By some miracle, they won. Sionis was dead and the group of women, against all odds, got to live. Even the kid, who Dinah felt guilty for losing track of during the fight, was alive and kicking and still serving as a human bank vault for that fucking diamond.
Dinah had passed out after unleashing her Canary Cry, and woke up in the back of Renee Montoya’s car, the two of them all alone. She rubbed the back of her head (there was definitely going to be a mark from when she’d collapsed) and found herself praying that Harley and the crossbow-wielding goth chick were okay.
Soon they were speeding down foggy Gotham streets in the direction Harley had skated off in (Dinah herself was missing a few minutes of memory, but the cop knew where to go) until they suddenly screeched to a stop.
From the passenger seat, Dinah peered around Montoya to see a helmeted figure -- yep, it was one Helena Bertinelli -- standing next to a smoking hunk of metal on the side of the road. As Dinah watched Bertinelli rip off the helmet and give it an especially angry kick, she figured the motorcycle had to be hers, and then Dinah was thinking about how hot women look when they ride bikes, and then she banished that line of thinking, because there simply was not time, and Jesus her head hurt.
Anyway, it looked like a serious wipeout, and the assassin seemed pretty coordinated, so Dinah could only assume Harley was involved.
Then Montoya was shouting at Bertinelli to get in the damn car, or else they weren’t going to make it, and Bertinelli was yelling, “That way,” and Dinah’s head was pounding from all the loud noises but she didn’t say anything, and they were off again.
By the time the trio arrived at the docks, Sionis was no longer a problem, and Dinah finally breathed a sigh of relief. Harley suggested tacos, and twenty minutes later they were crowding into sticky booths at some dingy corner spot that Dinah prayed to God wouldn’t give them all food poisoning. Then again, the kid still needed to cough up the diamond, so...
“No, but seriously,” the cop, Renee, was saying to the Huntress (who had finally gotten to properly introduce herself on the car ride over) as they all slurped on Day-Glo-colored margaritas, “You were very impressive with that bow. Very impressive.”
Before she could help herself, Dinah, who for the record was extremely exhausted, corrected: “It’s a crossbow.” She wasn’t even being sarcastic, which is how Dinah knew she truly needed a nap.
“I appreciate that,” said Huntress, who was giving Dinah a look she couldn’t quite read. “Thank you.”
Well, shit. Angry-Pants was capable of being polite after all.
So Dinah decided to be nice back, and complimented the other woman on her choice of vigilante name, though she opted not to voice her appreciation for the amount of shoulder that Huntress’s crop top showed off.
And when Huntress mentioned Dinah’s kicking skills and her tight pants, she wasn’t even annoyed that Harley was right there, butting into their moment. And when Cassandra Cain handed a little toy car to the assassin, thanking her, Dinah put two and two together and melted a little bit. Anyone who protected the kid couldn’t be a monster. Far from it…
...Although Dinah really did not appreciate the hysterical laughter after Harley fucking stole her car, even though it was a little adorable that the socially-awkward woman’s timing was so off. Still. It was her car. So Dinah stared at her pointedly, but when she earned a “sorry” accompanied by wide brown eyes, she felt the frown slip from her face in an instant.
Dinah was so fucked.