Two fics: Black Canary/Oracle, Batwoman/Renee Montoya.

Title: The Past Is A Foreign Country
Pairing/Characters: Black Canary, Huntress (Black Canary/Oracle, Black Canary/Green Arrow mentioned)
Rating: PG-13 to be safe
Disclaimer: Not mine, all DC's.
Author's Notes: Set sometime post-the current Birds of Prey arc. Maybe a little wangsty for Dinah, but I like when she's closetly wangsty. Title is a quote from LP Hartley: "The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there – but why is the past so different from the future? Why do we remember the past, but not the future?" Feedback welcome! I will grovel for it!

At first you thought it would be great. Perfect. What was not to like? You, Ollie, and the kids, all under one roof. The life of domestic bliss you had always, secretly, craved--that you had had, for a short time--and now you could have it again with the children you always wanted, children that needed you. Maybe even a little Lance-Queen with blond hair and blue eyes, too, although that was still far, far in the future. But you remember thinking that you had a future, now. You were both young again, so young (but still with whatever wisdom you'd managed to glean over the years), and this time you were going to get it right, make it work, make it last. You were going to make it, period, because Ollie had changed. And he has.

Only you forgot that you've changed, too, the kind of changes that can make a person into someone else. And while you love Ollie--always have, always will--you can't be with him anymore. Maybe the younger you could have; he's what you wanted in Seattle after things went wrong, before you became a Bird, before the JLA elected you chair, but not--not now.

It hurts to think what could have been. Your timing has always been shit. He is what you wanted what feels like forever ago, and you're what he wants now, and never the twain shall meet. (And Babs would probably die of shock if she knew you knew that expression.)

God, you're almost as melodramatic as Bruce and Selina. (Or Talia. Or whatever supervillainess he's shacked up with this week; he does tend to go through them at an alarming rate.)

You've both known for a long time. (Ollie, not Bruce, because...ew.) You still have sex marathons, but you don't talk anymore after, you both just roll over and go to sleep, and you're lonelier than you were when you slept next to his picture. Green Arrow and Black Canary are still as effective as ever, but he's stopped making his chili and you've been spending more and more time training with the JLA. You don't bring home different flower assortments every day, you don't call when you get caught up at work, and you can't remember the last time he called you Pretty Bird. He's been so preoccupied recently in the formation of his own little Justice League with Hal, and guiltily, you're glad he's gone. The silence doesn't echo so much when he's not around. You know Mia and Connor have picked up on it, that Roy has too, and you're just grateful that the first two aren't saying anything...and that Roy isn't chomping at the bit to kick Ollie's ass. Maybe he gets what you and Ollie and Connor and Mia all do, that it's no one's fault this time. Everyone's sad, but no one's angry, and it's almost, almost worse this way.

You have to give Ollie credit, though. He has changed if he's keeping it in his pants even as the two of you are falling apart. There is that, although you don't want to think about the possible repercussions on the JLA when the divorce is finalized, if he ever comes back to active duty and you're still the chair and Roy's still around. Things like that can tear a team apart. Some chairperson you've made. Not to mention the territory issues that are doubtless going to arise, what with Star City being so close....

Then again, you learned a long time ago to stop worrying about the future, because obsessing over it leads to much heartache, angst, and lack of humor. (Exhibit A: Batman.)

But first.

You don't bother with any quips or introductions, you just grab the man attacking Huntress from behind and ram him into the nearest wall. You hear cartilage splinter, blood splatter, and he goes down without any further movement.

Behind her mask, Helena's eyes widen for a split-second, and then the two of you are fighting like nothing's changed, like you never left. A blur of knees and elbows and fists, and then there's only one left. You flank him, and you swear he's about to wet himself as the two of you circle him.

You're content to slide back into the shadows as Helena finishes with him, calling the police with one of the crooks' cell. The two of you take to the rooftops as the first sirens start.

