The Apprentice

by Chicago

Spoiler's eyes narrowed angrily at Batman's snapping cape as he swung away. She stood on the rooftop a moment longer, then turned to finish her revised patrol route, punching open a comlink as she did so.

"So," she said, not bothering to hide the snark in her tone, "how much does he need a blowjob?"

There was a series of clicks over her earpiece, followed by Oracle's synthesized voice. "Spoiler. At least go discreet before making a comment like that."

Stephanie scowled beneath her mask. "What difference does it make? He's probably listening to that line, too."

"He's not," Oracle answered firmly.

"Oh, right. Mr. 'I know everything and am always right' doesn't know you have a special line for talking about him? Give me a break." Spoiler dropped lightly onto a new rooftop, bringing binoculars to her eyes to scan the streets below.

"You're right that he knows. He designed it."

Spoiler lowered her binoculars. "Batman designed a special com channel for talking behind his back."

"In case we ever need to take him down."

Stephanie blinked and settled back on her heels. "You are shitting me."

"Spoiler," Oracle's voice warned.

Spoiler flinched a little. "Sorry. But that's crazy. He-"

"He's the boss," Oracle said cryptically. "We have instructions. If he even tries to find our roving discreet signal, we are to assume he's gone rogue."

"Wait. You said we. The others know about this?"

Oracle remained silent.

"Dammit," Stephanie complained, "when are you guys going to let me just be part of the circle? My butt's out here, too, you know."

"You know now."

Spoiler snorted. "Yeah, that's great. Thanks so much." She readied a new jumpline. "Spoiler out."

She closed her comlink and shot out into the night, irritated beyond words. The adrenaline rush of riding the jumplines helped a little, but before she touched down again, Oracle's voice was back in her ear. "Spoiler, I'm calling you in. We need to talk."

Steph took her new position and reached for her wrist, depressing the switch which should have closed Oracle's channel.

Barbara Gordon's voice replaced that of Oracle. "Spoiler, I mean it. I understand you're angry, but you can't be on patrol in that frame of mind."

Damn. Override. That was so typical, Steph grumbled to herself. They still wouldn't let her have any real autonomy. That didn't mean she had to listen.

"Spoiler, this is not an issue of pride."

Oracle was right about that, Steph acknowledged, scanning the rooftops. It was the principle of the thing. She had been training with Batman for over a year. Cassandra probably knew about the discreet line, what it was really there for. Cassandra knew everything.

"St-Spoiler, report in now before I call one of the team to bring you in."

Heh, Stephanie thought to herself - Oracle almost broke code-name protocol. And what was this, 'one of the team.' Wasn't she one of the team? Let Oracle sweat, she decided, focusing her binoculars more tightly on something moving a few rooftops over. It wasn't like she would follow through.

"Spoiler."

Cloth. Black, but fluttering to show yellow in the wind. Cape. Robin. Stephanie shot out another jumpline. "Don't bother," she spat into the comlink.

"Spoiler, I don't show you tracking back to the Clocktower."

Spoiler tuned out Oracle's voice, focusing her attention on moving stealthily. Robin hadn't turned when she dropped onto the rooftop, so maybe for once she had a chance of sneaking up on him. That'd show them. And it would be good to talk to Tim. Better than dealing with Oracle's lecture, anyway, even if he agreed with her.

"Spoiler, this display of temper is not going to win you any points when Batgirl gets there."

Robin still hadn't turned, and that totally called Oracle's bluff. If she was going to make someone bring Spoiler in, it made sense to use the resources to hand. And if no one had noticed that she was almost on top of the Boy Wonder, she was getting better than they knew.

"Spoiler-"

Stephanie stretched out her hand to Robin's shoulder, ready to spring back defensively.

Robin whirled at her touch, and she smiled under her mask. "Got y-" Her smiled faltered as she realized that the man in front of her was not Tim, and that while he was wearing Robin's colors, it was not a Robin suit.

The imposter smiled nastily at her. "Au contraire, my dear. I got you," he stated. He touched his belt, releasing an obscuring cloud before diving off the rooftop.

"Shit. Oracle," Spoiler hailed, throwing out her jumpline and blinking through the smoke, "I've got a bogey. I'm giving pursuit."

"Spoiler, wait for Batgirl. I don't want-"

"Can't wait, he'll disappear," Spoiler interrupted, swinging off the roof and squinting after her quarry. He was on the upswing now, heading toward the roof of the lowrise on the corner.

"Spoiler, dammit. Batgirl, I've got Spoiler in pursuit on Clearwood and 39th."

Something was wrong, Spoiler realized. The distance to the lowrise seemed to be getting further rather than closer. And the street. The street was suddenly very far away.

"Spoiler," Oracle's voice was saying, "can you give a description of your bogey so Batgirl can cut him off?"

Damn, it was a long way down. Too far. Spoiler's hands tightened on her jumpline. What if she fell? What if-

"Spoiler! Come on, Spoiler, we need information."

"No," Stephanie whispered, her eyes widening as her body began lofting upwards on the decel, heading toward the buildings across the way. They were coming so fast...

"Spoiler! Spoiler, talk to me. What's wrong? I need -"

"No," Spoiler said again, staring at the looming building. Something told her she should let go of the jumpline, turn her body to swing clear, but any motion at all seemed impossible. She clung stiffly to the line in her hands. "I can't -" Her eyes squeezed closed and she turned her head.

"Batgirl, get over there n-"

For a split second there was glass, shattering, scattering around her... and then there was darkness.

The Apprentice, part 2

Bored. Batgirl rolled the word around in her brain, wondering if it fit her present state of mind. She shot off another jumpline, sailing easily to the next building. Robin sometimes complained of being bored. Nightwing - Nightwing got bored if he had to sit still for more than three seconds without a good reason.

She thought about that. Nightwing bored was more like restless. She wasn't restless.

She made an easy jump across a narrow alley, slipping soundlessly through the rooftop shadows to her next patrol spot. She hadn't had a bust on this corner for a week and a half, which was a sign that the criminals had timed their routes again. She would mention it to Batman.

Sometimes Oracle was bored. That was what she called it when nothing was happening when she was fully on duty. And really, there was nothing happening on this patrol. Still, the word didn't seem quite right.

She scanned the street below with careful eyes. Old Morley was camped in his usual doorway, too stubborn to go to a shelter. She didn't bother him.

A few apartment lights were on, and through one window she could see a father holding a baby to his shoulder, pacing soothingly in the night. A car drove by, en route somewhere.

The streets were interesting, the different kinds of being alive she saw on them at night.

Interesting. That meant not bored, she decided. So what was the word she was looking for?

Satisfied all was quiet, she flitted down the block, leaping the gaps between buildings with easy strides until she reached a point where she needed a line. A hint of a grin appeared under her mask as she leapt first, launching the anchoring jumpline only after she was airborne. Batman had frowned at her when he first saw her doing it and hadn't been entirely happy when she explained that Nightwing had shown her, but he had not insisted that she not do it.

Nightwing had laughed, called her a "fellow thrill-junkie." She wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she loved the brief feeling of free fall, the lightning fast quality it demanded of her reflexes. And she liked that Batman still frowned sometimes at it.

