

“No.” 

“There are a lot of rumours about it and I honestly don’t know how much of it is rumour and gossip,” Pamela says carefully. “When she was eight, one of the rival families kidnapped her and her mother.” 

“When you say rival families, you mean…” 

“Italian,” Pamela says and Dinah understands it perfectly. “I don’t know what went down but after the whole ordeal, Maria Bertinelli was dead, and Helena was sent away.” 

“Jesus.” 

“I don’t know what happened, and—” 

“They say they slashed her whole body open,” Harley calls out. “And that Franco sent her away because she’d been maimed!” 

”Honestly, I thought she might have died but that they tried to keep it a secret,” Pamela says. “But if you met her, then…” 

Her mind buzzes with the new information and Dinah’s not sure what compels her to say it but her mouth moves before she can stop it. “Yeah, the woman I met definitely didn’t look maimed.” 

She knows what this opens her up to and Harley giving a low “oooh” from far away is just the precursor to whatever Pam’s about to say. 

“None of that history really matters if you think she was hot,” she starts and Dinah groans to herself. “Did you give her your number?” 

“She’s a work contact.” 

“And that has stopped you when exactly?” 

“This is a big project, I can’t afford to fuck it up.” 

“Oh so little miss Canary wants to impress her client, hm?” Pamela teases. “You’re going to surround this hot new woman with flowers?” 

“You’re making me sound like such a—”

“Harlot?” 

“I am a perfectly respectable woman,” Dinah says, lifting her chin proudly and trying to convey as much gravity over the phone as she can. 

Pamela hums and then asks, “If you have the chance, are you going to ask her out?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Harley’s loud cackle doesn’t manage to overshadow Pamela’s delighted chuckle. 

They fall into a quiet lull, broken only by Harley’s voice moving further away from the phone until there’s a loud crash and an endeared giggle from Pamela. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Yeah go save your trainwreck,” Dinah teases and Pamela lets out another laugh. 

“Email me the details, especially about that living wall. I’m definitely in.” 

“Thanks, babe.” 

Dinah hangs up the phone and watches Cassandra for a beat as she rearranges a few flowers in the buckets on ice and when she’s done, she glances around the shop with a scrutinising eye and any plans Dinah’d had about finishing up work and finalising that email draft goes out the window. 

She closes her laptop and slides it into her bag, reaching for her keys as she says, “Hey Cass, you wanna go get pizza?” 

“You don’t have to finish the shipment?” Cassandra asks, gesturing to the stacked boxes in the back. 

“Nah, they can wait. C’mon.” 

Cassandra’s radiant smile is all the confirmation she needs that she’s made the right choice by putting work on hold. 

“Can we also get garlic knots?” Cass asks while flicking off the lights and she doesn’t get to see Dinah shake her head but she does hear the loud laugh. 

“Sure, kid.” 

To: Helena Bertinelli
From: Dinah L. Lance
Date: Thursday, May 21, 2020 23:11:59 EST
Subject: Post meeting check-in 

Dear Ms. Bertinelli,

It was lovely to meet with you today and brainstorm over ideas on how to make the office space warmer.

I’ll be drawing up a plan in the coming days which I will send over once complete and then we can meet about it, as planned. 

Would it be an idea to already schedule a follow-up meeting? I’m not sure how full your calendar is. 

If you have any questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them. 

Kind regards, 

Dinah

- 

Dinah L. Lance

Florist

T: +1 (551 ) 759 7337
E: [email protected]
A:  1479 Sycamore Circle
Gotham City, NJ 07513

To: Dinah L. Lance
From: H. Bertinelli
Date: Friday, May 22, 2020 08:03:34 EST
Subject: RE: Post meeting check-in 

Dear Ms. Lance,

Thank you so much for meeting with me yesterday and I appreciate the check in to make sure we’re on the same page. 

I look forward to reading your proposal. Please let me know what you need from us to be able to move ahead. 

I’m available for a meeting at your earliest convenience. 

Kind regards, 

Helena Bertinelli

PS: I hope this project does not keep you up too late at night if the time of your previously sent email is anything to go by. 

-

H. R. Bertinelli

COO, Bertinelli Corporation 

PHONE 551-838-3000 MOBILE 551-207-8976 WEB www.bertinelli.com

ADDRESS 1 Point Plaza, Gotham City, NJ 07513

Chapter Text

To: Helena Bertinelli
From: Dinah L. Lance
Date: Tuesday, May 26, 2020 9:33:50 EST
Subject: Proposal + Quote 

Dear Ms. Bertinelli,

Attached you’ll find the proposal and tentative quote. 

This package includes the living/green wall you were interested in having span four floors, flowers for every floor and a selection of plants for the waiting areas. 

We haven’t really touched upon this, but our boutique also offers a weekly floral subscription that comes with an arrangement selected just for your tastes, and I’ve calculated what that would look like in a grander scale for you if you’d like to consider making use of this service to keep the office flowers fresh. 

We could of course scale this up or down to meet your needs. 

Would it be an idea for you to come by the shop so we could discuss your specific tastes while surrounded by samples? 

I’m available anytime in the afternoon until 6.30pm (when we close). 

Kind regards, 

Dinah

- 

Dinah L. Lance
Florist
T: +1 (551 ) 759 7337
E: [email protected]
A: 1479 Sycamore Circle
Gotham City, NJ 07513

To: Dinah L. Lance
From: H. Bertinelli
Date: Tuesday, May 26, 2020 10:09:27 EST
Subject: RE: Proposal + Quote

Dear Ms. Lance,

I’ve read through the proposal and have sent the quote to our finance department for second checking over but as far as I can see, everything looks perfect. 

I noticed you mentioned in your proposal a warranty period of twelve months for the green wall, is this a fixed time period? I’ve read online that green walls need constant maintenance and I myself lack the skills to properly maintain it so would it be possible to extend that upkeep period with you? 

The subscription is definitely an option I will be considering for the same reasons I’ve just mentioned. 

Does Friday (May 29th) at 3 PM work for you? I would love to see the shop and all the arrangements available. 

Best, 

Helena

-

H. R. Bertinelli

COO, Bertinelli Corporation 

PHONE 551-838-3000 MOBILE 551-207-8976 WEB www.bertinelli.com

ADDRESS 1 Point Plaza, Gotham City, NJ 07513

To: Helena Bertinelli
From: Dinah L. Lance
Date: Tuesday, May 26, 2020 10:38:02 EST
Subject: RE: RE: Proposal + Quote 

Dear Ms. Bertinelli,

The warranty period is just the minimum we stipulate to make sure the green/living wall is fully sustainable — anything after that is of course possible. We can discuss all the options during our meeting. 

Friday at 3 works perfectly for me. 

See you then,

Dinah

Helena stares down at the email on her phone while her car circles the block for the fourth time, Sal glancing at the clock on the radio, not surreptitious enough for Helena to miss it and she knows that he just doesn’t understand why she can’t go in already. 

She’d arrived half an hour early to her meeting with Dinah Lance, feeling weirdly self-conscious about that fact and Sal had grumbled under his breath when Helena had asked him to circle around a few times and not immediately park in front of the shop on the corner. 

“There is a perfect spot right there,” he’d said but Helena had just shaken her head and asked again in a sweeter tone and Sal has never really been able to say no to her. 

She skims through her emails, most of them work-related that aren’t urgent, a few from her assistant, and one from her father she definitely needs to look at and decidedly does not want to.

“Passerotta,” Sal murmurs and when Helena looks up, she sees that he’s pulled into the spot he’d grumbled about earlier, exactly five circles around the block later, like she’d asked and if she didn’t love Sal so much, she’d roll her eyes at him. “Show them who is boss!” he tries to encourage and Helena’s smile comes easy, head dipping as she laughs and the short hair she’d had tucked behind her ears fall in a curtain around her face. 

“You don’t even know what I’m here for.” 

He exhales loudly, gestures as if it doesn’t matter and Helena feels some of the tension seep out of her shoulders.

“Should I wait for you?” he asks, twisting as Helena climbs out of the car and rounds it so she’s standing next to his window. 

“No,” she says, bending down enough to look at him and Sal shifts, leaning out of the car slightly and Helena drops a quick kiss to his cheek. “Ci vediamo, zio.” 

She knows he watches her closely until she walks into the shop before driving off, and the tiny bell on the door announces her arrival but when she looks towards the counter, she doesn’t find the woman she’s looking for. 

“Hi, welcome to Petal and Bloom,” the woman says, her voice warm and welcoming and when Helena steps closer, she can see the resemblance between this woman and Dinah Lance. “I’m Dinah, how can I help you?” 

“Dinah?” 

“That’s me,” she says, her smile never wavering. 

“I’m here to meet with Dinah.” 

“Dinah Lance,” the woman says and Helena nods, completely thrown for a loop. “That’s my daughter, I named her after me,” she says with a wink. “I’m Dinah Drake.” 

“Oh,” Helena says, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish for not connecting the dots sooner and when the woman offers a handshake, she takes it. “You’re Dinah’s mother. I’m Helena.” 

“I see you have a habit of not properly introducing yourself, huh?” 

Helena drops her hand from Dinah Drake’s as they both turn to the new voice and Helena tries not to let all the breath leave her lungs at the sight of Dinah Lance coming in from the back, two long boxes in her arms that she promptly deposits on the counter in front of her mother. 

“I shook her hand and I told her my name,” Helena says once she gets what Dinah Lance is trying to imply, and she can feel the older woman’s eyes on her. 

Dinah just hums her disagreement but doesn’t pursue the matter further, stopping in front of Helena with a smile, eyes on Helena’s. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” she almost stutters back. 

“Welcome to Petal and Bloom.” 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

Dinah looks away, glancing at her mother and they don’t say anything but the older woman nods and gives her another quick wink. 

“Let me show you around.” 

She’s so distracted trying to figure out how easily Dinah and her mother had been able to communicate nonverbally that she’s unprepared for that wide smile to be thrown her way again. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” 

Helena purses her lips lightly and tries not to frown, mouth firmly shut so she stops saying words without thinking but Dinah doesn’t seem to mind, a soft laugh falling from her lips as she motions with her head. 

“This is the front with all the flowers,” Dinah says and when she turns to go, Helena falls into step behind her. 

She manages a small smile in Dinah Drake’s direction before following Dinah Lance — and this whole double Dinah thing is a little confusing but at least when she looks at the older woman she doesn’t feel a strange pull and an unfamiliar urge to spill all her secrets. 

She follows Dinah down a short hallway and into a side room and for a moment Helena forgets she’s smack dab in the middle of busy Gotham City and not in the lush overgrown gardens she’s used to from Italy. The room teems with plants and greenery, one wall entirely covered in a climbing plant that she’s never known the name to but has always found cool. 

“This is our plant holding area,” Dinah says. “The only one that hangs out permanently is that one.” 

She points to the climbing plant Helena had been appreciating before turning away again and leading Helena out the way they came. The smell of fresh plants and slightly damp soil lingers in Helena’s nose as they cross the narrow hallway into another bright room, with fewer plants and more flowers and a large table with a few chairs on each side. 

“This is the office,” Dinah says, gesturing to a chair. “I figured since you showed me yours, I should show you mine.” 

Her grin twists with pleasure, eyes dancing and Helena feels like she’s missing a joke so she gives a short laugh to mask her confusion. 

Something in Dinah seems to soften then, her eyes skittering down Helena’s body and back up before resting on the chair. 

“Have a seat,” she says quietly and Helena feels like she’s missed something again and she’s not sure what it is about Dinah that makes her feel so incredibly off-kilter. 

Dinah makes her throat catch and her skin warm and her words stumble and she makes Helena want to do all the twitchy, nervous tics she used to before people taught her how to be a little more cool. It takes an extraordinary effort to stifle the urge and she focuses instead on sliding the chair away from the table and taking a seat, breath stuttering when Dinah doesn’t take the seat opposite hers, but the one next to her. 

Dinah flips open a portfolio and starts rifling through it, the shift all Helena needs to unpack her own papers, and she’s grateful that they’re finally getting down to business so that she can file away whatever it is that’s happening inside her and focus on what she does best: work. 

They sit and discuss options for hours it feels like, because Dinah keeps showing her pictures of things and Helena knows nothing about this, relegated to simply saying “that’s pretty” or “I don’t know if I like that” and Dinah never loses patience with her, that slight smile ever-present as she talks about upkeep and maintenance and soil and types of water and—Helena didn’t even know there were different types of water. 

It’s water. 

But Dinah explains it so intricately that even though she’s still a little lost, she nods if only to enjoy the sound of Dinah’s voice. 

“I trust you,” she says at a certain point and Dinah gives an endeared little scoff, eyes narrowing playfully. 

“I really hope you don’t do all your business like this or you’ll be running your father’s company into the ground.” 

“I’m not in charge of everything yet, so you don’t have to worry about that,” she replies, proud of herself for the easy quip when Dinah’s smile widens but then her eyes narrow even more. 

“Yet?” 

Fuck. 

Helena’s not sure what to say in response to that, mentally kicking herself for being so callous with her words and already trying to figure out a way to backpedal when Dinah speaks again. 

“I’m glad to hear you’re taking over one day and not your brother,” she says softly, looking away and Helena is so grateful for the out that she takes it even though a part of her aches to tell Dinah the truth. 

She barely knows the woman and she can’t, so why does she want to so badly?

“What do you have against Pino?” she asks teasingly, fingers hooking into the sleeve of her shirt, tugging it back over her wrist as she musters up a smile. 

“Nothing,” Dinah says immediately, voice pitched a little too high to be honest. She leans back in her chair, dark eyes on Helena as her brow furrows slightly. “You call him Pino?” 

“That’s his name?”

“Not from what I hear…” Dinah looks away coyly, fingers fiddling with a chunky ring on her right hand and twisting it around as a dangerous smile plays about her lips. At Helena’s confused silence, she glances up, teasing expression softening but her voice no less low when she says, “All my friends say he makes them call him Joe.” 

“Joe?!” she exclaims and Dinah just nods. “JOE?!” 

“No need to yell at me, Bertinelli,” Dinah says with a soft laugh and Helena has half a mind to apologise for shouting but her vision is still a little red around the edges with this new information. 

“I’m going to kill him. Joe. What a load of—” 

Dinah’s sharp laugh cuts her off and Helena remembers that she’s at a work meeting, sitting with a work acquaintance, using words that are decidedly not work appropriate. 

“Is his name Pino?” 

“It’s Giuseppe.” 

“Well, I understand why he doesn’t want girls calling him that.” 

“What’s wrong with Giuseppe?” 

“It’s not exactly the kind of name you’d call out mid-orgasm,” Dinah snaps back before realising what she’s just said and her eyes go wide before she clamps her mouth shut, biting down on her lips as her cheeks darken. 

“What?” Helena says, not having anticipated that turn at all. “Did—have you slept with my brother?” 

She tries to keep the horror out of her voice to avoid passing judgment because she’s heard too many rumours about Pino’s exploits in Gotham and the woman in front of her is gorgeous and really, Helena can understand why he would have pursued her. 

“No,” Dinah says and she sounds honest enough that Helena’s inclined to believe her, even though she’s not sure why she suddenly feels such a rush of relief that Dinah hasn’t slept with her baby brother. “I don’t swing that way.” 

“Swing what way?” 

“Men.” 

Helena nods slowly even as she’s processing the words, more a habit than anything and it takes her far too long to realise what Dinah’s saying, eyebrows lifting and mouth parting slight with a breathy, “Oh.” 

“Yeah, so me having slept with your brother isn’t something you need to be worried about,” she says and Helena doesn’t need a mirror to know she’s blushing, her cheeks feeling so warm that Helena itches to press a cool hand to them but she doesn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. 

“It was my grandfather’s name,” Helena mutters and that elicits a loud laugh from Dinah, dimples drawing Helena’s eyes to them as Dinah’s shoulders shake with the intensity of her laugh. 

“I’m sorry—” Dinah manages between giggles. “—I didn’t plan to bring up your brother’s sex life at this meeting.” 

Helena groans softly and finally succumbs to the sheer embarrassment of the situation, dropping her face into her hands as she tries to stop the awkward laugh from bubbling past her lips. 

“You ladies having fun in here?” 

The warm voice makes them both stop in their tracks, Dinah twisting in her seat to look at her mother while Helena tries to get her blush under control. 

“I’m headin’ out,” Dinah says, jangling a set of keys in her hands and stepping closer to her daughter. “I closed up front.” 

“Up front?” 

Her mother glances pointedly at her watch and Dinah’s eyes go a little wide when she looks at her wrist, so Helena pulls her sleeve out of the way enough to see that it’s way past closing hour. 

“Okay, have fun mom,” Dinah says, standing up to quickly hug her mom. “Stay out of trouble.” 

“You too,” the older woman says with a spectacularly obvious smirk, her eyes tracking to Helena. “It was nice to meet you.” 

“Same here,” Helena says, standing up and wiping her hands on her thighs before offering the woman a hand that she happily leans forward to shake. 

“Bye.” 

She leaves with a flit of the fingers and a lightweight coat billowing behind her and Helena would’ve been left wondering if the whole interaction happened at all were it not for the set of keys dangling from Dinah’s index finger. 

“I can’t believe it’s already six-thirty,” Dinah says with what looks like a guilty smile shot her way and Helena feels her skin break out in goosebumps. “Apparently time flies with you, Helena Bertinelli.” 

The way Dinah says her name sends a frisson of excitement down her spine, and Helena’s unused to feeling this way, to these reactions and to how much more often she’d like it to happen. Dinah’s words also come with the reminder of their previous meeting, of how she’s purposefully obfuscated who she was until her minor deception had blown up in her face and she can’t forget the stumped look in Dinah’s face as she’d turned away to go back to work. 

She squares back her shoulders and lifts her chin to gather some courage, and then boldly, and without faltering, says, “Do you want to go get a drink?”

Dinah pauses in her movements, hands halting over her papers where she’d been reshuffling them into a haphazard pile and she keeps a palm on the unruly stack as she slowly turns to Helena. 

“You want to grab a drink?” 

“Yes.” 

“With me? On a Friday night?” 

“Oh,” Helena fumbles. The implication of the time and the way she’d asked it becomes suddenly clear to her, and she bows under the pressure, voice a little shaky as she says, “Well when you put it that way—” 

“When I put it that way it’s a no?” Dinah challenges, her eyebrow ticking up but the coy smile doesn’t shift and if anything, it’s as if the dimple in her right cheek deepens. 

“No, it’s—yes, it’s still a yes. I wanted to apologise for not telling you who I was as soon as we met. That, because—with a drink.” 

“Y—” 

“Oh, no, wait, you said in your email you were only available until six-thirty and I’ve already taken so much of your time. It’s okay if you have plans, fine really, it was just an idea and—” 

“Yes!” Dinah interrupts, hands waving in front of her face to stop her from speaking, and there’s a glint in her eyes that Helena can’t quite place. “Stop talking, Helena. I’d love to have a drink with you.” 

“Oh. Okay. Cool. Great.” 

She nods once as her brow furrows with the intensity of keeping it at that, her rambling coming to an abrupt stop at Dinah’s enthusiastic words and she tries not to focus too much on the fact that Dinah said she’d love to spend time with her. It was just a drink as budding business acquaintances, nothing more, so she tucks her leather folder with all her notes and papers into her bag and follows Dinah out of the room. 

“I just need to close the back, I’ll be right there,” Dinah says and Helena takes the hint, walking to the front of the shop. 

She tries not to spiral too much into hatred for how much she’d rambled, all her thoughts coming out in a heap with Dinah’s dark eyes on her seeming to so easily draw words from her. She’s mercifully snapped out of it by Dinah joining her amongst the flowers, and she watches as Dinah moves a few buckets and clears what she assumes is a workbench, dumping leaves and stems into a bucket and hits a few light switches, basking them in darkness save for the street lights coming in from the large shop windows. 

“You don’t turn off the air conditioning?” Helena asks as Dinah shrugs on a jacket and reaches for her bag. 

“No, they’re on 24/7 for the blooms.” 

“Your energy bill must be outrageous.” 

“You have no idea,” she says with a soft laugh thrown Helena’s way as she walks past her to unlock the front door, stepping out and holding it open for Helena, and she’s spurred into motion, feet light on the ground as she leaves the heavenly scent of the flower shop and stands on the sidewalk while Dinah closes up. 

“So,” Dinah says when she stops next to her, face turned up towards her with a curious smile and eyes that Helena could drown in. “Where are we going?” 

Chapter Text

Dinah takes her to Sad Man’s Tongue, not because that’s her first choice but because she can see that Helena hadn’t really thought or planned much else past a simple invite for drinks. It’s only two blocks away from the flower shop and the convenience of proximity is why Dinah’s a frequent visitor. 

She considers suggesting somewhere else, somewhere more upscale but there’s something tempting about taking Helena to a place that’s a dungeon turned pub and she wonders how Helena will like her hangout. 

“Oh,” Helena murmurs to herself when Dinah holds open the heavy door for her, stopping briefly before descending the few steps into the place. “Underground. Nice.” 

“That means it’s nice and cool in the summer,” Dinah says with a smile as she leads Helena over to the bar.

“What’s the excuse now?” Helena murmurs as she slides onto a bar stool, already tugging her sleeves up her arms a little and Dinah has to admit that the place feels a little warmer than usual. 

“Long winter?” she says with a laugh before turning to the bartender already moving closer to them. “Hey Lee.” 

“Hey Dinah,” he throws back in his low drawl from the other end of the bar, eyes flickering to Helena and the woman almost startles under his gaze, giving him a smile and a quick, awkward wave. 

It’s an adorable insight into the woman and Dinah can’t stop her smile from widening as she takes the seat next to Helena, hanging her bag on the hook under the bar. 

It frees up her hands which is a mistake because the moment her fingers have nothing else to hold onto, she starts itching for a cigarette, for the feel of the filter under her fingertips and the lightweight of it between her fingers so instead of caving and asking Lee for a cigarette she knows he has, she twists the thick gold ring on her thumb around and around, until she no longer feels the primal need for nicotine and instead hears the calm voice of her father.

She’s yanked back to the present by the sound of a boisterous laugh behind them, three older men laughing together by the billiards table and Dinah’s smile softens as she basks in the fading memory. 

She’s grateful for the mirror wall behind the shelves of the bar because it gives her unfettered opportunity to look at Helena, watch how the woman looks around the bar with a curious gaze, corners of her mouth only barely lifted but enough for Dinah to know she likes the place and it fills her with an unexpected sense of joy. 

“What can I get for you ladies?” 

Helena turns to the man with a hesitant smile and Dinah hadn’t been planning on saying anything because Lee knows her order, but now she definitely won’t be speaking as she waits for whatever it is that’s going to come from Helena. 

“Do you have lemonade?” 

Lee doesn’t seem nearly as surprised by the question as Dinah, nodding as he says, “Yeah we have Newman’s Own.” 

“Can I get a vodka lemonade then?” 

“Comin’ right up,” Lee says with a quick finger pointed her way, then turns to Dinah. “Same as always?” 

“You know it.” 

He moves down the bar and starts prepping their drinks, and Dinah shifts so she’s facing Helena. 

“Lemonade?” 

Helena shrugs, turns her head to shoot Dinah a wry smile. “It’s refreshing.” 

She nods slowly and they fall into a comfortable silence, Helena’s eyes darting away from Dinah’s again as she uses the mirror to keep looking around the bar and Dinah takes the opportunity to keep watching her. 

Helena’s hair is tucked behind her ears, half the strands tucked and the other half held back by sheer will, and Dinah gets to admire the curve of her jaw and the slope of her cheek, the freckle right next to her eye and the delicate curl of her eyelashes. Her lips twitch and Dinah’s eyes are drawn to her mouth, following the curl of her lips as she seems to focus on something in the mirror, and she stares at Helena’s nude lipstick for far too long, spiralling into thought that ends with her noticing that it’s not the least bit smudged despite having been on Helena’s lips for at least four hours now. 

She had forgotten to offer Helena something to drink at the shop. 

Her lipstick was still perfectly intact because she’s had nothing to eat or drink in four hours. 

Dinah hadn’t either, but that’s not the point, and it’s the slight guilt she feels that spurs her into action, leaning over past Helena to pluck the food menu from its holder. 

“Are you hungry? I’m starving,” she says and tries to ignore Helena’s sharp intake of breath at their proximity. “Want to get something to eat?” 

“Yes,” Helena says with a resolute nod. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” 

“Breakfast?” Dinah asks, pausing mid-unfold of the menu. “Well then I definitely need to buy you something to eat.” 

“Buy me? I invited you for a drink.” 

“A drink, not a meal,” Dinah says with a wink and Helena’s smile twitches, a blush creeping up her cheeks, but her eyes remain narrowed at Dinah as if not willing to give in just yet. “You can get the next bill next time we eat together.” 

“Deal,” Helena says immediately and Dinah wants to be impressed by how easily Helena had agreed to another informal meeting but she’s too distracted by the sight of a small, self-satisfied smile. “What’s good here?” 

“The wings,” Dinah says while her brain is still reeling, the answer coming as easily as breathing. 

Helena hums under her breath as she holds out her hand and Dinah stares at it for a beat before realising Helena’s asking for the menu. 

“Should we get that then?” Helena asks while looking over the options, missing the way Dinah looks at her with nothing but heat in her eyes and only looking up when she’s met with silence, and Dinah remembers that she has to nod. 

Lee comes by with their drinks and Dinah places their order and when Helena has her vodka lemonade, Dinah holds up her tumbler of whisky and there’s something almost coy about the way Helena clinks her glass against Dinah’s. 

They sit in companionable silence after that, both sipping from their glasses and pretending not to be stealing glances at each other and Dinah feels weirdly relieved when Lee slides a basket of wings onto the bar in front of them, dropping a few sauces and napkins, her fingers finally having something to do that isn’t twisting rings or circling the rim of her glass. 

She dives in for a drum, shooting Helena a halfway guilty smile at her eagerness but it just elicits a soft smile from Helena who patiently waits for Dinah to grab a piece, her own hand hovering over the platter, unable to decide which one she wants. 

Dinah enjoys watching the decision play across her usually pretty stoic features, Helena’s quiet eyes and small smile giving way to a fierce furrow between her brows and a lip tugged between teeth and Dinah finds herself wondering what it is about this decision that’s proving to be so hard for Helena, why it matters so much which piece she reaches for first. 

She finally settles, selects a flat and her fingers hold the piece of chicken delicately as she brings it up to her mouth and after a bite, all Dinah gets is a low hum. 

“What?” 

“Huh?” Helena asked, apparently surprised that Dinah heard her and is asking about her reaction. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, it’s a little spicy.” 

Dinah immediately feels a little guilty, hadn’t even thought to consider that maybe Helena doesn’t like spicy food and that Lee always asks the kitchen to make her wings extra spicy but before she can spiral and start to apologise, Helena speaks again. 

“I like it.” 

“It’s not too spicy?” 

“No,” Helena says and she holds eye contact with Dinah as she takes another bite, smiling as she chews. 

The problem is that the longer they sit there and eat, the more concerned Dinah gets at the sight of Helena. 

“You look so warm in that,” she finally comments after a while. 

Helena’s cheeks are flushed, getting increasingly redder with each wing she eats and there’s a thin sheen clinging to her skin and Dinah can’t imagine wearing a turtleneck in a warm bar eating hot wings is a pleasant experience. 

“I’m fine,” Helena tries to brush off but Dinah can see that she’s not. 

“You look like you’re going to faint,” she says softly to prevent Helena from taking it as a playful tease and as the actual concern she’s feeling, worsened by the fact that she was the one to order the hot wings without asking Helena if she could handle spicy food. 

“Do you mind if I take it off?” Helena asks, gesturing to herself as her eyes meet Dinah’s, open and honest and Dinah’s heart stutters to a stop. 

In any other scenario, she might have taken that as a flirty comment but Helena is genuinely checking with her if she minds and she’s not sure how to place that, but the concern is touching at the very least. 

“I don’t mind at all,” she says earnestly, but then she can’t stop her lips from twisting slightly. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you take off your shirt today, but I’m not complaining.” 

“I’m not—it’s—” Helena stumbles and breaks away, cheeks darkening even more. “I’m wearing a top underneath.” 

“You’ve had a top under your sweater this whole time while you’ve been suffering?” Dinah almost exclaims, voice softening near the end of her sentence so as to avoid getting the attention of anybody around them. 

“I’m not suffering,” Helena grumbles but Dinah doesn’t pursue the matter further, just watches as Helena wipes her hands clean on a napkin before fingers hook into her sleeves to tug them back down from where she’d pushed them up her forearms. 

It’s adorable how she pulls the sleeves a little more than necessary, the fabric covering her hands and only leaving the tips of her fingers free. She reaches down and untucks the turtleneck sweater from her high-waisted slacks and starts pulling it up over her body. 

Dinah is grateful she took a break in eating and that she doesn’t have anything in her mouth, sure that she would have choked on her drink or food if she had been because as the thick fabric moves up Helena’s body, she realises just how tight the top she’s wearing underneath is and when Helena pulls the sweater over her head, the muscles in her back ripple and Dinah feels her mouth go dry. 

The arms that emerge next are firm and toned and when Helena lets out a haggard breath before yanking the whole thing over her head, the fabric of her thin top clings to the dip of her abs and Dinah’s brain goes blissfully blank. 

When Helena had said she was wearing a top under her sweater, Dinah never could have imagined it to be this thin, skin-tight black tank top, somehow still tucked into her pants and clinging to every curve of the woman’s body and Dinah sends up a quick prayer to whichever deity is listening to thank them for this absolute gift of a visual. 

Helena’s wavy hair frames her face, but having had fabric dragged over it makes it fall a little wilder and when Helena glances at her, there’s a small, almost hesitant smile there. 

Dinah wants to curl her fingers into those unruly locks to feel if they’re as soft as they look and to prevent herself from doing that, or something more forward than is appropriate for the moment, she twists back to the plate between them and grabs another wing and bites into it with a little too much fervour. 

Helena haphazardly folds her sweater and bends down to put it in her bag and Dinah chews a little faster when her eyes stray to Helena’s lower back and the way the shirt stretches over it. When Helena straightens again, she shoots Dinah a quick smile before reaching for a wing and Dinah’s gaze travels up the woman’s pale arm, from Helena’s clear-polished nails past the single, delicate bracelet around her wrist and up the curve of muscles and lingering on Helena’s collarbone and how prominent it juts out. 

She’d known Helena had a nice physique, that much was obvious from the long-sleeved turtleneck sweater and high-waisted pants ensemble she’d been in both times Dinah had met with her, but to see the woman’s upper body in all its pale, long, smooth glory? Dinah knew instantly that there was no way she was going to be able to keep her hands off. 

It’s on her second viewing that a memory pings in the back of Dinah’s brain, of her conversation with Pam and how wrong Harley’s words had been that Helena had been maimed and slashed open because of all the skin on display — and there was a lot of it, suddenly — there isn’t a single blemish to be found. 

Helena glances at her at again, mouth opening like she wants to say something and then thinking better of it, choosing instead to pick some meat off the wing with her fingers and Dinah is snapped out of her thoughts, jolted back into the present. 

“Much better?” she finally says with a teasing smile, uncaring of the sauce staining her lips and only letting her tongue sweep out to clean them when Helena’s eyes drop to her lips and linger. 

“Yes,” Helena says and the lack of sweater gives her away more than anything. The dark fabric hid the rise and fall of her chest but now Dinah can see so perfectly how she has to take a deep breath after look away, how her shoulders curl slightly forward as her head dips slightly. 

“So tell me, Helena Bertinelli,” she starts, picking up her drink for a quick sip and offering Helena the out. “What brought you back to Gotham?” 

“You say my name, like…” Helena gestures vaguely, head bowing again and Dinah desperately wants to reach out and tuck some of those curls behind her ear so she can keep looking at her profile. 

“Like what?” she says instead of doing that. 

“I don’t know,” Helena confesses softly, licking her thumb quickly and sending Dinah’s brain into a tailspin. “Like I’m… a puzzle.” 

Dinah hums softly, head tilted sideways and that finally draws Helena’s eyes back to her, the woman reaching up to move some hair out of her vision. 

“I think you’re a little mysterious,” Dinah says with a half shrug and Helena is clearly surprised by it, brow furrowing and gaze darting all over the place as she considers it. “Like why you didn’t tell me your last name when we first met.” 

“Oh,” she breathes and the flush that had been slowly receding from her cheeks and neck is back. “That.” 

“Yeah, that,” Dinah says with a laugh. “You knew my full name.” 

Helena laughs softly, shoulders shaking even though it’s just a few small, adorable giggles and she looks a little guilty when her eyes return to Dinah’s. 

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” she starts. “I didn’t realise you didn’t know until you said something about me getting plants for the office.” 

“And you let me say that,” Dinah says, keeping her voice just the right side of amused so that Helena doesn’t take it as an accusation. 

“It was nice. You were nice.” Her eyes take on a faraway look then and there’s something heartbreaking that flashes across her face that steals the breath from Dinah’s lungs. 

“I would’ve been nice even if I’d known.” 

“No.” Her answer is immediate and Dinah’s a little surprised by the ferocity behind them. Something must give her away — she’s not sure what, because Helena glances sideways at her and the fire dies down. “You would have been different.” 

“You don’t know that.” Helena’s lips twitch. “We barely know each other.” 

“I’m not—it’s not you. It’s everybody.” Helena shakes her head and lifts her glass to her mouth, taking a long sip before letting out a deep sigh and Dinah’s eyes follow the line of her back as it bows. “The minute people find out who I am, everything changes, so it was nice. To just—” Helena’s brow furrows. “—have that. It was nice having a conversation with someone who thought I was just a normal person.” 

“You’re not a normal person?” 

Helena’s lips twitch, her eyes darting away from her glass of vodka and lemonade to stare at the mirror wall behind the liquor shelves and Dinah’s delighted by the blush that just won’t seem to stop colouring Helena’s gorgeous cheeks. 

“Not everybody’s like that,” she says and in lieu of reaching out in some way and touching Helena’s bare skin, she shifts her legs and gently pokes Helena’s ankle with the tip of her high-heeled boot and it’s what seems to break Helena’s composure, her smile finally widening. 

“I suppose us being here proves that.” 

Dinah can feel her cheeks strain with how wide her smile is and she shifts even more so she can lean an elbow on the bar counter and fully face Helena. 

“It was nice,” she says after watching Helena take down another hot wing, constantly sipping from one of the glasses of water Lee had deposited in front of each of them earlier. “You’re right about that.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Helena says softly and Dinah’s about to flirt with her a little when Helena speaks again. “I came back for my family.” 

Dinah’s so distracted staring at this wonder that she almost misses Helena’s words entirely, has to let out a low, “Hm?” 

“You asked. Before—” Her fingers drum along the edge of the bar top, as if she has to somehow expel the excess energy that comes with saying the words. “Why I came back to Gotham? I came back for my family.” 

“That was…hey, I was just making conversation,” Dinah says as she quickly wipes her lips clean with a napkin. She tries to level an honest look Helena’s way but the woman is staring so intently down at her hands. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. We can talk about something else. What’s your favourite type of food?” 

“Italian,” Helena says immediately and Dinah’s smile widens. “But I don’t mind talking about it. I don’t really have anybody else to talk to about it besides Sal.” 

“Who’s Sal?” 

“He’s…” Helena hesitates and Dinah fears the worst. 

Her stomach drops as she watches Helena try to formulate words, already leaning back a little to ease up on her flirting as the weight of Helena’s pause grows. She’s starting to doubt her observational skills, wondering if she’d misread all the signals and suddenly feeling like a predator for the way she’d leered at Helena when she took off her shirt. 

“He’s my bodyguard, sort of.” 

“Sort of?” Dinah manages in a tight voice that Helena doesn’t pick up on. 

“When I was little, he… He got me out of a bad situation and he’s been taking care of me ever since.” 

“Like a guardian,” Dinah says and she doesn’t need to even mask her relief because it’s pushed so far away by the sight of Helena’s sweet smile and simple nod. 

“And now he drives me around Gotham.” 

“He must love you very much.” 

“Yeah,” she says, hair falling into her face again as she nods. “Yeah I guess so. I never thought about it that way.” 

Dinah just smiles softly when Helena glances her way. 

“Do you have someone like that?” she asks, voice careful and open and sincere. 

“I have my mom,” Dinah says as she nods slightly, thinking about all the things they’ve been through. 

“No dad?” 

“Nope,” she says, fingers freezing when she realises she’d been playing with the ring on her thumb again — her father’s wedding ring — and her immediate quip draws Helena’s scrutiny to her, corners of her eyes crinkling as she barely squints them, eyes heavy on Dinah. 

She doesn’t pursue that line of questioning and Dinah is grateful even though she doesn’t need to be, the horrors of Helena’s past undoubtedly also topics she doesn’t want covered in what is supposed to be a light-hearted hang with a new business acquaintance. 

Still, she doesn’t want to give off the impression that the topic of her father is a shut door so she tilts her head sideways and exaggerates a coy smile. 

“I’ll always have him with me, though.” 

“How so?” 

“My parents were not creative when naming me,” Dinah explains and at her easy smile, Helena mellows, her own lips twitching. “My mom named me after herself and my dad.” 

“Laurel?” 

“My dad’s name was Larry Lance.” 

Helena lets out a delighted giggle before her teeth click shut, hand flying up and her fingers gently touching her lips as if to stop herself from laughing more but Dinah can see the laughter dancing in her eyes and she’s not insulted by the reaction in the least, her own shoulders shaking with her laugh. 

“Yeah,” she says through her laughs. “She named me Dinah, after herself. Who does that?” 

“Your mom, apparently.” 

“Do you know how confusing it is at home?” 

“You still live with her?” Helena asks. 

“She lives with me.” 

“I don’t think I could ever live with my parents,” Helena comments, lifting her glass to her lips and smiling at Dinah over the rim. 

“That’s not surprising given your history but the only time I didn’t live with my mom was when I went to college.” 

“Did you go away for college?” 

“No, but I was not about to get up to all my crazy antics livin’ in a house with my mother,” Dinah throws back and Helena laughs again as she nods in understanding. 

They’re interrupted by Lee coming by and checking on them, and this time when they have fresh drinks in their hands, the conversation isn’t stilted anymore and Dinah doesn’t feel a nervous tension shiver down her spine when Helena smiles at her unabashedly. 

“This was fun,” Helena says when they make their way out of Sad Man’s, two cabs waiting for them, ready to take them in opposite directions. Helena’s jacket hangs from her shoulders, unbuttoned and occasionally drifting open due to the wind and she never put her sweater back on, is still in that tight tank top and Dinah has to work very hard to keep her eyes on Helena’s face. 

“It was,” she says, sweeping some curls out from under her own jacket. “We should do it again sometime.” 

“Yeah?” Helena asks, eyes lighting up and chest rising with a deep inhale. 

“Sure.” Dinah is buoyed by the reaction, so she holds out her hand and wriggles her fingers. “Give me your phone.” 