"Damn," Hel curses, and you look at her sharply. She's examining a small rip in her costume, on the bicep, and your brow furrows. You didn't see her get hit.

"It happened when you came out of nowhere," she mutters balefully, apparently reading your mind. You start to wonder if she's been hanging out with J'onn or Raven, and then you decide you need to start hanging out with normal people again. Then she looks up, and her eyes are hard. You brace yourself. You hadn't expected this to be easy. Helena Bertinelli is not a woman who takes abandonment lightly. Not with everything that happened after you left.

"Not that I'm not grateful for the assist, but since when are you haunting Platinum Flats? It's not your territory, as you made abundantly clear." You wince. That had not your best moment. At least you and Manhunter can be something approaching civil now, after Diana had introduced you two on the JLA's latest West Coast adventure.

"By the way, it was nice of you to tell us you're hanging around...you've obviously been spending some QT with Batman over in the JLA," and it's a little sharper than usual. A little territorial, a lot aggressive, and you can't help but smile. Helena's a Gotham girl through and through, but it looks like she's taken to being the guardian of Platinum Flats like a duck to water. Or a bird to the sky.

You feel a rush of pride in her, and practically tackle her with the force of your hug. "Hi sis," you whisper. She tenses, then relaxes into the hug, and when you finally pull away you're both smiling. You clear your throat.

"Well, if you remember, I did say I'd be back--"

Her eyes go unfocused then, one hand cutting you off as the other rises to her ear, and you know who's on the other end of the line. Just as as she's taken to Platinum Flats, Helena's obviously taken to being the Birds' unquestioned number one operative.

You smile. You always knew she had it in her. The next time a vacancy comes up in the League, you're going to make a strong case for her, Batman's opinions be damned. You can never have too many long-distance specialists.

Well. Assuming her boss doesn't object, anyway.

Helena's nodding and then her hand drops. "Oracle says hi," and her voice is noncommittal, and your heart freezes. You meet her eyes, and you can see that she knows just why Oracle is not being all "welcome home, lost sister!"

Welp. This is awkward.

"Tell her I say hi back," you say lamely, and Helena gives you her best "you dumbass" look, usually reserved for students whose best explanation is 'my dog ate it.' "What?" you demand, mock-offended, and just like that you are back on familiar ground, or as close to it as possible. It's not like you can spill your guts, all your hitherto repressed and un-admitted-to feelings, to Babs on top of a Platinum Flats building over Huntress' necklace, after all.

Good God, when did you turn into one of those emotionally stunted Bat people? You're almost as bad as Creote. Except more with the verbalizing. And less with the body hair.

"You two are worse than my kids," she mutters, shaking her head, and starts running. "Come on." You don't move, and after a moment, she slows and looks back at you. You're slightly in shock. It can't be this easy. That's it? Has Babs been abducted by aliens? Is Everyman impersonating her? Maybe you need to be careful the next time you turn your laptop on, that might be more her style....

"Has the bleach finally gone to your head? What are you waiting for?" she asks, tapping her foot. "We've got a drug shipment to bust across town and seven minutes to get there. Oh, excuse me, six minutes forty-seven seconds," and her rolling eyes make it obvious where the correction came from.

You have to smile at that. If Oracle is being anal over the little stuff, she can't be too pissed.

"We're good, then? I don't have to suffer any more to prove my remorse?" you ask, and it's facetious but not, and the question is not directed only at her. She rolls her eyes again in response, not waiting for the voice in her ear this time.

"Dio mio, you people. Would you come on? I want at least twenty seconds at the docks to catch my breath before we take these asshats on. I sound way more intimidating that way. Oh, and Oracle, you better have another necklace ready for Canary when we get back, because I'm not playing Monkey in the Middle again."

This time, when she starts running, you lope along with her, easily leaping to the next building.