Her line caught as surely as it always did, carrying her up to a higher rooftop. She was moving toward a part of town with more highrises and fewer old brownstones. The streets were busier, and-

"Batgirl, what's your situation?" Oracle's voice suddenly intruded.

"Patrol. Quiet," Batgirl answered.

A sigh came over the line. "Listen, keep to your southern patrol route for a bit, okay? Spoiler is ignoring a return order."

"Need me fetch her?"

"I hope not, but she's not listening very well. Just hang tight."

"Okay," Batgirl agreed. She shifted her next jump to curve further south than she had initially planned, settling in on a rooftop water tank to watch a new intersection.

After a few minutes, Barbara was back. "Batgirl, I've got Spoiler in pursuit on Clearwood and 39th."

Batgirl launched a new jumpline without hesitation. "Description?" she asked.

She heard the click that indicated that Spoiler had been brought onto the same channel. "Spoiler," Oracle's voice was saying, "can you give a description of your bogey so Batgirl can cut him off?"

There was a long-ish pause, and Batgirl hit the next rooftop at a dead run, crossing it in seven long strides before launching another line to a higher building.

"Spoiler! Come on, Spoiler, we need information."

A whisper sounded over the line: "No." Batgirl rolled onto the next roof, letting her body's momentum carry her back onto her feet and launch her again.

"Spoiler! Spoiler, talk to me. What's wrong? I need -"

"No," Spoiler said again. "I can't -"

Batgirl caught a glimpse of a figure in Robin's color's dashing across the rooftops at the same moment she saw Spoiler swinging toward a multistory warehouse.

Spoiler was all wrong, stiff, her body language screaming fright. The arc of her swing had flattened, would not clear the warehouse roof. Batgirl tucked her body and redirected her swing.

"Batgirl, get over there now!" Barbara ordered as Batgirl tumbled onto the rooftop. The crash of glass sounded below her, and she felt a surge of relief that it was glass and not the thud of body against brick.

"Spoiler. Spoiler! Batgirl-"

"She went through window," Batgirl reported. "Skylight above broken. I going down."

"Did you see the bogey? Or what happened? Can you see Spoiler?"

Batgirl rigged some decel and upsailed down to the top floor of the warehouse. Her eyes picked up Spoiler's form lying in a broken heap, blood beginning to pool around her. She dropped the final feet to the floor and sprinted to the other girl's side. "Bleeding," she reported to Oracle, pressing her hand against Spoiler's upper arm to pinch the artery there. Her other hand slipped beneath Spoiler's cowl to feel the reassuring pulse. "Broken arm. Bone sticking out."

"Hold tight, Batgirl. Can you stabilize her while I send transport?"

Batgirl reached into her belt and pulled out a small tourniquet kit. "Not sure. Setting tourniquet."

"I've got Batman en route, ETA 3 minutes. Transport will be there in five point six seven." Barbara's voice was steady, calming, as Batgirl began carefully checking Spoiler for other injuries. There were cuts in the costume, but only the most superficial of scratches to the skin from the glass. Pushing the mask back revealed a purple welt in the middle of Stephanie's forehead.

"Understood," Batgirl replied. "She hit her head."

"We'll have her to Leslie soon. What happened? Did someone-"

"Du Bois," Batgirl interrupted.

A sharp intake of breath sounded over the line. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Batgirl replied grimly, recalling the movement of the figure across the rooftops. "He's back."

The Apprentice, part 3

Robin winced as he squealed the tires of Redbird pulling away from the Gotham Free Clinic. The acrid smell of burned rubber did not help the churning of Tim Drake's stomach, nor did the scowl he imagined on Batman's face as he lurked in the shadows of the exam room in which Leslie was stabilizing Stephanie. Tim forced himself to take a deep breath, imposing a calm he did not feel on his body.

This was one of the worst parts of the hero business, the anxiety of having a colleague downed by some villain. Steph had been lucky. Lucky to have hit glass rather than brick as her panic stiff body had slammed into the warehouse. Lucky that the arm she had put out to stop herself was the only limb mangled in the fall, that it had succeeded in preventing more serious injury to her skull. Lucky that Batgirl had been so close, able to give first aid within minutes, before Steph could suffer too much loss of blood.

Lucky she wasn't dead.

Robin's fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he merged onto the expressway, trying to force the scene he had witnessed in the warehouse from his thoughts. Batman had gotten there ahead of him, had taken over first aid from Cassandra. Steph was conscious by then, her face pale and grimly set as Batman irrigated, bandaged and splinted her arm. She was wrapped in Batgirl's cape, but her body was visibly shaking. Cold sweat was beginning to mat her blonde curls against the livid bruise on her forehead. She had been trying not to cry, but when Robin appeared, the tears came, squeezing past her desperate efforts at control.

Batman had not allowed Robin time to comfort her. He had gestured for the keys to the Redbird, scooping Spoiler effortlessly into his arms. He had ordered Cass to return to where she had seen Du Bois and try to track him, then glanced over his shoulder at Robin. "Meet me at the clinic," he had directed, and then was swiftly down the stairs with his burden. With Spoiler.

With scared and shaken 17 year old Stephanie Brown.

With the scared and shaken, badly injured but lucky to be alive girlfriend of Timothy Drake.

By the time Robin had arrived at the clinic, Leslie had taken charge of the situation. She had a team readying the limited OR facilities of the clinic and was inspecting the bone protruding from Stephanie's arm, explaining as she did so that she had directed her staff to call Stephanie's mother. That brought a new flood of tears from Steph and a protest from Batman - and a stern lecture on consent laws from Dr. Leslie Thompkins. No stretch of imagination could give Bruce Wayne custodial privileges to authorize the treatment of Stephanie Brown beyond stabilizing her.

Hence Robin had been dispatched to collect Agnes Crystal Bellinger-Brown from her second shift at Mercy Hospital, and the twenty minute drive was giving Tim Drake too much time to think.

It was one thing when Batman or Nightwing was injured. Scary, yes, but in some corner of his mind, Tim believed that neither of them could ever die. They were both too tough, too stubborn, too wily for death. And Batgirl? Nothing touched Batgirl unless she wanted it to. Tim had had his own close calls, but that was his gamble to take.

Spoiler? He'd tried to dissuade her from the costume before on the grounds of the danger, but when it became obvious she wouldn't listen, he'd saved his breath and pushed the worry from his mind. He joined in Batman's tacit agreement to keep her on a short leash, let her have her taste of danger but not enough to be serious.

She could've died.

No, not just died. Been killed.

Been killed by a no-name sidekick masquerading in Robin's colors.

He opened a comlink as he moved into the exit lane. "Oracle?"

"Go ahead, Robin."

"Could it have been targeted?"

There was a pause. "What do you mean?"

"Du Bois was wearing my colors. Otherwise Spoiler would've reported suspicious rooftop activity before she intercepted."

"Right." There was no impatience in Barbara's voice, but she clearly was not following.

"None of the rest of us would have made that mistake. Obviously I wouldn't, and I know Batman still tracks me so he'd know where I was, and Batgirl would recognize body language."

"That doesn't mean Du Bois knows those things," Barbara pointed out.

"But what if he does? What if attacking Spoiler was strategic rather than opportunistic?"

There was another pause. "I see your point. You doing okay?"

The unexpected solicitousness over the comlink almost shook Robin's carefully gathered calm. He could hear the roughness in his own voice as he answered. "Just reaching Mercy now."