“What for?” Helena asks even as she reaches into her purse for her phone. 

“To give you my number.” 

Helena’s mouth forms a perfect “Oh” but no sound comes out as she juts her hand forward, phone unlocked and the screen a little too bright for Dinah’s eyes after hours in the dimly-lit bar. 

She types in her number, saving it under the contact card that already exists for her and then calls her phone, waiting until it vibrates in her pocket to hang up. She holds Helena’s phone in one hand and reaches for her own with the other, holding it up and showing Helena both screen. 

“Now I have your number, too.” 

“Handy.” 

“Much easier than sending emails back and forth,” Dinah says with what she hopes is a flirty smile. “Now I won’t have to worry about your assistant reading along.” 

“Oh, Anna doesn’t—” Helena halts herself when she realises what Dinah’s saying and then her chin drops, lips pressing together as she suppresses a smile. “Oh.” 

“Just because we work together doesn’t mean we can’t also be friends.” 

“Friends,” Helena echoes. “Exactly.” 

“Goodnight, Helena Bertinelli,” she says with a lilt to her voice and Helena’s cheeks flush a little at the mention of her full name, and the way she looks at Dinah makes her want to say it over and over again. 

“My middle name is Rosa,” she says quickly. 

“I’m going to remember that.” 

That draws a small, lopsided but delighted smile from Helena as she nods and leads Dinah to the first cab waiting for them, called by Lee after urging them to leave because it was past closing hour. 

She opens the door and waits until Dinah slides into the backseat, hand on the frame as she dips her head and Dinah’s heart is already racing before she speaks.

“Goodnight, Dinah Laurel Lance.” 

Dinah Lance, 3:23 AM
were you saying that your assistant doesn’t read your emails?

Helena Bertinelli, 3:24 AM
She doesn’t.
Why would she?

Dinah Lance, 3:24 AM
because she’s your assistant??
how do you filter through all your emails?

Helena Bertinelli, 3:25 AM
I read them myself

Dinah Lance, 3:25 AM
you really are something else, Helena 🤭😊

Helena Bertinelli, 3:26 AM
Thank you?

Dinah Lance, 3:26 AM
you’re welcome 😉  

Chapter Text

Dinah Lance, 9:34 AM
I have a surprise for you

Helena Bertinelli, 9:35 AM
What kind of surprise?

Dinah Lance, 9:36 AM
… if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise 😜

Helena blames the text, and the way her brain runs through several things she can say in response to that, for why she doesn’t notice there’s somebody in her office when she opens the door and walks in. 

Anna’s not at her desk and she doesn’t think twice about just walking in because it is her office, after all, but the sound of the chair squeaking takes her attention away from her phone and she realises she’d been smiling only because her expression shifts to a frown. 

Before she can say anything, the chair turns and her shoulders fall, softening at the sight of the man in her seat, his wide grin completely negating the air of mystery he’d tried to convey by slowly turning away from the city view and revealing himself. 

Helena just rolls her eyes and rounds her desk, hands on the backrest to shimmy him out of her chair. 

“What are you doing here?” He laughs and tries to cling on, hands gripping the armrests as Helena all but tips the chair over. “Get out of my chair.” 

She finally starts just lifting the chair and he gets the hint, a low chuckle falling from his lips as he leaps to his feet and rounds the desk, plopping down into her visitor chair like he lacks the bones to keep him upright. It’s a strange sight, his pristine suit all crumpled like that with how lazily he’s draped in her chair, but Helena tries not to think about that too much as she sits down with a soft sigh. 

“Pino, what are you doing here?” 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says with a shrug. 

“That doesn’t sound true,” Helena replies with a small smile, eyebrow ticking up even as she glances down at her phone, chest warming at the text waiting for her response. She puts her phone face down but doesn’t lock it to avoid forgetting to respond. 

“I had business to attend to.” 

That drags her attention away from waking her computer up from sleep mode with her mouse, brows finally knitting together as she looks at Pino. 

“Business?” she scoffs and then his lips quirk, and his eyes go a little dark, and he adjusts the collar of his crisp shirt, and Helena understands. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, ready to pick up her phone to answer Dinah when he lets out another laugh. 

“Anna’s not at her desk,” he says casually. 

“Stay away from Anna,” she says, finger pointed in his direction and her voice firm but he just waves her off and shakes his head. 

“Dad asked me to check with you if you wanna come for dinner at the house on Thursday.” 

Helena’s smile widens before she can stop it, even as she feels a knot well up in her throat at the thought of being back at the house. “I’d love to. What time?” 

“Around 8.” 

“Tell papà I’ll be there.” 

Something in Pino’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening but before Helena has time to wonder why that is, he slaps his hands on the armrests and lifts himself off the chair, smoothing out his shirt and tugging his suit jacket straight, making sure the top button is still roguishly undone and then running a hand along his hair to ensure it’s still perfect. 

Helena watches it all with a small smile on her face, borderline mocking as he prepares himself for the world. 

“I’m sure you have a busy day,” he says. “So I won’t take up any more of your time.” 

His words are serious but there’s a playful glint in his eyes that sets Helena at ease. 

“What are you up to today?” Helena asks, trying to show interest in his life and maybe start to mend the gap between them. 

“That’s none of your business,” he throws back with a grin, fingers fiddling with the cufflinks on his sleeve. “See you Thursday, Lena.” 

“Goodbye,” she says, watching as he starts to turn away, one hand sliding into his pocket to take out his phone. “Joe.” 

The way he audibly stops dead in his tracks is made all the more comical by his perfect dress shoes squeaking slightly against her floor as he turns, facing her with narrowed eyes and Helena tries not to take too much pleasure in how much she’s caught him by surprise, choosing to focus on how pale he’s gone to prevent herself from teasing too much, rationalising that him going any paler would be most certainly a bad thing. 

“Where’d you hear that?” 

“What?” Helena asks and that cracks his sheer shock a little, now that he knows Helena’s feigning her innocence. 

“How did you find out.” 

“A friend told me,” she says, not elaborating on that fact especially since just the idea of Dinah being her friend has something in her stomach fluttering excitedly. 

“I didn’t know you had friends,” he throws back. 

“I didn’t know your name was Joe.” 

His eyes go a little wide as he steps closer and there’s something about the way his shoulders fall and his eyes turn pleading that makes him look so much younger than he is, a flash of an unpleasant memory going through Helena. 

“You can’t tell dad.” 

She’s silent for too long, still trying to push back the sick feeling the memory had brought with it but Pino mistakes her silence and switches tactics. 

“I’ll do anything.” 

Suddenly, she knows exactly what she can extract from this situation. It hadn’t been her plan from the start, she’d only intended to tease Pino a little bit but with this leverage she has now, and how he clearly would do anything to prevent her from telling their father about his self-chosen nickname, she has to take her only chance. 

Saying it in English feels wrong, and even though she knows the words, in her heart it doesn’t feel right to talk about something so serious in anything but her native tongue. 

“Vieni con me alla tomba di mamma.” 

“No.” 

“When’s the last time you went to her grave?” 

“That’s none of your business,” he throws back and this time, Helena can see that there’s no humour in his eyes. “Way to flex your Italian on me. There’s no need to rub in that you’re the favourite that got to go to fancy European schools, you snob.” 

“What?” she exclaims, the words hitting her like bricks and she scrambles to process them, and her body moves before she even knows what she’s doing, standing up to be at eye-level with Pino but they’re the same height so it doesn’t have much effect. 

“Whatever,” he scoffs and turns away. “Tell dad, I don’t care. See you Thursday.” 

“Pino—” 

He’s gone before she can finish her sentence or stop him, and Helena is left standing in her office with that cozy feeling in her gut crushed by the weight of her brother’s words, confusion and indignation twisted together in a dangerous cocktail of anger. 

She feels the edges of her vision blur and presses her eyes closed to keep the rage at bay, short nails digging into her palms as she presses her fists against her desk and tries to keep her breathing even. 

Calmati, passerotta. Calmati. 

She focuses on nonnina’s voice, warm and full in her head, filling the space and pushing out all the other thoughts until all she hears is the gentle voice talking her down and the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs under the old house, the smell of the Tyrrhenian filling her nostrils as if she’s there and not in Gotham, up 45 floors in a building her father owns. 

She no longer feels the hot wave of rage pushing out against her skin but she still shrugs out of her blazer, already feeling a little better without the restrictive garment over her arms and grateful that she chose a sleeveless turtleneck that morning. 

She’d love to go for a run, to blow off any lingering tumult in her but she has too much work to do and even though she’s the daughter of the man in charge, the work ethic disciplined into her is hard to shake so instead, she finally sits down again. 

She turns to her email inbox and starts going through them, back to work and her phone abandoned under an increasingly growing pile of paper. 

Her stomach growling is what finally drags her out of her focus and Helena has to press a hand against her middle to calm the feeling of stomach trying to eat itself. She wonders how she didn’t notice earlier that she was hungry, how she got to this point, before remembering how far into a spiral she can fall when she’s trying not to think about what’s happening around her. 

She could get Anna to grab lunch for her but the idea of going outside for some fresh air is a welcome one. It’s also something her body clearly needs because when she stands up, her knees crack, and when she tilts her head back and slightly sideways, the creaky feeling there makes her eyelashes flutter as a tremble runs down her spine. 

Helena feels like the doors at the old house, groaning and screeching at even the slightest movement, the hinges protesting. 

She hasn’t moved in hours and she’s feeling it. 

Helena doesn’t bother putting her blazer back on because she’s just going to run down to the deli around the corner from their office building, mouth already watering a little at the thought of the home-made stecca bread and she almost forgets to grab her wallet she’s so distracted thinking about the delicious toasty. 

It’s when she reaches into her bag for her wallet that she realises her phone is not in her bag, and she frowns down as if that’s somehow the bag’s fault before the memory from before seeps back into her mind, at the unanswered text from Dinah, and she suddenly doesn’t care about her papers anymore as she starts moving things around trying to locate her cellphone. 

She groans when she sees her battery percentage, Dinah’s text still open on the screen and mocking her lack of reply, and answering now would just be plain weird and Helena lets out a small curse at that. 

She still takes her phone with her as she turns, less in case something comes up and more because she wants to figure out a way to pick up the thread of conversation without seeming desperate or as if she’s trying too hard. 

Helena’s head is bowed as she stares at the exchange, brow slightly furrowed as she leaves her office and she doesn’t get more than two steps further before a conversation abruptly cuts off and she lifts her head. 

The last person she’d expected to see leaning over Anna’s desk is Dinah, hair tied back in a low ponytail and wearing dark blue, short-sleeved coveralls. They’re unbuttoned at the top and Helena’s eyes stray to the gap between the fabric, the sharp white of a tank top peeking out and she gets more than an eyeful because of the way Dinah is standing, leaning forward and a hand propping her up against Anna’s desk, pose so effortless that Helena wonders what that must be like, how it must feel to be so confident in your own skin that moving so nonchalantly comes off as cool. 

Dinah lifts her head at Helena’s abrupt stop and the half-smile she’d had widens to a delighted grin, her dark eyes lighting up at the sight of Helena and Helena’s brain short-circuits. 

“Hi,” Dinah says, voice low and a little raspy and Helena’s fingers tighten around her phone. 

“Hey,” she manages. 

Anna pushes away from her desk to face Helena, leaning back in her chair a little. “Miss Lance is here to do your office.” 

“My office?” 

“Final checks before we start moving things in,” Dinah explains, not at all deterred by Helena’s confusion. 

“Oh.” 

“It’ll just take a few minutes if you need to leave?” 

“What’s up?” Anna interjects, eyes narrowing a little and Helena knows it’s because she’s trying to gauge whether Helena is leaving for something that she can do instead. “I can get what you need.” 

“No, that’s okay, thanks Anna. Come on in, miss Lance.” 

Anna nods and Dinah bends down even further, reaching for something on the ground out of Helena’s line of sight and the fabric stretches along her back and Helena’s eyes are drawn to it, quickly snapping away when Dinah stands up straight again. 

“Miss Lance, hm?” Dinah says as she follows Helena into her office, setting her work bag on one of Helena’s visitor chairs. “And I thought we were making progress.” 

Her voice is teasing and it puts Helena on a different kind of edge, the kind that makes her want to return with a taunt of her own. 

“Who says we’re not making progress?” 

The words clearly catch Dinah by surprise, fingers stilling on her notebook as her gaze moves back to Helena. 

“I will keep that in mind, miss Bertinelli.” 

Dinah saying her last name like that shouldn’t make her feel like there are phantom fingers tickling down her spine and yet it does, and her lungs fill with a little too much air like her body doesn’t remember how to breathe anymore and Helena has to count in her head to get her breaths back in regular order. 

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you,” Dinah says, dragging her back to the present. 

“You’re not,” Helena is quick to say. “I’ve just been busy working like crazy so I’m a little…” 

She doesn’t finish her sentence but Dinah hums like she understands and Helena drops to her chair with little finesse, watching as Dinah makes some notes and measures some things and moves around the room doing things that Helena doesn’t quite understand, but she’s mesmerising to watch, Helena’s eyes drawn to the line of piercings running up Dinah’s ear and the matching jewelry in her hair. 

A few minutes later, true to her earlier words, Dinah starts packing up again and Helena’s already mourning their fleeting interaction. 

“All done?” Dinah hums and throws her a small smile. “Do you have a lot more to do, or…?” 

“You’re actually my last stop.” 

“Save the best for last?” Helena says, the words slipping out before she can stop them and Dinah’s smile twitches, dimples showing as her eyes find Helena’s. 

“Exactly,” she murmurs, an intensity in her eyes that Helena can’t quite put her finger on. “Back to the flowers for me.” 

Dinah’s hands are busy with her bag and Helena opens her mouth but doesn’t know how to ask what she wants, a quiet strangled sound coming from the back of her throat and she feels her cheeks and neck grow warm when Dinah turns to her with a grin. 

“There’s… you said you—there was a surprise?” 

Dinah’s smile widens even more, something Helena didn’t think was possible and it makes her feel a little less mortified that she’s apparently losing all of her speaking skills. 

Dinah blindly reaches into her bag for something small, hiding it in her palm as she slides her hand into her pocket. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.” 

“I’ve been trying not to think about it by working or I’d go a little crazy,” Helena says with a sharp, nervous giggle, chin dropping slightly as she tries to keep her cool. 

“That’s good to know.” She doesn’t understand what Dinah means with that exactly, but she does know that she’s growing too curious for her own good and her eyes flicker down to the hand Dinah has buried in a pocket of her coveralls and the way it shifts under fabric. “This is for you.” 

She steps towards her and Helena finds herself rising to her feet again, closing the distance between then and opening her palm as Dinah holds a small packet over it. 

It’s a nondescript brown sachet that has nothing on the other side when she turns it over and she must look confused because Dinah lifts it to shake it briefly. 

“Begonia seeds.” 

Helena’s not sure how to lend a voice to the emotions welling up inside her, the fact that Dinah remembers her stray comment while they’d been on their third round of drinks last Friday, or that she’d gone out of her way to secure something for her. 

“You didn’t have to,” is what she whispers instead but her fingers curl around the small packet to hold it tightly. 

“I had some lying around and it’s an easy project for you to start with.” 

“Impossible for me to fuck up?” 

“Well,” Dinah says with a tilt of the head and a small laugh. “I believe in you.” 

Before Helena can say reply, a stomach growls, filling the quiet space between them and Helena can feel her cheeks warm as her free hand flies to her middle. 

“Oh my god,” Dinah says, ducking away with an incredulous laugh that Helena can’t place. “I’m sorry, that was so loud but I’m starving and I think my body’s shutting down.” 

It takes a beat for her to connect the dots but when she does, Helena sees an opportunity and doesn’t waste it. 

“Let me buy you lunch.” 

“It’s like three PM,” Dinah says with a shake of the head. “I can’t put you out like that.” 

“As a thank you, for—” She holds up the sachet. “I was heading out to grab something to eat, before.” She gestures to her office door, trying to get her point across and Dinah nods. 

“If you insist…” Dinah says but she doesn’t sound wary and she doesn’t look it, smile almost coy as she looks at Helena. 

“I still owe you a meal.” 

Dinah’s smile softens, chest dipping with a deep exhale that Helena takes to be a good sign, confirmed when Dinah nods and reaches for her bag. 

“Mind if we drop this by the car first?” Dinah asks, shimmying her arm and Helena shakes her head as she closes the office door behind her. 

“Not at all,” she says with a smile, then turning to an already waiting Anna, whose raised eyebrows confuse her until she realises she’d had a hand hovering over the small of Dinah’s back. “Lunch,” she stutters out and Anna, mercifully, keeps her thoughts to herself. 

Once they’re out of the building, Dinah’s bag safely locked in the small van with the Petal and Bloom logo on the side, Helena leads her out to the deli around the corner. 

“Were you doing all the checkups today on your own?” she asks, trying to make conversation, struggling to fill the silence when all she wants to do is stare at Dinah in wonder. 

“No, one of my guys was with me but we have a few afternoon deliveries so I sent him out and finished up by myself.” 

Helena hums and nods, unsure of where else to go with that but Dinah picks up the thread of conversation. 

“How come you’re having lunch so late today?” she asks. “You sure got an irregular eating schedule.” 

“I was working,” Helena says but her smile falters a little when she remembers why she’d been so focused to forget. She shakes her head to dispel the bad thoughts, wanting to focus on the good, and on being in the moment with Dinah. “How come you’re having lunch so late today?” 

“I was working,” she says with a teasing smile and then bumps Helena’s shoulder with her own and Helena suddenly realises she never put her jacket back on when part of Dinah’s arm brushes against her skin and she feels a flush spread across her chest. “Where are you taking me?” 

“Just, here,” she says because they’re a few hundred yards from the deli and Dinah follows her gaze and lights up. 

“Oh, I love this place.” 

The honest exclamation makes something inside her flutter and Dinah’s pace seems to almost pick up in her eagerness for food, a speed Helena has no trouble matching even if she does take a moment to appreciate the fact that now both of their main social interactions have centered so heavily around food. 

“What’s your go-to?” Dinah asks in a low voice, like they’re sharing a secret and Helena finds herself leaning in as they wait on the curb for a couple at the door to leave the deli before going inside. 

“The Cubano.” 

“Really?” She cocks her head, eyes narrowing. “Huh.” 

“Just because I’m Italian I can’t like other things?” 

“That is not what I said,” Dinah gives with a laugh and shake of the head at Helena’s arched eyebrow, throwing out a quick “Thanks” when Helena holds the door open for her.

Helena lets her get away with it when Dinah tries to explain and can’t come up with an answer, dark eyes staring at her with a veiled appeal. “What do you get?” 

“The Italian.” Helena scoffs and rolls her eyes and Dinah’s smile just widens, her dimples making her look incredibly cute. “What? What’s wrong with my choice?” 

“It’s terrible,” Helena whispers, ducking her head so she can be closer to Dinah as she says the words, not wanting to insult an item on the menu when standing inside the actual establishment. 

Dinah rolls her eyes and they step up to order and Helena is smart enough not to say anything else, and they’re each clutching their sandwiches and leaving the deli when she brings it up again, prompted by Dinah biting into her sandwich and letting out an obscene moan that still makes Helena feel a little warm. 

“Look at that,” she says, pointing to the sandwich in Dinah’s hands as she leads them over to a bench a few feet away so they can sit and quickly eat. 

“What could possibly be wrong with this sandwich of heaven?” 

“The cheese combinations are all wrong and the soppressata…” Helena shakes her head, shoulders bowing as she tries not to think about the awful taste. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Dinah teases, nodding slowly as she lets her eyes rake down Helena’s body. “You’re secretly a food snob.” 

She knows Dinah is kidding, she knows that it’s not that big of a deal, but Pino’s words from earlier come crashing back to her, dragging her shoulders to the pavement as she tries to think about how wrong he is in thinking she’s the favourite child when she was the one sent away and—

“Helena?” Dinah’s voice is quiet and careful and her brow is furrowed with concern, half-eaten sandwich in her lap. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you like that.” 

“No, it’s—” She shakes her head, tries for a smile while trying not to beat herself up over getting caught up in these feelings when this was supposed to be an opportunity for her to lift her spirits. It’s not Dinah’s fault that the teasing words she’d gone with have drawn up such unpleasant feelings. “I guess I am a food snob.” 

“You don’t have to—it’s okay, I was just kidding.”

Dinah looks so guilty and Helena feels infinitely worse. 

“It’s not you,” she blurts out before she can stop herself, and once the words are out it feels a little lighter and Helena decides to stick with it, that Dinah deserves at least enough information to understand and believe that she’s absolutely not at fault here. “I had a not great talk with my brother earlier and I’ve just been, I don’t know…” 

“Not feeling great?” 

“Yeah,” she mutters, looking down at her barely eaten sandwich and sighing softly, folding the parchment paper over it to keep it safe, knows that she won’t really be able to enjoy it now anymore. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

She doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, throat closing up so she just gestures vaguely but Dinah seems to get it, smile soft as she looks at Helena. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Helena meets her eyes, warm and welcoming and she wants. The urge to tell her everything is so strong that it scares Helena a little bit, how easily she’s warmed up to this woman in such a short amount of time, and the fear mixed with a healthy dose of general mistrust is what makes her shake her head. 

“No, I’m sure you have stuff to do and I have to get back to work, and I already—” 

She moves to stand up but Dinah’s hand slides over her forearm, the warmth radiating from her palm seeping through Helena’s skin and travelling up her arm, exploding in her chest and she goes still, her singular focus the feeling of Dinah’s calming touch.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t care, but I get that you might not want to tell me,” Dinah says with a shrug and a kind smile. “We barely know each other.” 

Dinah is being so kind that it just makes her want to open up more, but another part of her, one that’s been disciplined into submission and doesn’t rear its head often, makes her react with a twist of the lips and a shrug instead. 

“Well not a lot of people know my favourite colour, so … ” 

Dinah’s laugh is loud and boisterous, head thrown back as her shoulders shake and a few passersby glance their way, not at the nuisance but with smiles at the pure elation coming off her, and even Helena lets out a few chuckles, proud of herself for drawing that reaction out of Dinah. 

Dinah’s hand leaves her arm to press against her chest while she gets her laughter under control, mouth twitching with the effort and the loss of warmth makes Helena speak. 

“I want to tell you,” she says softly. “Maybe, another time?” 

“When we’re not sitting out on the street?” Dinah says with a softer smile, eyes no longer sparkling with amusement but with something else. “That would be nice.” 

Helena absently wipes at her upper arm, trying to swat away or get at whatever it is there that keeps drawing Dinah’s eyes down and when she doesn’t feel anything she just frowns at her arm before giving up. 

“Sometime this week?” she says instead, watching as Dinah finishes the last of her sandwich and nods, smiling with her mouth full. 

Dinah nudges her shoulder again when she’s done and they stand, slowly walking back to the office building and the undercurrent of tension Helena has been feeling all morning is gently pushed aside with a gentle wave of anticipation. 

“Text me,” Dinah says when they stop next to her van, her voice low and secretive as she stands a little closer than Helena had expected her to. Dinah’s gaze flickers to something over Helena’s shoulder, towards the main entrance of the office building as her lips quirk. “Until next time, miss Bertinelli.” 

Excitement fizzles down her spine and Helena finds herself smiling down at Dinah, unable to look away. 

“Until next time, miss Lance.” 

Chapter Text

Helena Bertinelli, 4:42 PM
I had a great time at lunch today.
I wanted to apologize again for ruining the good time we were having and maybe make it up to you?

Dinah Lance, 4:45 PM
I had fun too!
and seriously you don’t need to apologize — it’s all good
but i WILL let you make it up to me
what were you thinkin?

Helena Bertinelli, 4:46 PM
Dinner?

Dinah Lance, 4:47 PM
are you asking or stating? 😜😏

Helena Bertinelli, 4:48 PM 
Inviting.
Friday? 

Dinah Lance, 4:49 PM 
I can’t 😕
I have to supervise a wedding delivery
how bout saturday?

Helena Bertinelli, 4:50 PM 
I have a prior family engagement.
Sunday?

Dinah Lance, 4:51 PM
I have Cass all day on Sunday

Dinah watches Helena’s text bubble appear, the three dots flashing to indicate Helena is typing and so she waits. She frowns at her phone when they disappear again, and she’s just about to set her phone down when they appear again and she suddenly understands that Helena is typing, and pausing, and deleting, and then retyping, and the furrow in her brow disappears, replaced with an endeared smile. 

The effort made to meet up makes her feel better, and Helena struggling with a response feels like a return to their tentative dynamic. 

Dinah still feels an uncomfortable heat twist in her gut at the memory of Helena’s face after she’d called her a snob, how upset she’d looked and she hated that it was because of her. Even though Helena had told her it wasn’t, there was something there that she’d set off and in the moment, all she wanted to do was make it alright so when Helena had asked for them to table it for the time being, promising another chance to talk it over, Dinah had been convinced that she wouldn’t be hearing from Helena again. 

Helena hasn’t done anything to indicate she’s the type of person to cut and run, but Dinah’s reminded that they barely know each other and two shared meals does not a close friendship make. Helena’s clear desire for them to meet up and have dinner together calms Dinah’s worry considerably. 

The bell over the door jingles and Dinah is snapped out of her thoughts, her customer service smile making a brilliant appearance as she deftly pockets her phone and stands up straight. 

She helps her customer through his floral arrangement needs, picking out red carnations and wild roses and filling it with green as he talks about the love he’s trying to win back and this rarely is part of her daily routine anymore but Dinah truly loves doing it. 

She operates mostly on the subscription service and their corporate clients, and walk-in clients don’t even make up 10% of her sales but when she gets a customer with specific needs like this, flowers a desperate final chance, Dinah’s reminded of why she still has the storefront. 

It takes her mind off things for just a moment and when she returns to the counter after sending the man off, she smiles when she sees she has a new text from Helena. 

Helena Bertinelli, 5:03 PM 
We’re going to figure this out.

The words are encouraging and Dinah smiles as her fingers fly over her keyboard with an answer, happy that she hasn’t completely wrecked this relationship before it’s even had a chance to start.

Her phone chimes and Dinah sighs and drops her face into her hands for a moment, shoulders sagging with the realisation that it’s probably Helena texting about meeting up and that she’s going to have to let her down again. 

They’ve been trying for two weeks to find a block of time to spend together but spring has firmly settled over Gotham which means that she is busier than ever. 

It’s her biggest season, weddings and parties and engagements and communions and all the celebrations that people ring in with the departure of winter and she hasn’t even been able to see Helena at her office because she’s been so swamped with the workload and could not reasonably justify having to be at the simple act of moving in plants and flowers when she is more needed at the shop. 

It’s amazing how the tables have turned on her — how she’d expected Helena to be the one to let her down after that awkward lunch non-date but that it’s actually her having to say no constantly due to her packed schedule. 

She admires Helena for not giving up and a bitter frisson of something sparks in Dinah’s chest when she thinks about past potential flames who had all slowly stopped trying to get her to make time for them. She built up her business from nothing, with hard work and a little bit of help, and a lot of people hadn’t been understanding of the commitment that takes and so a lot of her relationships have suffered, and ended, around this time of the year. 

But Helena is patient and eager and willing and texts her back at all hours of the day, no matter how much time has passed between Dinah’s own replies and they have light-hearted talks on the phone after long days and for the first time in her life, Dinah finds herself wanting to try. 

She’d been the one to suggest a phone call after another one of their back-and-forths over text where she’d really needed her hands to be free and Helena had agreed immediately, not even sending a response but opting to just call up Dinah. 

It was fun to hear Helena’s voice on speaker while she’d been arranging the deliveries for the week, moving around and apologising for sounding far away while Helena had spoken but the woman had dismissed her apologies right off the bat, saying she enjoyed getting to talk to Dinah even if she was working. 

There’s a whole other aspect to talking on the phone versus seeing and watching Helena in person and Dinah finds herself paying attention to the way she says words, the cadence of her voice, the almost practised way she’d say certain things and then the ramble when the script was thrown out. 

She doesn’t like wallowing in past relationships, but Dinah can’t ever remember a time where she’d been this invested in hearing someone’s voice this early on. The connections she’d had — women she’d dated — had always been intense and passionate right from the start, like a raging fire that had fizzled out just as quickly as it had begun and she’d move on so easily. 

But with Helena… She’s never wanted to take things slow, wanted to take her time, wanted to be so interested.

Helena Bertinelli, 9:38 PM
What are you doing right now?

Dinah Lance, 9:41 PM
I’m at the shop
working
trying to figure out the rotation schedule for next month
why? what’s up?

Helena Bertinelli, 9:43 PM
Open the door, please.

Dinah frowns at her phone for barely a second before there’s a knock on the customer entrance of the shop.

There’s a brief moment of panic where she thinks it’s someone checking to see if anybody’s there before breaking in, until she connects Helena’s text to the sound and realises what’s going on. 

She’s still a little wary as she steps out of her office to the front, grabbing her keys along the way and when she flicks on the lights to the front, she can make out the single figure waiting by the entrance, shy smile and awkward wave giving her away. 

Dinah barely notices her expression though, eyes distracted by her outfit, thrown by the knee-length dress with three-quarter sleeves and a high neckline. It’s soft, and light, and save for the cinch at the waist and the way it stretches across Helena’s collarbones, it’s flowy and loose and unlike anything she’s seen Helena in and it’s nothing she would ever have expected from her so she’s a little dazed as she unlocks the door, an equal mixture of confused and happy to see Helena. 

“Hi,” she breathes as she opens the door and stares up at Helena with a wide smile. 

“Hi,” Helena says, a pause in the air as her nervous tension seems to fall away in the face of Dinah’s clear delight with her presence. “Delivery.”

Helena holds up a brown bag that Dinah hadn’t even noticed, a delicious smell coming from it and Dinah suddenly remembers that she hasn’t had anything to eat since lunch. 

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside and opening the door further. 

“No, I—I’m just dropping it off, I know you have a lot of work to do but I figured you might not have eaten.”

“You figured right,” Dinah says, eyes never straying from Helena’s face. “But I need a break to eat this anyway. Come keep me company.”

“If you’re sure?”

“If this is the only way I get to spend some time with you, then yes.”

Helena chuckles and her cheeks flush, and when she dips her head, hair doesn’t curtain around her face the way it has in the past and Dinah notices it’s because Helena’s hair is braided along one side and tied neatly in a bun at the nape of her neck, only a few stray hairs falling out of her nearly meticulous hairdo. 

It exposes the curve of her jaw and the slope of her neck and when she moves, the cord of muscle makes Dinah want to feel with her lips how it feels to touch. 

“Where did you come from?” she blurts out instead, lacking finesse or subtlety and Helena turns to her with an adorable furrow of her brow. Dinah gestures to her outfit as they move further into the shop, towards Dinah’s office and the big table. “You look…”

“Awful?” Helena says with a self-deprecating chuckle, plucking at the sleeve of her dress. 

“Cute,” Dinah immediately interjects. “But different. It doesn’t really scream... you.”

“Church,” she says softly, lips twitching with a small smile as she drops to one of the chairs, the skirt of the dress billowing a little as she sits without smoothing it out first. 

Dinah’s mouth makes a perfect O that draws a chuckle from Helena. 

“Why can’t you wear your regular clothes to church?” she asks as she takes the cardboard box from the bag and opens it, letting out a soft moan when she sees the pasta, stomach rumbling as if reminding her of just how hungry she really is. 

“I can’t wear pants to church,” Helena says, and Dinah would be worried she’d offended her if she didn’t see the glint in Helena’s eyes or the small grin taking over her features as she watches Dinah dig in with fervour. 

“Why not?”

“It’s not right.”

Dinah lets it go with a soft smile, lets Helena watch her take another bite and doesn’t say anything when she feels hot under her gaze. 

“I thought church was on Sundays?” she finally says, with a stray glance upwards. 

“Sunday morning mass is with family,” Helena says as her voice takes on a strange tone and Dinah worries that she’s overstepped. “I go on Saturday nights with Sal.” 

“You go to church twice a week?” 

“I didn’t used to,” she says, voice taking on an edge that draws Dinah’s eyes to her. Helena frowns a little, softening when she sees Dinah’s concern and shaking her head softly. “I’ve been going on Saturdays since… since I was little but my father goes on Sundays so ever since I moved back to Gotham…” 

“Fulfilling a family obligation,” Dinah fills in as she tries to convey that she’d meant no offence, knows that some people have issues with the church as an institution and trying to show that she’s not one of them. “I get it.” 

Her own faith isn’t tied into any specific belief system but far be it from her to judge somebody for attending mass twice a week, especially Helena who seems to have more of a ritual connection to it than anything. 

“I wish I could skip Sundays,” Helena finally says quietly, when Dinah is a few bites further and it draws a surprised sound from her. 

“Why?” 

“It’s so early.” 

“Because you like sleeping in on Sunday?” 

It’s an innocent question that Dinah doesn’t think much about, not until Helena’s eyes skitter away from hers and cheeks flush a delightful shade of pink that matches her dress and makes Dinah want to see if she can get her to blush even harder. 

Helena finally clears her throat, answering, “It used to be my only day to sleep in.” 

“So what do you get up to on Saturday mornings?” 

“Training.” 

“Why not move that to later and sleep in on Saturday?” 

Helena chuckles and then pauses, as if considering it before shaking her head again. 

“It wouldn’t feel right.” 

“You’re a woman of habit.” It’s a statement, not a question and Dinah feels like she’s uncovered another part of Helena, and it feels like a treasure, something tangible she can store away with a smile. 

“I am,” Helena says with a small nod and squared back shoulders and this isn’t something she’s remotely self-conscious about and Dinah’s next words come out before she can stop them. 

“I like that.” 

Helena holds her gaze even as her cheeks turn red and Dinah can feel her own face warm. 

She tries to eat as slowly as possible, knows that as soon as the container of food is empty she’ll have no reason left to linger and they’ve been trying for two weeks to see each other so Dinah is trying to make the most of her breadcrumbs. 

“How are your seeds?” she asks between bites and that sparks a reaction out of Helena, her shoulders dropping and head falling back with a groan. The frustration bubbles from her lips but Dinah just laughs softly. “What?” 

“Nothing is happening!” Helena gives with a little whine, the skin between her brows crinkling as she narrows her eyes at Dinah. “Are you sure you gave me good seeds?” 

Dinah’s indignation is only a little exaggerated as she halts with the fork halfway to her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“Such little faith.” 

“The seeds were so tiny,” Helena says, gesturing wildly. “They didn’t even feel real.” 

“They were real, and good, you just have to trust,” Dinah says with a laugh at how animated Helena is becoming, a whole new side of her unravelling with her dedication to this cause. 

“I trust you.” 

“In the plant,” Dinah corrects but her cheeks warm and any bluster she’d managed to scrounge up disappears. “In the process.”

“Oh.” Helena’s face scrunches up, the crinkle in her brow deepening and the urge to smooth it out with her fingers drives Dinah to take another bite and hold the box of food in her hands if only to give them something to do. “I always thought I was a patient person.”

Dinah lets out a soft giggle, fingers drifting to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing at Helena’s clear ire. 

“Every morning and evening I look at the tray just waiting for something, anything to pop up,” Helena continues, sounding miserable and dejected, palm falling flat to the table next to them as her shoulders curl forwards and against all the instincts yelling at her not to, Dinah frees up a hand to lay over Helena’s, giving a soft squeeze before pulling away again. 

Dinah tries not to think about how soft Helena’s skin had felt under her touch, clearing her throat before saying, “It’ll happen within the week.” 

Helena’s head snaps up so quickly from where she’d been staring at her hand, eyes hesitant even as her features light up.

“Really?” 

Dinah nods, scraping the last of the pasta from the paper container. “It’s been almost three weeks. You should start seeing some shoots soon.” 

Helena’s cheeks darken again, but this time they’re strained with a delighted little smile that she tries to suppress, eyes crinkling at the corners and Dinah could drown in the sight of how happy Helena is to hear those words. 

“I wanna see.” 

“Hm?” 

“When it germinates,” Dinah explains and that cute crinkle is back. “Send me a picture.” 

“Oh,” she says, nodding. “Promise.” 

There’s a lull in the air while Helena keeps her eyes on her, and Dinah knows the food is all gone and that she should be going back to work but she wants to linger in the moment, in the feeling of having Helena around and the easy smile the woman brings to her face. 

Helena ends up breaking it, throat clearing as her gaze drops to Dinah’s lap and notes the empty paper box. 

“Maybe next time we can have dinner together,” she says softly, almost hesitantly, and Dinah just wants to kiss her when Helena looks up at her through her lashes. 

“Yeah,” she replies, nodding slowly as she feels a smile tug at her lips. “If we can find the right time.” 

Helena laughs, a short, sharp sound as she shakes her head with mirth. “I have to let you get back to work.” 

“Unfortunately,” she says and makes no effort to do so, but then Helena stands, humming lowly at the crease in her skirt but not doing anything about it and Dinah follows her cue and rises. 

They walk in silence back to the front, their even breaths and the jangle of Dinah’s keys the only sound besides what comes in from the street and when she unlocks the front door, Helena turns to her with a smile. 

“Thank you for the food, it was delicious,” Dinah says. 

“You’re welcome,” Helena says.

Dinah lets her leave with the promise of “Soon” and a wide, unfettered smile and when Helena turns to go, Dinah can see the proud little smile tugging at her lips and knows that she’s going to move hell and earth before letting this woman slip from her grasp. 

As it turns out, the fault doesn’t lay entirely with her and she’s not the only one who’s constantly unavailable because soon enough her texts are filled with grumbles about paperwork and fiscal quarters and quotas and as frustrating and stressful as she’s sure it is for Helena, at least she starts to feel a little less guilty about being unable to find a time to meet up. 

The texts and the calls continue, and as promised, one day she wakes up to a single picture captioned with fifteen exclamation points and when she swipes open her texts, her half-asleep eyes barely have to look at the tiny green sprout photographed in the morning light before her whole day is made. 

“Sal showed up with a container of food again today,” she says when Helena picks up, her own cellphone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she tries to rearrange some flowers to see if she can fit the baby’s breath in with the bouquet. 

“Did you like it?” 

“Are you kidding?” she says with a laugh that’s echoed by Helena. “It was so good.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Helena says, polite as ever and Dinah stops moving for a second, closing her eyes as she basks in the feeling of this gesture from Helena. 

After that late-night dinner, and a confession coaxed from Dinah during a midnight conversation where she’d admitted to sometimes losing track of time while working, Helena had gotten in the habit of occasionally sending her food, delivered by Sal because she herself would be working late at the office or stuck in meetings. Sometimes it would be lunch instead of dinner, but it was always absolutely delicious and Dinah’s finding herself looking forward to seeing Sal step into her shop with a gruff look and sheepishly holding a bag of food — even if she’s already eaten. 

It’s about the gesture and Dinah knows that and the fact that even in her busy schedule, Helena’s thinking about her makes a flutter of hope settle comfortably in her gut. 

“So,” Helena says, cutting into her thoughts and Dinah can hear the squeak of Helena’s chair as she leans back. 