"I feel obligated to tell you that you fail as a teacher," you tease. "This is not Monkey in the Middle. Not even close. Tell her I want a shorter chain this time." You pause thoughtfully. "Although, come to think of it, you have dated some pretty furry guys...."

"You married Green Arrow and his chin fuzz thing, you can't really talk about furry," she says breezily, and you almost choke. Oh, she's gotten good.

"Why do you think we're getting divorced?" It's light, and from her lack of reaction you know she knew already. Good. Less awkward that way.

Instead of answering, she glances at you, and her eyes are sparkling, and suddenly, you feel light. "By the way...Oracle says welcome back. And that you can help her pick out a chain when we get home tonight."

"A chain and ball, no doubt," you mutter, and Helena throws her head back and laughs.

You smile widely into the darkness, and you soar a little higher on your next jump.

Maybe soon, you'll be okay to start thinking about the future again.



Title: We Are Hard On Each Other
Pairing: Batwoman/Renee Montoya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, all DC's.
Author's Notes: Set immediately post-52 #33. Because I like to pile onto these two, and I think their dynamic is very interesting. Title is from Margaret Atwood's amazing poem We are hard on each other. Because that is very much how I see Renee and Kate, or at least their first attempt at a relationship and their meetings in the first few issues of 52. Feedback welcome!

Kate jerks awake, not sure what startled her into wakefulness.

Blinking, she turns her head, feels her nose rub soft skin. She freezes before she remembers—that's right, she'd been holding Renee and staring out the window and trying not to think about the woman she's wrapped up with.

A woman whose best friend and mentor is dying, and who is so like the woman Kate left (had to leave) but more mature, a beautiful and vulnerable woman, a woman who is not in any shape to, to....

Kate swallows hard as her brain turns on and she realizes what woke her up. Renee's hand is under her shirt, stroking her stomach softly. Softly and knowingly, and her heart starts to pound in her chest. Without meaning to, she moves her head, nosing closer to Renee's jaw. Her lips graze Renee's neck. Renee stiffens; she's figured out that Kate's awake, obviously.

To Kate's surprise, Renee's hand doesn't stop. Instead, it curls upwards to the bottom of her ribcage, thumb drawing little circles. Kate's breathing starts to deepen. She pushes out and away, lifting her head and coming face-to-face with the detective.

"Renee—"

And suddenly she's being kissed. Kissed, in a way she hasn't been kissed for far too long, and she gives in for a moment, winding her arms around Renee's shoulders, feeling the tingle through her entire body. But she breaks away as Renee lowers her to the sofa, stretching out half on top of and half next to her.

"Renee, we can't," Kate gasps. "This is a bad idea. We've done this. It doesn't end well." Hoping against hope the other woman would relent, because Kate knows that if Renee really wanted this, wanted her, Kate won't stop her. Can't, really, not with her traitorous body that wants nothing more than to drag Renee down and kiss her senseless.

"Kate, I know we're not—" Renee shakes her head roughly. "We can't. I know. But it's Christmas. Just one night." She grins faintly before her expression turns serious and she traces Kate's cheek with her knuckle. "It is Christmas. The season of giving and all that. Consider it my present to you. Or me paying the rent." She mock-leers, then, and Kate has to chuckle. She knows Renee's not serious with the rent crack; she knows Kate would crack her upside the head the next time they fight if she were.

Renee always did have the best sense of humor of all Kate's girlfriends.

"Granted I never went to Sunday school, but I don't think what you have in mind has a lot to do with Jesus," Kate shoots back, and Renee gives her that grin—that warm, wry, embarrassed smile that Kate sometimes sees in her dreams and not enough in real life. She's still smiling as Kate, unable to help herself, draws Renee down into another kiss, crushing the detective to her, whimpering a little deep in her throat.