"Understood. I'll be up if you want to swing by later."

"Thanks. Robin out."

He closed the comlink and turned into the Mercy Hospital entrance. Steeling himself, he pulled up to the curb at the main doors and triggered open the passenger door.

The Apprentice, part 4

The exam room was large enough for shadows beyond half drawn curtains at its far end, a concession to the figure lurking there. Batman watched in silence from those shadows as Stephanie Brown's mother entered steps ahead of Robin.

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown was upset, that was clear enough, but she did not entirely match the image Batman had formed of her from his files in the Batcomputer. Her arrival triggered a new flood of tears from Stephanie, and with a tenderness Batman would not have expected, Mrs. Bellinger-Brown swooped down to shelter her daughter in her arms. Her touch was expert, in no way disturbing her daughter's splinted arm or IV line, but the easy love so evident in the embrace triggered a little ache in Batman's heart.

"Mrs. Bellinger-Brown?" Leslie asked after giving mother and daughter their moment.

Stephanie's mother looked up with a kind of suspicious expectation.

Leslie held out her hand. "My name is Leslie Thompkins. I am the head physician here. The desk nurse spoke to you."

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown nodded, accepting Leslie's handshake. "He mentioned you have OR facilities here. That break-"

That's right, Batman remembered. She was a nurse. She had already assessed the situation of her daughter's health.

"Yes," Leslie acknowledged. "I am reluctant to put her under anaesthesia too soon after that blow to the head, but the fracture should be reduced as soon as possible."

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown glanced at Stephanie and gave her good hand a squeeze. "I understand. It's probably just as well to do the surgery here."

"I've got a pediatric osteopathic surgeon on call - Dr. Colmwood?"

"Dr. Colmwood." There was clear recognition in Stephanie's mother's tone. "He works for - forgive me."

"No forgiveness necessary." Leslie met the other woman's eyes, and some communication seemed to pass between them.

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown nodded a little and seemed to drift into thought, although her careful attention to her daughter did not wane. After a moment, she jerked her head a little in the direction of Robin without looking at him. "Did he bring her in?" she asked.

"No," Leslie answered quietly, her eyes moving to Stephanie's face.

"It's not his fault, Mom. None of them - they told me to head home and I wouldn't listen. Don't be mad at -"

"Shh," Mrs. Bellinger-Brown soothed, although her expression was still hard for Batman to read. "There'll be time to talk about that costume later."

"Mom-" Steph began again weakly, but she trailed off as a new figure entered the room.

Batgirl barely nodded toward the group clustered around the hospital bed, heading unerringly to the shadow across the room. Batman could read her failure to find Du Bois in the way she moved, a hitch of frustration tight between her shoulders, but he waited in silence for her report.

"Gone. No track."

That wasn't a good sign. Granted, there had been no time to hit Du Bois with a tracking device, but it was unusual for someone to leave no rooftop trail at all. Du Bois must've gone to ground very quickly.

"We start again tomorrow," he decided. "Go home."

Batgirl started to move, but a voice arrested them both. "Another one?"

Batman turned to find the incredulously angry eyes of Stephanie Brown's mother blazing at him.

"Mom-"

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown ignored her daughter, rising from the bedside to cross the large exam room. "How many teenagers have you sucked into your little game?" she demanded. "I used to think you were misguided, back when you and that other boy were fighting my husband. And it was another boy, because that was too long ago for him to be this one." She gestured back toward Robin, who had moved to Stephanie's side.

Batman just stared silently.

If Stephanie's mother was at all intimidated by him, it did not show. "You aren't misguided. You are SICK!" she spat. "What happened to that other boy? You get him hurt, too? Lured him into this stupid game that you play until he was laid up or worse?"

Batman did not move, but he cringed internally as the vision of Jason he had been fighting to keep back since he had heard Spoiler was down snapped into focus.

"You are some piece of work, you know that? What do you promise them? Glory? Justice? Thrills? They're kids! Can't you see that. KIDS! They think they're immortal. They wake up every morning and watch the news and think 'none of that's going to happen to me.' Yeah, they may seem smart and clever, but have you listened to them?"

Stephanie's mother was up in his face now, pressing into his physical space in a way that forced him to repress the urge to strike her or force her back.

"None of these kids are yours, are they? You never saw them as babies, as toddlers. They were already talking, willful little creatures when you found them. And you encouraged them, let them do this thing you do. How many of the people who knew them when they were toddlers sweat through the night thinking you'll never bring them back?"

How many? Batman's mind flashed images of David Cain and Jack Drake. He knew what Cain thought, and Drake...

Drake didn't deserve Tim. But did that mean he deserved to lose him?

"Don't you realize you're a grown up? Or are you, dressing up in this costume every night? Hell, even if you're not, that's even worse. But dammit, teenagers are not grown. They do stupid shit all the time. That's why they need to have parents. Someone has to keep them from getting themselves killed, not encouraging them to pull stunts and make-believe they're crime fighters. Can't you see that? No, I bet you can't. Dressing up like this-" She pulled at his cape and dropped it from her grip with an expression of disgust.

"I work too fucking hard to raise Stephanie to have some asshole in a cape fill her head with ideas and get her killed!"

Mrs. Bellinger-Brown stared hard into the cowl for a moment. Then her face contorted into an angry scowl. "Stay the fuck away from my kid."

She spun on heel, and Batman maintained his stiff stance, afraid if he did not he would stagger. A few feet away, Batgirl stood at the window, prepared to follow his order to go home but caught by the spell of Stepanie's mother's angry words. Batman gave her a look, and she dove out the window without a word.

Batman waited a beat, then met Robin's eyes. There was outrage and - fear? worry? Batman wasn't sure. He made his face stern and gave a short nod. After a beat, Robin mirrored his action - understood. He would proceed according to his own judgment.

Batman could not assure Stephanie the same way.

He turned, glimpsing Leslie as he did so. Her expression was unreadable. Bedside manner? Or sympathy for a worried mother? Batman dared not analyze; it was hard enough to make his exit without giving in to theshakes that were curling inside his body.

Saying nothing to anyone, he followed Batgirl out the window and headed into the night.

The Apprentice, part 5

A flying kick deflected the strike aimed at his head, and he spun, putting the force of his momentum behind his punch. There was an "oof" as his fist connected, and the dark that had blinded him began suddenly to yield, to reveal...

He felt hands grasp his wrist and he stared in horror as he realized he had not simply punched, he had impaled. Bat-razors, forgotten in their sheaths, deployed he knew not how, embedded deeply in the gut of...

Batgirl. She was suspended in mid-air, dangling from the blades sunk into her stomach at the end of his extended fist. Beneath the mask, he could see the plaintive confusion that crossed her face a moment before her head lolled back and her hands dropped their hold. The slackening of her body caused her to drop, to fall to the ground, to...

But it wasn't Batgirl who collapsed at his feet, spilling her blood and guts on the concrete floor. It was Barbara, belly blasted through to her spine, bleeding, dying...

He knelt beside her desperately, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but it wasn't Barbara anymore. The red hair was really blonde; it only looked red because of the pooling blood and...

