Disclaimer: You people who think I think I own this make me laugh.

AN: Here it is. The sequel to "TIMEWARP!" of the stupid title.

Barbara Gordon, formerly known as Batgirl and more recently, the Oracle, was in heaven. Not literally, of course. But if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, Barbara figured she'd found it. She was surrounded on all four sides by thick, foamy bubbles and ninety-four degree water (the perfect temperature for sweating out all the stress toxins that had been causing those horrid migraines). The huge, oval tub was new—a gift from a certain millionaire whose initials were B(ruce) W(ayne). To top it all off, every light in the bathroom had been extinguished and she had lit seven delectably scented candles at strategic points throughout the room. Every woman had to have a little down time, right?

After all, living with a) an extremely hormonal teenage girl with telepathic powers and more strength and spunk than one would guess by looking at her, b) an equally hormonal twenty-something year young woman who had an incredible wild streak and a passion for crime fighting, and c) an elderly butler who was forever learning more than he should know wasn't exactly a picnic sometimes. (Wow, that was one loooooooong sentence, Barbara mused, her grammatical, English-teaching skills picking up on it immediately.) When one considered the fact that both of the above-mentioned women were meta-human (people with powers that the normal human was incapable of having), Barbara really did have her work cut out for her. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, when her much earned (and needed) R & R was interrupted by a loud, long and very shrill beep.

Barbara sat up immediately, sloshing water all over the floor and cursing despite herself. That sound could only mean one of two things. Either the brand new smoke alarm had gone off, or a letter had just appeared on the Delphi monitoring system for Dinah Redmond, the teen of the household. The "there is a crime taking place" beep didn't make that sound, she recalled.

"Dinah!" she bellowed, upon realizing that if, in fact, the smoke alarm was going off, she'd be getting a cold water shower at that moment.

"What?" The indignant voice floated down the stairs.

Barbara shut her eyes and counted to ten. Then fifteen. Then twenty. She wasn't even accusing the girl of anything!

"What, Barbara?" Dinah repeated, sounding closer now.

"Check the Delphi," the redhead sighed, sinking back into her sea of bubbles.

"Oh!" Dinah felt her cheeks tinge pink, but she didn't bother apologizing. She'd do it later. For now she padded toward the large machine, twisting her long, blonde hair into a messy bun and sticking the useless pencil she'd been attempting to do her math homework with right in the center.

Just as she'd expected…more like hoped, there was a letter filling the monitor. She printed it quickly and closed out of the document so that no prying eyes could see it. Then took it to the kitchen table so she could refuel with a small snack while she read it before returning to her … (shudder) (evil violin music) … homework. While she pulled out a bowl and some Ben & Jerry's, she pondered how lucky she was to be receiving this at all.

Clark Kent, the gorgeous farm boy from Smallville, Kansas, had ended up, by use of a time machine in order to help him survive a natural disaster in his home town, in New Gotham with the three women. The catch being that it was years later than he remembered. (Time machine, with time underlined, bolded, italicized, and in caps.) While he'd lived there, trying to re-learn about his past and then get back to it, he and Dinah had become friends and, luckily for them both, the high-tech, crime-locating machine in the clock tower called home could send letters from one to the other. How Clark got his letters to the Delphi, Dinah hadn't bothered to ask. Trivial.

She returned to the table and got herself comfy. Hopefully this would be a long letter…she missed her friend. She opened the letter eagerly and began to read.

D,

Hey! Glad to hear that everyone's doing fine. Everything's great here, too.

C

P.S. Sorry it's so short. I'm just really busy.

Dinah stared at the letter; it wasn't even technically a letter. More like a very terse note. She was trying desperately not to jump to conclusions, but Dinah couldn't ignore the feeling that he was hiding something from her. With a loud sigh, she shoved her bowl of ice cream to the side and got up to write a reply.

Clark,

Good to know.

Di

Definitely too short. She couldn't send that. He'd think she was mad at him—which she wasn't. Probably. But she didn't know what else to write without feeling like she was babbling. In her last letter, she had told him everything that was going on at the moment, and she'd gotten that (Dinah shot another disappointed glance toward the note) in response. She groaned. Why did this have to be so freakin' complicated? She added,

Write back when you get a minute. I want a whole paragraph next time, ok?

She threw in a smiley face so he would get that she was half joking, and then read it over one more time.

Right when she was about to send it, Helena Kyle, AKA the Huntress, clamored noisily into the room, dragging about a million shopping bags behind her. "Yo," Helena greeted Dinah, dropping the bags in the middle of the floor and walking over to Dinah's untouched ice cream.

"Don't touch." Dinah warned.

Helena picked up the spoon and watched the half-melted ice cream drizzle back into the bowl. "Not a chance, kid. I like my ice cream frozen." Satisfied with her comment, the young woman breezed over to the freezer, grabbing a spoon on the way, then throwing the door open and snatching the half gallon of icy goodness sitting front and center.

Perching on the kitchen counter, Helena directed her gaze toward her younger friend. "Whatcha doing?" she inquired, curious.

Dinah frowned. "Sending a letter." Then, this being the next logical thing to do, she sent it.

"Oh, to Kansas?" 'Kansas' being the way Helena referred to Clark. "I don't know why you bother, kid."

Dinah whirled around to glare. "What?"

"I said I don't know why you bother." Helena plunged her spoon into the carton, then brought it to her lips.

"Alfred would kill you if he saw you sitting on the counters, eating ice cream right out of the carton. So would Barbara, actually." Dinah changed the subject hastily. Luckily for our dear Miss Kyle, the butler had taken that day off.

"I've seen your face the last couple of times he's written. He's not sayin' much, is he? Maybe you should just give up on him." Helena suggested.

Dinah stared down at the floor for a moment, willing herself to, for once, lie convincingly. "Everything's been fine." She muttered. Crap. I gotta learn how to be more persuasive.

"Yeah, right." Helena leapt off of the counter with the catlike grace she'd inherited from her mother and headed for the table. Spotting the letter right when Helena did, Dinah used her telepathy to make it shoot across the room and into her own outstretched hand. For some reason, this made Helena grin. "You just don't want me to see proof that I'm right." She informed Dinah.

Dinah felt her face redden and immediately grew furious with herself—and maybe with Clark. Why wasn't he telling her anything? Was she just being a stupid little girl, thinking that she meant anything to him? He was probably just trying to make things more tolerable by befriending her, and now that he no longer saw her every day, saw no need to continue the friendship. She dropped the sheet of paper to the ground and ran from the room.

Helena stood by the kitchen table, shaking her head. "I don't know what her problem is." She told the now empty room. "I was only trying to help."

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