And this is a bad, bad idea, she thinks, even as her head instinctively falls back as Renee nips at the curve of her jaw, another whimper escaping her. She knows all about Renee, Renee and her booze and running away and her women (she'd lied when Renee had asked if Kate had been asking about her, of course Kate had asked, even as her father and stepmother gritted their teeth and clenched their fists in their napkins), and she knows she shouldn't let this happen. It's part of Renee's self-destructive cycle, the one she hates, and it's not good for her, either. Renee's broken her heart one too many times to be trusted, and letting her in like this, you can't do that without trust. Never mind that, in some ways, she trusts Renee more than she's ever trusted anyone else ever.

Never mind that something's telling her this could be different, could be for real. She can't afford to think like that. Not with Renee. Never mind that Renee has changed.

This all, of course, is really hard to articulate when Renee is licking her way down Kate's throat. Renee can do this little flicking thing with her tongue that's always driven Kate wild.

Renee makes a little sound of frustration as she comes to the neck of Kate's shirt and can't go any further. She drops both hands to the hem of the shirt, intending to lift it up, and Kate covers her hands with her own, stopping the detective.

"Renee..."

"Please, Kate. I need this." Renee's jaw clenches for a moment. "I need you. Please."

In the end, she gives in—God, she's always been a sucker for Renee and her wounded eyes and the desperate, lost note in her voice—and shrugs her shirt off. She has just enough time to appreciate what being Batwoman has done for her body before Renee is on her, over her, practically ripping her bra off and kissing her neck hard enough to bruise. Hm, apparently Renee likes what it's done for her body, too. Gonna need coverup tomorrow, Kate thinks as she unbuttons Renee's jeans, and damn, she shouldn't be this wet this soon. But it's been too long since the last time, so she thinks she can be forgiven for being more eager than a virgin on prom night.

And it is Renee, after all.

Things are just getting really, really good—Kate's got one leg wrapped around Renee's waist, clinging to the other woman, nails leaving long red scratches in Renee's back as they move and grunt together—when, even through their haze, they hear a loud crash.

It comes from Charlie's room.

In an almost comical moment, Renee throws herself back from Kate and they stare wide-eyed at each other before Renee, naked, vaults the sofa and disappears into the darkness. Kate, gasping, lies back, squeezing her eyes shut. She's panting and aching. She doesn't hear the sounds of a fight. She doesn't follow.

It's a long time before Renee comes back into the room, long enough for Kate to get cold and shrug back into her clothing. When Renee comes back, she's changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, too, and Kate feels a fledgling hope die, one she hadn't even realized she'd had until now. For a moment, just a moment, her throat closes.

"Charlie fell out of bed," Renee explains tensely, sitting close enough to Kate to touch but still keeping a little bit of distance between them. How's that like our relationship, Kate thinks resentfully, and tries to feel bad after she thinks it. She doesn't quite succeed.

"He, uh," Renee looks away, running her hand through her hair. "He's been so active tonight. He couldn't get back in and it took me ages to lift him up, I upped his morphine so maybe he'll settle down now...." she laughs hollowly, body jerking, and then she's not laughing anymore, but her body is still jerking as she gives in to the sobs she's been fighting for days. She faces away from Kate, burying her head in her hands.

Kate hesitates for a moment, and then reaches out and puts a hand on Renee's back. Renee doesn't shrug her off, so the rest of her follows until she's hugging Renee from behind, forehead resting on Renee's shoulder, arms secure around Renee's middle as the detective cries.

Eventually, after the worst is over, Kate coaxes Renee to lie down. The detective falls asleep spooned against Kate, her back to Kate's front. Kate has a hand resting on her stomach, and Renee's fingers twine with Kate's in her sleep. It doesn't stop Renee from sleeping restlessly, though, and when Kate finally drifts off, she knows that even though this is the best she can do, it's not going to be nearly enough. Just like she can't catch Mannheim, just like she had to walk away from Renee the first time, just like she disappoints her parents every time she looks at another woman.

Three weeks later, she watches Renee walk away from her (again), and wonders why her best is never ever good enough.