Bruce Wayne opened his eyes and sucked in a gasp of air. A nightmare. An interrupted nightmare, to gauge from his own extensive catalogue of previous horrifying dreams. He had woken before he could start screaming, which begged the question of what had wakened him if his own screams hadn't.

He blinked up into the dark, then turned his head. 4:35 am. Barely an hour had passed since he had left Leslie's clinic, since he had heard Batgirl's report on her failure to track DuBois and sent her back to her own cave, since he had made a phone call from downstairs and talked to a machine...

Phone call.

As if on cue, the phone began to ring, and he scooped the handset from the cradle with a haste that would have impressed the Flash. He fell back into the pillows as he put the receiver to his ear and said, "J'onn."

He closed his eyes as his lover's soothing baritone washed over him. "Bruce. I was on a stake out."

"I thought as much. Any success?"

"Not yet." J'onn paused, then said again, "Bruce."

Bruce pressed his free hand to his forehead and thought for a moment. "Spoiler got hurt tonight," he finally explained.

"How serious?"

"Pretty bad. Broken arm, mild concussion. She never should have been out there."

"Bruce."

"She shouldn't have been. I should have been firmer about -"

"Bruce. What happened?"

"She stumbled on Du Bois - the man who was helping Scarecrow last February when-"

"I remember." J'onn's voice was quiet, calming. "And they fought?"

"No. No, he just got her with a fear gas. But it was just as she was hitting the jumplines and -"

"Ouch," J'onn reacted, saving Bruce the need to explain further.

"Batgirl was there in seconds, but too late to track Du Bois. And then we just needed to get Spoiler to Leslie."

"Of course." Another pause stretched between them. "Bruce," J'onn began gently, "what else?"

Bruce grimaced a little, feeling snappish that J'onn was making him talk rather than just reading his thoughts, but he spoke aloud anyway. "Stephanie's - Spoiler's - mother had to be notified."

"I should hope so," J'onn remarked. "A parent needs to know what's happening with their child."

Bruce winced. "I know. I do. But she was so upset-"

"With you," J'onn finished astutely, enough of a hint of sympathy in his tone to counter the defensiveness Bruce was mustering.

"Yes. She... blames me. Not just for tonight, but for Stephanie doing this at all. For condoning children in costume, in danger. For-"

"I think I can imagine the rest," J'onn cut him off. "And it seems you feel she has a point."

Bruce closed his eyes and let the mouthpiece of the phone fall below his chin to rest against his collar bone. He thought of Dick, hanging from a jumpline with Joker's bullet through his shoulder. Of Tim, fever ridden with the clench. Of Barbara, stuck forever in her chair. Of Cassandra, battered and bloodied from her battle with Shiva. Of Jason...

He lifted the receiver to his mouth. "Yes," he whispered.

The quiet distance hummed between them over the phone line, and Bruce felt a comforting mental touch cut through that distance. He clung to the soft reassurance it offered.

"Do you want me to come home?" J'onn asked.

Bruce's eyes few open. A part of him was screaming 'yes!,' but J'onn had his own work to attend to. Stubbornness flooded through him, as well, resisting the implied offer of help. He could handle his city, had handled it fine before he had learned to occasionally borrow the mental and physical strength of his lover. He would handle this.

"No," he finally answered. "No, you finish what you're working on in Denver." He hesitated. "I just wanted to hear your voice," he confessed.

"Anytime you need me," J'onn promised, and Bruce sensed the reminder that he could also use Ace to call, to get an instantaneous link.

"I know," Bruce acknowledged, knowing also why he had not availed himself of Ace this time and knowing J'onn also knew. "I love you," he murmured, partly in guilt over his half-unconscious need to deal with Gotham without J'onn's help.

"I love you, too, Bruce," J'onn replied, and his tone conveyed pure understanding. "You should get some sleep."

Bruce nodded, then remembered he was on the phone. "Yes," he agreed, trying to keep his thoughts from the nightmares awaiting him. "Good-bye, J'onn."

"Good-bye."

Bruce listened as J'onn hung up and the silence of the early morning was broken by the dial tone.

It sounded very lonely.

Sighing, he hung up the phone and curled back into the blankets, quietly drifting back to sleep.

The Apprentice, part 6

Argent lowered her teammates to the ground outside the holographic projection over the entrance to the Titan's lair, landing beside them a second later. She rolled her head, seeking to stretch her neck muscles. "I vote no more weird dimensional portals for at least a month," she complained.

"D'oh. Now one's going to open up before we even get inside," Arsenal teased, heading into the low bunker that held the elevator to the lower levels.

"Not funny, Arsenal," Nightwing shot back, although his tone held a hint of tired amusement.

"No, that would be just our luck," Troia threw in. "Although if it's a portal to some tropical island resort with a good spa-"

"Now you're talkin' my language," Roy grinned.

"Daddy!" a little voice called as the elevator doors opened and Lian Harper dashed toward her father's arms.

"Hello, munchkin. You have fun with Uncle Garth?"

"We watched the fishies dance," Lian confirmed, giggling as Roy tickled her ribs after releasing her from a tight hug.

"Sounds like fun," Nightwing commented, giving the little girl a quick grin that faded as Tempest rounded the corner. "What's up, Garth?" he asked.

The other man's serious expression eased a little toward perplexity. "I'm not sure. Oracle left a message for you."

Nightwing cocked his head expectantly. "Urgent?"

"Not exactly - it was left a while ago, but Oracle said I didn't need to deliver it until you came back."

"And?"

"Oracle just said to call Gotham."

Donna gave Nightwing a worried glance. "Did everything seem okay?"

Garth shrugged. "Oracle seemed distracted, but that was all the message. I've got to figure it wasn't a super emergency, but-"

Nightwing glanced at Roy.

"I'll handle the debrief," Arsenal offered, understanding the implied request. "Go find out what's up."

"Thanks," Nightwing said, turning to stride toward his quarters.

Once the soundproof door was safely closed behind him, he tapped his comlink.

And waited.

Just when he was beginning to feel he should be alarmed, Barbara's voice came on line. "Dick, sorry. Had my hands full."

"I just got your message. What's going on?"

A sigh came over the line. "The short version? Du Bois is back. He caught Spoiler last night and she's pretty banged up. Robin's an emotional mess and the big guy is in another one of his phases, made worse by Spoiler's mom. Du Bois is still at large and Batgirl was unable to track him after Spoiler was attacked. In unrelated news, Dinah has finally managed to get on a transport out of Mendoza and Kord Industries has just offered me a seat on the board of directors."

Nightwing blinked. "Really? Are you going to take it?"

A moment's startled pause was followed by a weary chuckle. "I don't know."

Nightwing peeled off his mask with a sigh. "Okay, so start this over from the beginning. Du Bois - that was the guy who was working with Scarecrow that we couldn't prove anything on last February, right?"

"Yeah."

"Any idea why he's resurfaced?" Dick rubbed at the spirit gum stuck in his eyebrows, wincing as it pulled at the little hairs.

"Nada. Zip. Just last night he was up on the rooftops dressed in Robin's colors. Tim thinks there's a chance it was a targeted attack on Spoiler, although I can't figure the motive."

"Beyond getting back at her allies? Doesn't follow for me, either, although he wouldn't be the first nutcase to adopt a lookalike costume to deke us out. So no obvious scheme going down that we know of beyond possibly looking to hit anything Bat related." Dick began stripping off his Nightwing costume. "How is Spoiler?"