“So,” she says, knowing where this is going, the weeks’ old dance familiar by now.  

“Friday?” 

“It’s my mom’s birthday,” she says and that’s not a sad occasion at all, but her voice does come out rueful.

“Oh, so you’ll be busy then. How about—”

Dinah doesn’t hear the rest because she sees the opening for what it is, the possibility it holds and leaps with it, cutting Helena off. 

“We’re having a small get-together at the shop,” she says and Helena goes quiet. “She doesn’t really celebrate but it’s just some food and drinks and a couple of friends and a good time.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

“You should come.” 

“Oh.” She can hear Helena falter, having not expected the invitation at all, and Dinah instantly knows it was the right decision. “No, I couldn’t possibly, it’s—this is a family thing and your mother—we don’t even… she doesn’t know me.” 

The way she’s stumbling over her words gives away just how little she wants to fight this, how eager she is to say yes but has to go through the rituals of social conduct before allowing herself the indulgence. 

“I’m inviting you,” she cuts off again and even through the phone she can hear Helena’s sharp intake of breath. “I want you to come. I want to spend time with you.” 

For a second Dinah worries that it’s too forward, too much, but then she hears a soft clearing of the throat and Helena’s almost meek, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” she says and Helena’s not there so she doesn’t have to temper her smile, can feel her cheeks strain with how widely she’s smiling as she all but abandons the bouquet she’d been handling on her work station. 

“Okay,” Helena says after a long silence, her voice gaining confidence again. “Okay, I’ll be there.” 

“Perfect.” It takes all of her effort to keep from letting out an elated little cry that she’s going to be seeing Helena so soon, and Dinah’s fingers tighten around her phone and hold it closer to her ear as if that will somehow bring her closer to Helena. “I’ll text you the deets.” 

“Sounds great.” 

Chapter Text

Helena pauses with her hand on the frame of the door, takes a deep breath to calm her nerves before going inside. 

The door to Petal and Bloom had been cracked open, presumably to let in some fresh air, but Helena is still surprised by the loud hum of sound that reaches her ears when she steps over the threshold, the smell of flowers and the feeling of warmth almost soothing. 

She’s barely glanced around, has barely had a chance to try and locate the host or any familiar face, before she’s accosted by a teenager, a ball of energy bounding in front of her and grinning up at her. 

“You’re Helena, right?” she asks, eyebrows raised as she waits for Helena’s confused nod. “I’m Cassandra Cain.”

She sticks out her hand dutifully and Helena’s expression eases as she places the face to the name she’s heard mentioned these past few weeks, Dinah’s exasperated tales mixed in with loving anecdotes and Helena’s shoulders lose some of their tension when she takes the proffered handshake, happy to be starting with Cassandra. 

She’d been so nervous about coming today, distracted at work all day, mind in the clouds as she’d gone through the motions and she’d been sent home early by Anna — as if she was the one in charge and not Helena — after she’d bumped into her and sent a stack of papers flying, just one other thing in a long line of mishaps throughout the day. It had been the final straw and Anna had forced her out of the building and Helena’d had to go home and be alone with her thoughts, suddenly having too much time to pace and overthink and wring her hands and pull every item of clothing she owns from her closet. 

Starting with Cassandra brings her a minor relief and it’s easy to smile and say, “It’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard great things.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cassandra waves away with an eye roll, but Helena can see a soft blush stain her cheeks. “Did you like your flowers this week?”

It’s a swift departure of where she thought this conversation was going, and yet Helena is curious about why she’s being asked this. 

“I did,” she answers honestly. “They were beautiful.”

“I designed the bouquet this week,” she says, smile widening almost impossibly as she sways forward on the balls of her feet. “Dinah let me.”

“I really liked them,” Helena says and it’s not a lie at all. “Maybe I should ask her to let you do it every week.”

Cassandra falters, cheeks finally darkening and feet shuffling as she tries not to react brightly to the compliment.

“That’d be really cool,” Cassandra finally mutters and Helena’s anxieties ease with the knowledge that she’d said the right thing. 

“Yeah, I think so too.”

“Have you met Mama Drake yet? Let me introduce you to everybody.” 

Helena barely has time to shake her head before Cassandra tugs her further into the flower shop, her hand loose but insistent around Helena’s wrist as she leads her through a throng of people. She feels her phone buzzing in her pocket and finally stands her ground and Cassandra turns to her with a little confused frown at the abrupt stop, hand falling away when Helena holds up her phone. 

Dinah Lance, 8:13 PM
hey where you at? running late?

She tries not to smile too widely at the thought of Dinah worrying about her not showing up. Even though she hates that there’s doubt there, it also means that she’s been waiting for Helena and a spark of something makes her chest feel warm that the feeling goes both ways, apparently. 

“What are these called?” she asks Cassandra, pointing to a bucket of bright yellow flowers and the teenager giggles for a long while until she realises Helena’s not kidding and sobers up, trying to hide her smile with an exaggerated serious look. 

“Lilies.” 

Helena Bertinelli, 8:14 PM
I’m by the lilies

She’s barely sent the text before she hears a soft call of her name, her shoulders squaring back as she tries to look over the heads of people to find the woman she’s looking for. 

Helena doesn’t even have time to say anything else to Cassandra because then a few people step aside and she’s faced with Dinah — smiling, gorgeous, happy, Dinah. 

It’s been over two weeks since they’ve seen each other and that was just when she’d swung by to drop off some food for her, and even that had been less about concern for her eating habits and more just to spend time with the woman. 

The phone calls and texts always make her heart flutter but finally faced with the sight of her, cheeks a little flushed and standing there staring at her as if she can’t believe they’re finally seeing each other again, Helena feels like she’s ablaze. 

Looking into Dinah’s deep eyes becomes too much so she rips her gaze away, down her body, pulse picking up when she notices the switch in outfit. Every time she’s seen her, Dinah had been wearing something work appropriate but now Helena’s mouth goes dry at the sight of the tight vest and even tighter gold pants. Dinah looks like she’s been poured into the pants because they mould to every muscle and when she shifts her stance from one foot to the other, Helena follows the sparkle of the shiny fabric and she can’t think of anything other than dragging her fingertips over those legs, wondering if they’ll tense under her touch and whether the thin fabric will make it feel like there’s no barrier at all. 

“Well, this is gross now,” Cassandra says and it snaps Helena out of her staring, makes her realise that she’d been fully ogling Dinah and she’s ready to apologise when Dinah clears her throat. 

Cassandra doesn’t wait for an answer before scooting away and Helena’s eyes return to Dinah’s face just in time to see her bottom lip slip free from where her teeth had been biting down on it, the indent still a little visible and a soft, silent sigh escaping her mouth as dark eyes trail up Helena’s body to meet hers. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi yourself,” Dinah says, stepping closer. “You been here long?” 

“No, I was just—” She gestures in the direction Cassandra ran off to. “—talking to Cassandra.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Helena says, eyes locked with Dinah’s and they’re not even saying anything but she can feel her cheeks warm. 

The thrum of people ebbs and flows as conversation rages around them but all Helena can focus on is the soft smile on Dinah’s face and the faint dent of her dimples. 

“That for my mom?” Dinah asks softly, chin jutting out to indicate Helena’s right hand and the bag there. 

“Oh,” she says, having nearly forgotten about it. “Yeah.” 

“That’s a big bag,” Dinah says in a low, lilting voice and something on her face must shift because she shakes her head and moves closer, fingers ghosting over the dark blue bag. “You didn’t have to bring a gift.” 

“Of course I did,” she scoffs, a mix of affronted and insulted even though she understands what Dinah’s saying. “It’s her birthday, that means gifts.” 

Dinah laughs then, head tilting to the side and some hair falling into her face as the melodic sound reaches Helena’s ears and she feels herself relax even more, each moment spent with Dinah slowly chipping at the anxiety she’d spent all day building up. 

“It’s just a bottle of wine,” she says finally. “I wasn’t sure… I don’t know what your mom likes.” 

“She’ll love it,” Dinah reassures and that’s another weight off Helena’s chest. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.” 

She cants her head to indicate where they’re going a second before turning away, leading Helena through the shop to the back and from their brief interactions, Helena knows Dinah’s mother is a force to be reckoned with but to see her perched on the table they usually have meetings at, surrounded by friends, holding a glass of wine in her hand and her chin lifted proudly, shoulders squared back and yet looking so relaxed, Helena’s brain can only conjure up the image of a queen holding court. 

The group laughs at something when Dinah calls out to her mom, and they part to let her through and then Helena’s face to face with Dinah Drake, those eyes studying her wide, the amused smile softening. 

“You remember my friend Helena,” Dinah introduces. 

“Yes, of course,” she says with a sweet smile thrown Dinah’s way but her eyes are full of mischief. “Helena Bertinelli.” 

She draws out her last name and Helena feels like she’s in danger. 

“Nice to see you again, miss Drake,” she says, eyes refusing to break away first and her smile twisting as she lifts her hand to indicate the bag dangling from her fingers. “Happy birthday.” 

“Oh, a gift!” she says and she sounds genuinely delighted as she takes it from Helena. “Thank you very much, dear.” 

“Thank you for letting me crash your party.” 

“Nonsense,” she waves away but then her playful eyes turn to Dinah. “You were invited.” 

Helena chances a look at Dinah who’s shooting her mother a look that she can’t decipher but at the sound of the bag crinkling, Helena’s eyes turn back to the woman on the table. 

“Wine! My favourite!” She lifts the bottle out of the bag, fingers around the neck as she turns it over to look at the label and let out a low hum. “This looks expensive.” 

“Jesus, mom,” Dinah sighs and Helena can’t help but let out a soft laugh, the worry she’d held finally dissipating with Dinah’s embarrassed exclamation. 

“It’s my favourite red from Italy.” 

“Then I’m sure I will love it. Thank you,” she says with a kind smile and Helena bows her head slightly. Dinah shifts next to her and draws her mother’s attention and the woman only glances between the two of them before her lips twist coyly. “Enjoy the party, Helena.” 

It’s not necessarily a dismissal but Dinah’s hand slips into hers and pulls her away and Helena looks back just in time to see Dinah Drake’s eyes track down to their hands before the group closes around her again, the chatter picking up around them. 

Dinah doesn’t lead her back to the party, instead takes her to the holding room for all the plants and Helena feels any lingering tension seep out at the smell of damp soil and the sight of all that green surrounding them. 

“So that went well,” she comments casually, unsure of what else to say and at the sound of silence she turns around to find Dinah leaning back against the closed door, soft smile and interested eyes taking her in. The intensity of her gaze makes Helena want to fidget but there’s only so many times she can play with the band of her wristwatch before she gives herself away so she remains steadfast, eyes never straying from Dinah’s. “I expected to meet more people.” 

Dinah shrugs and finally kicks away from the door. 

“It’s mostly my mom’s friends.” 

“No other family?” she asks carefully, knowing that it can be a sensitive topic but figuring that the privacy of the empty room is worth the risk. 

“No,” Dinah says with a shake of the head and doesn’t elaborate so Helena’s not sure how to continue. Those dark eyes finally land on her face and Dinah’s careful, cool mask slips away as she lets out a sigh. “Sorry, force of habit.” Helena wants to shake her head and counter it but Dinah holds up a hand and shoots her a wry smile. “We don’t have much family left, it’s just me and my mom.” 

Helena can’t imagine what that must be like, having been used to the countless aunts and uncles and cousins on both sides of her family tree and even though she’s slightly estranged from them, even Sal, with his two brothers and a mother, is considered a modestly small family. 

“Did I just short-circuit the Italian in you?” Dinah says with a soft laugh as she turns a bucket over and perches on it, one leg crossed over the other and drawing Helena’s eyes there. 

She echoes the laugh and wants to fight the words but knows she can’t and so she just crosses her arms and lets out an exaggerated huff. 

“Maybe.” 

“I’m an only child, my mom was an only child, and her mom was an only child,” Dinah says as she grabs another bucket and offers it to Helena. 

She shakes her head, content with staying on her feet as she stands near the plants, fingers reaching out to brush against leaves and soak up the feeling of being surrounded by the plants. 

“What about your dad?” 

She doesn’t see Dinah’s expression change for the briefest moment, mask back up in place almost immediately but her fingers twirling a ring on her thumb. 

“He has two sisters…” she says. “Had.” 

That finally draws her full attention and she turns away from the green to look at Dinah, really look at her, noting the way her smile seems a little forced and her eyes look a little sad and Helena feels her own grief well up at the realisation that they share the loss of a parent. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. 

“It’s okay,” Dinah says, because that’s the correct response. 

Helena knows that common courtesy dictates that you don’t pry and that light conversation is ruined by the mention of close encounters with death but it feels like they’re building something here and she wants to get to know Dinah better and it may be soon, sooner than she’d anticipated having these conversations, but she still wants to have them with Dinah and they’re already on the topic so why not continue down that road. 

“How long ago?” 

Dinah is surprised by the question but she doesn’t close off so Helena takes that as a good sign. 

“It’ll be twelve years in August.” 

She doesn’t know exactly how old Dinah is but that’s still… “That’s too young,” she whispers and Dinah’s eyes go glassy with tears that she doesn’t shed, but she doesn’t try to hide them either and her face clouds over in a way that makes Helena’s heart stop before Dinah even speaks. 

“Not as young as you.” 

She doesn’t expect that and her face must give her away because Dinah stands, hands out in a placating move. 

“I’m sorry, that was—” 

“No, it’s okay,” she says, because it really is, and she’s not hurt by the statement, just caught by surprise at the turn in conversation. “Really.”

“Okay,” Dinah says slowly, warily, as she drops back to the bucket and Helena drags her fingertips along the stem of the plant that crawls up the wall. 

“I was young so I don’t have many memories of her,” she says and it’s not entirely true but it’s not a lie either. Her happy memories are distorted, overshadowed by the trauma and twisted in her brain and nothing is perfectly clear but she has little things, good little moments. The exact shade of her mother’s favourite daytime lipstick and the smell of her bedsheets when Helena crawled into her parents’ bed Sunday mornings, and the slightly off-key voice as she sang Helena to sleep. 

She wonders what it would have been like to grow up with her and to lose her then, after she’d built a life and become a person of her own and to have that attachment ripped from her then, and her heart hurts for Dinah. 

“How did—?” She stops herself when she sees Dinah’s expression, the curled-in shoulders and panicked eyes and knows that it wasn’t good or pretty or natural. 

Not that the loss of a parent at a young age can ever be good, but there are untold horrors in Dinah’s eyes and there’s a line she doesn’t want to cross, especially not with her mother’s birthday party raging just outside the door. “How old were you?” 

“Nineteen,” Dinah answers, voice a little rough. Helena doesn’t ask if she misses him because that’s more than obvious and she’s not sure where to go from here, but Dinah picks up the thread of conversation. “He was really funny. That’s what I remember most. My mom used to laugh so much and they used to dance, and the house was always filled with sound, him telling jokes, or laughing, or playing records. He used to, uhm—”

She lets out a watery chuckle and she looks so far away that Helena doesn’t dare say anything to risk breaking her out of the wonderful memory. 

“He used to do this Bill Cosby impression which now—” She grimaces. “Now that we know what’s what with that guy, very inappropriate but, god, I remember my stomach hurting from laughing so hard.” 

Dinah falls quiet then, a sort of peace seeping into her that Helena finds mesmerising and then those dark brown eyes meet hers, a tiny furrow in her brow as she looks at Helena, and she suddenly feels exposed even though she hasn’t said anything. 

“I had a lifetime with him,” she says softly. “Not enough but a decent amount.” 

Helena’s breath hitches, knows where this is going but she doesn’t want to stop Dinah from broaching the subject. It feels strange for Dinah to open up like this and then for her to shut it down, and she finds that she doesn’t want to cut her off, finds herself wanting to talk about this, keeping her promise from before that she’d explain and it feels less like an obligation and more like sharing something that is such a large part of herself. 

“It’s not that bad,” she says and Dinah really frowns then, head tilting curiously. “I mean, of course it’s bad but like…” The feeling of a large leaf between her thumb and forefinger is soothing and she focuses on that instead of Dinah’s worried eyes. “I was eight so I could still… I could live my life without her.” 

A sideways glance at Dinah shows that she’s just added to the confusion and Helena runs a hand through her hair, chest lifting and falling with a deep sigh as she sorts through her thoughts. 

“Pino has it the best,” she says. “He was only four and he barely has any memories of her so he never knew better and I have a few but they’re… They’re not as painful.” 

That’s a complete lie because the only vivid memories she has of her mother are painful. 

Now that she’s older she understands — pieces of the puzzle slotted together from fragments of memories and hushed stories and rumours. Why her mother’s death had been so intimate and why her father hadn’t looked at her when she’d been returned to the Bertinelli mansion, covered in her mother’s blood and her own tears. 

She remembers screaming her throat hoarse, being torn away from her mother’s lifeless body, eyes still open and on Helena. She remembers the grief of having to watch the light seep from her mother’s eyes turn to anger, all the fury in her eight-year-old body welling up inside her. She remembers a familiar voice calling her name, firm hands yanking her away from her mother and Sal’s hazel eyes meeting hers, his face set in rage but his eyes so soft, always so patient when looking at her. She remembers him cradling her to his body for protection, his voice stern but soothing as he’d told her to keep her eyes closed as he carried her out. 

She felt safe in his arms but hadn’t followed his words, needed to know for herself that she wasn’t in danger anymore and that she wasn’t being ripped from her mother for more cruelty so she’d lifted her head long enough to see the six men strewn about, as lifeless as her mother, with nobody else around and before she could say anything, Sal’s hand was on the back of her head tucking her face against his shirt to keep her from looking. 

To keep her from seeing the fury he’d exerted on the men in his goal to get to her. 

She remembers how they’d swabbed the inside of Pino’s cheek, and her father’s, and hers, while she was still covered in her mother’s blood. Not anywhere near her father but cradled tightly in Sal’s arms, her dried tears staining the collar of his shirt and still shaking while in his lap, and she remembers how her father had barely looked at her for days after she’d come home from the brutality until the envelope had arrived and he’d looked relieved. 

Her father had become a husk of a man, emotions torn between the traumas exerted on his child, and the twisted knowledge that it had been caused by his wife’s infidelity.

She remembers how she was still sent away, too stark a reminder to her father that the doubt sowed by her existence was the reason the love of his life was dead. 

“Helena?” 

Dinah’s gentle voice snaps her back to the present and her next inhale is shaky, the warm, humid air pushing out against her lungs and dizzying her. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs but Dinah’s shaking her head, an understanding smile tugging at her lips. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“No,” Helena says and now she’s shaking her head. “It’s okay.” 

Dinah still looks hesitant but her voice is even when she speaks, “You were talking about Pino not having memories?” 

“He was practically a baby when she died,” Helena says with a nod, pivoting back to the moment and willing herself not to get dragged down in the memories again. “My dad though…” 

He hadn’t stopped holding Pino, even though she was the one who’d been taken, and her brother got to stay and grow up with family while she’d been sent away, punished for things that she was far too innocent to have been blamed for. She doesn’t feel sad about her mother’s death anymore, just resentful and a little angry, and she’s reminded of her fight with her brother in her office and how fucking wrong he’d been to call her the favourite. 

“There are things about him that I don’t understand…” 

She stares at the green covering the wall, taken back to the same climbing plant that had taken over Noninna’s shed and cracked through the roof and managed to keep growing inside the small structure, and she remembers the old woman yelling at her sons about their laziness and how none of them had cut the plant when she’d asked them to and they’d all been so sheepish and she’d shaken her head, exasperated, but eyes full of love. Helena had sat there and watched the interactions and wished she could have the same with her family and not the strained vacations with her father and little brother, an outsider in her own family. 

“He sent me away but he didn’t send my brother away. He was so heartbroken at the loss of my mother that he couldn’t even look at me but he kept Pino close and I don’t—” 

“Helena.” Dinah’s voice is gentle again but Helena still frowns at the interruption until she looks at the woman and sees the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. 

“Hm?” 

“I lost you there for a bit,” Dinah says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I only speak English,” she says and Helena can feel her cheeks warm when she realises that while caught up in her head, she’d unintentionally switched back to the language she was most comfortable expressing feelings in. “I don’t speak… Italian?” 

“Sicilian.” 

“What’s the difference?” Dinah asks and had it been anybody else, Helena might have sighed and rolled her eyes but Dinah’s genuine curiosity and bright, eager expression stops that annoyed flame from even sparking and she smiles softly instead. 

“They’re different languages.” 

“And you speak both?” 

“Italian with my family and Sicilian with Sal.” 

She can see the cogs turning in Dinah’s brain, the way the woman’s eyes move away from her and to a distant point over her shoulder, lip caught between her teeth as she tries to connect the dots. 

“Why?” she finally asks, eyes meeting Helena’s again and a little startled to find Helena already looking at her. 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you speak Sicilian with Sal and not Italian?” 

“Because he’s Sicilian.” 

“And your family’s not?” she asks, growing more confused by the minute. 

“No, they’re Italian. Mostly from the Campania region. It’s… a little complicated,” she says lamely, unsure of how to explain the intricacies of Italian regions and how Italy is less a homogenous area and more a couple of regions cobbled together to form some semblance of a country. 

“I thought all the families in Gotham were—” Dinah stops herself, words halting as she bites down on her lips, eyes looking a little guilty as she glances away from Helena. 

She’s not unused to it, knows the legacy that follows her family and that built her father’s empire and it might be that she doesn’t care that much about appearances because she didn’t grow up in Gotham, but the assumption doesn’t rile her up as much as it does her brother. 

“Almost all of them are, but we’re not. It’s why my father—it’s why our family wasn’t taken seriously in Gotham until my father took over and showed that the Camorra can be just as ruthless as the Casa Nostra.” 

She’s not proud of it, of the things her family has done in and to Gotham but she knows her father is trying to do better, one of the reasons he even started his company, trying to go straight and clean up the streets he helped dirty and it’s the promise of a complete cessation that had brought her back to Gotham and made her willing to work for her father. 

“So let me get this straight,” Dinah starts and Helena nods at her to continue. “Your family is from Campania.” 

“Yes.” 

“Which is hated for some reason by the other families in Gotham.” 

“There’s a reason, but yes.” 

“Because they’re Sicilian and there’s politics there.” 

“Sure.” 

“And your father fought to gain respect from the Sicilian families.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then he sent his eldest child slash only daughter to live in Sicily.” 

When put like that, Helena has to laugh at the irony of it all, had never really pieced it together like that and Dinah looks a little worried at Helena’s soft laughs so she tries to wave an arm and say that it’s alright but it just causes the cute furrow between her brows to deepen. 

“Sorry, it’s just—” She shakes her head, swipes a thumb beneath her eyes to make sure she hasn’t smudged her mascara. “I never thought of it like that. That’s so stupid. I grew up in Sicily. I feel more Sicilian than Campana.” 

“Yeah that’s a little funny,” Dinah finally admits, shoulders softening and smile widening when she realises her observation had elicited a positive response in Helena. 

“Sicily feels like home,” Helena says softly then, turning back to the plants and sighing wistfully as she lets her fingers drag through the big leaves. 

“You grew up there,” Dinah says, repeating Helena’s words back to her. “It makes sense.” 

“This reminds me of the island.” 

“The plants?” 

She nods, twists and catches a glimpse of Dinah’s sweet smile. 

“The feeling of being surrounded by green. Don’t really have that anywhere in Gotham.” 

“I should take you out to Paradise Meadows,” Dinah says softly, leaning back against the wall behind her and relaxing. 

“What’s in Paradise Meadows?” 

“Green.” 

That doesn’t sound right and her expression must give her away because Dinah just laughs. “I thought the Meadows was full of toxic waste?” 

“It was,” Dinah admits with a muted laugh. “Pam lives out there.” 

“Why?” she asks, unable to keep the hint of repulsion from her tone and feeling buoyed when Dinah laughs along with her. 

“She’s… man, I don’t know. Fixing the earth or whatever.” Dinah gestures vaguely, eyebrow arching as she shakes her head and shrugs. “But she has a massive greenhouse that’s just filled wall to wall with plants. She’s a miracle worker honestly. If anybody could grow shit in the Meadows, it’d be her.” Dinah sighs, gestures to the plant that Helena’s been standing in front of the entire time. “That came from the Meadows.” 

The words catch her completely by surprise and she turns back to the plant with a new appreciation for it, its ability to grow and thrive in the worst environment possible and she’s suddenly much more impressed by Pamela. 

Dinah’s laugh fills her ears and drags Helena’s eyes from the plant, choosing to focus more on the adorable dimples on display than the greenery around them and watching as Dinah’s eyes soften, their gazes comfortable as they meet. 

“You should meet Pam, anyway. She’s been dying to meet you.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Dinah tilts her head, lips twisting coyly and Helena feels warmth burst in her chest, cheeks flushing as she looks down to try and temper the stupidly huge grin she wants to let out. 

“She’s not here?” she asks, has to clear her throat lightly to get her voice at a normal volume. 

“No, she wanted to be but she had to go out to Central City for work.” 

Before Dinah can say more, the door slams open, both of them jumping at the shock of the sound, and Cassandra is breathless as she pokes her head in, shoulders dropping as she breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Cassandra says, eyes skirting to Helena and mouth setting into a mischievous smile. 

“What’s up, kid?” Dinah says, ignoring the knowing look sent her way. 

“Ollie showed up with cake so your mom’s making everybody gather round.” 

“Okay,” Dinah says but Cass doesn’t leave, stays in the doorway, eyes going back and forth between Dinah and Helena. “We’ll be right there,” she adds pointedly, an eyebrow arching and Helena has to stifle a laugh when she sees Cass roll her eyes and turn away. 

Dinah turns to her with an exasperated smile but Helena’s distracted by the mention of a newcomer and she speaks before Dinah has a chance to.

“Oliver Queen?” 

“Yeah,” Dinah says and she steps closer to Helena and takes her hand while she looks up at her with a sweet smile. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” 

Chapter Text

Helena’s hand is warm in her own and Dinah tries her hardest to keep her features schooled when the woman doesn’t let go of her even after they join the rest of the party. It’s only when they reach the epicenter of the happenings that Helena’s hand tugs at hers as she slows to a stop, and instead of immediately letting go, Dinah halts in her movements and turns back to Helena with a small frown. 

“I’ll be here.” 

Dinah wants to protest but Helena doesn’t seem troubled by it in the least, expression at peace as she glances sideways at Dinah’s massive worktable that has temporarily been relegated to bar table. 

“Do you want something to drink?” 

“Yeah, some wine would be great,” she says as she slowly comes to the realisation that she actually really appreciates Helena stepping back in this moment. It may be a delineation from what she’s usually used to, from moving too intensely too quickly, but it’s a solid step that gives her pause to recognise the maturity in that decision and just makes her want to kiss Helena.

“Red or white?” 

“White,” she says immediately. “Red makes me sleepy.” 

“Hm,” Helena lilts with a twitch of the lips. “I should remember that.” 

Dinah just laughs as they turn away from each other almost reluctantly, her hand slipping from Helena’s as she moves over to where her mom is fawning over Oliver, and his charming grin softens when his gaze moves to Dinah. 

“Hi,” she says as she wraps her arms around him, cuddling close when Oliver squeezes her tightly. 

“Hi.” Oliver tucks his chin on her head and for the tiniest moment, Dinah forgets where she is, settling into the familiar comfort. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking for you.” 

“Around,” she says vaguely and hopes that he doesn’t notice her smile twitch as she pulls away. “You brought a cake?” 

“Of course! It’s not a birthday without cake.” 

Dinah rolls her eyes, batting at his shoulder and muttering, “Suck up.” 

Before Oliver can respond to that, her mom swats them apart, standing between them as she clears her throat and the room starts quieting down. 

Dinah’s mom gives a short speech, thanking everybody for their presence and for not asking her new age and Dinah laughs in all the right places and tries not to think of all that was lost along the way while her mom speaks. 

And then the infallible Dinah Drake, who refused to have a birthday party and is now standing in the middle of her birthday party, has the whole crowd sing a rousing, but shaky, rendition of Happy Birthday to her. 

Dinah loves her mom but she really has to laugh at the woman’s flair and while they all sing to the birthday lady, she can’t help but let her eyes stray to Helena. She’s standing just off to the side, head poking slightly above the rest of the crowd and beaming right at Dinah and when their eyes meet, Dinah can feel her cheeks warm in a way that has nothing to do with her proximity to the birthday candles. 

Once they’re done singing, Dinah gets swept up in a new wave of congratulations from her mom’s friends and acquaintances, her dazzling smile working overtime as her eyes keep flickering over to where Helena’s watching her over the rim of her wine glass, looking so casual as she leans back against the wall that cuts between the workshop and the front of the store, eyes keen and impervious as she refuses to let Dinah out of her sight. 

The intent look makes a shiver run down her spine and once Dinah turns back to the small crowd her mother has gathered again, she notices the interest in her dwindle. She looks up to meet Helena’s eyes again, finding them waiting and motions her over with a quick tilt of the head. 

She meets Helena halfway, smile widening at the second glass Helena is holding, but before she can get close and take it from the brunette, she’s intercepted by—

“H-town? No way!” 

Helena’s wide, dazzling smile, one Dinah has only ever seen directed at herself, makes an appearance as their interloper steps in her direction. 

“Oliver,” she says, voice warm and affectionate as she turns towards the man. 

Oliver lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he wraps his arms around Helena, mindful of the two glasses held in her grasp and Dinah hates the unpleasant warmth settle in her chest when she notices Helena melt into the embrace. 

“It’s been ages,” Oliver says and when they part, some of Helena’s hair is ruffled from their hug and he seems to pick up on her unavailable hands and tucks the strands behind Helena’s ears, a move so easy and reflexive that Dinah burns with curiosity at their apparent closeness. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing in my city?” Helena throws back. 

“It’s Mama Drake’s birthday. Can’t miss that.” He makes a comical face that draws a laugh from Helena. “How do you know the birthday lady?” 

Dinah can see the exact moment Helena remembers herself, smile freezing as she turns to Dinah with a tinge of guilt in her eyes and when Oliver follows her gaze, his surprised elation melts away into a grin. 

“Ohh,” he says with a low coo. “I see how it is.” 

“I guess no introductions are necessary,” she says lowly as she moves closer, accepting the glass from Helena and just chuckling softly at the sheepish smile that she gets along with the wine. 

Helena’s cheeks darken but Dinah’s already looking at Oliver, and the man throws up his arms innocently. 

“Alright, alright, Di,” he teases, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “I know where I’m not welcome.” 

Dinah rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder but she does appreciate his acumen in assessing the situation, even if he does lightly drag a hand down Helena’s arm in goodbye. 

“It was nice to see you,” he says, kissing Helena’s cheek as well. “Can you tell your tech department to stop poaching my talent?” 

“Oliver, do you really want me involved in your business?” Helena throws back, corner of her mouth tugging up in a teasing grin and Dinah can’t tear her eyes away from the easy confidence that Helena exudes while talking to Oliver. 

“You know what?” he says, pointing at her as he walks backwards, away from them, nodding slowly as he goes. “You’re right. Never mind. Let’s catch up some time.” 

“You know where to find me.” 

He shoots her a wink and Dinah watches as Helena’s coy grin melts to something softer as she bids Oliver goodbye, glass of wine cradled against her chest as she watches him go, eyes lingering on the crowd he disappears into before slowly tracking back to Dinah. 

Dinah is completely not in control of what her face looks like in that moment, but it can’t be great if Helena’s abrupt shift is anything to go by, the sweetness undercutting her movements falling away as she stands up straighter, cheeks turning a delicious shade of pink that makes Dinah want to compare Helena’s complexion side-by-side with the new shipment of Keira roses she has in the back. 

“What?” Helena finally says after Dinah looks at her for a while, and Dinah feels her entire body melt at the curious mix of boldness and flustered, a combination so wonderfully Helena. 

“Did you want some cake?” she asks, hooking a thumb over her shoulder and Helena’s eyes flicker away for only the briefest moment, her responding shake of the head barely noticeable. 

“I’ll get some later.” 

“I don’t know if there will be cake later.” 

Helena doesn’t answer, sips from her glass of wine and lets her eyes trail the length of Dinah’s arm, down to the empty hand and Dinah flushes with warmth when she sees Helena’s fingers twitch almost as if she wants to reach out but is hesitant to take the first step — and she suddenly understands what Helena is saying no to, what she’s refusing for. 

“Fresh air?” she says instead of what she wants to say and Helena finally nods with fervour. 

She’s barely taken three steps before she notices movement outside the large windows of the shop and she stops in her tracks, Helena bumping into her and putting a hand on her back to keep them both stable. 

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath when she sees Montoya step into the flower shop, feeling her boosted mood drain from her body as if vacuumed by the door swinging shut behind Montoya. “C’mon, quick.” 

“What’s wrong?” Helena asks, her hand shifting and fingers gentle on Dinah’s elbow and that’s suddenly all she can focus on, the caring gesture and soft fingers on her skin and worried set of Helena’s brow. 

“I just—” 

“Shit,” Helena mutters before Dinah can get another word in and that gives her pause, makes her twist in Helena’s hold to look up at her. “Montoya’s here?” 

“Wait, what?” she asks, her contempt briefly on pause as she tries to place Helena’s apparent unhappiness with the woman’s presence. 

“I—” 

“Good evening, ladies.” 

“Renee,” Dinah says with a smile that takes every ounce of willpower as she twists to face the shorter woman. “You made it.” 

“Your mother invited me, I hope that’s alright.” The smile on her face may be hesitant but Dinah can see in her eyes that she isn’t genuinely inquiring as to whether Dinah is actually okay with it. 

“Of course, it’s her party after all.” 

Helena clears her throat and reminds the both of them that she’s there, and Dinah hadn’t even realised how close they’d gotten until she twists to look at Helena, whose hand is still on her elbow and she’s standing so near that Dinah can feel the warmth coming off her in waves, and there’s something almost possessive about the way Helena’s standing behind her, eyes focused firmly on Renee. 

She’s about to make introductions when she’s caught off-guard for the second time in as many minutes, this time by Renee’s words. 

“Miss Bertinelli,” Montoya says. “I didn’t know you two were friends.” 

Her comment is an attempt at innocence that falls far from the mark, her eyes steely as she glances at Helena and then back to Dinah. 

“Captain Montoya,” Helena says politely, remaining close even as her stance seems to shift to something more cool, controlled, and Dinah is intrigued in a completely new way. 

Where Helena had been warm and loose with Oliver, she’s cordial and short with Renee and Dinah marvels at the different sides she’s getting to see as her curiosity grows, eager to know the backstory there. 

“I’m sure you can understand my hesitance to talk about my friends, Captain,” Helena adds, the title falling like acid between them and Dinah enjoys the way Renee’s mouth thins into a line a little too much. “If you’ll excuse us.” 

Helena’s hand shifts from her arm to the small of her back, careful and insistent and Dinah has never felt more protected and if she leans into Helena’s body more than is appropriate, she can blame that on the crowd and her unwillingness to lose Helena’s hold on her. 

“What’s your problem with Montoya?” Helena asks and Dinah is briefly impressed by Helena’s ability to pick up on the tension between them but not for long because Helena’s head is dipped, mouth close to her ear to speak and the proximity is distracting and Dinah hopes that she doesn’t feel the shiver that runs down her spine. 

“Fuck cops.” 

Helena’s step falters, clearly surprised with the vehemence in her voice but she doesn’t look particularly put off by it so Dinah doesn’t curb her fervour. She keeps walking until they’re at the very end of the hallway but instead of taking them back to the holding room, she keeps going, pushes open the door to the back and breathes in deeply when they’re finally in the cool evening air. 

“That’s a very… strong statement,” Helena finally says, a delayed response to her earlier words as she leans back against the wall and waits for Dinah to join her, their shoulders grazing each other. 

“You don’t hate cops?” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s more because of who my family are,” Helena says and Dinah can feel her shrug but she doesn’t move her gaze away from the distance. “Your mom seems to like Montoya well enough…” Helena adds. 

“Ugh, please don’t remind me,” she says with a groan, objection immediate and visceral and she draws Helena’s curious eyes to her, a small amused smile playing at her lips. 

“Is your mom dati—” 

“Don’t—” she cuts off immediately, kicking away from the wall to level a warning look at Helena and hold up a threatening finger, but the woman’s surprise is so adorable that Dinah feels herself soften, a miserable smile taking over her features. “Please, please don’t put that image in my head.” 

She tries to convey that she’s not offended by Helena’s interrupted suggestion, just completely tortured by the concept and she succeeds because Helena’s mouth twists, expression shifting into one of badly hidden mirth, an attempt at a serious look crossing her face, brow pinching as she gives a nod. 

Still, the twinkle in her eyes remains and the corners of her mouth quiver and Dinah is seized by the sudden desire to kiss her, to see what it feels like to have Helena’s lips tremble against her. She shakes her head instead, looks away with a deep sigh and lets her fingers play with the ring on her thumb. 

She looks away to avoid kissing Helena, but also because the woman’s dark brown eyes are dangerous, the open and honest way she looks at Dinah makes her want to ramble on and tell the woman her life story. 

Helena would probably perfectly understand her disdain for the police, for the system as well as the individuals that uphold it, to a corrupt pool of people who are the very reason her father isn’t here to celebrate her mother’s birthday with them. 

It would be so easy to explain it all, to pick up their earlier thread of conversation about loss and grief and to talk about how much she misses her dad every single day of her life, to expose how emotionally stunted she feels sometimes for being unable to separate Renee Montoya from her peers, for not being mature and understanding and generous enough to move past it the way her mom has, to wallow in the sting of the cop’s presence around her mother, taking up space that should have been occupied by her father.

It would be so easy to let the topic take them there but when Dinah glances over her shoulder back at Helena, the way her wavy hair falls messily over the side of her head makes Dinah’s fingers itch to tuck it behind her ear and brings up the very new feeling of green when she has to stop herself while knowing that there is someone who is apparently allowed to touch Helena so intimately. 

“So what’s the deal with Ollie?” 

Helena’s gaze lifts from where she’d been staring at Dinah’s legs, her cheeks flushing a little as she takes a beat to process the words. “Hm?” 

Dinah fully twists back, shifting from one leg to the other while crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow at Helena, chin nudging in the direction of the party they’d just escaped. 

“You know Oliver Queen.” It’s not a question because that much is clear and Helena nods. “Do all rich kids just know each other, or…?” 

She smiles to show she’s just teasing and Helena’s chuckle is soft. 

“Yes?” Helena’s shoulders curl forwards as she gives a lacklustre shrug. “We met at school in Europe.” 

Helena tries to play it off but Dinah knows exactly what she means because she remembers meeting Oliver a few years after his time in Switzerland, about how his grandfather had sent him out to boarding school to be away from the high-society, wealth-focused, party lifestyle of the city teenaged elite, too afraid of losing his grandson after already having to endure the loss of his son and daughter-in-law.