"She's at Leslie's now recovering from surgery to reduce a compound fracture of the wrist." Barbara ignored Dick's sympathetic hiss. "Her mom's there, too, on Leslie's insistence."

"Batman's gotta hate that."

"Well, that's another issue. Steph's mom gave him the what-for for having her little girl out in the line of fire, and-"

Dick crossed into his bathroom as she spoke, holding his comlink to one ear and reaching in with the other hand to turn on the shower. "And probably didn't realize he was already giving himself that lecture. Did he fire her?"

"Spoiler? No. Not yet, anyway. Hasn't said boo to anyone beyond basic case-related orders. And even that is minimal."

Dick grunted. "He's withdrawing again."

"Classic bat symptom."

"And Tim? You said he's -"

"His girlfriend was nearly killed last night. It shook him pretty badly, even though he's not saying much about it. I think he feels responsible."

"Wonder where he gets that from?" Dick muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes against a growing headache. "Man, it's getting so a guy can't leave the dimension for a couple of days."

"Ha ha."

"I'm trying. I take it that there's nothing I can do about any of this right at the moment."

"Yes, you have time to take a shower and call me back."

"It'll have to be from the road. I've got to be back in Bludhaven in four hours. My shift ends at midnight, so I can be in Gotham by-"

"You can be in your bed by 1," Barbara said firmly. Before he could muster a protest she added, "Do you really want to add fuel to Batman's desire to go this alone by showing up overtired and trying to help?"

Dick considered for a moment. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'll tell you if something changes, but right now-"

"Right now you're just making sure I know before I shoot my mouth off and inadvertently make things worse." He leaned his bare backside against the sink vanity and shut the bathroom door to contain the steam. "Has anyone called J'onn?" he asked hesitantly.

"J'onn's working a case in Denver," she answered quietly, her tone implying that she had had a conversation with the Martian. "He's needed there."

Dick frowned a little but decided to heed the reluctance he sensed in Barbara's voice to discuss J'onn any further. "Okay. Let me shower and then take care of some stuff here, then I'll be heading back to the 'Haven. Tim at school?"

"Until 3:30."

"Right. So I'll leave him a message to call me at the station. I assume Bruce knows I'm back?"

"Has he ever not kept a signal open for your tracer?"

"Point. And if he's having one of those moods..."

"Yeah."

"All right. I'll drop him an email of my schedule and let him call me if he needs me. Good or bad idea to send Steph flowers?"

"Um, bad. Her mom is on a tear and that would stir up the hornet's nest again. Do an e-card."

"Got it. Babs?"

"Yeah?"

"When was the last time you slept?"

There was a silence for a moment. "More recently than you."

"That isn't saying much."

"Dick-"

"Babs. I'm guessing the boss man will be patrolling late tonight, and probably wanting lots of searches run."

"Fine. I'll crash this afternoon. And does that Tower have an infinite hot water supply that you can stand outside your shower for this long?"

Dick smiled at the undercurrent of irritation in her voice. "Something like that. I love you, Babs."

Her snort echoed over the comlink. "Right back at you, former boy wonder. Now hang up and hop in that shower before I die of jealousy listening to the water run."

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am. And Babs? For what it's worth, I think Kord Industries would be lucky to have you officially."

"So I quit hacking them?"

"Because you're good. Bye, beautiful." He severed the connection before she could sputter a response, smiling as he set down the comlink. The smile faded a little as he contemplated dealing with the rest of his family, but he knew from experience that all he could do was deal with things as they came. He held that resolve firmly in mind and stepped into the shower.

The Apprentice, part 7

Barbara Gordon set her glasses on her desk and rubbed her fingers over the bridge of her nose. She frowned slightly as she felt the greasy patches where her glasses had rested against her skin. She felt disgusting.

She had at least partially succeeded in her goal. She was so physically exhausted that taking a shower seemed like too much effort; all she wanted was her bed. At the same time, though, lingering doubt taunted her. Would she be able to shut down her whirring thoughts enough to actually sleep, or would she be subject to an insomniac study of the ceiling once she lay down?

She sighed and put her glasses back on, watching the Oracle systems power down to standby mode. A ping of acknowledgment came from the Watchtower with the Flash's signature, but she still sat for a moment watching screens wink out. 12:33 and all is relatively well, she mused. Dinah was safely in Europe taking a mini-vacation before heading for home. Dick was at work. Bruce was at Wayne Tower. Tim was at school. Stephanie was recovering. Cassandra was in her cave.

Kord Industries was still waiting for her response to their invitation.

J'onn J'onzz was still in Denver.

She could force her thoughts from the one, but when she did so, the other loomed large - the decision she had to make or the call she wished she hadn't.

There were pros and cons to Ted's offer. Taking it would mean Barbara Gordon would lose a little of her comfortable anonymity. Ted had promised that she could participate in board meetings through tele-conferencing, but she knew people better than to believe that. Not the Ted was not sincere, but there was a point in business where face-to-face meetings were absolutely necessary. The superhero community might be well accustomed to placing faith in someone based on the say-so of a figure like Batman, but the business world?

Her dad would like it, though; his little girl getting some well-deserved credit for her smarts and know-how. The salary, too, would make some of her more expensive toys easier to explain away. Dick, although he didn't say so, probably would be happier if she wasn't so dependent upon siphoning funds from various criminal organizations.

She shook her head as if to clear it and unbraked her chair. Bed. Sleep.

What was it Dick had said? Kord Industries would be lucky to have her because she was good. It hadn't sounded disingenuous. Not like he was trying to sway her opinion. Not like he was managing her.

Damn J'onn anyway. She scowled as she wheeled down the hall to her bedroom. She did think of Bruce as a person; she had only called J'onn because she was worried.

Worried about what would happen if Bruce pulled one of his isolationist tricks again. Which would have Dick beside himself. Would have repercussions on Tim, who would feel caught between his girlfriend and his weird sense of responsibility to Bruce. And poor Steph, who had enough to deal with in the aftermath of her confrontation with Du Bois.

Never mind the JLA, which would become Barbara's problem as they pussyfooted around a Bat who decided to return to reserve status in order to focus on Gotham. Not that he had yet, but...

She had called J'onn because...

She steered her chair past the bedroom to the bathroom. She might not have energy for a shower, but she at least needed to wash her face and brush her teeth or she would wake up feeling positively grimy.

She hadn't insisted on anything. She had just done a status check on all the League members. Okay, she had slipped a postscript onto the message to J'onn, asking when he would be available. So really, he was the one who had decided to initiate a telepathic link and ask what was up. That wasn't on her.

Except he hadn't asked what was up. He had called to say he was on a case and needed to stay in Denver.

Pointedly.

She began running warm water into the sink. She thought she had been diplomatic. She just told J'onn that it had been a rough night in Gotham, and maybe he should check in with Bruce just to-

That had been when J'onn had interrupted her.

She picked up a wash cloth and held it beneath the faucet for a moment before shutting off the flow of water. She set her glasses to one side and squirted moisturizing cleanser into the wash cloth.

He hadn't been mean about it, but he had made the point. How would she feel if Bruce had called Dick because he thought Barbara had had a bad day?

She scrubbed the wash cloth over her face with a little more force than was necessary. Bruce wouldn't do that. He barely paid enough attention - no, that wasn't fair. Bruce did pay attention. Hadn't that been an issue a few years ago, Bruce not stepping in because he didn't want to appear as if he didn't trust Dick? And Dick misunderstanding - hell, Barbara could have intervened more there than she did, but she knew better. It was simple enough; don't muck around in someone else's relationships.

She dunked the wash cloth in the warm water, swirling it around to rinse away some of the soap.

It wasn't like she was telling J'onn how to handle Bruce. She just wanted him to know - wanted him to come to Gotham and talk sense to Bruce. To take the responsibility off her hands.

She splashed more water over her face and reached for a hand towel.

Bruce is aware of his shortcomings in this area, J'onn had pointed out. If we manage it for him, we betray our trust in him as a person to learn.

She held the towel to her face for a moment, slowly lowering it to meet her own eyes in the mirror. He didn't pull punches. He had to know how often she had railed against Dick, against Bruce, even against her father in the years since the Joker's bullet had crippled her. I'm still a whole person. I can do for myself.

Damned telepath.

She reached out to open the drain of the sink. She wasn't selling Bruce short. After all, it wasn't like this was the first time that Bruce -

No, she sighed. J'onn was right. And just at the moment, she half-hated him for it.

How dare he?

How dare she?

She picked up her toothbrush, feeling bone-weary and hoping she could sleep.

The Apprentice, part 8

He balanced carefully on the window ledge, watching. He had timed the nurse's rounds; now he waited as the final check was made on Stephanie Brown.

The nurse bustled into the room, turning on the bathroom light to provide her with enough illumination to see without waking her patient. After a few perfunctory chores, she switched off the light and went back into the hall to continue her rounds.

Stephanie had not awakened.

He watched the dark room a little while longer to be sure the nurse was well down the hall before he settled a small electronic device against the window. Rapid fingerstrokes across a keypad set an LCD display racing through numbers, and after a few seconds, the device emitted a soft beep.

All clear.

The alarm defeated, he fished out a special tool, slipping it between the sill and the casing of the window, unerringly finding the latch. He had access to the room less than 30 seconds after he had made the decision to enter.

He swung the window open silently and dropped without a sound to the floor.

Stephanie Brown still slept.

Senses on high alert, he carefully closed the window. No sounds from down the hall hinting at a return from the nurse, but he stayed still for a few minutes to be sure. Stayed still and watched the rise and fall of Stephanie's chest.

When it was clear the nurse had moved on, he crept forward until he was at Stephanie's bedside. He studied her face, noting the discolored welt on her forehead and the bruised looking shadows under her eyes.

It was all too bad.

Still silent, he gave into an urge; he leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead.

Blue eyes fluttered open, rife with fear.

Then came recognition and relief: "Tim!"

He pressed a green gloved finger to his lips and shook his head, glancing significantly toward the door. She just smiled at him, reaching up with one good arm to hug him.

He accepted and returned the hug, holding her tightly to him and closing his eyes, taking the moment to just... hold her. He reluctantly released her when she leaned back against his arms.

Her eyes were soft as she gazed at him, bringing her fingers up to his cheek to touch the edge of his mask. "I'm sorry, Robin," she whispered. "I spoke before I thought." She sighed, turning her face away. "Just add it to the reasons he's going to fire me."

Robin settled himself on the edge of her bed. "I don't think he's going to fire you," he said quietly.

"Oh, he will," Steph said emphatically. "Probably should, actually. Stupid, stupid mistake."

Robin reached out to touch her chin, turn her face toward him. "It wasn't stupid. You couldn't know that-"

"Know what?" Stephanie pulled her face back. "That I should've listened to Oracle when she called me in?"

Robin said nothing, and Stephanie noted his sudden expressionlessness narrowly.

"You didn't know that part, did you? Must mean the Bat's not talking." Her quiet words were laced with venom, its target ambiguous.

"Stephanie, we all-"

"Stop." She pushed at him, turning away. "Just stop, Robin. Yeah, we all make mistakes. I know that, you know. I know about how he fired the first Robin, and about the one who died, and about how many times you've almost been killed. I have been paying attention, despite the undying belief that I don't listen."

He could hear tears in her voice, but he knew she would only shake him off if he tried to touch her now. He knew that she paid attention; they had talked about it a little from time to time.

"I'm not even stupid enough to think it couldn't happen to me. I mean, look at what happened to Dad-" She choked a little on the word, then rallied. "But I am free out there. I have some control over my life, over what I do. I want to run around on rooftops and pound on felons. It's my life, and I want to call the shots. Even if I have to deal with him, it's not as bad as sitting back waiting for the next disaster."

She fell silent for a moment, and Robin - Tim Drake - reflected on her words. He rarely thought of his vigilantism as freeing, but there was something in what Stephanie said that made sense. The part about control, about not waiting for disaster. He remembered the first time he had put on the Robin suit, pleading with Alfred that he had to do something.

"I didn't think I would hurt someone else," Steph revealed.

Robin started, bewildered at the source of this remark. "No one else-"

"No, Robin." She finally turned back to him, the light from the street showing the tear trails on her cheeks. "I heard some of what Mom said to Batman. Not all of it, but..." She shook her head. "She was really scared. I know things are different for you at home, but my mom is really trying. All the hours she works, all the times she grounds me - so much of that is for me. Making it without money from dad, getting off drugs... and then when I was pregnant..."

New tears started flowing down Steph's face, and Robin gently laced his fingers into those of her good hand.

"She could've thrown me out. She could've done so many things, but she supported me. She helped me. I know you did, too, but ..."

"It's not the same," Robin acknowledged.

Stephanie swallowed hard. "No. And when she was yelling at Batman - she was yelling at Batman. She was so scared for me that even he couldn't scare her more. And what she said, about parents and their kids..."

Robin squeezed her hand encouragingly.

"I'm technically a parent, you know," she whispered, dropping her eyes to stare at the hospital blanket that covered her lower body. "I didn't keep the baby, but... but I still loved it. When it was in me... I was so scared, but I still... Oh, Robin!" Fresh sobs wracked her frame as she threw her arm desperately around Robin's neck, clinging to him.

Robin stroked her back, his mind returning to Mrs. Bellinger-Brown's lecture of the previous night. He had been trying not to think about it, about how his father would fit into the whole thing. What would Jack Drake think or do if he was ever called to the morgue to ID Tim's body? Yeah, he hadn't been a model father, and he really didn't do a good job of keeping track of his son. But did he deserve to outlive Tim?

"I was lying here earlier, thinking about my baby, about why I gave it up. And I don't regret it. But I think what helps me deal with it is the image I have of this child growing up safe and happy. If I thought ... if I imagined something bad happening..."

Steph's gasping breaths began to calm a little, and she finally leaned back, wiping at her eyes. "My mom doesn't deserve that," she said.

"You want to hang it up, then?" Robin asked after a moment.

Steph shook her head. "I don't know if I can. I just - I need to find a better way. Or do something different. Or - I don't know!" she cried in sudden exasperation.

"Shh," Robin cautioned, his ears tuned to the hall for sounds of a returning nurse. "I think I understand some of what you mean," he said carefully, "but I also think that right now you need to focus on getting better. You're good as Spoiler," he pointed out, "and even though part of me would rather have you home safe, I'd miss you out there."