“You’re a Rosean,” she murmurs and something in Helena shifts, the casualness of her expression giving way to a coy smile and sharp eyes as she nods. 

“How do you know Oliver?” 

“We dated in college.” 

It’s fun to watch Helena try to process the information, the way her fingers lift to gesture vaguely, a clear attempt at aiding the sorting of information happening in her head and Dinah just laughs softly in response, the deep furrow of Helena’s brow and confused eyes such a great image that she wishes she’d had her phone with her so she could snap a picture of her and keep this moment perfectly preserved. 

“That was a joke?” Helena finally manages to say, her mouth setting into a displeased line as a low grumble comes from the back of her throat. 

“No,” Dinah laughs. “No, it’s not a joke. You’re just…” 

She can’t verbalise the feeling, shakes her head as her smile widens. 

“We dated for like a month before…” She shrugs, pins Helena with a knowing look that gets her a soft nod in response. “We’re friends. He and my mom are so tight, he spends Thanksgivings with us, he’s super cool with Cass. He’s…” 

Meeting Oliver the first year of college had been a whirlwind and she remembers those initial dates feeling so caught up with the big guy persona he put up for the world, remembers that it had been Pam who’d seen through him first. 

Dinah had brought him back to their dorm to hang out and do homework together, something she wasn’t sure he had ever done before but he’d seemed excited at the thought of spending more time with her, and Pamela had taken one look at him, asked three questions, and gotten Oliver to cry into the nearest soft item — a small teddy bear Dinah’s had since she was five years old. 

The illusion had fallen away when she’d been faced with the person he really was underneath it all and the mask falling had helped Dinah uncover some of her own truths and even after she’d confessed to him that she wasn’t sure she could ever really love him the way he’d want her to, Oliver kept coming back to their dorm, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Dinah and Pamela dreamt up their ideas for saving the planet in between homework and hobbies.

The way he was with them was so entirely different from how he was with the rest of the world that it felt safe almost, his genuine and carefree flair helping her, making her feel light and working like a balm to the crippling grief she’d felt in the ensuing years. 

Dinah remembers standing by her father’s grave, unable to cry any more tears while her mother sobbed by her side, with Pamela and Oliver standing right behind her, the way they’d closed ranks around her and her mother and taken care of them, how Pam made sure she got out of bed in the mornings and how Ollie would pick her up every day to make sure she had someone there with her while she tried to move around in a world where she didn’t have her dad anymore. 

Calling him a friend feels like a disservice to all the love and support he’s given her but she’s not sure she can put into words just how close she and Oliver are, so she just settles with,

“He’s family.” 

Shaking off the cloak of pain is easy enough when Helena looks at her with a wealth of emotion in her eyes, nodding slowly as she does and Dinah offers her a small smile and a shrug before sipping from her glass of wine. 

“You and him seemed chummy enough,” she pivots then, her forced tease smoothing into a real smirk when Helena lets out a choked sound. “Did you two date?” 

“No!” Helena manages and it may be darker outside than in the shop but the tint to Helena’s cheeks is still easy to spot. “He tried but—we were fourteen, and I wasn’t—no, it—” 

“Helena.” 

The woman’s mouth snaps shut and her eyes close briefly. “… you’re teasing me.” 

“Yes.” 

“And I keep falling for it,” she murmurs, brow furrowing ever so slightly even as the corners of her mouth turn up. 

“I’d be sad if you didn’t.” It’s a bold statement that Dinah feels shaky about voicing and she lifts her glass to her mouth again, hiding her hesitance by looking at Helena over the rim.

“Well,” Helena breathes with a decisive look. “I wouldn’t want that.” 

Dinah basks in the feeling of hope that wells up inside of her and when Helena lifts her gaze to meet Dinah’s, everything goes still for a moment. It feels like there’s nothing at all between them, nothing except the three steps that are easily crossed, no barriers and nothing holding them back. 

Helena’s eyes break away first, dropping to her lips and as if Dinah can’t believe that it’s where she’s looking, she wets her lip with the tip of her tongue and like the most blissful type of confirmation, Helena breathes in deeply, chest lifting with the effort as she holds it and waits. 

She’d like nothing more than to close the distance and kiss Helena but a tiny voice in her head reminds her that they’ve barely even gone out, that this isn’t a date as much as she’d like it to be, and that they deserve a better first kiss than this — standing in the loading bay to catch some fresh air at a celebration for her mother. It feels like at the very least, they should do this after a proper date… although she wouldn’t say no to a kiss during a date. 

Helena ends up clearing her throat and Dinah realises she’d been staring at the woman’s mouth too, but the sound makes her eyes trail lower, dipping to Helena’s neck and the expanse of skin there that she usually doesn’t get to see, always covered by those turtlenecks and as blessed as she’d felt that day at lunch to see Helena’s impressive arms out in full display, she can appreciate the trade-off today, Helena’s toned arms covered in a soft, flowy cream blouse that leaves her neck exposed. 

She’s piecing together a full image of Helena, of every inch of skin she’s permitted and committing it to memory and if she wonders whether the firm curve of Helena’s hip is helped or hindered by the tight high-waisted pants it’s only because she’s human and humans are naturally curious. 

Dinah’s at a loss for words, too deep into watching this marvel before her eyes and she’s not sure what thread of conversation to pick up to move them past this moment, distracted by the single, thin bracelet around Helena’s wrist and the way the dim light catches it. 

Helena opens her mouth to say something and the door swings open, the hinges groaning and muffling Dinah’s frustrated growl at being interrupted again. 

A few people spill out, an “oh sorry Dinah” emerging from the group as a collective when they notice they’re not alone and she wants to send them back inside when she notices a pack of cigarettes emerge and sighs at the lost moment. 

“Want to go back inside?” she offers. 

“Not really,” Helena says with a small frown and the annoyance in Dinah mellows out, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. 

“C’mon.” 

Dinah takes her hand and bites down hard at her lower lip when Helena’s hand immediately shifts to make the hold more comfortable, fingers cool from the spring evening air as she runs her thumb along Dinah’s knuckles and sends sparks shooting straight up her arm. 

Dinah groans as she drops to her bed face first, a bone-weary sound that’s muffled by her pillow as she contemplates just falling asleep like that, without even getting under the covers. 

The knowledge that she has to be up early is both a painful and one that spurs her into action, arm blindly patting her mattress for where she’d tossed her phone after coming home, her mother still tipsy on wine and the affection of close friends, safely deposited in her bedroom with the strict instruction to go to sleep and Dinah had ignored her mother’s protests as she’d left to go get ready for bed. 

Dinah lets out a low whine when she sets her alarm and is notified that she has less than six hours before it goes off, but even with that new information taunting her, she can’t resist checking her messages, filtering through the unread threads to get to Helena’s name. 

She’s surprised she hasn’t received a text from her, at least that she’d made it home safely after leaving the party while it had been winding down, after they’d joined the crowd and mingled and she’d gotten to laugh with and talk to most of the people present, Helena’s presence by her side a warm constant that had felt so comfortable, it almost felt as if they’ve known each other for years. 

Dinah Lance, 2:33 AM
hey hope you made it home okay!

She puts her phone on the nightstand to get under the covers and her eyes are sliding closed when the glare from the unlocked phone takes her attention, something in her screen shifting and her eyes snap open, fingers messily grasping at her phone and bringing it close to her face and she’s in the safety of her bedroom so she doesn’t have to hide her wide smile at the immediate response. 

Helena Bertinelli, 2:35 AM
I did :)

Dinah Lance, 2:35 AM
oh i didnt expect to still catch you awake!
you’re up late

Helena Bertinelli, 2:36 AM
I couldn’t sleep

Dinah Lance, 2:36 AM
any particular reason?

Helena Bertinelli, 2:37 AM
Yes. 

Dinah Lance, 2:37 AM
you gonna tell me?

Helena Bertinelli, 2:38 AM
I figured it may have been implied

Dinah blinks at her screen as the full weight of Helena’s text hits her, warmth exploding in her chest and spreading out to the very tips of her toes and she curls up on her side, suppressing the desire to kick out and squeal, the well of giddiness inside her making her feel so light in a way she doesn’t think she’s ever experienced. The budding hope in her flourishes and blooms and her cheeks are flushed with warmth when she realises she needs to respond, that she can’t leave Helena hanging like this and she’s proud of herself for seeming so suave in her reply when she feels anything but. 

Dinah Lance, 2:41 AM
oh 😏

Helena Bertinelli, 2:42 AM
Yes, well. 
I enjoyed spending time with you today

Dinah Lance, 2:43 AM
I realise in hindsight tonight may not have been the best place for alone time but I’m happy we got to see each other today too ☺️🥰
we should do it again
sooner rather than later

Helena Bertinelli, 2:44 AM
What does your schedule look like this week?

Dinah Lance, 2:45 AM
I’m free tuesday, friday and saturday
but I know you have church on saturday

Helena Bertinelli, 2:46 AM
I’m free on Friday!

Dinah Lance, 2:47 AM
😱😱  
yes!! 

Helena Bertinelli, 2:47 AM
Is there anything specific you want to do?

Dinah Lance, 2:48 AM
something just us, no crowds, no interruptions but other than that not really
why you got something in mind?

Helena Bertinelli, 2:50 AM
400 West 61st Street

Dinah Lance, 2:50 AM
what’s that?

Helena Bertinelli, 2:51 AM
My home address

Dinah Lance, 2:51 AM
you just givin that to me? 
just like that?
😜😂

Helena Bertinelli, 2:52 AM
I’ll make dinner
No interruptions if it’s just us. 

She’s dead tired but Dinah can’t stop smiling as she stares up at her ceiling for a second, phone falling screen down to her chest as she bites her lip, anticipation slamming into her at the promise of their long-awaited date. 

Dinah Lance, 2:53 AM
I love that idea 😊

Helena Bertinelli, 2:53 AM
Great
Is 7 okay for you or is it too early?
I know you close at 6.30

Dinah Lance, 2:54 AM
I have meetings in the afternoon so Conner is closing anyway
7 is perfect

Helena Bertinelli, 2:54 AM
Perfect. 
Friday at 7

Dinah Lance, 2:55 AM
it’s a date 

Chapter Text

Helena thinks she might be dating Dinah. 

Or maybe not dating, because their first date isn’t until Friday but they’re doing something. She feels… involved. 

Helena can recognise that sending a woman food semi-regularly and talking to her every day and getting little handwritten notes tucked into her weekly delivery of flowers and attending the birthday party of a close relative, and holding hands and wanting to kiss smiling lips is more than what friends do, and that’s what leads her to her father. 

There’s a conversation she needs to have with him if she’s involved and as much as she’s been trying to avoid it and pretend she doesn’t, it would be unfair to everybody if she didn’t set the record straight. 

The fact that she’s been putting it off and left it until the day before her actual scheduled date should be a knock on her discipline, but at least she’s here and doing it later or earlier would have made no difference at all and nothing would’ve lessened the thread of anxiety winding down her spine. 

She allows herself a small moment, head dipping slightly and eyes closing for a brief second before lifting her gaze and squaring her shoulders back, taking the final step forward. 

The heavy doors that serve as the main entrance of the Bertinelli mansion used to feel imposing when she was little, the intricate ironwork over the glass making her feel safe when inside and unsettled when not and she remembers being young and unable to push it open because it was so heavy, but these days all Helena can do is laugh at the twisted irony of the metaphor. 

She stands in front of the doors with the knowledge that she can just turn the handle and walk inside but she doesn’t, chooses to knock on the door, three sharp raps that she can hear echo in the large foyer that lays just past the threshold. 

While she waits, Helena twists slightly to look back at the car parked in the driveway, eyes meeting Sal’s as he watches her closely. 

Any other person would have scoffed at the assumption that anything could happen in the twenty steps from the car to the front door of the heavily guarded mansion but those people probably don’t know that it has happened in the past. 

Helena knows that he’d rather walk her right to the door and inside, but Sal hasn’t stepped a foot in the house since she was little for reasons they don’t talk about and Helena always feels a strange mix whenever he drops her off at the Bertinelli mansion. Safe that he’s always there, always looking out for her, making sure she makes it safely wherever she needs to be and pride that he believes in her abilities enough to let her do this on her own.

When she was younger, after everything when they’d gone to Sicily, he’d never let Helena do anything by herself, would barely even let her out of his sight and as much as she used to love it, the care and protection just what she needed after the circumstances and the way she’d lost her mother, as she’d grown older she’d felt the need to break free a little bit. 

It had taken coaxing and begging and lobbying on her end and she’d only gotten her way when she’d gotten through to Sal’s father and he’d suggested they train her the way he had trained his three sons. 

“To keep her safe,” he’d said and Helena had been standing behind him, nodding, eyes pleading with Sal. 

“I can keep her safe,” Sal had responded and the silence that followed had been loaded, but with one look at Helena he’d caved, agreeing with a low mutter and a grumble and a reluctant smile after she’d shrieked with happiness and thrown her arms around him. 

The sound of scurrying footsteps towards the front door snaps her out of her memory, and she gives Sal a quick little wave that he just nods in response to. 

Helena turns back just in time for the housekeeper to open the door and frown at her, and this is familiar too, that she’s perturbed by Helena’s knocking when the door is unlocked and this is her house. 

Except it doesn’t feel like her house. She lived in the mansion only briefly when she was younger, and she doesn’t have the fond memories or nostalgic attachments to it the way Pino does that lets him just stroll into the mansion and flop down in whatever chair he deems worthy. He may have a house in the city but this is his home, and when she thinks about home, Helena’s first mental picture isn’t the Bertinelli mansion at the edge of the city but nonnina’s sun-filled house surrounded by green and the distant sound of water lapping at the Sicilian coastline. 

Even her apartment in Gotham City feels more like home than this place but she doesn’t have the time or energy to explain the intricacies of her youth to the housekeeper so she just smiles politely as she’s let into the house. 

“Your father is in his study,” the short woman says without Helena even asking so she just thanks her and easily navigates through the house. 

Her heeled boots are loud on the marble floors as she navigates through the house and she’s barely knocked on the door of the study before her father calls out an affirmative. 

Helena sees her father regularly but every time she sees him it’s like a new shock to her system. She hovers in the doorway as she looks at him and wonders if the chair was always that big, remembers how imposing he looked sitting behind his sturdy desk, his shoulders almost as wide as the back of the chair where now he looks like he’s drowning in the dark leather seat. 

She pushes past the surprise, plastering on a smile as she drops her chin slightly. 

“Buona sera, papá,” she says and that finally gets his attention, his head lifting to look up at Helena and his lips immediately pulling into a smile. 

“Ehila, chi si rivede!” he exclaims as he waves her in and Helena moves into the study, rounding the desk to lean down and kiss his cheeks in greeting. 

Now that she’s closer she can see just how gaunt he is and the worry flares up again. 

“What brings my beautiful daughter to the suburbs today?” he asks, watching with a keen eye as Helena moves away to take the chair next to the desk, her fingers curling over the armrest. 

“I need to talk to you.” 

He gives an interested little hum, as if scandalised by the statement and Helena lets out a small chuckle, some of her anxiety melting. 

“About our arrangement,” she says, switching to Italian, voice soft as she avoids his eyes even though she wants to feel brave enough to face him head-on. 

“With the Marchesis?”

“Yes.” 

The silence stretches between them and Helena’s eyes finally lift to take in her father’s expression, finding his eyes heavy on her but she doesn’t shy away from it this time, feeling a strange peace settle over her now that she’s said the words. 

“Who is he?” 

“Nobody you know.” 

“When will we meet him?”  

“There’s not—it’s…” Helena frowns slightly as she tries to find the right words in either English or Italian and coming up woefully short in both. “We’re… it’s very new.” 

“Important enough to break with the Marchesi family?” 

His words are sharp but Helena knows he doesn’t mean them that way, that it’s more a matter of him asking for clarification — to test if she’s being serious. 

“Important enough that I need to know without the Marchesis looming over me.” 

Her choice of words is poor and she knows it immediately, even before her father’s eyes narrow at her and some colour returns to his cheeks as he bristles. 

“Looming? You know how vital—” 

“I know,” she cuts off a little sharply and then immediately cringes. “Sorry,” she says, voice softer as her chin drops to her chest, before he has a chance to really get mad at how disrespectful she’s been by interrupting him. “I’m sorry,” she adds, whispered in English to emphasise her apology. 

He doesn’t say anything but his silence speaks volumes and Helena swallows thickly, fingers trembling as she tucks her hair behind her ears, the cross hanging from a chain around her necklace burning against her skin where it’s tucked under her sweater and when it becomes obvious that her father isn’t going to say anything else, Helena starts explaining. 

“I know what it means to you, to the family. But this is important to me.” She resists the urge to pick at the wristband of her watch or fidget and squares her shoulders back as she slowly lifts her eyes to look at him again, hoping above anything that he can see the sincerity in her eyes. “Please.” 

He stares right back at her, expression unreadable, and it’s in these moments that Helena finds herself wondering whether her father actually loves her. There’s no empathy in his eyes, no emotion, no anything, and there’s a brief second where she can feel all her hope start to fade, wondering if she’s facing the same man who sent his daughter away mere days after having to watch her mother be murdered. 

But then the moment shifts, and he gives a short, sharp nod, and the thought is shelved away for a later time, reserved for usually late at night when her defences are down and she’s trying to sleep. 

“Alright,” he says in English and Helena feels something coil in her stomach, like a central point of gathering for the rush of elation she feels but has to hide. “I only want you to be happy.” 

Helena isn’t sure he means it and she isn’t sure she believes him, but she’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and her smile is muted even if she can’t quite hide the happiness in her eyes, and her father’s body eases, eyes crinkling as he gazes upon her in quiet contemplation. 

“Thank you.” 

“Are you staying for dinner?” 

“Of course,” she says and his smile flickers wider as he sags back against the chair and Helena realises that she’s going to have to start cherishing these moments because their time is finite. 

Dinah Lance, 9:23 PM
hey
watcha up to?

Helena smiles when she reads the text, fingers moving over her keyboard as she glances up to see how far away from her apartment they are and then pausing when she notices that they’re only a block away. 

Helena Bertinelli, 9:24 PM
I’m just on my way home. 

Dinah Lance, 9:24 PM
from the office???
😳😳😳

Helena Bertinelli, 9:25 PM
No, I went to see my father.

Dinah Lance, 9:25 PM
 oh okay 😊😊
I was worried I’d have to start returning the favour and sending YOU food

Helena Bertinelli, 9:26 PM
Hahaha
Don’t worry about that; I had dinner with my father

Dinah Lance, 9:26 PM
how was it?

Helena Bertinelli, 9:27 PM
The food?

Dinah Lance, 9:27 PM
sure

Helena frowns down at her phone, confused by Dinah’s response until she notices Sal pull into the underground parking of her building. She pockets the phone so that she can say goodbye to him, his eyes on her as she crosses the small distance to the elevator and she waves back at him when she punches in the code and the doors start closing. 

She knows he’s still waiting downstairs, counting the seconds, his mental map working overtime as he times her steps and how much time the elevator takes to get to the 36th floor and for her to move down the hallway, and when she’s safely inside her apartment with the door properly locked, she sends him a quick message that she’s safe and smiles when she receives a simple “ok” in response. 

Helena wastes no time switching apps and tapping the name at the top of her recent calls list, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder as she starts unzipping her boots. 

“Hey you.” Dinah’s voice is soft and smooth and a little tired when she picks up and Helena can hear the smile and it just makes her own lips tug up. 

“Hi,” she says.

“How was dinner?” Dinah asks and Helena steps out of her shoes, one hand finally freed to hold the phone up to her ear. 

“It was okay, it’s always a little… I don’t know.” 

“Yeah I get that.” 

She didn’t call to talk about her family because that would involve her speaking and Dinah staying quiet and that’s the opposite of what Helena wants, so when the silence stretches for a bit, she breaks it by asking, “How was your afternoon with Cassandra?” 

“It was great!” Dinah starts, her voice losing some of its strain as she starts talking and Helena tries to focus on the story being told, something about unlaced shoes and men’s deodorant and a prank, but all she notices is Dinah’s melodic voice, the sound of it calming as Helena makes her way through her apartment to her bedroom, shoes abandoned by the edge of the bed as she collapses onto it with a smile. 

“… so, you know. But I dropped her off just now so at least I know she’ll be getting some decent sleep tonight.” 

Dinah laughs softly and Helena has to press her face into her pillow to stop herself from doing something stupid like blurt out her feelings or scream at how cute Dinah sounds when she laughs all breathlessly like that. 

“Are you gonna be getting some decent sleep tonight?” she asks instead. 

“Probably not,” Dinah says but she sounds a little coy and Helena squirms onto her back so that she can give Dinah her full attention. 

“Why not?” 

“I realised today that I have too many things in my closet,” Dinah says and Helena hums to indicate she’s listening. “I only found out because I took everything out.” 

“Spring cleaning?” 

“Looking for an outfit for tomorrow.” 

Helena’s heart stutters to a stop and she’s embarrassed by the strangled sound that makes it out of her throat, a sound she knows Dinah hears if the soft, badly hidden huff of laughter is anything to go by. 

“I’m probably just overthinking it but…” 

“But?” Helena prompts after clearing her throat three times. 

“I want to look good.” 

The line comes as easy as breathing, probably because it’s not a line but a fact. “You always look good.” 

Dinah lets out a soft laugh. 

“Special, then.” 

“Maybe I should pull out everything in my closet and start freaking out.” 

“I never said I was freaking out!” Dinah counters immediately, some fight seeping into her tired tone. “And should I be insulted you haven’t even picked out an outfit yet?” 

“No,” Helena says with a vehemence that surprises even herself. “I just. I don’t have that many clothes to choose from.” Dinah hums like she doesn’t quite believe it but Helena knows she’s just teasing her and some tension seeps out of her body. “I had to get a stylist.” 

“For our date?” Dinah asks, words spoken more like a laugh and it helps curb Helena’s embarrassment at her admission. 

“No, for life.” Helena closes her eyes at how ridiculous she sounds. “When I came back to Gotham.” 

“Did your stylist help you pick out date night outfits?” 

Dinah is very obviously teasing her and Helena could easily tell her the truth and say no, but she enjoys the back and forth with the woman and she doesn’t want the flirting to stop, so she goes with,

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Dinah coos, voice sounding nearer as if she’s holding the phone closer to her face. “What does that mean? Have I seen one of your date outfits before?” 

“You’ll have to wait to find out.” 

“Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.” 

“I agree.” 

Dinah lets out a huge yawn that triggers one for Helena too and they laugh together after they’ve both yawned. 

“Sorry,” Dinah says but she sounds more tired than apologetic.

“Tomorrow,” Helena says softly, more a promise to herself than Dinah, knows that they have to stop talking now because of the exhaustion but hating the fact. “You have the address details?” 

“Yes,” Dinah says, voice low but coy. “I’ll see you tomorrow at 7. Finally.” 

“Can’t wait,” Helena murmurs, unwilling to break the tranquil softness of their conversation. 

“Good night, Helena.” 

“Good night, Dinah.” 

Chapter Text

“If I’m being fully honest…” Dinah starts as she settles on a bar stool at Helena’s kitchen island, lazing against the low back and watching the taller woman over the rim of her wine glass. 

Arriving had been a strange mix of awkward and excited, both of them so eager to see each other for all those months that it had bubbled over in the moment, until Helena had shaken her head, muttered “this is ridiculous” and welcomed Dinah into her apartment, showing her the large open space kitchen and living room, separated only by a solid wood dining table. 

Dinah had marvelled at the cosiness of the space, up 36 floors in a sleek glass building yet managing to feel so homey and she’d tried to take in as many details as she could, being in Helena’s space feeling like an important insight to the woman. 

Helena had offered her a drink and asked her if she was feeling hungry and she’d said yes to both, following Helena to the kitchen island and smiling at the ease with which Helena moved around. 

“I didn’t peg you as the cooking type,” she says.” 

“Why not?” Helena asks casually with barely a glance her way, distracted as she sorts through a cutlery drawer and gathers ingredients on the kitchen island. 

She’s not sure how to answer it honestly, especially considering that now she’s sitting here watching Helena in her kitchen, she can see perfectly clear how mistaken her assumption had been. She must be silent for a little too long because Helena pauses, brow furrowing minutely and her eyes going a little hard as she looks at Dinah. 

“Because I don’t have a mother?” 

“You do have a mother,” she counters immediately, shaking her head and sitting up straighter. 

“I have a dead mother.” 

“That’s not why,” she says, deciding the curb this conversation before it has a chance to go off the rails completely and especially because she means it. Her surprise at learning that Helena enjoys cooking doesn’t stem from the fact Helena lost her mother young, and the idea hadn’t ever even occurred to her so she wants to make that clear. 

“Most company COO’s don’t cook their own meals,” Dinah tries to say and she notices how Helena’s shoulders lose some of their tension. 

“I wasn’t always a COO.” 

“That is true.” 

She doesn’t say much else, choosing instead to watch Helena as the woman lets out a slow sigh, materials spread out between them, and Dinah just waits patiently. 

Helena always opens up, like an inevitability, like she needs to fill the silence between them, like she wants somebody to know the stories of her life, and Dinah is so grateful that person gets to be her. 

“Sal’s mother taught me how to cook,” Helena says softly. “When we got to Sicily, she told me to call her nonnina. That’s—” She’s briefly pulled from the memory as she looks at Dinah. “—it’s like, grandma or granny in Italian.” 

Dinah hums and gives a small nod to show she understands and watches as Helena falls back into the memory. 

“She took care of me and Sal and the whole family, really, and in the weekends when I didn’t have school or training with Sal, she’d let me sit in the kitchen and watch her cook. I got to peel garlic and crush tomatoes and pick the bones out of fish and when I was old enough, she taught me everything.” 

Helena’s smile twitches and then she breaks out of her reverie, shaking her head softly as she pats a bag of flour. 

“When I went away for school, she secretly learned other recipes so that I wouldn’t only know how to cook Sicilian food and every time I went home for the holidays we’d cook together. I was way too tall for her kitchen, and I’d knock into stuff and my back would hurt the next day from standing bent over but…” 

She looks at Dinah with eyes full of love and Dinah finds herself smiling, nodding as she understands. 

“Worth it,” she fills in and Helena nods. 

“Yes.” 

They’re quiet for a while as Dinah lets her mind wander, eyes on the woman in front of her as she busies herself and then thinking back to Sal’s deliveries to her in the months leading up to this date, and how despite her repeated prompting, Helena never told her where the food came from. 

“Helena?” 

“Yes?” 

“Did you cook for me?” 

Her eyes skitter away from Dinah’s as those cheeks turn a delightful shade of pink and that’s as good an answer as any. 

“Most of the time it was leftovers,” she admits quietly and she tries to pass it off as modest but Dinah’s already leaning forward, dropping her glass of wine on the dark countertop and levelling Helena with a curious look, her attraction growing even more. 

“You’re good, you know that?” 

Her voice comes out a lot lower than intended but Dinah means the words as she seems to look at Helena with a whole new appreciation. 

Helena’s eyes snap to hers, looking a little surprised but her lips tug up into a small, smug smile that makes Dinah want to crawl over the kitchen island just to see what it feels like pressed against her own lips. 

Helena licks her lower lip and then closes her teeth over the skin and Dinah has to swallow thickly, tamping down on the flash of arousal at the sight and she looks away, out the windows at the glittering light of the Hudson to gather her thoughts. 

“Is she still in Sicily?” she asks when she turns back. 

“No,” Helena says with a shake of the head. “She died.” 

“Oh.” 

“Sorry,” Helena says at her simple response, frowning slightly as she looks down. “I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” 

“You didn’t,” Dinah reassures and it eases some of the tension. “How long ago?” 

“When I was in grad school. I was devastated but she was also very old, so…” Helena’s mouth opens as if she’s going to say something else and Dinah can tell she’s lost again, deep in her memories and there’s something heartbreaking in her tone when she speaks again. “She lived a very good, long life.” 

Dinah knows exactly what she’s alluding to and she understands that as painful as the loss is, Helena’s at peace with this one. 

“How lucky she got to spend a part of it with you,” she whispers and Helena’s eyes slowly clear, giving way to a close scrutiny that Dinah can almost feel as a caress.

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” she says, her voice just as hushed as Dinah’s. “You’re…” 

“What?” 

“A lot of people get uncomfortable at just the topic but you always know just what to say.”  

“Loss is like a foreign country,” Dinah says. “People who haven’t been don’t speak the language.” 

A little laugh bubbles up from Helena’s chest as she levels Dinah with a heavy look, head shaking slowly as she processes the words. “That’s so… you’re amazing.” 

She just shrugs in response but Dinah remembers first hearing the words at an open lecture she’d been dragged to by Pam. It was a guest lecture offered by the psychology department, so attendance was mandatory for psych majors and Dinah knew Pamela wanted to attend just to see Harley there. It had been before they’d started dating, when they were still in that flirting but uncommitted stage and Pamela had been infatuated and intent on knowing as much about Harley as she could. 

Dinah had been carefree and full of life and she’d loved getting to see Pamela head over heels for this girl, stupidly enamoured, and she’d agreed to go with her to the lecture just so she could watch her roommate fawn over the blonde girl and gather material to tease her friend with at a later date. 

The invited professor had come from some prestigious research university and his lecture had been about tragedy and Dinah still vividly remembers hearing him say those words to the room of eager listeners and Dinah, and she remembers scoffing at the sentiment. 

She remembers rolling her eyes and thinking the man was trying to wax philosophical in a session that was supposed to be about the psychology of grief and felt grateful that she wasn’t one of the psych students who had to listen to this nonsense on a regular basis. 

It wasn’t until a few years later that the memory had come back to her, when she’d been sitting in her childhood home after burying her father, the words slamming into her body with the full force of their originally intended weight and she suddenly understood what the professor had meant. 

“Everybody deals with it differently,” she finally says, fingers dragging along the rim of her wineglass. “But loss is loss, you know?” 

“Yeah…” Helena says slowly, head tilting slightly sideways as she keeps her eyes on Dinah, palms pressed against the counter. “Do you have siblings?” 

Dinah is surprised by the turn in topic, has to blink a few times as she lets out a little chuckle. 

“No, why do you ask?” 

“I was just wondering,” Helena says with a small shrug. “I wasn’t sure.” 

“No, I’m an only kid.” 

“Lucky,” Helena mutters and Dinah knows there’s more there but she lets it slide, leans forward with interest as her eyes rove over everything splayed out between them. 

“What are you making today, chef?” 

“We are making pasta al nero de seppia.” 

Dinah’s brain manages to pick up on the “we” before short-circuiting from the Italian that followed. “We?” 

“Yes, you are going to help.” 

Helena’s voice brokers no argument but it’s not like Dinah was going to because the idea of learning how to make this dish from Helena makes her heart flutter and warmth pool low in her belly. 

“Okay,” she says, drumming her hands on the countertop as she looks at Helena with a curious smile. “Do you have an apron for me?”

“Uh…” She glances at Dinah for a beat before turning slowly and glancing over all her cupboards and counter space. “I should have thought of this…” Dinah hears whispered softly but the words are clearly not meant for her ears so when Helena turns back to her, she hides her smile by sliding off the chair and rounding the counter. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

Helena disappears and Dinah finally lets her laugh spill free, somehow both more excited and more at ease by the fact that Helena is clearly as jittery as she’s feeling about them finally spending time together. She drifts over to the floor to ceiling windows that make up the entire wall of one side of the space and curves around the corner and spans to where the cabinets of the kitchen start. She takes in the gorgeous sight of the sun dipping low, painting the skies in reds and oranges and the way the colours glitter over the river below. 

“I can’t believe you get to see this every day,” she says when she hears Helena come back and stop just shy of her. 

“Most of the time I don’t get to see it,” Helena tries to say and when Dinah turns to her, there’s an apron crushed between her fingers and she’s wearing a sheepish smile. 

“Workaholic.” 

“Isn’t there a saying in English about a pot and a kettle?” 

Helena’s wearing a perfectly innocent look but there’s something in her eyes, a twinkle or something, that tells Dinah she knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

Her shoulders bow with her laughter and she juts her chin towards Helena’s left hand. 

“That for me?” 

Dinah takes the dark denim fabric and slips the loop over her head, arm sweeping along her nape to get her hair out from under it but before she can start tying it around her middle, Helena’s in her space, arms slipping between Dinah’s arms and waist as she crosses the leather strings behind her back and then ties them off at the front with deft fingers, knuckles brushing over her abdomen as she does and Dinah feels her stomach dip when the fabric of her shirt grazes her skin, a surprised exhale her only reaction as she watches the focused set of Helena’s brow, so close to her she can feel the air shift around them. 

“There,” Helena says with a twist of her lips when she finishes looping the bow and her fingers linger as her gaze travels up slowly to meet Dinah’s. 

“Thank you,” is all she manages to say. 

She’s not sure who moves away first but Dinah lets out another heavy exhale when they do, the pressure of anticipation escaping her lungs with it, and she clears her throat as she follows Helena to the counter. 

Helena dumps flour on the counter and makes a well and teaches her how to make pasta dough from scratch and Dinah has to admit she enjoys the feeling working with the dough and Helena’s presence by her side, guidance gentle and encouraging as she explains the process. 

“Is this going to ruin me for dry pasta?” she asks when they wrap the dough to let it rest, something she never even knew needed to be done to pasta dough. “Are you turning me into a pasta snob, Helena?”

“Yes,” she says as she tosses the dough into the refrigerator and turns back with a mischievous smile. 

“To which question?” 

“Both.” 

“You’re going to ruin me, Helena Bertinelli.” 

Helena laughs softly, a delightful sound that wraps Dinah up and she leans her hip against the kitchen island to watch as Helena’s head dips with the force of her laughter, hair falling into her face and her skin flushing lightly with her amusement. 

“What’s next?” 

Helena explains the steps and it’s easy to fall into the motions and Dinah tries not to overthink the fact that they work together seamlessly. The conversation flows as they work and just when she’s worried they’re gonna fall into an awkward lull, Helena speaks. 

“What’s new with Cassandra?” 

She refills Dinah’s glass as they wait for all the components of the recipe to come together. 

Dinah thinks back to the quick anecdote she’d shared the night before but decides to go down a different route. 

“Vet school,” she says with a quick roll of the eyes but she knows she can’t stem the endeared smile that takes over her features. 

“That’s…” Helena tries to place the information and very obviously comes up short. “Random?” 

Dinah shakes her head with mirth. 

It’s a topic that’s been brewing for a while, ever since Cass started high school in the fall and had been assigned an advisor to “help with career options”. Cassandra had gone into a minor panic over her future, pacing around Dinah’s small storefront with too many words spilling from her lips as she’d run through her options and Dinah had just sat behind the counter and watched with an interested, cautious smile. 

Dinah understands that Cass never thought she’d make it to this point and her heart still hurts over the girl’s past and how sure she was that she wasn’t going to even make it to her teens, never mind to consider further education or any type of future that was within her own control. 

Veterinary school is a new option, but not a very surprising one. 

“She hung out in the Meadows last week and got to play with Harley’s hyenas, so…” 

“She decided she wants to work with animals,” Helena fills in and Dinah nods. 

“Yeah so now she’s talking about volunteering at a shelter to get to know some animals.” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Helena comments but Dinah’s face must give her away because she smiles and pauses, tries to figure out what Dinah’s issue is. “What?” 

“I’ll miss her.” 

Helena’s expression completely changes and Dinah’s transfixed by it, by the way Helena tosses a tea towel over her shoulder and watches her with a world behind her eyes. 

“You won’t get to see her?” 

“Between school and all her other activities…” 

“From what you’ve told me it sounds highly unlikely that Cass would stop spending time with you,” Helena tries to say and Dinah shrugs, knows she’s right but enjoys being pouty about it if it means Helena’s going to look at her all soft like that. “What does her foster mom say about it?” 

“Barbara is all for it as long as Cass doesn’t end up bringing a pet home.” Dinah chuckles to herself when she thinks about the text exchange and how unlikely she knows that is. “She’s gonna send the kid out to a place where all the pets are looking for owners and thinks Cassandra won’t be coming home wanting a pet every single time.” 

“I haven’t met your friend, but that doesn’t sound very smart,” Helena says politely but Dinah still bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, no, she’s definitely gonna regret this,” Dinah says around a giggle as she watches Helena move to the fridge and get their pasta. “Is it rolling time?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know,” Helena starts as she sets the dough on the floured wood countertop and starts rolling it out. “From everything you’ve told me and that I’ve seen about you and Cass, I don’t think she’d abandon you for the animals.” 

“You don’t, huh?” she teases even though her heart fills with warmth at the plainly spoken words. 

“She adores you.” Helena shrugs as if it’s nothing and Dinah isn’t sure how to choke down the knot in her throat long enough to respond so Helena moves on. “Do you want to turn the handle or feed the pasta?” 

“Huh?” 

“Do you wanna handle the pasta machine or the dough?” 

“I will help wherever you want me to, master,” she throws out and as expected, Helena’s cheeks burn bright red. 

“Don’t—it… just—” Helena’s fingers fumble with the dough. “—stand there.” 

It’s fun to have the heat off her temporarily and Dinah laughs softly as she takes a final sip from her wine before following Helena’s instructions. 

Her voice is gentle when she speaks, words clear and instructions easy to follow and Dinah drowns in the slow guidance and the intimacy of what they’re doing finally hits her with all the subtlety of a brick to the head when Helena steps up closely behind her, a hand covering Dinah’s to slow her movements enough for them to get the pasta through the machine smoothly. 

“Just like that,” she whispers right by her ear and Dinah almost forgets how to breathe, taking advantage of their positions to close her eyes and savour the moment before she has to pay attention again. 

Helena’s hand regrettably has to leave hers to feed the pasta through but it puts her even closer to Dinah, one hand on either side of her body and Dinah is just going to pretend that the warm feeling humming just under her skin is from just the exertion of the work and not because she can feel Helena’s every breath fan across her collarbone. 

“There,” Helena says softly as she gently pulls the newly cut strips of pasta from the machine and Dinah’s fingers tremble when she stops turning the crank, watching as Helena flours the strips and curls them into loose heaps. “Now we wait.” 

“How long?” she asks. 

“Just a few minutes,” Helena says as she punches in the timer. 

Helena doesn’t move away from her so Dinah doesn’t shift away either, instead turning her back to the counter so she’s facing Helena and the woman keeps her hands on the edge, small smile tugging at her lips and drawing Dinah’s eyes there. 

“I have a question,” she murmurs as her gaze drifts even lower, to the sharp curve of Helena’s jaw and down. 

“What?” 

“Why do you always wear turtlenecks?” she asks quietly, fingers boldly reaching out to hook into the fabric covering Helena’s neck, tugging gently to get her attention but not so much that she pulls the fabric away from her skin entirely. “It’s almost summer and you’re still in a turtleneck.”

“I don’t know, I—” Helena’s breath catches when Dinah’s fingers brush along her jaw. “I used to get teased a lot when I was younger.” 

“About what?” 

“I was just awkward and so much taller than girls my age and my neck was so long and my hands too big and a ton of stuff.” 

“That just means there’s so much more space,” Dinah husks, fingers twisting and brushing the tips along the corner of Helena’s jaw, completely unable to relate to these young girls who had teased Helena for her long neck when all she wants to do is thank the gods for it. 

“Space for what?” 

“To explore.” 

Dinah can feel Helena’s sharp intake of breath from how the cord of muscle tenses under her touch and she just smiles, face turned up to look at Helena. 

“Dinah…” The name is whispered in the breaths between them and Dinah shivers at the way Helena says her name, low and smooth with a hint of strain, and she can feel Helena’s arms move closer to her body as they slide along the counter, a hand landing warmly on the curve of her hip. 

“Yes?” she breathes, trying to commit every tiny detail to memory. 

“I—” 

The timer beeping cuts harshly into the moment and Dinah’s eyes slide shut as her whole body sags against the kitchen island and she barely manages to suppress an impatient whine when Helena’s hand lifts from her body as she moves away to tend to the pasta. 

“Sorry,” Helena calls over her shoulder as she drops the pasta in a pot of boiling water, her voice so low that Dinah feels the timbre of it ripple down her spine. 

She has to turn away to gather herself, take a deep breath and shake her head to get the memory of Helena’s faint perfume to stop haunting her. 

A hearty swig of her wine and a cleared throat later, she twists back to watch Helena as she stirs the pasta and then checks on their sauce. 

“Anything else I can help with?” 

“No,” Helena says with a smile as her gaze rakes down Dinah’s body as if trying to enjoy the sight of her in an apron for one final time. “We’re basically done. Want some more wine?” 

“Please.” 

Dinah almost regrets having to take off the apron because wearing it had been a reminder of how close Helena had gotten while she’d been putting it on and removing it now leaves her feeling cold in a way. 

Helena must pick up on the way she shivers or rubs a hand over her arm to generate some heat because her brow furrows with concern. 

“Are you cold?” she asks, movements never ceasing over the stove. “Do you want to borrow a sweater?” 

“No, I’m okay,” Dinah replies with a kind smile, touched by the concern. “Just not standing over the heat anymore.” 

She doesn’t say that she also misses Helena’s body heat but the way the other woman’s eyes flash darkly shows that she hadn’t needed to and that the underlying meaning has been perfectly understood. 

Dinner is casual and fun and relaxed and Dinah sips her wine and laughs and enjoys the pasta, leaning heavily against the chair as she basks in the calm atmosphere. The sounds of the city seem so far away, drowned out by Helena’s voice and the faint strains of music she put on before they started eating and Dinah could melt on the spot she feels so at ease. 

“Dance with me.” 

“Hm?” 

Helena looks just as relaxed as she feels, cheeks just a little flushed from laughter and her hair mussed from her constantly running her fingers through it. 

“Come on,” Dinah says with a gentle tilt of the head, taking a deep breath before rising to her feet, her fingertips dragging along the wooden dining table until she’s close enough to Helena to offer her a hand. 

“You want to dance with me?” 

Helena sounds a little surprised but not entirely against the idea and when she twists to look up at her, Dinah just smiles down at her, enjoying the sight of Helena’s face upturned and bright with joy, eyes practically twinkling. 

“Who else?” she teases. “I love this song. C’mon, don’t make me beg.” 

She drops her voice low on purpose, just to see the minute way Helena’s expression shifts, from a lazy smile and warm gaze to a dangerous flash and an intent set of her jaw. 

Helena reaches into her pocket for her phone, barely glancing at it as she turns the volume up and the song fills the open space before dropping the phone to the table and taking Dinah’s hand. 

She’s barely been in Helena’s space for a few hours and she already feels so comfortable as she steps backwards, eyes never leaving Helena’s and guiding her away from the dining table and their abandoned empty plates and half-drunk glasses. 

“I’ve never done this with a woman before,” Helena says and it’s not clear whether she’s talking specifically about the dance or everything around it but Dinah just smiles at her, head canting sideways as she guides Helena’s free hand to her hip and keeps the other one clasped in her own. 

“You’re in luck.” She tugs a little to get Helena just a tiny bit closer. “I know how to lead.” 

“How come?” 

Dinah’s lips twist, a flirty type of thing that she enjoys seeing Helena react to but she can’t hold it for long, her smile softening around the edges and her brow relaxing. 

“I dance with my mom sometimes,” she whispers as they start swaying to the music. “She misses it.” 

“Because of your dad?” Helena asks. 

“Yeah,” she says softly. 

Helena’s fingers tense on her waist for a beat before she boldly slides her hand to the small of Dinah’s back, pulling her closer and levelling her with a sad smile. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, hey, it’s okay,” Dinah says and she means it, warming under Helena’s gaze. 

The memories don’t hurt the way they used to, no longer as visceral and piercing as when the loss was fresh but more like a tidal wave crashing gently onto shore, lapping at her mood like a constant but steady reminder. 

“They met as teenagers,” she says, the words flowing easily as she melts into Helena’s embrace. “If my dad was still alive today, they’d be celebrating forty years together.” 

“Forty years…” Helena repeats with an impressed sound and Dinah lets out a little chuckle.

“Imagine that… Forty years together.” Something in Helena’s brow twitches and when Dinah tries to figure out what it is, Helena avoids her eyes. “What?” 

“I don’t want to be insensitive,” she says with a guilty smile that’s more puzzling than worrying so Dinah detangles their hands and slides it up Helena’s arm to meet her other hand behind the woman’s neck, arms loosely wrapped around her neck and resting on her shoulders. 

“It’s okay.” 

“Do you think they’d still…” 

“Be together?” she fills in, suddenly understanding the hesitance but endlessly endeared by Helena worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Yes.” 

“Really?” The tone is wondrous and Helena seems almost surprised by the subtle confidence that Dinah had answered with. 

“Yeah,” Dinah says with a slow nod as she thinks back to the memories of before. “They were crazy in love. It was kinda gross. When I was in high school I used to wish they’d be more normal.” 

Helena laughs softly at that and Dinah smiles at the sound. 

“Everybody’s parents were just bored with each other but not mine. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”

“Did you ever—?” 

“Don’t ask me that,” she cuts off immediately. “Because if you ask me, I’m gonna have to think about that memory and that is not what I wanted to do on this date.” 

Helena’s shoulders shake as she tries to suppress a laugh, lips pressed into a thin line but her eyes dancing with mirth. 

Dinah just shakes her head before she breaks, laughter spilling from her and Helena’s hold on her tightens when she finally gives in, a low chuckle rumbling from her chest and turning into a hearty laugh. 

It’s a little scary how in tune they are, how easy it is to laugh with Helena while wading into the grief of her heart and Dinah usually doesn’t like dwelling on the past too much but she can’t think of a first date that has ever been as fun or as amazing as this one. 

The attraction between them is so strong but it’s the feelings that give her pause, fierce passion sparking in her chest and now in hindsight she can see that it’s the slow seduction that had hooked her in, all those months texting and talking on the phone creating an intimacy that she feels like a tangible connection between them, even when they’re laughing over a memory usually clouded in nostalgia and sorrow. 

“Can you imagine being with someone for forty years?” she whispers as she comes out of her thoughts to find Helena’s warm, inquisitive eyes on her. 

“For a very long time I couldn’t,” Helena replies softly, thumb softly smoothing over Dinah’s lower back, so gentle but still sending heat sparking up her spine through Dinah’s thin blouse. “But I think so, yes.” 

The meaning is not lost on her and something flutters in her chest, the weight of the words and Helena’s honest eyes on her feeling almost dangerous. 

“Yeah, me too,” she finally murmurs and the smile that takes over Helena’s features may be tentative but it bursts at the seams with hope. 

Dinah crosses her arms behind Helena’s neck, putting them even closer together, pressed against each other so intimately that Dinah feels more than hears Helena’s soft hitch in breathing. 

She notices for the first time the tiny scar at the edge of Helena’s eyebrow, can count every freckle dotting Helena’s nose and cheeks, smiles at the slight smudge of Helena’s lipstick from dinner, lightly staining her cupid’s bow. 

“Dinah?” 

“Hm?” Her eyes move upwards to meet Helena’s and it’s at least a little encouraging to see the spark in her eyes reflected back at her. 

“Do you want dessert?” 

Chapter Text

“Dinah?” 

“Hm?” 

She flusters under Dinah’s gaze, trying to focus on the feeling of having the woman in her arms and swaying softly to the music to keep her cool but her mouth gets away from her. 

“Do you want dessert?” 

Dinah’s smile cracks, a falter in her movements as her lips twitch and surprise seeps into her eyes and Helena immediately knows she’s messed up. 

“Shit,” she whispers. “I ruined the moment, didn’t I?” 

“Little bit,” Dinah admits but she follows it up with the sweetest laugh.

“Dammit.”  

More than ever does Helena wish she could turn back time to take it back, to redo the moment, to be less awkward about her feelings for this woman, but before she can spiral too far, Dinah drags a finger up the back of Helena’s neck, over fabric, to get her attention. 

“Hey,” she says softly, her eyes encouraging and the line of her lips gentle. “It’s okay.” 

Helena doesn’t even try to suppress her shiver when Dinah reaches the top of her neck, where the turtleneck ends, fingertips resting at the strip of skin where her sweater ends and her hair begins and the touch almost grounds her. 

“We have time,” Dinah murmurs and Helena feels the slowly building weight in her chest vanish. “There’s time to get it right.” 

All the tension spontaneously dissipates with Dinah’s slow, encouraging words and she believes her, believes Dinah when she says that and more than anything she’s firm in her conviction and her past choices. 

Going to her father had been the right decision and as much as she loathes herself for putting it off, she’s happy she’d done it before today — before this. 

Being like this with Dinah feels right in a way that her previous relationships hadn’t and the gentle reassurance that they have all the time in the world stretched ahead of them is a kind reminder that she’s in control of her life now. 

Not anybody else, not anymore. 

For far too long it had felt like so many things had happened with little or no regard for how she felt about them — being banished to remote Italy, having to leave Sal’s family to go to the boarding school of her father’s choice, college, her career, the Marchesis, her entire future. 

Helena hadn’t realised how stifling it had all felt, how much drag it had let seep into her bones and now that she’s rid of even just one aspect of her supposed commitments, she’s already feeling so much lighter in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever felt. 

The lightness is such a nice feeling to have, doubly so with the knowledge that this date and that being here with Dinah is something that belongs entirely and solely to herself. 

She’s allowed to be selfish in her history of overwhelming sacrifice, and with every moment spent with Dinah, she becomes more and more convinced of her choice. 

“What’s for dessert?” 

Dinah’s voice may be teasing but Helena knows that the moment has passed and she’s not even going to attempt a flirty line because she knows it won’t come out right, the smell of Dinah’s perfume and the feeling of her in her arms a combination too heady to leave Helena anything but a bumbling mess. 

“I have stuff for cannoli.” 

Dinah lights up, fingers pressing firmly against the nape of Helena’s neck in a touch that almost makes her melt into a puddle. 

“I love cannoli,” Dinah says, excitement barely tamed and Helena hadn’t even realised they’d stopped swaying together until Dinah steps away from her, hand heavy as it drags down Helena’s arm and slides into her hand. 

It feels natural to tangle their fingers and Dinah squeezes her hand softly, drawing Helena’s eyes to hers but she doesn’t say anything, pausing and just watching Helena closely. 

“What?” she can’t help but ask, idle fingers reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear and trying not to overthink how lovely it had felt to have Dinah’s hands clasped behind her neck, to feel her body pressed against her, to get to whisper with her in the sparse space between them and get to see the full depth of her eyes up close. 

Dinah just shakes her head softly and tugs at her hand again. 

“I’d like to try one of your cannolis.” 

“Cannoli,” she corrects before she can even consider keeping her mouth shut but Dinah just laughs, head dropping as she shakes it. “It’s plural.” 

“Okay Miss Sicily,” Dinah teases as she steps away, their clasped hands swinging between them as she takes a few steps backwards, in the direction of the kitchen. “Then what is the singular?” 

Helena rolls her eyes, more for the tease than the question and Dinah laughs again. 

“What, not a fan of Miss Sicily?” 

“I would never have won a pageant like that,” she throws back. 

“Why not?” Dinah’s brow furrows as she rakes her gaze down Helena’s body, calculating and hard and unlike all the other times she’d done it, and the urge to cross her arms is strong but Helena fights her instincts and keeps holding Dinah’s hand. “You’re tall, gorgeous, smart, you speak well, and I bet you look great in a bathing suit.” 

Oh. 

She hadn’t expected that from Dinah and Helena hates how she can feel the flush bloom from her chest up to her neck, her ears going warm and the heat licking just under her skin makes her mouth dry and her throat suddenly parched. 

“Th-they—uh…” She clears her throat as she tries to get the rush of reactions screaming in her brain to quiet long enough for her to answer. “The pageant doesn’t—” 

“Accept drop-dead gorgeous women anymore?” Dinah teases, doubling down on her attempt to apparently shut down Helena’s brain. 

“No, they — uh — don’t do the bathing suit anymore,” Helena finally manages with an awkward sort of hand movement that hinders more than helps her point.

“Shame.” 

Helena is left standing in the space next to her kitchen island, mind completely blank when Dinah slips her hand free and slides onto the barstool she’d been perched on at the very start of the night, merely hours ago that feels so much longer and yet not enough, all the time spent together stretching between them as the memories become a part of her, perfectly preserved and protected by her heart. 

“Helena?” Her voice is gentle but it carries a teasing undercurrent to it that Helena is starting to really enjoy hearing. “Do I have to wait until the next date for a cannoli?” 

“No,” she answers while her brain scrambles to keep up, extraordinarily excited about Dinah’s promise of a next date and the teasing and just the absolutely absurd idea that Dinah finds her attractive enough to be in a pageant and want to date her and want to eat the food she’s made and dance with her and hold her hand and—

Helena isn’t sure how she’s still standing. 

She used to think the Victorians were overly dramatic with their fainting couches and their blushes and hysterics over returned affection but she suddenly, viscerally, understands it. 

“No, you can have one now,” she says as she moves almost on autopilot to the fridge to take out the cream. 

“Just one?” 

“I have…” She grabs the tupperware from the cupboard and peers inside. “Fifteen shells so you can have fourteen.” 

Dinah laughs softly, the sound bubbling up from her chest. “You’re only going to have the one?” 

“If you want fourteen, yes,” she says with a shrug, sliding the tupperware across the kitchen island into Dinah’s waiting hands. 

Her fingers eagerly pry open the lid, smile settling as she takes in a deep breath and Helena can’t get enough of the joyfulness seeping into the moment. 

“I’ve never had a home-made one,” she admits. 

“Well, I hope you like it.” 

“Don’t be modest,” Dinah says as her eyes lift to meet Helena’s. “I know I’m going to love it.” 

She pushes the container away from her so that Helena can fill it with cream on both sides, and when she moves to set it on a plate, Dinah rises with her hand already stretched out. 

“Just—” She crooks her fingers and Helena understands. “I don’t need a plate.” 

Dinah’s fingers brush against hers when she transfers the cannolo, a pause in the air as Dinah’s fingertip drags along the length of her index finger before pulling away with the pastry, a coy smile on her features while Helena tries to calm the racing of her heartbeat. 

She turns away to grab a plate and swallow thickly, tamping down the rush of desire at the simple gesture and if the ceramic plate hits the wooden counter a little too hard, neither of them mention it. 

Dinah finally bites into it when Helena reaches for another shell, and the bag of cream almost slips from her hand when Dinah lets out a loud moan, the sound echoing and ringing in her ears, quickly and swiftly filed into her memories as she valiantly works not to crush the simple cannolo shell still held in her grasp. 

“Good?” she manages to ask and Dinah just nods. 

She doesn’t make any more sounds and Helena is partially grateful for that as she quickly and efficiently fills another five cannoli with cream, setting them on the plate between them before returning the pastry bag to the fridge. 

Helena reaches for one and takes a bite, giving a little hum herself when the flavours explode over her tongue and she has to admit that she’s done a pretty good job with these. They’re not nonnina’s, but they’re close enough. 

She’s about to take a second bite when she feels eyes on her, and a quick glance upwards confirms that Dinah’s watching her closely.

The moment feels charged and Helena doesn’t even taste the creamy filling or the shell, can only focus on Dinah’s riveted as she takes another bite. In her distraction, some of the cream stains her lips and when she sweeps her tongue along her lower lip, it’s as if Dinah’s eyes darken even more than they already are. 

Dinah fiddles with one of the rings on her hand, leaning back against the rest with a deep breath and Helena pops the last of the cannolo in her mouth, gaze never straying from the woman in front of her. 

Helena suddenly wishes there weren’t a kitchen island between them so that she could seize the moment and kiss Dinah, wondering what the delicious Italian pastry would taste like on Dinah’s tongue, to hear that moan up close and personal, to feel Dinah shiver under her hands. 

Timing is everything though and Helena knows that by the time she rounds the island to get to Dinah, the moment will have shifted and so she refrains, just shoots the woman a small smile and nudges the plate closer to her. 

Dinah doesn’t hesitate to pick up another one, eagerly biting into it and some of the cream spilling out the other side and onto her fingers. She giggles softly and shifts the cannolo to her other hand but before Helena can even think to offer her a paper towel, Dinah’s tongue slides along her own finger to clean up the mess and Helena is frozen on the spot while watching this unfold in front of her. 

There’s a soft pop as Dinah’s finger slides out of her mouth, and Helena’s hands shake with the effort it takes to keep her from crawling over the counter to drag Dinah into a kiss. 

Her phone rings, and it snaps her out of the haze and Helena’s never been so grateful for an interruption before. 

It barely lasts a second, the relief and gratitude dissipating when she moves to where she’d left her phone abandoned on the dinner table and sees who’s calling her, and suddenly the mood twists into something unpleasant, her brow furrowing as she picks up the phone. 

“Everything okay?” Dinah asks. 

“I have to take this,” she says with an attempt at a wry smile. “I’m sorry.” 

Dinah waves her away as she picks up another cannolo and Helena smiles at the sight before disappearing down the hallway and accepting the call. 

“Hi Dottie,” she says. “What’s wrong?” 

She cuts right to the chase to quickly get this over with, and she appreciates that the nurse doesn’t bristle or waste a breath, giving Helena a simple “Hello” before going into details. 

Helena presses her forehead against the closed bedroom door, eyes slipping closed as she listens to Dottie rattle on about blood pressure and saturation and oxygen levels, taking it all in as she steadily feels the night slip away from her with the knowledge that she’s going to have to tend to this. 

“Does he need to go to the hospital?” she asks when the nurse finishes and she can hear the hesitation, appreciates the woman’s concern for her and her interrupted personal time. “It’s okay if he does.” 

“I would say so. Not immediately, but it would be smart to get an ECG and a quick physician’s check before morning,” she says with a sad tone. “I”m sorry Helena.” 

“It’s okay, Dottie,” she says and she might not mean it, but she does smile at the woman’s clear guilt over it, even if misplaced because it’s not her fault that her father’s not doing well. “Did you try to call Pino?” 

There’s another pause. 

“It’s late on a Friday…” Dottie says carefully. 

Helena gives a mirthless chuckle as she lifts her head from the door and glances up at the heavens for strength. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says. “It’s not even worth trying.” 

The nurse gives a low hum as they both understand what’s not being said and Helena lets out a long sigh as she tries not to let her frustration bubble over and be directed at a woman who doesn’t deserve any of her family’s trouble and only love and appreciation for what she does. 

“Okay, I’m…” She pauses, tries to figure out a plan of action that doesn’t involve basically kicking Dinah out on the spot. 

“It doesn’t have to be right now,” Dottie quickly intervenes. “You can come in a few hours, he’s stable, we just need the hospital to confirm that.” 

“Can you send doctor Cesares a message to let her know what’s happening? I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Will do. I’m sorry again, Helena.” 

“It’s okay, thank you for calling me.” 

She hangs up and takes a moment to herself, breathing deeply and clenching her fists to keep her from screaming at the injustice of it all. 

When she opens her bedroom door, she can hear Dinah’s movements, the sound of her shoes on Helena’s floor distinct and she finds the woman in the living room, arms wrapped around herself as she peers at the line of frames on the shelf there. 

Her smile is sweet when she glances at Helena and it’s enough to melt away all of Helena’s ire at having to cut this short, opting instead to savour the time she does have left. 

“Is this you?” Dinah asks, gesturing to one of the pictures. 

“Yes,” she says, moving closer for a look even though she knows exactly what picture Dinah is asking about. “That’s me and my mom, and technically also Pino.” 

Dinah turns back to look at it with a warm smile and Helena’s fingers itch to drag over the glass covering the photograph, one of only a few pictures of her mom that she has around the house. 

Her father used to take pictures of them any chance he got, and the afternoon that one was taken, Helena had come home from pre-school, her uniform dirty and her hair askew and her tiny body exhausted but she’d been so happy to be home that she’d thrown her arms around her mom’s neck before attempting to get her arms around her mother’s pregnant belly to hug her little brother and they’d both laughed and it had been a wonderfully sweet moment that France had immediately captured on film. 

It’s one of very few clear memories she has from before, aided by having the picture and not for the first time does she wish they were back to those simpler times. She wonders when exactly it was her father stopped taking pictures of them and then stops that thought before it has time to fester. 

“Look at how much hair you had,” Dinah says softly, her voice carrying a tone of adoration. 

“They say I was born with a full head of hair.” 

Dinah’s mouth drops open as her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes flick to the top of Helena’s head. 

“That’s why I keep it shorter now,” she adds and with a gentle touch on Dinah’s elbow, she guides the woman along and points to a picture of herself with some friends at boarding school.

“Oh my god,” Dinah breathes and the frank response to seeing her with long hair makes Helena laugh. It draws Dinah’s attention to her and those dark brown eyes seem to study her, brow crinkling adorably as she clearly tries to picture Helena with longer hair. 

“Upkeep was bad, so…” 

“Hmm,” Dinah hums. “I do like your hair the way it is now,” she admits, fingers reaching out and then pausing in the air between them, realising that she might be crossing a boundary but Helena’s nod is immediate and Dinah smiles in response as she continues with the intended action. 

Having Dinah’s fingers in her hair is better than anything Helena’s ever felt, Dinah’s index finger playfully twisting a lock of hair before dragging her fingers through the soft strands again, tips brushing Helena’s scalp and making her sigh and close her eyes. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Yup,” she says, all thoughts falling away as she focuses on the sensation of Dinah’s fingers carding through her hair. “Perfect.” 

“I meant the phone call,” Dinah says with a soft puff of laughter. 

“Oh.” Her eyes snap open just in time to see Dinah bite down on her lower lip. “It’s just my dad. He’s…” 

The words get stuck in her throat and even the gentle press of fingertips against the base of her skull isn’t enough to tamp the feeling of grief that washes over her. 

“He…” 

She hates that she’s still unable to verbalise it and she shakes her head to try and get the thoughts in order but it has the worst consequence in that Dinah pulls her hand away, touch dragging along Helena’s shoulder and down her arm. 

She tangles their fingers and squeezes softly, and as nice and comforting as the gesture is, Helena still misses the previous touch. 

“I just wanted one night,” she finally whispers. “Just, one uninterrupted date.” 

“Well if it helps…” Dinah starts and her teeth close over her lower lip, corners of her mouth tugging up as she turns guilty eyes onto Helena. “It’s not just your life getting in our way.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Connor’s at the hospital so he can’t open tomorrow,” Dinah says with a long sigh, her eyes slipping closed for a moment and her spine curving in a way that makes Helena briefly worry about her crumpling to the ground, as if there’s so much weight on her shoulders that she can barely keep carrying. 

“Is he okay?” 

“Yeah, he should be fine. He went to the ER because of food poisoning so they’re keeping him overnight to make sure he rehydrates and all that. His girlfriend texted me.” 

She suddenly understands what Dinah is trying to avoid saying, wanting to push away the real-life responsibilities to stay in the bubble for just a little bit longer but Helena can’t stop her eyes from straying to the clock mounted on the wall, noting the late hour and already doing the math on how many hours Dinah’s going to be able to sleep and knowing that any number she comes up with won’t be enough.

“That means you have to open tomorrow.” 

Dinah nods and gives a bedraggled sigh. 

She knows how much work opening the shop is, from one of their previous phone calls when she’d sent a good morning text and had gotten a half-coherent reply from Dinah. She’d responded with the question of whether everything was okay and Dinah had called her, voice sleepy and raspy as she’d dragged herself around the shop, setting up blooms and deliveries and watering the special plants and mixing solutions for the most delicate flowers and planning out the shipments for the day. 

That’s also the phone call where Helena had learned that Dinah is very much not a morning person and it had explained why she’d much rather work late into the night and let someone else — usually her mother — open up in the morning.

As if she can read her mind, Dinah shoots her a wry smile. 

“My mom’s out of town.” 

“So you have to go soon,” Helena says softly, almost afraid of Dinah hearing the sadness in her voice but Dinah’s lips twist, eyes looking impossibly sad at the prospect. 

“Yeah.” 

Dinah looks every bit as heartbroken as Helena feels. 

“Are you okay to drive?” 

“I took the metro,” Dinah says with a shrug. 

“It’s going to take you forever to get home with public transit at this hour,” she immediately says, the concern for Dinah’s lack of sleep exacerbated by this new information. 

“It’s fine,” Dinah waves dismissively. 

“Let me at least call you a cab.” 

The corners of Dinah’s mouth twitch and her eyes take on a teasing glint.

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just—” Dinah gives a short little laugh. “I thought you were going to offer to take me home.” 

“Oh,” Helena says, feeling sheepish all of a sudden, realising how she might have given that impression with her line of questioning. “I don’t actually know how to drive.” 

Dinah’s sorrow is temporarily put on pause as her mouth drops open, eyebrows raising with clear surprise. “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

“How is that possible?” 

Helena knows it’s not meant to be insulting, and that Dinah is merely curious but her cheeks still warm with embarrassment. 

“There was talk about teaching me before I went away for college but Sal and nonnino didn’t want to sacrifice their cars.” 

“Were they nice cars?” Dinah asks innocently, fingers playing with Helena’s hand and thoroughly distracting her. 

“Yes and no,” she stutters out as she looks down to watch Dinah trace a fingertip along the lines on her palm. “Sal’s was really nice; it was this fancy sports car that he loved more than life but nonnino had a really old car. I’m pretty sure it was thirty years old at the time, so he didn’t want to risk me ‘causing its final death’.” 

Dinah laughs then, the sound like a song to Helena’s ears, full of delight and pleasure and with her fingers still moving over Helena’s hand, sending her brain into overdrive.

“So now Sal drives you around,” Dinah comments.

“It makes him feel safer, I think,” she tries to say with a forced laugh that sounds awkward even to her own ears but it’s not necessarily a lie and in truth, it makes Helena feel a lot safer too. 

Doesn’t sound like you can get up to much trouble though.” Her voice sounds teasing in a way that Helena can’t place so she lifts her gaze to find Dinah looking at her with a twinkle in her eye and a barely-there smile, dimples out in full force as she keeps her smirk muted. 

“What kind of trouble?” she asks innocently and Dinah’s lips twitch. 

“The fun kind.” 

“The words ‘I’m a good girl’ are on the tip of her tongue but Helena bites them back, knows that there is no good way to say it that won’t conjure up a million other scenarios in which she could say the words and just the thought of being with Dinah like that and getting to say it in that context is enough to make her flush all over and combined with Dinah’s maddening touch on her hand, Helena feels like she’s stuck her whole body in an incinerator. 

There’s no way to hide how she feels, and Helena doesn’t need a mirror to know that her cheeks, and neck, and probably even her ears, are bright red. 

“Well…” Dinah says slowly, her eyes still full of promise but her words low. “I have a car so if you ever want to get up to some trouble, jut let me know.” 

Helena knows they’re not talking about simple fun anymore, the subtext cloaked by words, and she’s at least grateful they’re having the conversation like this because she doesn’t think she’d still be conscious if Dinah had outright said what the offer is. 

“Why didn’t you drive today?” Helena asks after clearing her throat three times. 

“Friday night in Gotham?” Dinah shakes her head. “It used to be my dad’s car, a really nice vintage, so…” 

“Did he teach you how to drive?” 

“Yes, but he rented a car,” Dinah shoots back with a laugh that Helena echoes. 

They fall into silence again, both of them knowing that their time together is drawing to a close and neither of them wanting that, desperately grasping at anything to prolong the date. 

Dinah’s chest rises and her lips tremble when she presses them together, her eyes filling with tears from her suppressed yawn and the sight is so cute, how hard Dinah fights against it but Helena knows that she needs to leave to get some sleep. 

“Let me call you a car,” she offers softly. 

“I can’t let you do that,” Dinah tries to protest but Helena’s already shaking her head. 

“Friday night in Gotham,” she says, playing dirty and using Dinah’s own justification against her and she gets an adorable pout in return for it. “I’d sleep better knowing you made it safely back home.” 

“Well if it makes you sleep better…” 

Helena desperately wants to kiss Dinah, has been wanting to kiss her since she showed up looking a maddening mix of gorgeous and sinful in her skintight jeans and soft, flowy blouse, but the time isn’t right, and as much as she wants to, Helena doesn’t want their first kiss to be cloaked in the haste of a bittersweet goodbye.

She may have watched a few too many Italian romance films with nonnina, but she knows that a farewell kiss accompanied by frantic hands and tinged with desperation isn’t the way to start a relationship and it’s the same sappy romantic in her that wants to wait for it to be perfect. 

Sometimes she wishes she could be more brash, wishes she could ignore her mind and stop thinking and just do, plagued by the thought that if she’d kissed Dinah the very first time she’d thought about doing it…

Helena tries not to dwell on the weeks they could have spent differently, choosing instead to focus back on Dinah and the soft glow of the low lights on her skin. 

“It would.” 

“I’d do anything to ensure you get a good night’s rest,” Dinah offers, her voice sounding like gravel it’s so low. “Wouldn’t do well to show up tired at training.” 

“It would’ve been worth it if you’d stuck around but not if it means staying up to see whether Gotham’s transit system got you home in one piece.” 

It feels like too much, but Dinah breaks away with a sharp laugh, shoulders shaking as she throws her head back with delight. 

“You know,” she says between laughs. “It’s shit like this that reminds me that you’re really rich.” 

“What?” she asks. “Why?!” 

“Your inherent distrust of public transportation.” 

“It’s not public transport I distrust, it’s Gotham City,” she quips and it feels playful enough but the words give Dinah pause, a tiny crinkle appearing between her brows as she seems to look at Helena in a different way. 

“Hm.” 

“What?” 

This is something I’m curious about,” she says slowly and Helena’s not sure what to make of it, but then Dinah’s expression eases enough for her to shoot Helena a wink. “Some other time.” 

“Okay,” she says and files it away for later. Helena feels her own lips twitch as she leans in slightly. “So?” 

Dinah sighs deeply, dramatically as if the answer costs her a lot of effort. “Fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I should thank you,” Dinah says. “Having a car drop me off at home is a fancy way to end a date.” 

“I wish it didn’t have to end at all,” she lets slip out and but the smile she gets in response to it is brilliant, if a little undercut by melancholy. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Helena holds the eye contact as she breaks away to call for a car and they don’t say much else afterwards. 

She helps Dinah into her coat, fingers ghosting over the back of Dinah’s neck to sweep the hair out from under the jacket and she can hear Dinah’s soft hitch in breathing. Dinah takes her hand when the step out of the apartment, and Helena goes downstairs with her, their hands firmly clasped until they stop at the car and Helena opens the door for her. 

Dinah pauses before getting in, a hand on the frame of the car as she turns back to Helena, eyes full of intent as she leans in. 

Helena stops breathing when Dinah gets close, anticipation thrumming just under her skin and then Dinah’s soft, full lips brush against her cheek and press a kiss there. 

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers, the words barely making a sound as they skitter over Helena’s skin. “I had a really nice time.” 

“Me too,” she manages to say and Dinah steps back with a sweet smile. “Good night, Dinah.” 

“Good night, Helena.” 

Chapter Text

“Dinah?” 

She lifts her head from some paperwork, smile already widening at the sight of the teenager wiping her shoes clean on the welcome mat. 

“Hey kid,” she says, brow furrowing slightly when she remembers what day it is. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I wanted to come hang,” Cassandra says with a half shrug and averted eyes, her fingers tightening around the strap of the backpack slung over just one shoulder. “Is that okay?” 

“Always,” she says and it’s second nature the way she motions the girl closer, arms stretched out and Cassandra sinks into the embrace, her chin tucked over Dinah’s shoulder and she tries not to think too much about how much taller the teenager has gotten since she first met her. She presses her lips to the crown of Cass’ head in a quick, affectionate kiss before rubbing Cassandra’s back. “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says and when she pulls away, Dinah holds her by the shoulders and levels a scrutinising look at her. “Really!” she says with a laugh, cheeks turning a little pink. “I just missed you.” 

She says the words like they don’t even matter before disappearing down the hallway to stash her bag and skateboard and Dinah’s given a moment to herself to really process Cassandra’s words, her cheeks warming with the ferocity of her smile. 

She manages to tamp down on it a little when she hears Cass’ familiar steps coming back and her finger fiddles with the pen in her hand when she speaks. 

“Does Babs know you’re here?” she asks, eyebrow arched and she doesn’t mind Cassandra’s quick eye roll because they both know she has a valid reason for asking, the teenager’s penchant for rogue after school activities more than familiar. 

“Yes,” Cassandra says with a sigh. “She even told me to ask you—” She digs in her pocket for her phone, opening her text and then reading in a monotonous voice. “‘When am I going to meet that girlfriend of yours?’” 

Dinah rolls her eyes even as she feels her cheeks warm, nudging Cass with her leg and the girl jumps out of range with a giggle. She reaches for her own phone and opens her messages, typing out a text for Barbara and confirming that Cassandra is with her. 

“What’s new with you, Cass?” she asks once she’s done, phone on the counter and her paperwork abandoned in favour of watching Cassandra pluck some flowers from buckets and half-heartedly pull together a bouquet. 

“Not much,” Cassandra gives with a half-hearted shrug and Dinah smiles as she watches the bunch come together, a few pale pink roses mixed with white calla lilies and filler green, a single purple aster and a peach peony added to the mix. 

Her fingers reach for her pen and she quickly sketches the flowers on the corner of her notebook, Cassandra’s unique mix gorgeous and apparently barely requiring her attention, her fingers moving along the buckets more on gut feeling than a design-oriented plan. 

“I was thinking of getting a job.” 

The words make her pause, pen poised over paper and shoulders bowing as she props an elbow on the counter and perches her chin on her hand. 

“Why?” 

“I’dunno.” Cass shrugs. “Something to do this summer?” 

“Summer is the time to hang out with friends and get up to fun,” Dinah tries to say, her voice light and teasing to avoid making Cassandra feel like she’s discouraging her idea. 

“Nobody’s gonna be here,” she answers and Dinah’s about to inquire why, especially considering Cass doesn’t particularly sound sad about it, when the girl elaborates. “Damian’s dad is making him go to some summer school in London, Steph’s going on vacation with her family, and Jason got a job at the Clarkson’s grocery store.” 

Dinah nods and stays quiet, watching with a keen eye when Cassandra eyes up the bouquet she’s pulled together and frowns slightly, twisting the stems in her hand and looking over her selection before glancing at the buckets of available flowers again. 

“What happened to the animal shelter?” she asks casually, sensing where Cassandra wants to take this conversation and patient enough to let it play out without having to get right to the issue. 

Cass shrugs again. “It was okay, but…” 

“But?” 

“It’s volunteering.” 

Dinah laughs at that and Cassandra shoots her a dry look that just makes her laugh harder. 

“You wanna make money.” 

“I’m not a shmuck!” Cass tries to say but Dinah can see the smile tugging at her lips, her indignation just a front for the truth. 

“Do you need me to call Helena and see if they need a fourteen-year-old intern? It’s office work, big pay.” 

“No,” Cassandra gives and then doesn’t say anything else, turning to face her and holding up her bouquet for inspection. “Hm?” 

“I love it,” Dinah says with a swell of pride, chin jutting at the work table. “Bundle it up.” 

Cassandra preens, not even shy about her proud smile as she strides over and starts wrapping the bouquet up in paper and tying it all together with twine. Her fingers move deftly, with a familiarity that Dinah’s come to expect from the teenager. 

She’s been hanging around the shop for almost a year now, more because Barbara had needed someone to watch her after school and all the friends had banded together to create a semi-stable schedule to keep Cass off the streets and in safe environments. 

In the beginning, in the months right after Babs took Cass off the streets and officially became her foster parent, Cassandra would show up and immediately go to the back room, doing homework and texting friends and barely interacting but she’d slowly opened up and started to trust Dinah and seek out her company. 

She’d never pushed and never prodded, understanding that the scars of the circumstances that had made the teenager so quiet and untrusting would need time to heal and would require a cool, neutral environment that Dinah was more than happy to provide. 

The afternoons that she had Cass tended to be quieter business days, when she’d be at the storefront doing paperwork and only occasionally having to tend to a client. 

Eventually, Cassandra had started to slowly ease her way into the shop, quietly sitting on the stool behind the counter while Dinah was busy at her work table, drawing up designs or pulling together flower samples or even just filling out tax forms. She’d smile at clients and step out of the way when Dinah needed the register, would fetch something in the back if asked and would take pride in the quick compliment Dinah would shoot her way for being helpful. 

She started asking about the work, about the care of the plants and flowers, she had become interested, and Dinah, in turn, had enjoyed getting to teach the teenager about her business, getting to know Cassandra while sharing her passion for plants and blooms. In a way, their afternoons had become a learning opportunity and Cassandra had flourished and opened up with the care given, and started to volunteer information of her own, opening up to Dinah and forging their bond over busy hands and light work. 

Dinah knows what Cassandra’s here to ask her but she knows that the trick is to be patient, so she waits and watches as Cass tries to muster up the courage. 

“I know that you, uhm, work a lot…” she starts, eyes firmly on the bouquet that she’s just wrapped and loosening the twine to retie it. “And that sometimes people can’t work and you gotta change the shifts around and stuff and like, mama Drake’s going away for a few weeks in the summer…” 

Dinah shifts so she can cover her smile with her fingers as she watches the girl fidget and run through what seems like a prepared speech. 

“And you might wanna spend time with Helena and stuff and I know I’m young and I have to like, learn how to do stuff and you can’t really leave me alone, but I thought I could help out.” She lifts her eyes to meet Dinah’s for barely a second before returning to the flowers in front of her. “Here. Help out here.” 

Dinah waits for Cassandra to lifts her eyes again and when the girl does, she shifts her hand out of the way to show her large grin, nodding as she does. 

“I’d love to have you help out.” 

“Really?” Cassandra asks, shoulders squaring back and it’s as if she’s filled with newfound vigour.

“Yes.” 

“Okay,” she says with a resolute nod. “Cool.” 

“Cool,” Dinah echoes, and she can see how proud of herself Cassandra is. “When do you wanna start?” 