Steph sniffed a little and watched his face without comment. He leaned in to kiss her lips softly, and for a moment there was just that gentle kiss. She winced a little as they leaned their foreheads together, and he backed off and patted her hand reassuringly.

"Is everything all right here for now?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

"No, everything's fine. I could've gone home tonight, but Mom had to work and Leslie thought it was a good idea to watch me a bit longer. I like her."

"Leslie? Yeah, she's - she's pretty amazing."

"Yeah." Stephanie sighed. "So he hasn't fired me?"

"He hasn't said anything."

"He will," she predicted, shifting her arm in its sling. She raised her eyes back to Robin's face. "You should go. He'll be mad you took so much time off patrol."

"No patrol tonight."

"What?"

Robin shrugged. "I'm on standby. Batman and Batgirl are trying to shake out Du Bois."

"And they didn't -" Stephanie's indignant protest died half formed. "Right," she said meekly. Then with more virulence. "I hope they nail his ass."

A smile quirked Robin's lips. "They will," he promised. "They will."

The Apprentice, part 9

SLAM

whiffle

rustle

tup tup WHAM!

rustle

thud rustle

be - WHAM! - eep

shuffle

tup tup tup rustle tup

shuffle

SLAM

beeeep

Cassandra Cain rolled back to her feet, her brow furrowed. She took the steps to her computer two at a time, glancing at the console when she got to her seat. She didn't sit, but punched the connect code. "Hi Oracle."

The screen flashed the Oracle icon for a moment before clearing to show Barbara Gordon's face. "Hi Cass. You sound winded."

Cassandra reached up to brush at a trickle of sweat dripping down her forehead. "Practice falls," she explained, shifting her weight on her feet to put a slight stretch on her quadricep.

Barbara made a face. "Yuck. I always hated that."

"Trying to invent ukemi kata."

Barbara cocked her head curiously. "Kinda hard to make a flowing form for falling," she pointed out.

"I know. Trying anyway."

"Okay," Barbara allowed, chuckling softly. "When you figure it out, teach it to Dick for me."

Cassandra frowned. "Dick already expert at falling."

She was puzzled when Barbara began laughing heartily. "Yeah, ain't that the truth," the other woman remarked. "I'll have to tell him that."

"I make it up for Steph," Cassandra said, ignoring Barbara's amusement.

The announcement sobered Barbara immediately. "Oh. Did Batman-"

"No, I decide. She got hurt because she afraid of falling. Nightwing thinks falling is fun, Batman think its business, Robin used to it, but Spoiler still scared. That's why fear gas hurt her."

Barbara nodded slowly. "That makes sense." She thought for a minute. "Maybe I need to practice-"

"You should, but you not afraid of falling. You afraid of not getting up," Cassandra pronounced succinctly.

She earned a hard stare from the computer monitor. "And I suppose you're not afraid of falling."

Cassandra shrugged. "Falling sometimes fastest way to change terms of fight. Efficiency not scary."

Barbara continued to stare at her for a moment. "Right. So you think Steph is going to continue as Spoiler after -"

"Probably. She is determined."

"Not if Batman-"

"I notice Batman not always say yes, and we not always listen."

"Cass? You talk to him while you guys were patrolling last night or something?"

She shook her head. "Not talk on patrol. We looked for Du Bois."

"And?"

Cassandra pursed her lips and shook her head. "He - " she made a gesture with her hands, reminiscent of something disappearing in a puff of smoke.

"Damn," Barbara muttered. "Not one sign?"

"Nothing."

"He just pops up and disappears again. No one is that good."

"Batman," Cass pointed out.

"No, not even Batman."

"J'onn."

"Yeah, but its not like there's another Martian floating around. And to make his toxins and get equipment, he'd need to leave some kind of trail, but..."

"Your searches not find anything?" Cassandra asked.

"No," Barbara revealed in exasperation. "No stolen stocks of chemicals, not even suspicious purchases - and believe me, I've been tracking all the specialized components of Scarecrow's toxin, as well as any chemicals that could be combined to make raw ingredients. Every lead I've got has been legitimate purchase."

"Same problem on the streets. Du Bois is not making any appearances anywhere. We checked the SROs, used your alias list - nothing."

"And he doesn't show up on the logs of any hotels in town or in the lease registry. I just wish I could figure out how he so completely effaced his real identity. The database of folks who disappeared around the time Du Bois appeared is just too large to be of much use, even putting in all of Du Bois' data. If I could figure out who he was..."

"You think he's that smart?"

"Huh? Cass, what are you getting at."

"Just thinking. Batman that smart, but if he did that he would ask someone to help."

"Batman would have a hell of a lot more work than most people to make both of his lives disappear completely."

"Maybe Du Bois like me? I have no records. I live in a Cave."

Barbara studied Cass through the monitor for a moment. "You have a point," she said slowly. "Maybe he never was... but that would mean someone would have had to have deliberately kept him out of - like Cain did -"

Cassandra finally sat down, thinking. "Not so hard to smuggle into country. And so many countries don't record all babies."

"True. But then how would he have the skills to create an identity? To - shit."

"What?"

Barbara's fingers were clearly darting over the keyboard in front of her. "Shit. Oh, this could be bad."

"What?" Cassandra asked again.

"I'm so stupid. He's a fucking operative."

"That's not sense," Cassandra objected. "He work with Scarecrow."

"A plant. Fuck." Barbara glanced up and bit her lip. "Sorry. It's just - hell, I don't even know which special force or shadow government or organized crime group to start with. Why would someone put a plant in Arkham?"

"Figure out the bad guys?" Cassandra suggested.

"Yeah." Barbara tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Cass, I gotta go work on this and call the boss. If he'll answer."

"He will," Cassandra promised.

"Yeah, I know," Barbara allowed. "Just - be extra careful out there, okay? I think this might be bigger than we thought."

The screen winked out, and Cassandra blinked at it. "Okay," she agreed softly.

The Apprentice, part 10

"I know you're there."

Minutes passed.

"Your silence does not scare me. I am a master of fear."

More time passed.

The tiniest shuffle sounded.

More time.

"You want me uncertain. Uncertainty breeds fear. But I am certain you are there. My only uncertainty is what you might want. To prove a point?"

Silence.

"I am still master. You can sit in the dark as long as you want; that will not change."

No answer came from the darkened halls of Arkham Asylum.

"Heh. It occurs to me that your being here announces my mastery. I must have something you want."

There was a rustle, as if cloth against concrete.

"Perhaps you seek advice on dealing with the Bat and his acolytes? Or you want to free me?"

The dark offered no reply.

"No, you learned your lesson well enough. You would not risk freeing me again. But you must have some scheme. What are you plotting, my student?"

Utter stillness.

"Ha ha. Of course. A wise general reveals only what his collaborators need to know. You were ever the clever study. Listening in silence. That's why I picked you, you know."

No response.

"See, even now you show how well you learned. Should you acknowledge me, then the guards could not dismiss my words as the ramblings of a paranoid. But you and I know I am not paranoid. That is what matters."

A scuffing whisper seemed to radiate from the quiet hall.

"So I must assume that you are here to review for some scheme that will involve the Bat. Attend, my student, and I will explain again the Achilles Heel of that scourge of the night.