The teenager shrugs once, and Dinah sees a golden opportunity. 

“How about right now?” Dinah asks, shuffling her papers into a haphazard stack as she levels Cassandra with a coy look. “It’s the perfect time to have a trial run.” 

“A trial run?” 

“I have a ton of paperwork to do but I also have to man the storefront. So, I’m gonna take these papers and sit in the office so I can power through them, and you’re gonna watch the store for me.” Dinah pauses and Cassandra’s eyes go wide, mouth opening and closing a few times as she tries to respond and Dinah has to suppress a smile. “I’ll pay you full wages for your hours. It’s—” She glances at her wristwatch and notes the time. “Two forty-five. We close at six-thirty, so let’s just say four hours. At fourteen bucks an hour, you’ll get…” 

“Fifty-six dollars,” Cassandra provides easily, eyes going a little wide. 

“Not bad for a day’s work.” 

“I don’t wanna mess up,” she whispers and Dinah can see her previously built up confidence start to flag. “I like it here.” 

“Hey,” Dinah whispers just as softly, moving closer to Cass and tucking some hair behind her ear and using the touch to lift her chin. “You’re not gonna mess up,” she says. “And even if you do, nothing bad is going to happen. I’ll be in the back, just a shout away. I trust you and there is nothing you can do that’ll ruin that, okay?” 

The worry ebbs and flows in Cassandra’s eyes but then she takes a long, deep breath, exhaling it loudly and nodding, a motion that Dinah mirrors. “Okay.” 

“You already know how everything works,” Dinah says with the kindest smile she can muster, and then her lips twitch, eyes taking on a playful glint. “Plus, you’ll be fine. Nobody gets flowers on a Tuesday.” 

“So why are you open?” Cassandra asks with a bewildered look that just makes Dinah laugh. 

“Because sometimes—” She flashes Cass a wide grin. “People get flowers on a Tuesday.” 

The teenager rolls her eyes but Dinah can see the smile tugging at her lips when she turns away to try and hide the fact, and she laughs loudly in response, the sound filling the small shop and there are very few people who are immune to Dinah’s laugh and Cassandra does not happen to be one of them. 

Her shoulders shake with her giggles and she tries to shove at Dinah’s shoulder but she hops away, around the work table, leaving Cassandra by herself there and Dinah stops for a moment, admiring the view. 

Before Cass can get suspicious or self-conscious, Dinah whips out her phone and snaps a quick picture and when Cassandra tries to argue her on it, she just shrugs. 

“Cassandra Cain gets a job,” she says in a mockingly serious tone. “That’s the kinda thing that deserves a picture.” 

Cass always toes a fine line between bashful and annoyed, the contrary teenage spirit in her strong and in a constant battle of wills with the young, grateful girl who still doesn’t quite believe that there are people in the world who love her just as she is, and so Dinah’s always careful not to shift to heavily into tempting one side over the other. 

It’s why she deflects with a joke, to put the girl at ease, to allow her to fall back on the familiar rebellious spirit instead of the constantly worrying one. 

“I’m sending this to every person I know.” 

“No!” Cass tries to lunge for her phone and she may have gotten a lot taller in recent months but she’s still not at Dinah’s height and Dinah can easily hold her phone out of harm’s way. “Dinah!” 

“I’m kidding,” she says and Cassandra relaxes, levels her with a suspicion-laden look. “Just to Babs. Maybe Pam.” 

“You can send it to Harley too, if you want,” she says while turning away, lifting her chin haughtily and Dinah laughs at her attempts to be coy. 

“I figured Pam would send it through anyway,” Dinah says with a shrug and Cass nods in agreement. “Do you want me to send the picture to you?” 

It’s quiet for a beat and Dinah takes the opportunity to collect her papers and press them to her chest to keep the pile from falling apart. 

“… yes,” Cass finally says. 

Dinah tucks her phone back into her pocket and grabs her abandoned pen, pausing in the doorway that leads to the back and watching as Cassandra glances around the shop with light trepidation. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” Cass says, eyes steely when she meets Dinah’s. “I’m good.” 

Dinah ducks her head and smiles as she moves to the back office, keeping the door open so she can hear the bell over the front entrance if somebody comes in. True to her word, only one client comes in and just buys a pre-made bouquet and Cassandra effortlessly handles the interaction, ringing him up and even reminding him about the sachet of flower food that comes with their bouquets. 

Without the distraction of needing to be constantly vigilant, Dinah ploughs through her paperwork and she’s almost done when her phone pings with an incoming message. 

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:48 PM
How is your quiet afternoon going?

She smiles down at her phone when she sees the screen light up with the message, and she tosses her pen aside to lean back against her chair and take the phone in both hands, typing out a quick reply. 

Dinah Lance, 4:48 PM
I might get out of here at a normal hour

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:49 PM
Really?

Dinah Lance, 4:49 PM
yup
Cass showed up to help out and it’s been pretty quiet in the shop so… 

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:50 PM
So.

Dinah Lance, 4:50 PM
dinner? 

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:50 PM
I’m free

It’s stupid how giddy she feels at the prospect of getting to see Helena so soon again. She’d been convinced that the one date had been more an exception than a rule, that the spectacular date they’d had would be something she’d have to carefully savour for a while before they got to see each other again but here they are, barely four days later and already finding a pocket of time to spend together. 

Dinah Lance, 4:52 PM
🥰😍🤩
great! wanna meet somewhere? 

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:52 PM
You’re not going to cook for me?

Dinah laughs down at her phone, head shaking even though Helena can’t see her, enjoying the teasing nature of the words and loving that she can hear Helena say the words in her familiar, deadpan tone. 

Dinah Lance, 4:53 PM
noooo
you set the bar too high on that and i have like nothing in my fridge

Helena ✨💖 Bertinelli, 4:53 PM
What do you feel like having?

“Dinah?” 

Cassandra’s voice breaks into her reverie and it takes her a moment to register. There’s something off about her tone but Dinah’s not sure if it’s because she hadn’t been paying attention or if it’s because there’s something truly wrong. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you come help me for a minute?”

She’s out of her chair in no time, typing out a quick ‘brb’ to Helena as she strides down the hall towards the front because with Cass’ additional words, her suspicion has been confirmed. 

Dinah pushes through the rising panic and forces a smile on her face when she gets closer to the front and sees the girl behind the counter. Cassandra’s back is ramrod straight, a perfect posture that Dinah has never seen from the teenager and that’s her second clue that something is terribly wrong. 

“What’s up?” she asks quietly, a hand falling to Cassandra’s shoulder as she looks around the shop and the men spread out in it, and then back to the girl. 

“Miss Lance?” 

The voice isn’t Cassandra’s, but comes from one of the men who suddenly turns away from the flowers to face them. When Dinah looks back at Cassandra, she can see the worry creep into the teenager’s gaze and with the hand on her shoulder she can feel the girl’s breathing pick up. 

Cassandra’s eyes jump all over the place, seemingly to random spots but when Dinah takes a closer look, she sees what Cass sees, notices the badly concealed weapons on each of the five men, and suddenly understands what kind of visit this is. 

“That’s me,” she says and then ignores him in favour of Cassandra. “Can you finish up in the back for me?” 

“The kid should stay,” the man says with a flash of teeth and a smile that Dinah knows is supposed to make him look harmless but has the opposite effect. 

“No, she shouldn’t.” 

“Hey kid, don’t do anything rash, okay?” he says and Dinah sees red, practically shoves Cassandra behind her and stares down the man. 

“Don’t talk to her.” 

“There’s no need to be so worried, miss Lance,” the man says, holding up his hands as a show of innocence. “I’m just a customer looking for some expert advice.” 

“Go,” Dinah says to Cassandra, keeping her eyes on the man but tilting her head slightly sideways, her tone brokering no argument. “And close the door behind you.” 

Dinah can feel Cass hesitate, knows that the girl is weighing up wanting to flee the situation against sticking with Dinah, so her hard edge softens enough that when she turns to the teenager and gives her a sincere nod, Cassandra understands that the order is not a request and that her only option is to listen to Dinah and do as she says. 

“Go,” she whispers and Cass barely nods her head before disappearing down the hallway. 

She waits until she hears her office door close to turn back to the man and this time, her smile isn’t as polite as before. 

“How can I help you, mister…?” 

“Do you really try to learn the name of every single one of your customers, miss Lance?” he responds with a chuckle and Dinah doesn’t like that he’s trying to avoid the question, nor that he’s supposedly here to buy flowers flanked by four overt henchmen. 

“I make it a priority to know the ones who know me by name.” 

“I respect that,” he says with a quick downturn of his lips. He steps closer and holds out his hand. “Mariano.” 

The name prompts her brain to connect all the dots and she considers not taking his hand, considers just kicking him out of the shop but the shock of his name, and the family he belongs to, triggers her autopilot and her hand slides into his before she knows what’s happening. 

“And you’re Dinah Lance.” 

“Yes.” 

“You probably know my family,” he says with a dangerous smile and she nods. 

His family is well known around town and Dinah can say that she’s happily lived her life having never had direct contact with someone from said family, until today. 

“How can I help you today, Mariano?” 

“I’m here to get some flowers,” he says and that seems truthful enough. “For my fiancée.” He gestures around the shop and the countless flowers in buckets there. “I thought you could help me the best.” 

She can feel her phone buzz in her back pocket but she ignores it for the time being, wanting to focus on this. She wants to get the man his flowers and get him out of her shop, not liking the uneasy feeling that his presence brings with him. 

“My reputation must precede me,” she says with a half-smile, suspicious of the innocent tone that laces his words if only because the area of Gotham City that his family controls has at least five flower shops and Dinah’s shop is decidedly not one of them.  

“Certainly,” he says. “But I also know you can help me since you know what she likes.” 

“Why would I—?” 

“I know you’re close.” 

Dinah shakes her head and gives an incredulous sort of laugh while she wonders how the hell she could possibly be connected to, and even be close to, the poor sucker who has to marry Mariano Marchesi. 

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been keeping up with my Gotham society gossip,” she tries to laugh off. “Who is it you’re engaged to again?” 

His smile twists and Dinah knows she’s not going to like the answer before he even says the name. 

“Helena Bertinelli.” 

Chapter Text

Helena Bertinelli, 4:50 PM
So.

Dinah Lance, 4:50 PM
dinner? 

Helena Bertinelli, 4:50 PM
I’m free

Dinah Lance, 4:52 PM
🥰😍🤩
great! wanna meet somewhere? 

Helena Bertinelli, 4:52 PM
You’re not going to cook for me?

Dinah Lance, 4:53 PM
noooo
you set the bar too high on that and i have like nothing in my fridge

Helena Bertinelli, 4:53 PM
What do you feel like having?

Dinah Lance, 4:54 PM
brb

Helena Bertinelli, 6:01 PM
Are we still on for dinner?

Dinah Lance, 6:14 PM
No
sorry
something came up

Helena Bertinelli, 6:15 PM
That’s okay.
Another day?

Dinah Lance, 6:32 PM
sure yeah

Helena Bertinelli, 6:35 PM
Friday? 

Helena Bertinelli, 8:03 AM
Good morning
Didn't hear back yesterday, hope everything is okay

Helena Bertinelli, 4:24 PM
Dinah, is everything alright?

Dinah Lance, 10:48 PM
fine
busy

Helena Bertinelli, 10:50 PM
Okay. I’ll leave you be.
Good night :)

Helena stares down at her phone, reading over the string of messages she’s sent that have gone unanswered since and she lets out a small growl before pushing away from her desk. 

She was going to see if she could swing by with lunch just to see her, but the absolute lack of affection or warmth in Dinah’s responses tells Helena that might not be the greatest idea, so instead of sending another text message that she already knows will be ignored, she tosses her phone onto her pile of papers and stalks out of her office. 

“Lunch?” Anna says when she hears Helena move closer, not even lifting her gaze from her computer. 

“Sure.” 

“What do you want me to get you?” she asks, fingers still moving over her keyboard. 

Helena’s silence is what finally gets her attention as the clacking of nails on the keys halts abruptly with the lingering quiet. Anna quirks an eyebrow in Helena’s direction and she opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out, only a frustrated little growl that sparks movement in her, legs moving before she knows what’s happening as she starts pacing around Anna’s small office. 

She hadn’t thought much about how dry Dinah’s messages had seemed at first, chalking it up to exhaustion or work or both. It’s never been out of the ordinary for Dinah to not immediately respond, taking hours sometimes to send back a message and Helena has never minded it, has even appreciated it in some ways because she can acknowledge that people have lives independently from each other and it also means that whenever she’s been too busy to answer, she’s felt a lot less guilty about making Dinah wait for a response. 

Dinah’s never gone more than a day without replying, though, even at what she herself had called the height of her busy season, and so Helena’s starting to get worried. 

It’s been over a week since she’s talked to Dinah, and it’s been even longer since she’s seen her, the last time ending on a bittersweet tone that had still managed to leave Helena wide awake while her mind replayed every moment of their date. 

She misses the sound of Dinah’s voice, the distracted hums she gets sometimes when she knows she’s lost Dinah to a new bouquet design, the breathy laugh that always comes after a light tease, the way she can tell that Dinah’s smiling just by the way the inflection of her voice changes. 

She misses Dinah. 

Anna’s desk chair creaks loudly as she leans back against the rest and Helena is snapped out of her thoughts by the heaviness of Anna’s scrutiny. 

“Helena…” Anna tries to say, her voice soft and patient and it’s what finally makes Helena stop pacing around the office, stopping in front of the woman’s desk and letting her hands fall to her sides. 

“Sorry,” she says with a quick shake of the head. “I don’t know what I want for lunch.” 

“What’s wrong?” Anna asks instead, ignoring the latter part of Helena’s words and her scrutiny slowly transforming into concern. 

“I…” She frowns and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know.” 

“What do you know?” Anna says and her lips twitch in a way that lets Helena know she’s trying to lighten the mood more than anything, something Helena can appreciate. 

“It’s—” Her voice still catches, jaw clicking shut. “—Dinah.” 

“You’re having girl trouble,” Anna says and as hard as she tries to keep it concealed, Helena can tell she’s piqued by the prospect. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Do you want to call Diana? Talk, ask for advice?” 

“I do not want to do that,” she says immediately, arms crossing and feeling very much like a petulant preschooler before she places the lilt of Anna’s voice and processes the non sequitur, mouth curving into a smirk. “Do you want to talk to Diana?” 

“Who says I’m not already?” Anna throws back with a bored look that just makes Helena’s smile wider, her anxiety briefly forgotten as she considers prodding Anna for more information. “I meant call her for you.” 

The reminder of her worry slides warmly through her veins, making her throat feel thick and her chest feel tight. 

“Could you make a call for me?” Helena manages in a strained voice, eyes flickering to the phone on Anna’s desk. 

“Diana?” Anna asks, eyebrows rising, no doubt surprised at how easily Helena had caved to her but she shakes her head, a jerky little movement. 

“No,” she says. “Dinah.” 

“And say what?” Anna’s voice may be incredulous but her hand is already on the receiver, lifting it to her ear and tucking it between her head and her shoulder to free up her hand to dial the number. 

“Don’t call Dinah. Just… I don’t know.” Helena frowns again, feeling conflicted about checking in. “Call Petal and Bloom.” 

Anna only squints at her for a second before looking through the directory for the number and Helena suddenly wishes Anna had chairs in front of her desk. 

She’d offered to get her some visitors’ chairs, when Helena had first taken the job and Anna had come with her to Gotham, had been adamant about keeping her promise to make the move worth Anna’s while and to get her whatever she wanted or needed in exchange for a loyal friend working for her and keeping an eye out for danger. 

Anna, in turn, had been insistent about not wanting chairs, explaining to Helena — with a cool tone in her words that belied just how genuine she was being — that she didn’t want people to hang around or get the wrong idea and think that her office was a hangout spot. 

“I’m the dragon guarding the castle, Lena,” she’d said with a glint in her eye that had both amused and slightly scared Helena, but that’s the kind of loyalty you can’t buy — only earn — and the belief that this woman would have her back through anything had only strengthened. 

Helena is dragged back to the present by the sight of Anna’s fingers flying over the number pad on the phone, nails clicking against the keys before the steady tone of a call waiting to be picked up fills the small office space and Anna puts the receiver back in its place. 

“Hi, this is Petal and Bloom, Connor speaking, how can I help you today?” 

Anna’s eyes flicker to Helena’s before she clears her throat softly and says, “Hi there, I’m calling from the Bertinelli offices to confirm the appointment time for tomorrow?” 

“Let me check that for you real quick,” Connor says and Helena can hear the suddenly muffled sounds from the phone, how he must be pressing the cordless phone against his shirt because the landline that Dinah has and uses for the front of the shop doesn’t have a mute button on the phone. “Hey Dinah, what time is the Bertinelli delivery tomorrow?” 

Anna’s head snaps up at the confirmation that Dinah is there, her eyes holding a million questions to which Helena has no answers so she just shakes her head to dismiss it, even as an uncomfortable feeling settles in her gut. 

“Hi, may I just ask who I’m speaking to?” Connor says when he returns, and he gives a quiet little chuckle that sounds forced even to Helena’s ears. “Just for security reasons, of course.” 

“Oh, of course,” Anna says with a little laugh of her own, a fake, breathy sound that Helena has heard her use when trying to talk down people ready to storm into Helena’s office without an appointment or when she has to make a call to Pino and pretend that she doesn’t understand all the double entendres he shoots her way. “My name is Anna Rossi, I’m Helena Bertinelli’s assistant. I’m only calling because there’s going to be some building maintenance and want to make sure there’s space in the loading bay for your van.” 

There’s a beat before they hear him relay the information, voice sounding far away before he’s abruptly close again. 

“We’ll be there between three and four PM, depending on our earlier deliveries. Is that okay?” 

“That’s perfect,” Anna says in her polite voice. “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re welcome, miss Rossi. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” 

“No, that was all, thank you again, Connor.” 

“The pleasure was all mine,” he says. “Have a lovely day!” 

“You too,” Anna says before clicking to end the call. She doesn’t immediately face Helena, fingers drumming along the edge of her desk, manicured nails clicking lightly against the dark cedar wood as she mulls over her thoughts. 

Helena’s too preoccupied with trying to find a name for the tight feeling coiling in her gut, wondering why she doesn’t actually feel better knowing that at least Dinah is okay and alive and working. 

“Now what?” Anna says, leaning back in her chair again and crossing her ankles. 

“I don’t know.” 

“She was there.” 

Helena just hums, nods. 

“You could go over there,” Anna suggests but Helena’s already shaking her head. 

Showing up unannounced won’t do her any good. Even though her previous drop-ins had all been incredibly well-received and even encouraged, doing so now, when she’s received barely a message in three days, would just make things worse. Helena might not know what’s going on, but she does know that much. 

If Dinah’s as busy as she says — busier than ever and unable to even respond to Helena’s messages — then dropping in will only be a nuisance and if there is truly something wrong, which is what Helena suspects, then stopping by will be downright unwelcome and Helena isn’t looking to breach Dinah’s personal space like that. 

“No,” she says, ignoring Anna’s stare. “She’s working. This was ridiculous.” It’s not true but she doesn’t need Anna worrying as well. “I’m overthinking it.” 

Anna doesn’t say anything when Helena walks away but she can feel her friend’s dark eyes on her as she rounds the desk and goes back to her office, closing the door between them for some privacy. 

It’s hard to focus on work after that and Helena wrestles with her own brain, trying to turn off selective parts of it to avoid dwelling on that tiny but annoying voice in her head that’s screaming for attention, screaming that something is off and that she needs to figure out what it is. 

Nonnina used to say she had a seventh sense for it — the sixth sense being one she shared with Sal in knowing exactly when biscotti con mandorla have come out of the oven; a sense that has gotten them shooed out of nonnina’s kitchen many times in the past. 

The family used to call her a worrier, pointing to her sleepless nights lying awake with stomach aches as proof of her anxieties. Nonnina had always been understanding of it and as she’d gotten older, Helena had understood that they’d only been trying to help her overcome it, that the constant mention of it was to make her conscious of it and to twist it into something productive. 

It may not have worked the way they’d intended, making her quieter with her worry and unwilling to tell them when she hadn’t slept much or thrown up from nervousness, but now that she’s older she understands that they’d been trying to help her in the best — only — way they knew how; by simply loving her and encouraging her and holding her until it passed. 

She would never tell nonnina that she couldn’t sleep or that her stomach was roiling with stress but the woman could still always tell, brushing Helena’s fringe away from her forehead to press a soft kiss there, no words spoken yet none needed. The night before she’d had to leave for boarding school had been a particularly bad night, but when Sal had found her outside on the veranda, wrapped in a blanket, he hadn’t said anything, just sat down and lifted his arm for Helena to scoot closer and held her until she fell asleep under the stars. 

The family may have called her a worrier, but Helena had learned how to twist the anxiety into a skill, to recognise the starting curl of dread in her stomach, to learn the early signs and to trust her gut. 

She’d made her closest friends that way, stayed sane during those years abroad at school, managed to hone her skills and strengths and make waves in her career even before working for the family company. 

It’s how she’d known to come back to Gotham even before her father had finally told her everything. 

The skill has served her well in all aspects of life, but she’s never had to rely on it for a romantic relationship and just the knowledge that something is wrong enough awaken it keeps her up that night. 

“I have a gift for you,” Anna says the next day as she steps into Helena’s office. She drops to one of the chairs, one leg crossing over the other and there’s something coy about the twist of her mouth and the way her bright yellow fingernails fiddle idly with the company ID badge hanging from her lanyard. 

Helena saves her work and turns away from her computer at that, focusing all her attention on Anna, eyes narrowing as she tries to place this air of mischief. 

“What?” 

She glances at her watch and Helena knows it’s just for show, remembers Anna mentioning that she’d accidentally dropped the watch last week and that the minute hand hasn’t been working properly since. Anna had sighed dramatically about it to the point that Helena had even offered to take it to a watchmaker herself, a suggestion that Anna had waved away and explained that her wrist would feel too naked without the watch and that she’d be taking it to get fixed herself. 

“It’s three forty-five,” she says with another glance at her wrist and Helena suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at the theatrics of it all.

“I know I don’t have any meetings this afternoon so what is this about?” 

“I was just on the phone with security and they told me that the Petal and Bloom people showed up about twenty minutes ago.” 

Helena can feel a hum just below her skin spark to life, leg twitching with the urge to stand because she can anticipate where Anna is going with this, can suddenly place the delightful mix of teasing and bored that is so uniquely Anna. 

“Do you know who signed in?” 

“No,” Anna says, stretching out her fingers to inspect her nails and it damn near makes Helena snap. “But they said it was a man and a woman.” 

Helena is out of her chair in no time and not even the carpeted floor is enough to muffle the sound of the chair nearly tumbling backwards. Her fingertips hover over her desk as the insecurity fills her again, eyes skipping back to Anna who’s watching her with a kind smile, any trace of teasing gone from her features. 

They’ve been friends for so long that Anna can practically read her thoughts, her eyes taking on a hard edge that tells Helena an order is going to follow and that arguing will not end in Helena’s favour. 

“She’s by the green wall,” is all Anna says though, and a nervous little chuckle bubbles from Helena’s chest that makes her shake her head as she tries to release the tension. 

“Thank you,” she says with the sincerest tone she can but Anna just waves her away as she gets up from the chair, following Helena out the door and closing the office door behind her before taking a seat at her own desk. 

Helena works hard not to sprint away from her office, steps calm as she puts one foot in front of the other, gut twisting with excitement and happiness at getting to see Dinah and any worry she’d had melts away with the decreasing distance between them. 

The massive living wall they’d installed can be visible from the top five floors of their offices and as she moves closer to the interior balcony of the 55th floor, she can see the topmost part of it, the green already soothing her. 

It’s not until she’s at the very end of the walkway, hand already on the bannister of the stairs leading to the floor below where most of the maintenance happens, that she notices the woman in the now familiar Petal and Bloom coveralls isn’t Dinah at all. 

The flaming red hair is gorgeous, but it’s not Dinah’s brown corkscrew curls and Helena feels her heart drop, disappointment filling the void as that unpleasant dread she’d been feeling all week finally solidifies and settles, making a home in her body. 

The abrupt halt of her heels clicking on the marble floor attracts the attention of the redhead as she straightens from where she’d been crouching in front of her bag, turning and looking right at Helena, green eyes piercing even with all that distance between them.

Helena pushes aside her surprise and manages a kind smile as she resumes her steps, footsteps light as she quickly descends the stairs. 

“Hi there.” 

“Hello. You must be Helena,” the woman says when she’s finally close enough, and Helena remembers to offer her a handshake and there’s a tingling in her hand where their skin meets, not unpleasant but not necessarily urging Helena to hang on either. 

“I am.” 

“I’m Doctor Pamela Isley,” the woman says. “I helped out with the design of the wall.” 

“Oh,” she says and this time her smile is genuine as recognition pings and she connects the face to the name she’s heard mentioned countless times. “You’re Dinah’s friend.” 

“I am.” 

There’s a pregnant pause in the air then and Helena doesn’t know how to break it, what’s appropriate to say or ask and Pamela just stared her head-on, as if challenging Helena to take the next step in this interaction. 

“I didn’t know you also helped out with maintenance,” she finally says, gesturing to the green wall and a smile makes the corners of Pamela’s mouth twitch but Helena still feels like she’s said something wrong. 

“I usually don’t, but Dinah asked me to help out so here I am.” 

Pamela’s voice is perfectly level, the gentle warmth in her tone and the flawlessly light air about her a perfect image that Helena can easily see past, the façade only barely hiding the challenge behind her eyes and Helena’s immediately on edge, feeling her concern settle in even further. 

“Is she alright?” Helena asks, biting back the impulsiveness in her that threatens to rear its ugly head and cause her words to escape in a ramble of unease.

“Dinah?” the redhead asks with an airy sort of disbelief that Helena doesn’t believe for a second. “Of course, why wouldn’t she be?” 

“Just curious,” she says with a half-shrug that takes way more effort than it should. 

The silence stretches between them again, thick with tension that makes Helena feel uncomfortably trapped. 

Others may have softened at the lingering awkwardness but from what Dinah has told her about her best friend, Helena knows that Pamela will never be that person so she forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and gestures vaguely to the stairs. 

“I have a meeting to get to so I can’t stay for a chat,” she lies. “But if you need anything, my assistant should be able to help you with whatever you need. My office is right up there.” 

Pamela’s gaze follows the line of her arm to the floor above and she gives a polite nod. 

“I think I’ll be alright, but thank you,” she says, voice low as if carrying acid and warming Helena in an entirely unpleasant way. “It was nice to meet you.” 

The way she says it makes it obvious that while it’s true she’s glad to have met Helena, she has no love lost for her. 

“Same here, Doctor Isley.” 

She starts moving away to take the stairs further down, planning on hiding out in a conference room or maybe seeing what her intern is up to when Pamela’s voice calls her back with a soft, “Oh, hey, by the way—” 

“Hm?” she asks, twisting back to face the woman. 

“I wanted to say congratulations.” 

The words are so unexpected that Helena frowns before she can control her features. “What?” 

“I heard you’re engaged,” Pamela says in an off-handed sort of way and Helena’s blood runs cold at the words. “So congratulations.” 

Any words Helena tries to line up in response scatter from her brain and all she manages to stutter out is, “I… I’m n—how—?” 

Pamela’s head tilts sideways ever so slightly, eyes narrowing at Helena but the woman has stopped any attempt to keep the anger out of her eyes, and the corners of her mouth, where previously polite, turn down, the fury no longer hidden by pleasantries and neutral features and Helena suddenly knows that she’s not facing a person who’s helping out with a job, but a very pissed-off woman who’s a proxy for her best friend. 

It’s awful confirmation that the feeling of wrong she’s been wrestling with isn’t unfounded and that there is something terrible going on, enough so that Dinah has sent someone in her stead and is avoiding Helena, and suddenly she has way more questions. 

She clicks her mouth shut, because this isn’t Pamela’s responsibility and she knows she won’t be getting answers out of the woman anyway, and a new sense of urgency thrums in her veins, desperation coiling with fear. She doesn’t say anything else, just gives Pamela a sharp nod. 

She turns to go and she’s barely made it five steps before Pamela’s voice drifts over, tone almost threatening and causing a tremor to run down her spine. 

“Have a good day, miss Bertinelli.” 

Chapter Text

Her phone buzzes again and Dinah only glances at the screen to confirm what she already knows; that it’s Helena, attempting contact again.

“You know, you’re gonna have’ta answer her at some point,” Harley pipes up, fingers reach out for the phone and Dinah smacks her hand before it’s even within range.

“Touch my phone and die, Quinn,” she growls and the woman lifts her hands up in a sign of innocence that Dinah has a hard time believing so she preemptively pockets her phone, sighing when it buzzes again. 

“You can’t ignore her foreva,” Harley says with the sort of sympathetic expression that sparks annoyance deep in Dinah’s chest. “That’s no way to communicate with your girlfriend.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” she throws back, words a flash of heat escaping her mouth with a fury she feels a little guilty about but Harley is undeterred, eyebrow arching and showing her clear disbelief. “She’s not.”

“Okay, birdie,” Harley says and the lilt of her voice grates on Dinah’s already heightened annoyance. 

She loves Harley, she really does, but having the woman in the small space of her storefront without Pamela to help wrangle her a little means that her ridiculous brain and tendency to psychoanalyse are out in full force, and where usually Dinah can find fun in all the ways Harley can connect two seemingly random concepts together, she’d really rather be left alone on this topic. 

“But you know—” 

“Harley.”

“I’m just sayin’, she might have a good explanation for you.” 

“Since when are you the voice of reason?” Dinah snaps and there’s a brief pause in the air where Harley almost imperceptibly steps back, raised eyebrows dropping before her smile stretches impossibly wide, eyes hollow and Dinah instantly feels like an asshole. 

“You’re probably right,” Harley says with a dismissive wave as she flounces away, turning her back to Dinah and touching some flowers on display.

She’d usually tiredly ask Harley to stop touching the blooms but her chest feels tight with worry, knowing she’s seriously offended the woman despite her clear attempts to move past it. 

“But that doesn’t mean that I’m not right either,” Harley says with a light tone. 

“Harley,” she says, planting her palms against the counter, shoulders curling in as she tries for a soothing, apologetic tone, waiting until the woman twists to glance at her. “That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry.” 

“S’ok,” she says with a dismissive wave and a shrug of her shoulder and even though Dinah knows that Harley really means it, that doesn’t make it alright. “It’s nothin’ I’m not used to.” 

It’s almost worse to hear that and Dinah feels sick to her stomach for lashing out, feeling unworthy of her friend’s forgiveness with the confirmation that she’s taken advantage of Harley’s sympathy for her, that her behaviour is similar, or at the very least comparable, to what Harley’d been exposed to by her ex.  

“Stop beatin’ yourself up over it, Birdie,” she says and her voice doesn’t sound like that fake, high-pitched tone she takes on when she’s trying to smooth over an issue anymore. “I didn’t mean it like that, just that I know you’re hurtin’.” 

“We okay?” she asks quietly, too afraid that speaking any louder will cause her voice to crack and with it spill all the emotions she’s been keeping bottled up. 

“We always were,” Harley says with a wink and then to prove her point she plucks the nicest red rose from the bucket. She holds it up between them, eyebrows raised expectantly and practically begging Dinah to reply with her usual response when she says, “Can I have this?” 

“If you pay for it,” she gives a little weakly, lashes fluttering to stem the tears pooled in her eyes, sprung from the ebb and flow of emotions. 

“Invoice Pammy for me.” 

“Invoice me for what?” a low, familiar voice drawls from behind Dinah and Harley lets out a shriek of delight, smile going so adorably soft that Dinah would roll her eyes if she weren’t so sick with jealousy. 

“Flowers,” Harley says, holding up the rose. “Same colour as your lipstick.” 

“Really?” Ivy says, dropping a bunch of keys on the counter distractedly as she rounds it, moving closer to Harley with a hand reaching for one of the woman’s suspender straps, fingers curling and tugging softly. “Let me see.” 

“Look.” Harley holds the flower in the rapidly diminishing space between them, eyes delighted as Pamela’s lips twist. 

“It’s a little hard to see,” she murmurs, smile turning coy as she sways closer, lips practically brushing Harley’s as she speaks. “Let me just—” 

Dinah’s not unused to Harley and Ivy’s romantic spirals, usually always brushing them off with an endeared roll of her eyes or a dismissive wave while a smile tugs at her lips, but this time she can’t look away, eyes drawn to them as if they’re meant to drive the knife deeper. 

She knows that’s not what they’re doing, and that it’s not on purpose, and that it’s all just in her head and that the anger and resentment she’s been steadfastly ignoring is manifesting in an ugly way at the presence of her friends’ happiness, but knowing that and actively countering it are two different beasts and the pain curls warmly in her gut as she watches Ivy kiss her girlfriend with fervour, rose red lips purposeful as they smear lipstick over Harley’s lips, long fingers gentle under Harley’s chin to keep her in place. 

“You know—” Harley gasps between kisses. “I’m not the same colour all over. Maybe you should kiss other places for a better comparison.” 

“For science.” 

“For science,” Harley echoes and Ivy dives in for another kiss, clearly with much more intent than before and Dinah lets out a long sigh, her eyes finally straying from the two, the jealousy sharp like a stab to the gut. 

Her hand moves on instinct to her back pocket for her phone and it’s not until she’s got the screen lit up that she realises that even with the at times overwhelming feeling of hurt and betrayal, she’d still somehow forgotten that she’s angry at Helena, and that she had reached for her phone to see if she had a message from the woman — not an apologetic one like the string of texts taking up her whole notification screen, but like one from before, just asking about her day and mentioning that she’d been thinking about her. 

Dinah misses the easier days and then feels ridiculously stupid for thinking that those were simpler times when clearly it’s all just been some elaborate illusion. 

“You should text her back,” Harley says, startling Dinah out of her thoughts with her thumb hovering over her screen, and she lifts her head to see Harley with a dazed look in her eyes and red stains all over her lips and cheeks and jaw, but the blonde is singularly focused on her, peering over Pam’s shoulder at Dinah. 

Pamela sighs when she realises she’s lost the attention of her girlfriend and pulls away, ripping the rose from Harley’s fingers and holding it up to her face for only a second before moving away with a small chuckle to herself, leaving Harley looking debauched as she does. 

“How many times has she texted?” Pamela asks in a low voice, and it’s not even a question about whether Helena has texted in the first place. 

“Non-stop.” 

“And before today?” 

“Regularly.” 

She tosses her phone to the side and drops her forehead to her hand, thumb and forefinger rubbing at her temples while Pamela just gives her a soft hum. 

“How’d it go? How did she look?” she asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer and at Pamela’s silence she lifts her head again without even attempting a smile or a placating look. 

“I mean, she’s hot,” the redhead says with a smirk and a half-shrug. “I see why you like her.” 

“Not what I meant.” 

“I know what you meant,” Pamela says then, all traces of humour dropping from her tone. “What do you want me to say, Dee?” 

She doesn’t respond because she doesn’t know how to, and Dinah can’t honestly say what the right answer would be for her in this moment, what would hurt less or help more or make the all-encompassing feeling of grief lighter on her shoulders and they both know that. 

It’s nice to have a best friend who knows her as well as she knows herself, but in moments like this it’s plain frustrating and Dinah can’t even be mad about it. 

“I’ll say this, though…” Pam starts. “As much as I hate agreeing with Harls—” 

Harley scoffs and waves dismissively from behind Pamela. 

“—there’s something to be said for Helena wanting to talk to you and knowing exactly where to find you and still respecting that you don’t want to talk to her.” 

“Any oth’a person woulda stormed right over here to talk t’you,” Harley adds on and Pamela may sigh but she does give a nod of agreement. 

There’s a long stretch of silence where she processes the information, trying not to flounder under her friend’s careful gaze, and something must give her away because Pamela adds onto it, voice unforgiving and blunt. 

“She looked devastated, Dinah.” She throws up her hands and shrugs. “She looked like I hit her in the stomach with one of Harley’s mallets. And I love you and I don’t give a shit what she has to say because she hurt you and that just makes me wanna—” 

She curls her fingers into a fist, the force of it making her whole arm tremble, and she lets out a low growl from the back of her throat that has Dinah smiling despite feeling like she’s ready to burst into tears at any moment. 

“But she looked devastated.” 

Pamela doesn’t need to say the words for Dinah to understand that even though Helena has caused her pain and that Pam’s instinct is always to protect first and ask questions later, she feels a little bad for the woman. It goes unsaid, but the implication rings loudly in Dinah’s brain. 

Dinah Lance, 6:02 PM
Are you available tomorrow afternoon? 

Helena Bertinelli, 6:02 PM
Yes. 

Dinah Lance, 6:04 PM
42w 33rd street, 7pm

There’s a knock on the door at exactly seven o’clock and Dinah feels her heartbeat pick up as she crosses the distance between the door and the couch where she’d been sitting, waiting, staring at the wall. 

Her steps feel heavy and she yanks the front door open before she can psych herself out, and there’s a pause in the air as her eyes meet Helena’s. 

For just a moment she forgets everything that’s happened, the overwhelming tide of feelings calmed by the sight of Helena’s warm eyes and small smile. 

But then the spell is broken, Helena’s eyes skittering away from hers as she clears her throat and Dinah mourns that feeling of lightness, wishing so desperately she could get it back, get them back. 

Instead, she steps aside and lets Helena in, taking the moment to grumble at how ridiculously good Helena looks in her high-waisted pants and long-sleeved shirt tucked into it, the curve of her hip drawing her eyes and making an entirely different type of warmth coil with the heat of her rage. 

“This is a nice place,” Helena says and Dinah’s eyes trail up in time to see Helena take a cursory glance around the open space, eyes returning to her with a focused little furrow of her brows. 

“It’s Oliver’s.” 

“Oh.” 

The quiet that stretches between them is heavy with tension and Helena’s silence is loud, her fingers plucking at the band of her wristwatch as she stares at Dinah. 

It’s like she’s waiting for something but Dinah has no idea what and so she decides to just come out with it, the hurt and anger taking a backseat to the million questions she has, all of which follow a similar thread and ultimately lead her to say, “Helena, what are we doing?” 

She hopes that the slight exasperation in her tone covers how desperately she wants some sort of confirmation from Helena that this wasn’t all a ruse, that this is just a bump in the road, that it was all a misunderstanding and that they can clear it up with this conversation. 

“You’re engaged.” 

“I’m not,” Helena says immediately, firmly, and Dinah’s inclined to believe her but—

“The guy who came to my shop and told me he’s going to marry you seems to think otherwise.” 

“He—he did what?” Helena asks, and Dinah can see the anger seeping into Helena, her jaw setting and her eyes going steely and it seems like she’s almost vibrating with the effort of keeping it inside. “Can you—could… What happened?” 

Dinah had been expecting the question but trying to recall the memory without tears springing to her eyes is harder than she thought and her throat closes up when she opens her mouth to start talking, nothing but a strangled sound coming from her. 

Helena reaches out like second nature, only remembering herself when her hand is stretched halfway between them, pausing at the same time that Dinah flinches out of the way and a shadow crosses her face that almost makes Dinah feel bad. 

Almost, until she gets over the visceral desire for Helena to hold her and realises that she needs to start working on that, on stopping the thread of desire for the woman in front of her.

“Sorry,” Helena murmurs, stepping back with her eyes downcast and her shoulders curled in.

“He showed up at Petal and Bloom,” Dinah says softly, hands folded in front of her chest, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her bicep to anchor her in place, to stop her from starting to tremble the way she had when Mariano had finally left the shop that day. 

After dropping the bomb on her, he’d seemed to take sick pleasure in the surprise that had so clearly shown on her face, the shock of it too big to even allow her a chance to mask it and she’d had to swallow thickly at least three times to get the knot in her throat to loosen long enough to continue the conversation, placating him with some bullshit explanation about how they were just friends. 

He hadn’t said anything in reply but they’d both known that wasn’t true, and every day since Dinah has wondered how much Helena had shared with the man, what she’d told him about them and feeling so unsafe with every word she chose, afraid that saying the wrong thing would welcome her end. 

He’d gleefully picked out flowers for his fiancée, letting Dinah pull together an expensive bouquet while jibing with his henchmen and mockingly asking for their input. Dinah had felt put on the spot and humiliated and ringing up the purchase had almost made her sick to her stomach. 

He’d left with a “Glad we finally met each other” and a wide, bright smile that had a dangerous undercurrent to it, and after stepping out of the shop and shoving the bouquet in one of the men’s hands with a “give this to your wife” and disappearing from sight, Dinah had practically sprinted to the door and locked it with shaking hands that wouldn’t stop trembling for at least another hour. 

“He came to buy you flowers,” she says and Helena lifts her head long enough for Dinah to see the furrow in her brow. “Introduced himself, asked for my input on an arrangement for you.” 

Helena mutters a quiet, “What the fuck” that just draws a humourless chuckle from Dinah. 

“Yeah.” 

“Dinah, I’m so sorry,” she says emphatically, shoulders still low and eyes open and pleading and it’s so easy to get lost in them but the weight on her chest just increases, the conflicting desires in her heavy on her soul. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.” 

“How did you want me to find out?” she snaps, unable to leave it as the fire inside her sparks to life with those words. “When I got a save-the-date?” 

“I’m not marrying him,” she says in a steely voice that brokers no argument. 

“You sure about that?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Helena says. 

Some of the impatience seeps into her tone as her spine straightens and Dinah feels almost a little satisfied that she’s managed to get Helena out of her cool composure, to see some feathers ruffled, to have confirmation that this actually means enough to Helena to get her riled up and annoyed and emotional. 

“It was arranged years ago, but I’m not—we’re not… I called it off. I spoke to my father about it so yes, I’m sure that I’m not getting married.” 

“When?” 

“What?” Helena asks, the serious frown on her face twitching with the clearly unexpected question. 

“When did you talk to your dad? When did you call it off?” 

She hesitates and Dinah already feels sick to her stomach. 

“The day before our date, when I called you after having dinner with my father? That’s…” 

Helena keeps talking but Dinah doesn’t hear her over the blood rushing in her ears, the hurt flowing through her veins like a river of ice and making her tremble. 

“I think—” Helena’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click but Dinah still pauses, trying to push back the blinding fury that makes her voice shake. “—that you need to leave.” 

“Dinah…” Helena starts to say but she shakes her head. “Just let me explain.” 

“I’m so…” Confused, hurt, angry, disappointed… heartbroken. “I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t want to understand,” Helena says in a small voice that finally makes her look at the woman, seeing the hurt reflected back at her. 

“What?” 

“You’re asking me to leave without even giving me a chance to explain,” she says and the slight tremble to her voice is what breaks her, the tears finally spilling over and trailing heavily down her cheeks as they do. 

“He knew my name, Helena,” she says, fingers quick and firm as she wipes at her skin stubbornly, blinking furiously to clear her sight and make Helena look less blurry through the tears. “Mariano Marchesi came to my shop with four guys and guns to make sure I knew exactly who the fuck he is. I can’t do this, I can’t put the people I love in danger, I’m not going to repeat my mother’s mistakes.” 

“Dinah—” 

“He threatened Cassandra, Helena,” she interrupts. “She’s just a kid! And I never thought she’d be in danger like that again because of me.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I should’ve known,” she whispers before she can stop herself, and Dinah has to shake her head, eyes sliding shut so that she doesn’t have to see how completely broken Helena looks. 

“What does that mean?” 

“You’re…” Any wish she’d previously held about hurting Helena’s feelings to make her feel as awful as she does have effectively vanished and Dinah has to pause to rearrange her words, to stop herself from saying that she’s a Gotham mafia princess because she doesn’t mean it like that. “You are Franco Bertinelli’s daughter and that comes with strings and I was stupid to think it wouldn’t.” 

“That’s not fair,” Helena says but her voice cracks so loudly on the last word that Dinah feels it like a fracture in her own heart. 

She can’t afford to lose anybody else in life and she doesn’t want to and as great as Helena is, Dinah doesn’t know how she’s going to be able to reconcile the two truths — that she’s fallen so hard and so fast for Helena, and that being the type of person who loves someone like Helena comes with a level of risk that she’s not sure she can take. 

It hurts so much to know that whatever the explanation may be, she’s still going to have to let Helena go. Even with a broken heart, she’s already missing Helena but there’s nothing left to say so she doesn’t fill the silence with hollow words, just watches as the reality sets in. 

Watches as Helena steps away, watches as her posture straightens, watches as those walls come back up, never quick enough to hide the well of pain or the depth of emotions betrayed by her eyes. 

Helena opens her mouth but no sound comes out, like the breath is strangled in her throat and Dinah can’t watch her struggle but her eyes refuse to leave Helena’s. 

“I’m so sorry, Dinah,” Helena manages to say, voice shaky and the words settling in Dinah’s gut. “I’m sorry for everything.” 

To: Dinah L. Lance
From: Z. Blake
Date: Tuesday, August 11, 2020 14:43:07 EST
Subject: Bertinelli Corp. Contact Re-Allocation

Dear Ms. Lance,

I hope this email finds you well. 

I wanted to introduce myself and to inform you that going forward I will be your new contact person at the Bertinelli Corporation. 

Miss Bertinelli is taking on some more senior tasks and as such, some of her other projects have been reshuffled to other teams. The Facilities Management department will be taking over any relevant interior design contracts and as such your project has been reassigned to us. Miss Bertinelli has personally asked me to ensure that nothing changes in our current business arrangement with your boutique. 

I hope you can understand this shift in contacts and that you’re open to working with me instead of her for the duration of our contract but if not, I can put you in contact with somebody else from the Facilities team; it’s no problem at all. 

If you have any questions or concerns about anything at all, please feel free to contact me via this email address or by phone (listed below). 

I look forward to working with you. 

Warm regards, 

Zinda Blake

-

Z. Blake

Facilities Coordinator, Bertinelli Corporation

MAIL [email protected] SWITCHBOARD 551-838-1000 DIRECT 551-838-4783 

ADDRESS 1 Point Plaza, Gotham City, NJ 07513

Chapter Text

“Helena?” 

She stops dead in her tracks, surprised to hear the voice and she has to shake her head to clear it of all the thoughts raging in her head. 

“Hey,” she manages with a small smile, watching as Pino steps closer. 

She’s surprised to see him in the garage, knows that if he’d been about to leave, he’d just have called up his driver, and she especially doesn’t like that her trip out to the house has been discovered when all she’d wanted was to keep it a secret, which is why she’d been pacing in the garage of all places. 

Her expression must give her away because he shifts, opening the door and leaning into one of the cars and coming out with his phone in hand. 

“I was running late for lunch and must’ve dropped it,” he explains sheepishly. 

“Explains why you’re out here,” she says with a soft laugh that he echoes before those dark brown eyes hone in on her, full of intent. 

She knows what he’s going to say even before he says it, and her hands go up in feigned innocence preemptively. 

“So why are you out here?”

“I’m waiting for Sal.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Leaving the city, I hope.” 

“How did you get here?” 

“Cab.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” she asks. 

“Why did you take a cab to the house when you have Sal?” 

She doesn’t have a snappy response to that where she gets to keep her secrets so she takes a beat to answer. 

The truth is that after her talk with Dinah and the fallout thereof, she’d thrown herself into work to run from the heartbreak, fucked up entirely by herself and for a good reason, and the self-hatred at letting her family’s mess manage to not just bleed into her life, but Dinah’s as well. 

She’d worked so much she never had time to face any of it, training relentlessly after work so that when she was alone in her apartment there wasn’t any energy left to face the demons, only enough to fall into bed and sleep and repeat the cycle the next day. 

She hasn’t allowed herself to feel — something that’s been working perfectly fine for her, until she couldn’t find her boxing gloves that morning and burst into tears. 

All the anger and despair and pain had come rushing in, all the new feelings tangled with the old resentment and bitterness from before, combining into a truly awful cocktail of negative emotions that had made her want to release her fury. 

She’d had enough presence of mind to know that going to training to release some of that tension would be a good idea, but when she’d stepped out of the gym, the feelings had only dulled and not fully dissipated and she’d found herself making a rash decision, calling a cab and going all the way to her father’s house. 

She’d stood in front of the heavy doors, chest heaving as she’d tried to catch her breath through the red and she’d stopped just before lifting her hand to knock, a familiar voice in her head soft and soothing and asking her what exactly she’d wanted to achieve by storming into her father’s house to yell at him about Mariano Marchesi. 

Mariano Marchesi is her problem, not her father’s, and this isn’t something he can resolve for her. 

She’d deflated so quickly and had fled, sneaking around the house to the garage to talk herself down. She’d paced around the garage mulling it over her options, none of which would require a conversation with her father. 

Because either her father talked to the Marchesis and got the arrangement called off, in which case Mariano either was told and didn’t care, or wasn’t told and didn’t know, or her father didn’t talk to the Marchesis. 

In the case of the former, it means that the issue lays with the Marchesis, and if it is the latter, it means that her father didn’t keep his word, which means Helena won’t be able to rely on him for anything regarding Mariano. 

Mariano Marchesi is her problem to deal with. 

She’s going to have to deal with this herself, something she hadn’t realised until standing in front of the large doors of the Bertinelli mansion. 

With the wind effectively knocked out of her sails she hadn’t felt like going in and facing her family and she was hoping to sneak away but taxi companies don’t send cars to this part of the neighbourhood and with Sal an hour away… 

“Sal was busy.” 

“What’s the point of having a driver if he’s not around to drive you?” Pino asks, face set in disbelief and it takes all of her efforts not to roll her eyes at him. 

“He’s not just my driver.” 

“Oh, right, sorry, I forgot about your special relationship,” he gives and as much as his thinly-veiled mocking makes her blood boil, she doesn’t want to get into this with him now, especially not with all her other feelings simmering just under the surface. 

Pino checks his messages, eyes on his phone and fingers typing away, unaware or seemingly uncaring of Helena’s eyes on him, and she watches him for a good five minutes before she realises that he apparently has zero plans to leave the garage. 

“Are you waiting for something?” 

“Yeah, my driver,” he says, eyes still on his phone but then his fingers pause. He lifts his head and his brow furrows and there’s a moment where Helena feels her breath strangling her, the angle of his face and the set of his mouth sharply reminding her of their mother. “Do you need a ride?” 

“I’ll just wait for Sal,” she says, trying to gently dismiss her brother without seeming too much like she’s trying to get rid of him. 

“He’s coming in from the city? That’ll take ages,” he replies as he turns his attention back to his phone. “I’m going that way anyway, I can drop you.” 

“Okay,” she says before she can second guess the decision and when Pino shoots her a smile, she’s reminded of the boy she knew who used to follow her around, always playing with his cars but wanting to be near his older sister. 

His driver shows up a few minutes later, apologies falling from his lips that Pino dismisses with a wave of the hand. He holds the door open for Helena and looks up from his phone long enough to make sure she’s safely in the car before closing the door and rounding the car to the other side to get in. 

The silence in the car is a little unsettling and Helena’s just reaching for her own phone when Pino drops his hand, screen still lit up with incoming texts as he turns to her. 

“Why didn’t you come inside?” 

“Hm?” she hums, buying herself some more time, pretending to be reading through an email. 

“You were at the house but you didn’t come in to say hi to dad.” 

“I wasn’t feeling it,” she says even though that’s not the entire truth. “I’ll see him at church tomorrow.” 

“Sure, but you came all the way out here, why not just say hi?” 

“I’m upset about something and didn’t want to ruin his mood.” 

“Then why even—” 

“Because I’m upset with him, Pino.” 

“Oh.” 

His mouth clicks shut and Helena has to press her eyes closed as guilt joins the mix that’s weighing down her shoulders, and she takes a deep breath before opening her eyes and offering him an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

“It’s whatever,” he says with a shrug as he picks up his phone again and scrolls through the messages he missed. “Forget I asked.” 

“Hey,” she says, fingers reaching out to touch his elbow and she takes it as a good sign when he doesn’t flinch away and stops tapping at his phone. “I mean it, I’m sorry.” 

He looks at her long enough to shoot her a wry smile, and this time his voice is a lot softer when he says, “It’s whatever.” 

She manages a smile and they both turn back to their phones and it’s a few minutes later that Pino speaks again. 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s such a simple question that she could so easily lie and answer in the affirmative but her eyes well up and her throat closes before she can, and it feels like there’s a weight on her chest that makes it hard to exist. She takes too long to answer and Pino looks away from his phone and she hates that she doesn’t school her features in time, hates having him see her like this. 

“Lena…” 

“No.” 

A tear slips from her eye and she stubbornly wipes it away with the back of her hand and tries for a deep breath, air filling her lungs but she still feels like she’s drowning. She tries to shoot him a smile but it probably looks more like a grimace, and she means it to reassure him but it has the opposite intended effect and his brow just furrows with concern. 

“Anything I can help with?” 

His voice sounds hesitant and unsure as he offers, and Helena knows it’s more because they’ve never really had this relationship before. It’s always been polite and cordial but distant, borne from being torn apart at such a young age and having entirely different upbringings despite being full-blooded siblings. 

She appreciates his offer to help though, and she hopes that when she smiles at him again, it looks a little less like she’s falling apart at the seams and more like she’s grateful. 

“Not really.” 

“Is it because of dad?” 

“Not exactly,” she answers but her cryptic answers have him confused and as much as she hates having to talk about this, he’s clearly open to listening. “It’s because of Mariano Marchesi.” 

The reaction is immediate and visceral when he scowls, mouth setting in displeasure as his fingers tighten around his phone. 

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” 

As awful as she feels, the flash of protectiveness that accompanies the words warms her and the corner of her mouth twitches upwards. 

“Get in line,” she throws out. 

“I fucking hate that guy,” Pino continues and that’s new information to her. 

“I thought you two were friends,” she says. 

Pino just scoffs and shoots her the most offended look she’s ever seen on him. “Why would you think that?” 

“You two are always photographed together when you go out, and he’s always at your club. He even has a private booth there,” she supplies. 

“Yeah, I mean, he’s a fucking asshole but I can’t exactly be a dick to my future brother-in-law, can I?” 

“I’m not—” She has to stop herself to keep her voice from trembling with anger. “I’m not marrying him.” 

“Since when?” Pino asks and she’s not sure if he means it literally or not, so she goes with the answer she has. 

“About three weeks ago.” 

“I’ve been putting up with that douchebag for three weeks for no reason?” 

It’s entirely unexpected and a laugh bubbles from Helena’s chest, the incredulity of her situation too surreal. 

“What?” Pino asks and she just shakes her head, more laughter coming from her and she’d much rather have this than the sobs. 

“Nothing, I just—yes. Please don’t be nice to him on my account.” 

“Okay,” Pino says with far too much enthusiasm. “Anybody I should be nice to instead?” 

The question is innocent enough but the laughter still dies on her lips, her next breath shaky as she exhales. 

“No,” she says firmly, hoping he doesn’t ask any further but Pino has never taken a hint before so she’s not sure why he’d start now. 

“You sure about that?” he presses, his disbelief clear given her reaction. 

“There was someone but it ended,” she gives. 

“Anybody I know?” 

“Doubt it.” 

“You sure? I basically know every Italian in Gotham,” he says and she knows he doesn’t mean to be boastful but it just reminds her of one of the first things Dinah had said to her about her brother and this may not have been how she wanted to tell her family about this part of herself, but the opportunity is too good and it somehow feels right to start with Pino. 

“She’s not Italian.” 

He blinks at her as the information gets processed and Helena just waits for him to come to the right conclusion. “… Oh.”  

“Yeah.” 

“She’s a she.” 

“Is that… okay?” she asks carefully, trying to gauge his response with his blank face giving nothing away. 

“Yeah, I mean if you’re—y’know, that’s, none of my business,” he says, raising his arms and the tension in her chest snaps, shoulders curling forward as a giggle slips free and then Pino is laughing with her, his shock slipping away as they bond over the moment. 

Their laughter peters out to a quiet lull, and Helena sighs softly as she shakes her head to calm herself. 

Pino makes an awkward sound, like he’s trying to get her attention and his voice drops when he asks, “Is that why you’re not marrying Mariano?” 

“I never wanted to marry him,” she says with a wry smile. “Dad wanted me to marry him.” 

“Really?” 

“You didn’t know?” 

He shakes his head, brow furrowing as he takes in the new information. 

“It was arranged.” 

“I didn’t think we still did that.”

Helena has to work really hard to suppress her mirthless chuckle, to avoid saying something that would imply that she and her brother operate under different rules, because nothing good is going to come from having that conversation right now. 

“That sucks,” he adds in her silence and Helena just lets out a deep sigh and a nod. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn’t take dad to be the type…” Pino says slowly, frowning at his phone, the screen now black, and Helena can’t quite place the comment or why he sounds so heartbroken about it. 

“The type?” 

“To make you do something you don’t want to.” 

A humourless laugh definitely falls from her lips then, the sound startling Pino as he lifts his head to frown at her but by then Helena already has a hand to cover her mouth, preventing more rash words from following. 

All she’s ever known of her father was him making her do things she didn’t want to, from moving to Sicily to private school to working for him, it’s all always been his choices dictating her life. The lack of any freewill until well into her adulthood had been startling and to hear her brother be surprised at that is bewildering at best and downright painful at worst. 

It’s very obvious that that’s not the experience he had, however, so Helena tries to quiet the rage at the injustice inside her, if only to put her brother at ease. 

“If it helps, when I talked to him, I thought it had all been called off.” 

Pino doesn’t say anything, his features smoothing out to a neutral expression that Helena can’t place, and he gives her a sharp nod that she doesn’t understand. 

“Thought?” 

“Mariano didn’t get the message apparently.” 

Pino is quiet for a long while and Helena resigns herself to that being the end of it, choosing to stare out the window at the passing view instead of trying to figure out what’s going through her brother’s head. 

He surprises her by speaking up a few minutes later, voice even and unwavering as he says, “Do you wanna go beat him up?” 

Never a dull moment with Pino Bertinelli, it seems. 

“What?” she says with a laugh. “What good is that gonna do?” 

“Give him the message,” Pino says with a lacklustre shrug. “Show him who’s boss?” 

“That’s not me.” 

“But it will be. Some day soon,” he says, eyes going a little hard and Helena’s smile drops. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“We both know it’s true,” he says. “It’s not gonna be me.” 

“Do you want it to be you?” she can’t help but ask but Pino just waves her away dismissively. “I mean it, do you want it?” 

He’s quiet for a long while, jaw set and eyes straight forward, never straying to Helena or giving himself away and she watches his profile for any sign, any slip-up, anything to give her a hint at the answer either way. 

“Do you want to be the next dad?” 

“No.” 

“Then stop pretending you do.” 

“Don’t berate me like I’m five,” he snarls back, finally turning to face her with anger in his eyes. “I don’t want it because I’m not ready. I wasn’t prepared for it like you. It’s going to be you.” 

“I know you think I’m the favourite between us but I never wanted to be sent away. I never wanted any of this but I never had a choice. You got to grow up here while I got shipped off, given orders through proxy with a whole life mapped out for me. All I wanted was to be free and now I’m back here, dealing with dad and with you and with fucking Mariano Marchesi who managed to taint one of the last few good things in my life so if you want to take over after dad dies, please fucking do because I don’t want it.” 

Helena takes a deep breath after that as her head clears from the release of anger, but then she looks at her brother and the remorse is back with a vengeance. He may be wearing a pristine suit and have a perfect haircut with a neatly trimmed beard, but the way he’s looking at her reminds her of when he was a boy, teary and afraid after the loss of their mother, bewildered and so confused about the world happening around him and she hadn’t felt like crying before but she definitely feels like it now, now that she realises how badly she’s fucked up and what a bad older sister she’s being. 

She’s supposed to be protecting him and shielding him from all the bad in the world and that’s just another thing she’s failed at and she has to look away from him, eyes sliding shut as she lets her head fall back against the headrest. 

“Shit,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.” 

“Growing up here wasn’t super nice either, y’know,” he says, voice a little scratchy so he clears his throat. 

“I figured,” she said, glancing his way. “But you had a home.” 

“Not much of a home with you and mom gone.” 

She’d never considered it that way, but his heartbroken tone tells her all she needs to know. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” he echoes. 

It doesn’t necessarily feel like a truce, but as the silence stretches between them, Helena can’t help but think that they’ve at the very least reached some sort of understanding which is more than anything she could have expected. 

They’re pulling into the city when the driver clears his throat pointedly. 

“Do you want me to drop you off at home?” 

Helena takes a beat to consider his question and then turns to him with a deadpan look. “Do you want to go deliver a message with me?” 

“You’re gonna go beat up Mariano?” 

“No,” she says sharply, trying not to smile at the enthusiasm in his voice. “I’m delivering a message.” 

“He’s the type of guy who only responds to violence, y’know.” 

“I know, but just because he responds to violence, doesn’t mean I have to beat him up.” She turns to the driver to rattle off her address and he gives a quick nod to indicate he’s heard her, so she turns her attention back to Pino, who seems baffled by her words and her instruction to the driver to take her home. “I need to change my shoes.” 

The bell over the door jingles as she pushes it open, the cheeriness of it a complete farce, as is the quaint little restaurant she steps into. Pino slips in behind her, remaining at the door as instructed as she moves further into the restaurant, one of the men coming in from the back and glancing between her and Pino. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I’m here for Mariano,” she says with a polite smile. 

“And you are?” 

“Helena Bertinelli.” 

His entire demeanour changes then, face going pale as he stands up straighter, previously bored eyes widening as he gives a jerky nod. 

“Just a moment, miss Bertinelli.” 

He glances at Pino again and she wonders what he looks like because the man in front of her practically sprints away, and she laughs when she turns to find Pino wearing a spectacular scowl that she’s not sure is entirely fake.

“No interference,” she murmurs as a reminder.

He holds his hands up innocently and steps in front of the door, just as an insurance policy to avoid anybody coming in while she has this conversation with Mariano. 

“Helena!” the familiar voice bellows as the door from the kitchen swings open, Mariano Marchesi stepping through with a warm smile and a few of his men following him out. 

His grin is wide and he looks so delighted to see her, but she’s known him long enough to know what he’s really like, can see through the façade, sees the glint in his eyes and the crooked line of his smile and she wonders how she ever thought she’d be okay with marrying this man. 

“I need to talk to you,” Helena gives with a sweet smile as he steps closer, hand slipping down her arm to cup her elbow as he leans in to kiss her on each cheek.

“What is it, amore mia?” 

“I heard you and your buddies paid a visit to a friend of mine,” she says casually, eyes drifting over his shoulder to the four men who’ve slunk into the wide booth behind Mariano, all of them alert and listening along despite their attempts to seem otherwise. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Dinah Lance,” she says, finally looking at him again to see his response and his cheek only twitches at the mention. 

“She was getting a little too close.” 

“She’s a friend.” 

“Is that all she is?” he almost taunts. 

“No.” 

She smiles when she sees his features freeze, the surprise at her blunt answer more than obvious.

“She’s a lot more than a friend, so I would like you to stay away from her.” 

“Or what?” Mariano asks, stepping closer and Helena can hear Pino take a step forward, his shoes scuffing the floor, even though she’d made him promise not to intervene in any scenario. 

She holds out her hand behind her for Pino to stand down as Mariano looms over her and his 6’5 stature would be threatening had Helena not been trained for scenarios just like this one. 

“Or you die.” 

He laughs in her face but Helena’s not insulted. 

“That’s very funny, carina.” 

She lets the rage finally flow free and when he starts to turn away to laugh with his men, she yanks him back by the front of his shirt, lifting a knee right into his groin before kicking both his shins with her boots and he goes down with a groan, dropped to his knees while Helena still has a vice grip on his shirt. 

He has instincts of his own, his hand reaching behind him for the .45 she knows all the Marchesis keep in a back holster and he’s barely lifted it between them before she uses her grip on his shirt to drag him down, lifting her knee right into his face, taking advantage of his lack of control to yank the gun out of his grip and turn it on him. 

His men fly out of the booth, their own weapons at the ready, only pausing when she presses the barrel against Mariano’s forehead and arches an eyebrow in their direction. 

“Sit down.” 

It’s a credit to her name and her abilities that they don’t even hesitate to put down their weapons and retake their seats, eyes worriedly glancing between her face and the gun she’s holding and she gives them a pleased little smile when they’re settled again. 

“Non era una rechiesta, Mariano,” she says as she turns back to the man in question. 

His eyes may be hardened with defiance but she can see the tremble of fear in him, can see the sweat break out along his brow. 

“If you ever so much as set foot in her direction, I will kill you myself and string you up so that the whole world knows I did it.” 

He may not entirely believe she’s capable of that kind of violence, but her family’s legacy is infamous and well-documented and that’s what she’s counting on. 

“That goes for all of you. Anything happens to Dinah Lance or anybody around her, you die along with your families,” she adds, glancing at the men and waiting for them each to acknowledge her. “Sono stato sufficientemente chiaro?” 

They all give her curt nods, suitably reminded of who’s running the show and Helena turns back to a silent but seething Mariano. 

The Marchesis are a dying family, the matriarch far too old to present any real threat and most of the younger men picked off by rival families or imprisoned and she’d always wondered what exactly it is that her father had seen in Mariano to deem him a good enough match for the daughter of the largest family in Gotham. 

He’d needed a match, she knows as much, but she can’t imagine that the man trembling at her feet would ever amount to more than petty threats and a backroom gambling operation. 

“I hope you understand by now that we’re not getting married anymore.” 

“You can’t call off the engagement. Franco—” 

She tuts as her thumb brushes against the safety, threatening to release the slide and his mouth shuts, teeth meeting with an audible click and the muscle in his cheek jumps as he stares at the gun in her hand. 

“Franco is not in charge. I am.” Her voice turns icy as her placid smile drops. “So if I hear even a whispered rumour that you’ve set foot outside of this neighbourhood, my father is going to be the least of your worries.” 

Mariano’s eyes are full of anger when he meets Helena’s eyes, but something in her own eyes must give away just how serious she is because he looks away almost as quickly, gaze flitting to Pino. 

“Don’t look at me, Marchesi,” Pino says with a laugh. “I told her to take your tongue.” 

Helena smiles, feigning an endeared look to hide how impressed she is with Pino’s quick thinking in spite of the confusion he must be feeling. 

“Helena—” he tries to start but she shakes her head and he immediately stops. 

“Just in case your Italian’s not as good as I remember,” she says. “Have I made myself clear?” 

“Yes.” 

Her small smile is genuine then as she steps away, glancing at the men again who all nod at her before looking away. 

“Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.” 

She turns to go, drops the gun on the table by the door and pats Pino’s arm to get him to stop glaring at Mariano and follow her out of the restaurant. 

Helena knows she shouldn’t take pleasure in the violence but the sound of Mariano’s groan just as the door closes behind them is a welcome one. 

“Why’d we have to stop by your place if you were going to use his own gun?” Pino asks as they walk down to the corner of the block to where the car is waiting for them, his hand gentle on her elbow as they step around a group of lost tourists. 

“The shoes, Pino,” she says, smiling even as he frowns at her. “They’re steel-toed boots.” 

Everything about Pino may show off that he’s a grown man, but Helena can only see her little brother when he sends that lopsided smile her way, eyes lighting up with delight as he glances down at her footwear. 

He pauses when they reach the car, hand on the frame as he turns to her and the smile drops from her face, knowing that he’s going to bring her up. 

“Dinah Lance.” It’s not a question but she still nods, wills the curling in her gut to calm as she waits for Pino’s questions. “Do you need me to put some guys on her?” 

“No,” she says with a wry smile. “But thank you for offering.” 

He doesn’t press the issue and the drive back to her building has a quiet but pleasant air to it. He stops out front and she’s just grabbing her bag when he calls her name softly, halting her in her movements. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “About the protection.” 

She nods and then slides out of the backseat, bending down to face him as she bids him goodbye, and he still looks wary so she musters up a smile even though she feels like crying. 

“She deserves some peace.”   

The weight of everything starts bearing down on her once she’s back home again, once Sal drops her off after church and she stands for far too long in the shower, lets the too-hot water beat down on her skin until she starts feeling lightheaded. 

It’s the quiet of the nights that always get her, the pains of the day melding together into a dull ache that pulls at her muscles and makes everything harder to do. 

It’s only the discipline instilled over years and years that keeps her moving, makes sure she brushes her teeth and checks that the door is locked and sets an alarm and orders her to bed, but once she’s between the sheets she just lays there, staring up at the ceiling. 

Helena knows she cries but she doesn’t feel it, sees the tear stains on her pillow more than she feels the sorrow that grips her heart tight and squeezes. Sometimes she thinks she’s broken, that she just can’t feel things anymore, that losing her mother had used up all the despair she’d been allocated for a lifetime. But she still cries, and she still lies awake, and she still rages and burns but more and more with a dullness that she hates is taking over her life. 

That last conversation with Dinah replays like a distorted loop in her mind, each time highlighting a different part like the most fucked up type of film reel, focusing on Dinah’s tears, or the tremble of her chin, or the anger in her eyes, or the flinch away from proximity. The memory keeps her awake, every moment paused and rewinded and replayed as she considers every alternate option for each thing that had gone wrong. 

She’d learned about alternate universes in college, about how each decision made fractures the universe into two new ones, and that infinite parallel worlds exist where a simple change affects the entire universe and Helena finds herself wondering why she’s stuck in this one, why she couldn’t have made all the right decisions to be in that parallel universe where Dinah doesn’t hate her and she doesn’t feel like her lungs are trying to slowly suffocate her. 

She wonders if there’s a universe in which they’re together and happy and when those thoughts seep in, she sits up in bed, kicking the sheets away from her body in a rage and cries into her palms, back bowed under the pressure of all her mistakes. 

Once the sobs have slowed and it feels less like holding them in is going to drown her, Helena reaches for her phone on the nightstand, barely flinching at the bright glare from the screen as she wakes it to look at the time and do the math to figure out what time it is in Paris and whether it’s an appropriate time to call. 

Her fingers move over her phone slowly but with intent, and she’s about to hit call when the phone vibrates in her hand. 

She’s so startled that it almost slips from her fingers. The name of the person calling her finally registers and she fumbles in her haste to pick up but by the time she does, all she hears is the dial tone and her heart drops again. 

Helena Bertinelli, 3:42 AM
Is everything okay?

Dinah Lance, 3:43 AM
sorry
i didnt mean to wake you up

Helena Bertinelli, 3:43 AM
You didn’t
What’s wrong? 

Dinah Lance, 3:44 AM
nothing
im fine, i just
im sorry

Helena Bertinelli, 3:44 AM
Dinah, are you sure you’re okay?

The bubble with three dots appears and then vanishes and Helena grips her phone so tightly with anticipation she’s a little worried the glass of the screen will shatter in her hand. 

The dots appear again, linger for a long while and Helena almost can’t breathe as she waits, her heart doing traitorous flips in her chest while her whole body thrums with an energy she’s unfamiliar with so late in the night, and when Dinah’s message finally comes through, Helena cries tears she didn’t know she still had. 

Dinah Lance, 3:47 AM
can I call you?

Helena Bertinelli, 3:47 AM
Of course

Chapter Text

Dinah Lance, 3:47 AM
can I call you?

Helena Bertinelli, 3:47 AM
Of course

Dinah stares at the screen of her phone for barely a second before clicking the call icon, doing it before the rational part of her can start running interference and stop her from acting recklessly and it only rings twice before Helena picks up. 

“Hi,” Helena says and something in Dinah’s chest releases, like an overloaded valve that’s finally been twisted open, the storm clouding her slipping away as she closes her eyes. A part of her feels relieved that Helena has picked up even though she’d given no indication that she would do otherwise and Dinah twists onto her side, tucking the bedsheets more firmly over her shoulder as she buries half her face into her pillow. 

“Hi,” she finally says and the phone is pressed so tightly to her ear that she can hear Helena’s shaky breath as she exhales. 

She feels betrayed by how much she misses Helena, the anger she feels day by day becoming more eclipsed by the grief and the sharp sting of loss. She hadn’t noticed just how large a part of her life Helena had become until it had been ripped away. She’d been fuelled by her ire, blinded by her fury, right up to the moment where Helena had apologised to her, no longer begging for understanding or trying to fight, but had resigned herself to letting Dinah go. 

It sounds stupid when she thinks about it but she hadn’t actually expected Helena to completely back off but the email from her company that the project had been re-allocated to another person had confirmed it for her and once she understood what the email actually meant — that Helena was respecting the boundaries while effectively severing the connection — Dinah had gone home and cried into her pillow for what felt like hours. 

That’s where her mother found her, undoubtedly drawn to the sound of sobbing that Dinah had managed to keep quiet in the days leading up to it, and her mom hadn’t even needed to ask what was going on, simply perching on the side of the bed and gently rubbed her back, the sad, knowing smile and kind eyes breaking her resolve. 

It was a release she didn’t know she needed, the freedom of no longer having to suppress all of it in her home to safeguard her mom’s feelings and to avoid drawing parallels between their situations and the ability to just wallow in her heartbreak had been helpful in curbing some of the more sharp rage she’d felt. 

It meant that all she’d been left with was her pain and the low-thrumming ache of not having Helena anymore. 

She misses all the little moments. The messages in between a long day and the short calls when rushing but just wanting to have a quick chat without the constraints of texting, the daily care and attention and the way it had made her feel so wanted, like she mattered enough for Helena to steal away a small moment with her. 

Most of all she misses the late-night phone calls, when she’d be getting ready for bed and would have the phone on speaker while going about her nightly routine, Helena’s voice a steady companion as she’d done the same in her own apartment and it had always felt so intimate, like they couldn’t be together in the physical sense but still had that string of connection between them in the shared routine. 

She’d hung out with the girls earlier, leaving the group earlier than she’d planned because she’d felt slightly tipsy from the single whiskey soda that Harley had poured for her — more whisky than soda — and it had left her feeling more sad than excitable and even hours later in her bed, after plenty of water and a cool shower to clear her head, as sober as could be, she couldn’t fall asleep, had been staring at her ceiling while that lost feeling came back. 

Saturday night means Helena would have come home after going to church with Sal, had a small snack before hopping in the shower. She’d call as soon as she was done and dressed and they’d talk for twenty minutes before Helena would start becoming slower with her responses, sometimes humming in agreement before pausing and saying, “Wait, what?” and Dinah would laugh softly, endeared by the predictability of Helena’s exhaustion. 

She’d tease her about her exciting Saturday night knowing full well that Helena was dead tired because of an early rise for training but taunting her anyway if only to hear the soft, tired laugh she’d get in response. 

It was the echo of that familiar laugh that had made her reach for her phone to scroll through their messages, heart hurting at the countless ones she’d received from Helena prior to their conversation that she’d left unanswered and it’s the guilt of that combined with the far too recent realisation that she hadn’t actually let Helena explain the situation that had weakened her. 

She doesn’t know why she called but her fingers had moved on their own, calling Helena’s phone before she could stop herself and as soon as her hands started responding to the signals sent by her brain, she’d hung up. 

The second she pulled the phone from her ear to end the call, she noticed it had been picked up but her late-night delayed reflexes hadn’t been quick enough and she’d ended the call. 

Getting a text immediately from Helena wasn’t a surprise but her hands were still shaking as she’d answered. 

“Dinah?” she whispers softly, carefully, as if she’s trying to see if she’s still on the line, ready to be disappointed. 

Dinah trembles at the sound of her name falling from Helena’s lips, has to squeeze her eyes shut to stem the tears and stop herself from getting choked up and having that be heard over the phone. It’s unfair how good it sounds, how warm she feels when Helena says her name and she’s fallen so hard, so fast that the current state of their relationship hurts unlike anything Dinah has ever felt before. 

She hurts all of the time, days overrun by the conflict raging inside of her, the anger and heartbreak at odds with the longing for just another moment, another conversation. 

She’s been trying to stay away, trying to keep to herself and not give in to her heart, a heart that takes over late at night and makes her do rash things like call up the girl she likes in the middle of the night. 

She just wanted to hear Helena’s voice. 

“Are you there?” 

“I miss you,” she whispers so quietly as if the words will take flight if she speaks any louder, and her phone is pressed so tightly to her ear that she doesn’t miss anything, hears the way Helena shudders out a breath and doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’m sorry for waking you up,” she adds, the formality feeling almost necessary to keep them from getting into waters too deep. 

“You didn’t; I was awake,” Helena says and Dinah is inclined to believe her based on how quickly she’d answered the call and the complete lack of sleep clouding her words. 

She’s had enough phone calls with a sleepy Helena to be able to perfectly recognise a halfway unconscious Helena and the one on the other end of their current call isn’t that. 

“Why?” she ends up asking. 

“Why what?” 

“Why are you wide awake at 3 in the morning?” 

“I can’t sleep,” Helena says. 

“Why?” 

“You know why,” she whispers and Dinah feels her eyes well up again even before Helena says the words. “I miss you so much.” 

The words come out shaky and when Dinah closes her eyes all she sees is a crying Helena, and no matter how many blankets she’s under, Dinah can’t seem to dispel the cold that rattles through her bones. 

“So what are we going to do about that?” she asks carefully, tentatively, hoping that Helena understands the olive branch she’s holding out — not forgiveness, but a start. 

“Nothing,” Helena says and even though her voice cracks, it still feels like a punch to the gut for Dinah. “I, uhm… I’m sorry I got you involved in my shit.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, trying for a lightness to her words. “That’s just part of life in Gotham, right?” she jokes but her laugh rings hollow. “Always having to look over your shoulder.” 

“No.” 

Even though she’s not there, Dinah still reels back at the sharpness of the word, unsettled by the ferocity of it and by Helena’s suddenly strong voice. 

“You don’t. You’re never going to see him again — I took care of it,” Helena says and there’s no emotion in her voice, nothing for Dinah to hook onto and try to understand and she realises that she’s not talking to her Helena anymore, that she’s now having a call with the business side of her that she’s only caught glimpses of. 

The traces had been there, at their first meeting at the offices, when Helena had first come to the flower shop, all the times she’d see her at the office, catching a glimpse of the woman she was when she wasn’t around Dinah.

“Again — I’m sorry,” Helena says, her voice softer but not as warm as it had been before and Dinah misses the Helena she knows, the sharp edges softening and the powerful confidence replaced by a coy shyness that had drawn Dinah in.

“It’s okay,” she says with a shake of the head that Helena can’t see. 

The silence stretches between them, filled with all the words Dinah doesn’t know how to say. 

Helena sighs softly and she can hear the sheets rustle but try as she might, Dinah can’t figure out what Helena’s doing so she stops trying, focusing instead on the soft, steady breaths and her eyes slip closed as she imagines what it would feel like if they could just lay together and— 

She stops herself before she can get too far down the spiral and then Helena clears her throat, and Dinah can feel how uncomfortable she is. 

“It’s getting late…” 

“Yeah.” 

“You should try to get some sleep,” Helena says softly and Dinah doesn’t miss the way she says you and not we. 

“So should you.” 

“I will,” she says with a soft little laugh, like she’s amused by Dinah catching her slip up for a moment it feels like old times when there wasn’t all this distance between them. 

“Goodnight Helena,” she whispers, voice soft to hide the tremble as the tears come rushing back. 

“Goodnight Dinah.” 

She joins her mom in the kitchen late in the morning, feet dragging as she moves to the coffee machine to get a cup to wake her up, still half asleep and bleary as she mutters a good morning. 

Her mom hums and Dinah doesn’t see the way her mom hides her amused smile with the rim of her mug.

“Barely,” she murmurs and Dinah glances at the numbers on the oven to confirm how late in the morning it is and just sighs, shakes her head. “Late night?” 

Her tone is teasing and normally Dinah would bristle at the implication behind the words but her mother knew she’d gone out the previous night so pretending to be indignant would be pointless so she just shakes her head. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, skirting around the truth. 

Her mom’s expression falls, perfectly understanding what Dinah isn’t saying and her smile turns sad as she sets the cup of coffee on the counter. “I’m sorry baby.” 

Dinah just shrugs, shakes her head. She doesn’t want to get into it with her mom right now and the last thing she needs when she’s tired and heartbroken is to talk about it so she changes the topic and asks, “You got any plans for today?” 

“I have to take care of a few things,” she says as she lifts her chin and Dinah is immediately suspicious.

“On a Sunday?” 

“Why not on a Sunday?” her mother says, finishing her coffee and setting the cup in the sink. She shoots Dinah a look that almost begs her to challenge the statement but she refrains, shakes her head softly as she sips from her own coffee. “I’ll be back later.” 

“Bye mom,” she says as she watches the woman step closer with a pep in her step that Dinah refuses to ask about for fear of getting an actual answer. 

“Bye baby,” she says and Dinah happily reciprocates the hug that her mom offers, comforted by the familiar embrace and holding on for an extra second to let all the tension seep out of her. 

It’s only after her mother has left, the door clicking closed behind her and with Dinah still hanging over the counter nursing her coffee, that the sentence pings, and it calls up a memory from last night’s conversation with Helena that she should have asked more about but didn’t, and she replays the memory as the particular phrase gets stuck, looping in her brain like a bad earworm and festering. 

“Alright, we’re all ready to go!” 

Dinah doesn’t hear his attempt at pep, staring off at the gardenias while she replays the conversation in her head. 

“Dinah—yo.” 

A clipboard gets waved in front of her face and that finally snaps Dinah out of her thoughts, her eyes focusing on Nicky as she blinks a few times to get rid of her dry eyes.

“Hm?” 

“What’s eatin’ at ya?” Nicky asks with a boisterous laugh as he motions with his head for her to follow him to the back where Mike is busy loading the van. 

“Oh, I was just thinking about something.” 

“Anything good?” 

“Not particularly,” she jokes as she takes the proffered clipboard from him and flicks through the pages, nodding as Nicky starts helping out with the stacking. “If someone says to you ‘I took care of him,’ what do you think that means?” 

“That he killed him,” Nicky says without missing a beat but then he pauses, holding a box and Mike bumps into him because of the abrupt stop. 

Dinah’s curiosity is piqued by Nicky’s suddenly reddening cheeks and the way he avoids her eyes, her own smile going impossibly wide as she asks, “What?” 

“Unless you mean… y’know. The other thing?” 

“Other thing?” she asks, moving closer to lean against the door of the truck as he finally sets down the box for Mike to stack it with the rest. 

“Y’know…” he says, gesturing vaguely and Dinah does know what he means but it’s also fun to watch Nicky struggle, one of his hands awkwardly wiping at his pant leg. “Sexually.” 

Dinah finally lets out the laugh she’d been holding in and Nicky chuckles along with her, albeit a little awkwardly. 

“Why’d you ask?” 

“Just wondering, but thanks,” Dinah says, walking with Nicky as he climbs into the driver’s seat of the truck and hands him back the clipboard through the open window. “Safe drive.”

“Thanks. Want a sandwich from the corner place by Kane’s when we come back?” 

“Definitely.” 

“Three more, Dinah, come on!” 

She groans to confirm she’s heard it and her trainer just laughs, egging her on as she pulls her chin over the bar once, arms shaking and her entire back warm with tension and pain. She’s almost crying once she’s done with the set and she drops from the bar heavily, landing on her feet to catch most of the momentum before flopping to the mat below it, chest heaving and heart racing. 

“Good job.” 

“I hate you,” she manages to say between breaths and the woman laughs again, nudging Dinah’s thigh with the tip of her shoe. 

“So I’m guessing that means you don’t want to do the extra rowing?” 

“Fuck you, Kory.” 

“I’m making you row next time just for that,” she says but her voice is all mirth and Dinah lets out an exhausted chuckle, body aching with it and she presses a hand against her abs just to try and relieve some of the muscle ache that she can already feel setting in. “Hey can I ask you something?” 

“You just did,” she throws back with a teasing smile and Dinah tries to swat at her legs but she’s in too much pain to give it much effort and Kory easily hops out of the way. “What’s up?” 

“If someone says, ‘I took care of him,’ what do you think they mean with that?” 

Dinah takes the extended hand and lets Kory basically yank her to her feet. 

“Is it a guy or a girl?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Sure,” Kory says with a shrug, propping a hand on her hip as she watches Dinah stretch out her arms. “If it’s a girl, they fucked. If it’s a guy, murder.” 

Dinah just hums as she bends at the waist and curls her hands behind her ankles, groaning as the muscles in her legs stretch and release. 

“Are we being jealous or are we covering up a body?” 

She laughs as she drops her hands to the ground, twisting her body to shoot Kory a smile and when she straightens again, she just shakes her head. “None of that, I just heard someone say it and was curious.” 

Kory’s eyebrow ticks up as her lips purse but she doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to swat at Dinah’s thigh with her own towel and nudge her chin in the direction of the rowing machines and other cardio equipment, speaking over Dinah’s whine. 

“Fuck it, let’s go row.” 

She sighs for the third time as she reads over the tax forms, fingers lazily twirling a pen when her mother sneezes and the surprise of it makes her lose her grip and sends the pen flying across the table. 

“Bless you,” she says with a smile, leaning out to reach for the pen again. 

“Thank you.” 

Her mother shoots her a smile, and she’s just about to return to her paperwork when the words stumble past Dinah’s lips even though she’d had zero intention of verbalising them. 

“What does ‘I took care of him’ mean?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Someone said it to me the other day. ‘I took care of him.’ What do you think it means?” 

“Person probably misspoke,” her mother says, waving dismissively and the bracelets around her wrist clanking with the movement. “Meant to say ‘took care of it’ instead of ‘him’.” 

“We were talking about a specific person,” Dinah explains and her mother lifts her eyes again, peering at her daughter over her glasses. 

There’s a glint in her eyes that Dinah can’t place, a twist to her lips before she slowly says, “I took care of him?” 

Dinah just nods and then her mother makes the most obscene gesture she’s ever seen those hands make, forefinger and thumb forming a circle as she crooks her other forefinger and pokes it through the circle. 

“Mom!” 

Mama Drake just laughs and her hands fall flat to the table, shoulders shaking as she laughs heartily at her daughter’s disgust.

“No!” 

Dinah wants to bury her face in her hands or walk away, eager to go do anything that will get the image of her mother making that gesture out of her brain but then her mom calms, shakes her head as she presses a hand to her chest to steady her breathing. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she says without an ounce of remorse in her tone. “If not that, then—” She makes a fist and extends her elbow a few times, mimicking a stabbing while her idle hand flies up to her mouth to stifle her laughter at Dinah’s horrified look. 

“Oh my god,” Dinah breathes, shaking her head as she closes her eyes and lifts her face to the heavens. 

“You asked, baby girl.” 

“You should get up there and sing.” 

Dinah smiles before even opening her eyes, leaning into the nudge that Barbara gives her.

“You know I’m not going to,” she murmurs, lashes fluttering as she opens her eyes to shoot her friend a look. 

“Come on, Canary,” the redhead tries as she pulls her lips into a pout and shoots Dinah the most spectacular puppy dog eyes she’s seen since the last time this very expression was levelled at her. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard your beautiful voice.” 

“Is that why you brought me here today?” she asks, the backs of her fingers almost chiding as she taps at Babs’ arm, curious as to why they were drinking at a club instead of being comfortable at Pam’s.  

“No,” she says immediately but Dinah isn’t convinced. “It’s because you needed to get out.” 

“You need to start getting over Helena Bertinelli,” Pamela adds, head poking in between the two women, voice low and a little hoarse and neither Babs nor Dinah comment on the smudged lipstick. She straightens as her arm extends between them, offering Dinah and Babs their drinks. “For you.” 

“I—” Dinah starts but then gives up almost as soon as she’d started, knows that she has no defence and no explanation, that there’s no way for her to tell her friends that she may be considering giving the woman a chance to explain since she’d done such an awful job at letting Helena speak the last time they saw each other. They won’t understand, and she doesn’t feel like explaining it, and most of all she doesn’t want to sour the mood of what is supposed to be a fun night together. 

“And we all know the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody else,” Pam murmurs as she drops to the plush leather seat on Dinah’s opposite side and Dinah just rolls her eyes at the sentiment, barely managing to suppress the urge to scoff at the words. 

Harley nods so much her pigtails bounce with the movement before she drops onto Pamela’s lap, arms looping around her neck and the arm that winds around her waist and settles moves without hesitance, belying the familiarity of the move and the intimacy between the two women. 

Pamela never takes her eyes off Dinah, eyebrows still raised in challenge and Dinah looks away from the pair, a twisted part of her grateful that girls’ night means Barbara can’t bring Grayson along and that she won’t be relegated to fifth wheeling the two couples all night. 

“Are you two just gonna make out all night, or what?” Babs calls out after she sets her drink down, words spoken right before Harley’s lips meet Pam’s and stopping the movement in its tracks, the two turning their heads to look at her, Harley with a cheeky grin and Pamela with a scowl. 

Dinah has no interest in being the mediating party of this glaring match so she twists to face her friend and asks, “What’re Cass and Grayson up to?” 

“Laser tag and pizza.” 

They fall into easy conversation, punctuated by the awful and mediocre singers that take the stage to sing their favourite songs and as much as Babs, Pam, and Harley try, they don’t manage to get Dinah up on stage. They try plying her with alcohol, bribing her, promising her gifts in exchange, Harley even offers to gift Dinah her Good Night bat, the only deal Dinah pauses, tilts her head and hums at, before shaking her head and watching with no small amount of glee as their shoulders sag. 

It’s not that she doesn’t want to sing because she really does, but the songs she feels like singing aren’t right for this crowd and she’s not sure she’d be able to get through one of those kitschy new pop songs without either bursting into laughter at the awful lyrics or tears that the romance in all of them still makes her chest hurt. 

“I’m throwing in the towel,” Pam says as she finally gives up, slumping back and nursing her nth cocktail. 

Dinah pretends not to see her hand go wandering up Harley’s thigh as she slumps against the comfortable leather of the booth, head lolling to the side as she turns to Barbara. 

“You okay?” Babs asks softly, eyes clearing enough for Dinah to know exactly what she’s asking after so she just shrugs one shoulder and shoots the redhead a wry smile. 

“It feels…” 

She struggles to find the right words but Babs is patient, curling a jean-clad leg under her form so she can fully face Dinah, elbow propped up against the couch and holding up her head and her eyes are so full of patience that Dinah has no trouble understanding how her friend managed to get through to Cassandra when she’d first started fostering her, something about her blue eyes magnified by her glasses and encouraging all the same. 

“Unresolved.” 

“That’s because it is.” 

“What if I want to resolve it?” 

“Then resolve it,” Babs says, smile barely hidden by the rim of her cocktail glass and Dinah ends up looking away to stare the ceiling, the glittering pieces of glass bouncing around the lasers and disco lights of the bar. “It’s that easy.” 

“It can’t be.” 

“Why not?”

She doesn’t have a good answer to that and she’s not sure how to verbalise all the feelings swirling inside of her so Dinah just lets out a tiny whine from the back of her throat that draws a laugh from Barbara. 

“Do you love her?” 

The tears spring to her eyes before she can do something about then and she has to fiddle with her rings to keep her hands from shaking, the notion of it too much to bear especially considering she can’t answer in the negative and Babs must sense that, because she’s perceptive and a good friend, and so she adjusts her sentence, voice going just a little softer. 

“Do you think you could love her?” 

“Yes.” 

Babs is quiet and Dinah turns to her to see what she has to say but the redhead just shrugs, lips thinning into a wry smile as she does. 

“You slammed the door, didn’t you?” Babs asks as she looks over to the stage and winces when the singer there tries to hit a note that he completely misses. 

“Slammed the door?” 

“You know the saying that’s like, ‘a window will open when you close a door’?” 

Barbara blinks at her after saying the words and Dinah watches her for a beat, waiting for her friend to notice how badly she’s mangled the saying but the fact that she just raises her eyebrows, clearly waiting for a reply, tells Dinah enough about how sober Barbara actually isn’t. 

“When a door closes, another one opens?” 

“That’s what I said,” Babs says with an adorable frown before shaking her head. “Whatever. I’m asking whether you slammed the door shut on your chance at love!” 

She leans in and pokes Dinah’s shoulder, right at the dip where her arm meets her torso and Dinah’s responding whine is more disgruntled than anything as she squirms away from Barbara’s surprisingly sharp finger and reaches up to bat her hand away. 

“If it can be fixed, fix it. And if not, go scratch your itch. Preferably with the girl who has looked over here every five minutes and keeps shooting me daggers with her eyes.” 

Barbara cants her head ever so slightly and Dinah shifts, pretends to glance around the room looking for someone when her eyes fall on the tall brunette by the bar. Her eyes shoot away as soon as Dinah’s gaze falls to her, like she’s been watching them and could sense that Dinah was going to look at her. Even with the erratic lights, Dinah takes note of the striking features, sharp cheekbones and streaks of grey in the otherwise dark tresses that fall in loose waves over her shoulders. 

On any other day, she’d have gone for it, shot the woman a smile and beckoned her over, but when the brunette looks over at them again and falters, clearly taken by surprise that she’s still being watched, Dinah just gives her a soft smile and a shake of the head that she gracefully takes with a single nod before turning away again. 

She hears Barbara let out a long-suffering sigh before she feels the couch shift, the woman getting to her feet and grabbing her now empty glass. 

“What?” Dinah asks as she reaches out to wrap her fingers around Babs’ wrist, half-heartedly yanking her back with a wide smile that the redhead isn’t immune to so as much as she tries to keep up her exasperated smile, Dinah can see her shoulders soften. 

“I’m going to get a spray bottle to spritz you every time I think you make a bad decision,” she says, trying for a serious tone but her eyes are twinkling and Dinah’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or that Babs just really likes poking fun at her, but she just laughs in response and gently swings her friend’s arm. 

“You’re going to spritz me when softcore porn is happening right here?” she throws back with an arched eyebrow and a gesture to the couple beside her. 

Harley is fully in Pamela’s lap now, with her hands tightly holding onto Ivy’s face as they make out, one of Pam’s hands on her ass and the other one out of sight. 

“Them too, take care of two things at once.”  

The words ping a memory in her head and Dinah’s fingers curl more tightly around the wrist in her hold, tugging Barbara closer. “Wait hang on.” 

“Dinah c’mon, I wanna go get a drink before I have to sing.” 

“No, it’s just—wait you’re going to sing?” she asks, expression lighting up but then Barbara glares at her so hard she gets on with the point. “If someone says to you, ‘I took care of him,’ what do you think that means?” 

“What was the context?” 

“No context, we were just talking about someone and she said that,” Dinah says and doesn’t notice that she’s given away a hint until Babs leans in and drops her voice when she speaks. 

“I think it means Helena Bertinelli killed someone.” 

Before Dinah has any chance to respond, jaw going slack and brows furrowing, there’s a soft growl from next to her. 

“That or she boinked the guy,” Harley happily contributes, lipstick marks so much more obvious now that she’s not making out with Ivy anymore and Harley is either completely unfazed by, or totally doesn’t notice, her girlfriend glaring at her for breaking their kiss to participate in a conversation they were not involved in, especially considering that neither Dinah nor Babs had expected input from them. 

“Harley, who still says boinked?” Barbara says with a short, sharp giggle. 

“I do! It’s a fun word.” 

Babs just rolls her eyes as she yanks her hand free from Dinah’s hold. “I’m getting a drink.” 

“Ooh, I’ll join you!” Harley adds and hops from Ivy’s lap before the woman can reach for her and keep her close. 

Pamela turns to Dinah with a questioning look, expression falling when Dinah shoots her friend a wry smile. 

“Bathroom.” 

“No, don’t leave me,” Ivy tries to plead. “If you leave me alone, a man will come over here and try to talk to me.” 

“Sorry,” Babs says but Harley is already out of earshot and Dinah’s creeping away from the couch. 

“Sorry, bathroom can’t wait,” Dinah says and she doesn’t stick around long enough to hear Pam’s long sigh or her incredibly droll voice when she says, 

“Well, this is fun.” 

Dinah slides the phone out of her back pocket as she makes her way through the club to the bathroom. She considers going outside but that would mean going the other direction, and that would surely be noticed and put her under suspicion so she sneaks into the women’s bathroom and breathes a sigh of relief when she notices that the awful singing from the club is almost entirely muffled by the heavy door and thick walls. 

She’s grateful of her foresight to have tucked her phone in her back pocket earlier in the evening because there’s no way she would have made it away from the girls without one of them noticing her taking the phone out of her bag, and depending on which of her friends caught her, she’d have been subjected to anywhere from a gentle prodding to a full-blown interrogation about its intended use, none of which Dinah would have wanted to deal with.

Her fingers fumble with her phone as she tries to find the number while she locks herself into one of the stalls, one hand on her hip as she attempts to pace the tiny bathroom stall while waiting for the call to be picked up. 

“Did you kill Mariano Marchesi?” 

“What? Dinah, what are you—?” 

“Did you kill Mariano Marchesi?” she repeats, voice more of a hiss to keep it a secret in case someone overhears her and then accuses her of being involved. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“How do I believe you?” 

“Dinah, what is this about?” 

“You said you took care of him and that’s apparently a universal code for killing someone so…” 

Even through her apparent shock at having Dinah call her up out of the blue on a Friday night, Helena manages a short, sharp laugh that floats into her ear and makes warmth burst in Dinah’s chest. 

“I did not, I just had a conversation with him. If you don’t believe me, you can check his Instagram.” 

“Okay…” Dinah says, slowly coming to the realisation that she may have been a little quick to jump the gun. “Okay.” 

“Alright, I’ll let you go do that.” 

“No, I believe you.” 

The words slip out before she can stop them she can hear the surprised hitch of Helena’s breathing, the shaky way she lets out her, “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry for calling you.” 

“No, you—you don’t have to apologise, ever,” Helena is quick to say, and Dinah can almost hear the desperate undercurrent to it, how eager Helena is to make sure she can always be called by Dinah. 

She’s really missed the sound of Helena’s voice and she doesn’t like thinking about a future where she can’t just call up the woman whenever she feels like it, and it’s the weight of that pressing down on her chest that makes the words fall from her lips, eyes closing as she leans her forehead against the door of the bathroom stall. 

“I think we should have another talk.” 

“Okay,” Helena says and Dinah can hear movement from her end of the call. “Where are you?” 

A surprised little laugh bursts from her chest as she says, “What, right now?” 

“I don’t want you to change your mind.” 

“I’m not going to.” 

“I know how hard it is to get our schedules aligned and I’m not doing anything right now, so…” 

“I’m actually—” She can’t put her finger on how she knows, but she can hear the way all the hope seeps from Helena, can perfectly picture the curve of her spine and the curl of her shoulders as the rejection sets in and there’s a soft hum of understanding that breaks her heart all over again and makes her eager to return them to the easy flowing exchange they’d had before. “I’m at Pollyanna.” 

“I don’t want to interrupt your plans for the night,” Helena says carefully, voice perfectly level. 

“You’re not.” Her next breath is shaky but she doesn’t shy away from the emotion as she says, “I want to see you.” 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” 

Chapter Text

Helena stands in her kitchen for a whole minute after they hang up, surprised and baffled by the call and the fact that she’s going to see Dinah soon and she has to physically shake her head to get herself out of the stupor and grab her jacket and helmet, wasting a whole other minute trying to locate the spare, just in case. 

She makes sure to have her phone and wallet with her and then she’s flying out the door, only barely remembering to lock it behind her in her haste to leave but she makes up for any lost time on the drive there. 

Helena parks right in front of the entrance at Pollyanna and the bouncer is already stepping towards her when she takes off her helmet and he recognises her, dipping his chin in a cordial greeting and she just smiles in response as she swings a leg over the bike to stand next to it and reach into her pocket for her phone. 

Helena Bertinelli, 22:23 PM
I’m outside.
Want me to come in?

Dinah Lance, 22:24 PM
no
I’ll be right there

Helena doesn’t know what to do with herself while she waits, paces a total of seven steps before the bouncer gives her a puzzled look and she stops, chooses to lean against the bike and try to remain cool when all she wants to do is shake away the frenetic energy building under her skin. 

She doesn’t have to wait long, and Helena glances up when she hears the heavy door to the club open, halting her fingers in their frantic wringing to bury them deep in her pockets as she sees Dinah come out of the club, the loud music only briefly surrounding them before the door is closed again and the sounds muffled. 

Dinah juggles a leather jacket, her phone, and a small bag in her hands, almost dropping all of them as she tucks the phone in her back pocket and loops the long chain of her bag over her shoulder, trying to free up her hands to finally grab a decent hold of her jacket. 

Helena watches as she steps from the dark entrance out onto the sidewalk, head finally lifting to look for her and pausing abruptly when she finds Helena right in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says with a small, albeit surprised, smile and Helena feels her heart flutter at that look. 

“Hi,” she replies, hoping she doesn’t sound like a lovestruck fool. 

Dinah’s eyes slowly drag down her body and Helena has half a mind to look down at her outfit, unsure of why her black jeans and riding jacket seem to be worth such scrutiny until she notices Dinah take in a deep breath and then lick her lips on the exhale. 

She takes advantage of Dinah’s distraction to return the favour, always entranced by Dinah’s fashion choices and even more so tonight, the high-waisted jeans seemingly moulded to her legs, accompanied by a scrap of suede fabric that she supposes could be considered a top despite the midriff and ample amount of cleavage on display and Helena almost feels bad for staring so hard. 

Dinah clears her throat and she rips her eyes away, back to her face but the look there isn’t chiding, just coy and welcome and when Dinah slips her arms into her leather jacket and shrugs it up her body, she very obviously doesn’t zip it closed. 

“Any particular reason we’re not going inside?” she finally asks after a long silence. 

“A club isn’t the best place to talk,” Dinah says but that doesn’t sound like the whole truth. Something on her face must give her away because Dinah sighs, gestures vaguely behind her, countless rings catching in the dim streetlight. “My friends are in there and I think if Harley sees you, she’ll either stab you or psychoanalyse you.” 

“I don’t mind,” she says with a shrug but Dinah’s already shaking her head. 

“I don’t need you to get a full personality assessment from her that’ll leave you questioning your entire existence,” Dinah says and Helena lets out a chuckle that halts abruptly when she realises that Dinah isn’t joking. 

“Fair enough,” she chokes out while trying to suppress the laugh and that finally sparks a smile from Dinah, corners of her mouth twitching and the dimple denting her cheek. 

Dinah still remains in her spot and Helena feels the tension build, desperately wishing they didn’t have this well between them and unsure of how to rid them of it. She shifts away from the bike to fully stand on her two feet, leaving the helmet behind as she stands in front of Dinah, clearing her throat softly to get the woman’s attention. 

“Do you want to go somewhere?” she tries softly. 

“How did I not know you have a motorcycle?” Dinah asks, voice as hushed as Helena’s as her face lifts to look at her, brow furrowing so adorably that Helena almost doesn’t register the question. “You said you can’t drive.” 

“I can’t drive.” 

“But you can ride a motorcycle?”

“Yes.” 

“And you’re not getting married?” 

“Not to Mariano Marchesi,” she says, caught off guard by the sudden pivot in topic. 

“To someone else then?” 

“Not right now, no.” 

“That’s very vague,” Dinah points out. “What does that mean?” 

“I would like to get married one day but not to Mariano.” 

“What does that even m—” 

Dinah’s breathing hitches as her eyes fly up to meet Helena’s, mouth clicking shut as she finally understands what Helena is trying to say in as many words, a stream of emotions playing about her features until they smooth out to a neutral expression. 

“Okay.” 

The simple word makes Helena bold, the flutter growing in strength and she gestures to the bike behind her. “Do you want to go for a drive?” 

Dinah barely takes a moment to think it over before— 

“Yes.” 

Helena tries not to let her smile take over her face, ducks her head down to hide it before remembering that her hair is braided away from her face and that she can’t rely on her dark locks to conceal her joy at that answer. Instead she twists, reaches for the spare helmet to give to Dinah, startling slightly when she turns back and finds the woman much closer than she’d previously been, the carbon fibre of the helmet brushing against her body. 

“Thanks,” Dinah rasps as she pulls it over her head, only choosing to close her jacket after she has the helmet settled in place and Helena’s distracted again by the countless rings as those fingers deftly hide away all the spots her eyes had been drawn to. 

She shakes her head to rid herself of the thoughts, trying not to get ahead of herself and using the opportunity to put on her own helmet and straddle the bike to straighten it from the kickstand. She’s about to ask Dinah if she’s ever ridden a motorcycle before when the woman locks her heel onto the passenger footpeg and uses it as leverage to easily swing her right leg over the motorcycle and settle behind Helena. 

She sees it all happen out of the corner of her eye, the way Dinah doesn’t even struggle in her tight jeans, how effortless and graceful the move is and how perfectly she seems to mould herself to Helena’s body, knees bracketing her thighs and hands falling to Helena’s shoulders. 

“Ready?” she asks as she yanks her visor shut to hide her undoubtedly bright red cheeks. 

“Yes.” 

Helena gives a final nod to the bouncer who’d been pretending not to be watching them and then pulls into traffic, zooming between cars and revving the engine and Dinah’s hands slide down from her shoulders along her sides before she winds her arms around Helena’s waist, holding on tightly as she tucks her chin over her shoulder and if keeping control of the motorcycle hadn’t felt like second nature by now, Helena’s sure she would have done some reckless like crash just from the feeling of Dinah’s body pressed so close to hers.

Helena rides through Gotham traffic for about thirty minutes before she feels Dinah gently pat her side and gesture for her to turn a corner. She follows the instructions and a few minutes later they’re speeding up a narrow road. Helena’s surprised when it lets out to a small plateau near the Crown Point Bridge, just a little spot where the ground levels out and she can see the river that separates Gotham from the rest of the world and the skyscrapers that make up half the city. 

She parks the bike and holds it while Dinah unmounts, focusing hard on making sure it’s steady and still to prevent herself from staring too hard at the way Dinah shakes her hair loose.

“What is this place?” she asks after she takes the helmet from Dinah and stores it with her own, hands buried deep in her pockets as Dinah gently tugs at the sleeve of her riding jacket.

“A hideaway.” She creeps up a tiny dirt walkway that is easily missed if you don't know about it and it opens up to a clearing with a few abandoned cement benches. “I used to come here when I was in high school.”

“With your dates?” Helena asks before she realises what she’s implying.

“Is this a date?” Dinah throws back just as quickly and Helena stumbles.

“No, well—I mean, I guess it—you could—" 

“No,” she says and Helena’s shoulders drop. “I never came here with a date. I figured that maybe...”

Dinah shrugs, looks out at the skyline as her hand lifts to move some curls away from her face.

“Maybe a neutral place wasn’t the best idea for a talk,” she says with a stray glance Helena’s way, eyes flitting away almost immediately when she notices Helena’s eyes already on her. “So maybe having this conversation in a familiar place would be better.”

Helena's not sure how to respond to that one, especially since she can perfectly understand Dinah's initial reluctance to have her anywhere near her safe spaces when having their initial conversation, but this feels like a white flag and Helena doesn't want to ruin that by speaking or trying to rebuff Dinah. 

“I used to come here with my dad.” Dinah cants her head and motions for Helena to follow her as she gracefully sinks to one of the benches, bending her knee as she props up a foot and uses it to rest her arm. She gazes out at the view, brow furrowing just the slightest bit before smoothing out and Helena wonders what had gone through her mind but isn't sure how to ask. “They were going to develop condos here but the project got scrapped for some reason I don't remember. If you follow the trail you can still see the foundations they laid but nature takes it all back eventually, so…" 

“Was your dad part of the development?” Helena asks, curious about Dinah's mention of her father now, when all those months they'd talked, she'd always deftly and subtly move the topic away from her father. 

“No,” she says plainly and there it is again, the quiet and plain rebuff of Helena's query, the topic rendered off-limits and just growing her curiosity. 

Then again, they're not here to talk about Dinah's past so Helena finally joins Dinah on the bench, hands sinking into he pockets again as she leans against the backrest of the cool concrete. 

“My father's dying," she says, and then she worries that her words are too abrupt or unexpected but Dinah doesn't seem surprised by them, just giving her a soft hum and when Helena glances her way, Dinah's features soften ever so slightly and it feels like the dam breaks. “He's sick and he doesn't have a lot of time left.”

“I'm sorry," Dinah says softly and she just shoots her a wry smile, shrugging slightly and letting out a long sigh. 

“I never thought I'd feel like this,” she confesses. “I didn't even think I had it in me.”  

“Grief?” 

“No,” Helena says immediately with a shake of the head, turning to look at Dinah pointedly, slipping a hand free from her jacket to gesture vaguely between them. “This.”  

Dinah's features slacken then, the confusion melting away and her fingers stilling. “What exactly do you mean by that?” she finally asks. 

“I used to think that I was... I don't know. Broken, or something.” The self-deprecating chuckle falls from her lips before she can stop it, a defence mechanism borne from years of trying to shy away from the truth by any means necessary. “Just forever numb, a side effect of seeing my mom…” She can hear the rustle of fabric as Dinah shifts but Helena doesn't turn to look, too scared of what she might find there. “She held me as she died and for so long I thought a part of me died with her that day because I could never quite…”  

She lacks the words in all the languages she speaks so she tries to gesture vaguely, letting out a frustrated little whine. 

“Feel.” 

She turns to look at Dinah, tries to keep the awe from her expression. “Yeah.” 

“I completely understand that,” Dinah says with eyes that carry too much pain. 

“So when my dad asked — arranged — everything, I figured what's the harm? Sal used to say that love is work, and that just loving someone wasn't enough, you had to want someone for it to work so I thought I could eventually get there, and it would be good for the family, and it's not like I was missing out anyway.” Helena turns her head but doesn't quite look at Dinah as she continues. “And then I met you and I…” 

She can't put into words just how overwhelmed she'd been by the tide of emotions, entirely unexpected and in some ways even unwelcome. She'd lived for decades without feeling anything more than a blip, only to be suddenly overtaken and rendered useless by a text or a soft smile.

She'd fallen headfirst into it and had no idea how to deal with it and by the time she'd started figuring it all out, shit had hit the fan so spectacularly that Helena still sometimes wonders if she has whiplash from it. But then she'll take a moment to really think about it and put it all into perspective and the guilt comes creeping in; her empathy for the way Dinah must be feeling eclipsing anything she might be going through. 

“I didn't know how to tell you about the arrangement,” she says softly, looking down at the ground as her fingers tremble slightly, still buried in the pockets of her riding jacket. “And I didn't think I needed to.” 

Dinah gives a soft hum and not much else and if she were less of a coward she'd look at that gorgeous face for any indication of how her words are being received. 

“Not right away, at least. I talked to my dad and I thought it was handled," she whispers and Helena hates the angry tears that spring to her eyes, spurred on by the rage and disappointment she'd felt when it had all been revealed to her, the broken trust in her father and the heartbreak of Dinah finding out in the worst way possible. 

“You could have just told me,” Dinah says in a gentle voice that just makes Helena feel worse. 

“I didn't want you to freak out.” 

“I wouldn't have,” she says and Helena knows that's true because of all the things she's told her, Dinah has never reacted badly to any of them, even when surprised, Helena had always been given the benefit of the doubt. 

“I didn't want you to feel like…” She's not sure how to verbalise it, how to explain that she didn't want to tell Dinah about the arrangement before it'd been called off — not for fear that Dinah would step back but because she wouldn't have wanted Dinah to feel like Helena was having to choose between Dinah and the arrangement keeping her family together. She wanted it to be a conversation afterwards, a conversation had where Dinah could never, even unintentionally, feel guilty about or responsible for Helena's choice. 

“I didn't want to make assumptions about our relationship,” she decides to say. “So I was going to tell you, but after I talked to my dad first.” 

Dinah doesn’t say anything so she twists to look, finds the woman nodding and staring at her hands intently, fingers fiddling with the ring on her left thumb. 

“Okay…” she says, undoubtedly feeling Helena’s eyes on her and then lifting her own with a wry smile and eyes a little hard. “We spent hours together the day after that, Helena.” 

“How do I bring that up? At a first date? I may not be the expert on dating but even I know that’s not good first date conversation,” she rambles and she doesn’t expect Dinah to let out a burst of laughter and her shock just makes Dinah laugh more. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she says with a shake of the head, laugh tempering to a delighted smile, her head tilting and eyes narrowing at Helena as she regards her. “You’re just…” She shakes her head again and her expression shifts again, something flashing in her eyes that Helena can’t quite place. “Were you really going to tell me?” 

“I didn’t plan on keeping it a secret forever,” she says honestly. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she adds with a whisper, looking away again, down at the ground while her brow furrows. 

She tries not to think about all the different ways she could have — and should have — gone about this, the aid of hindsight also a painful reminder that through her indecision and hesitance she’d managed to fuck it all up. As much as Dinah sits there and smiles at her and calls her in the middle of the night to tell her she misses her, Helena’s not going to presume anything of the other woman. 

But then Dinah’s fingers ghost over her wrist, on the sliver of skin peeking out of her sleeve and where the fabric of her pocket doesn’t quite reach, the touch tentative and when Helena doesn’t rebuff it or freeze, Dinah grows bolder, touch firmer as she curls her fingers around Helena’s wrist and carefully pulls it from the pocket. 

Helena lets her guide the hand, her fingers unfurling from the fist she hadn’t even noticed she’d had it in and Dinah slides her hand under Helena’s, fingers tangling as she takes their joined hands to her lap, her other hand dragging over the back of Helena’s hand and sending signals to her brain that do nothing but spark light and short circuit any activity happening. 

“And now?” 

“Now?” 

“Your dad is going to die and you’re not going to marry Mariano?” 

“Correct,” she says with a jerky nod. 

“And he’s just… going to let that happen?” Dinah asks. 

“Yes. Because he knows what happens if he ever steps out of line again.” 

Dinah tilts her head, studying Helena and she suddenly feels like she’s given the wrong answer.

“What?” 

“I meant your father.” 

“Oh.” Dinah squeezes her fingers softly and Helena forgets her own name for a second, has to clear her throat to buy herself some time. “He can’t have this.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“When I’m with you, or when I talk to you or think about you, I feel like—like…” She trails off, the confidence of the start dwindling as she tries to give a name to how she feels, tries to convey them to Dinah to explain how incredibly unimportant it is to her whether her father approves of this part of her life or not because she deserves to have this for herself — a love so strong she physically hurts without it. “It makes me feel like maybe I’m not broken, like maybe there’s hope for me and… I don’t want to give that up.” 

The confession feels too big and too soon and as Dinah’s silence stretches, Helena’s brain fills the well with all of her doubts. 

“And I understand that I broke things and—” She starts speaking before her head can catch up. “—and I’m not… this isn’t me trying to put my feelings on you or anything I just figured that you would—that you deserve the whole story and I really am sorry about how you found out because I just, I wished it didn’t have to be like this but it is and I understand that, so you—” 

“Helena.” 

Her mouth clicks shut and her eyes skitter away from Dinah’s and she’s ready to turn away again when Dinah tightens her hold on Helena’s hand, fingertips dragging gently along her palm, soothing motions that make all the tension seep from her shoulders. 

“I understand.” 

She can’t stop herself from staring down at their clasped hands, Dinah’s long fingers seemingly idly playing with her right hand, rings cool against Helena’s warm skin and she’s mesmerised by the sheer amount of them. 

“Now what?” she whispers, more to their hands than to Dinah. 

“Now you take me home,” she answers plainly and since Helena isn’t looking at Dinah’s face, she misses the flash of mischief that crosses her features. Because she doesn’t see that, her shoulders slump again, hope dwindling as she switches gears, mind mapping a memory from this moment to store with the others, an apparently limited amount of memories she’ll get with Dinah. “And tomorrow…” 

Her heart does a ridiculous flip-flop that makes Helena consider a trip to the cardiologist and she keeps her eyes firmly on their hands even as her breathing halts. 

“Tomorrow you send me a text.” 

“Are you going to answer?” 

“Yes,” Dinah says around a dry laugh. 

“What do I say?” 

“You ask me to have dinner with you.” 

There’s that flutter again, this time the warmth accompanying it spreading outwards from Helena’s chest to the very tips of her fingers where they rest against Dinah’s soft skin. 

“Okay.” 

It’s hard to let go of Dinah as they separate, standing up from the bench and it’s not until they’re by Helena’s bike again that Dinah steps close, index finger hooking into Helena’s pinky to get her attention. 

Dinah hovers a little too close and the proximity scrambles Helena’s brain again, eyes dazed as she watches Dinah smile almost shyly as she fiddles with the edge of the helmet. 

“Take the long way home.” 

Helena Bertinelli, 11:38 AM
I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime this week?

Dinah Lance, 11:42 AM
I’d love to