"You see, many believe that he is inhuman, but we know better, don't we, my student? Oh, yes, beneath that dark visage beats the heart of a man, and that man knows fear as well as any man."

A soft click signaled the cycling of the climate control.

"Heh. Perhaps he knows it better. Remember how his little blonde chickie screamed for him."

A creak like that of leather punctuated the silence.

"Yes, this is his weakness. He fears loss, fears death. Not for himself. No, you cannot defeat the Bat by threats to his safety. He would welcome death, methinks.

"Hmm. This would be thought on. I have watched him; oh, yes, I pay attention. For himself, no flutter, no whisper of fear. But threaten those precious acolytes - mmm, then you can taste it."

The dark seemed attentive, waiting.

"This is what you must do. You must attune your plans to the skills of his followers. Perhaps... mm, yes, it would be wise to begin in Bludhaven. His most trusted squire is there; you will not risk alerting the Bat before you are able to claim your hostage.

"Yes, that was the error of our previous plan. We left too much to chance, trusting he would move with his team so that we might pluck one of his trainees away from him. This one in Bludhaven will be trickier than those he keeps closer, but there is less threat of premature discovery."

The heating system powered back down, intensifying the silence.

"A feint, then. Some red herring to allow you to capture Nightwing, to use him against his master when your real plan is put in motion. Very wise. You see you did not know about this Nightwing before, because I am still your master and must know things you do not."

A faint squeak of rubber on linoleum answered him.

"I know other things you do not know, you realize. Many other things. Many many other things. You understand that, right?"

Silence.

"Right?"

More silence.

"Say something, dammit!"

Nothing.

"You - you do not think you have bested me, do you? I am still master here. Despite the fact that I do not enjoy your freedom, you must not believe I have no plans."

A soft chuff sounded.

"Oh god. Guards! GUARDS! He's going to kill me! Don't let him - oh my god! GUARDS!"

A klaxon sounded and light flooded the Arkham halls, but there was nothing there but Jonathan Crane's screams.

Batman keyed open his comlink as he cleared the Arkham perimeter. "Did you get it all?"

"He doesn't know anything more than we do about Du Bois or his plans," Oracle confirmed. "Should I contact Nightwing?"

"Negative. Status of the others?"

"Robin and Batgirl are finishing the usual patrol routes. A couple random crimes, but no sign of Du Bois. And don't you think you should warn-"

Batman ignored her. "Huntress?"

"Huh? Oh, right. She's not out tonight. Grading papers."

"Black Canary is still in Europe."

"Yeah. But why-"

"Du Bois may know about her from February and misunderstand her connection to me."

"Fair enough. I still-"

"Any word from Azrael?"

"No more than usual. You really think Du Bois would go out that far?"

"Put him on alert anyway. And Huntress. I'll talk to Robin and Batgirl." He paused as he shot off a jumpline and regained the rooftops. "How is Spoiler?"

"Back home and recovering." Now it was Oracle's turn to pause. "Have you decided what you're going to do with her?"

"Batman out." He closed the comlink connection and continued toward where he had left the Batmobile. It was time to do more detective work.

The Apprentice, part 11

Dick Grayson lifted his face from the pillow just enough to glare at his unresponsive right hand.

The phone rang again.

His right arm still wouldn't obey him, so he rolled with a groan to reach across with his left hand to fumble in the blankets for the handset. His fingers closed on the plastic and he lifted it in front of his face to find the talk button. The handset gave a beep as he successfully answered the call and brought the receiver to his ear. "nmhello?" he mumbled.

"Dick? It's Bruce."

The muzziness instantly cleared from his brain at the familiar voice. His right arm was a little slower on the wake up; pins and needles began up and down its length, prompting a grimace. "Hey. What's up?"

"I woke you." The observation was entirely uninflected, almost cautious.

"Heh," Dick agreed, flexing the fingers of his tingling arm. "Yeah. Amy and I got an early AM call. Trouble on our beat. Just got in -" He sat up to look at the clock. 3 pm. "-two hours ago." Had he been sleeping on his arm that whole time? Good thing Bruce called.

"What kind of trouble?" Bruce's tone was alert, and now definitely cautious.

Dick stood up and crossed to the hidden access panel to DeFledermaus' apartment. "Finally got a break on a drug ring in Caernaervon. Perps kept going on about this Nightwing we keep hearing about."

He could hear Bruce taking the cue. "Were you able to get clean arrests with the vigilante involvement?"

"Reported vigilante," Dick corrected, springing open the panel and slipping into the crawlspace between the apartments. "Yeah, they were fingering each other. Got confessions from a half dozen. Hold on a sec."

Dick reached into the backpack he had dumped by his supply closet and dug out the scrambler from the gauntlet of his Nightwing suit. He popped open a panel on the phone and slipped the scrambler into place before bringing the receiver back to his ear. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "I forgot to restock scramblers after crunching a couple on that Titans' case. I'll have to stop by the Cave sometime in the next couple of days."

"Tonight?" Bruce suggested.

Dick blinked, half-surprised at the apparent invitation in Bruce's voice given the intelligence he'd gotten from Oracle. "No can do," he answered regretfully. "I've got a new power vacuum to deal with. Unless you need me-?"

There was the barest hesitation, then, "Maybe not yet."

"Break in the Du Bois case?"

"Not exactly," Bruce informed him. "I checked in with Crane last night."

"And?"

"He thought I was Du Bois. I did not see fit to disabuse him of that idea."

"That had to have been interesting," Dick remarked, settling onto a locker bench and beginning to unpack the backpack.

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "He seemed... frightened of his former protégé."

Dick paused, straightening with his boots in his hand. "Frightened?"

"Surprisingly so. He seemed unaware of what Du Bois might be there for."

"Any chance he was playing you?" Dick began systematically checking each compartment in his boots.

"Unlikely." Pure Bat speaking there, and when the Bat found something unlikely?

Dick reached for a clipboard hanging in the supply closet and set it on the bench beside him. "What suggested Crane was frightened of Du Bois?"

"General tone, for a start." Bruce paused. "An effort to send Du Bois to Bludhaven."

Dick aborted a reach into his supply of 'rangs. "Send him here."

"Affirmative."

"The 'haven isn't that scary," Dick remarked wryly, pulling down a half dozen 'rangs and marking them off his inventory sheet before stowing them in his boots.

"He wanted Du Bois to face you."

Dick forced a little chuckle. "I'm not that scary either. Compared to ... well..."

"Crane did not tell Du Bois about you when they were working together. Or not everything about you. I believe he had a reason."

"Other than there was not a good reason to mention what was doing in Gotham's poor step-sister city?"

"Dick."

"Sorry."

"Crane saw Du Bois as parallel to my ... he used the word acolytes."

"It's a popular choice," Dick commented, stowing his boots and moving on to his gauntlets.

"When I stopped Crane last February, he was furious that I was not acting by the plan. That the situation he had put the cover in was not sufficient to stop me."

Dick stopped his inventory and sat back on his bench. There was a rare kind of tension in Bruce's voice. "He just didn't realize you have a team," he said softly.

"He apparently said in Sasha's hearing that he was not making the same mistake with Du Bois. That there wasn't the same kind of loyalty at play in their relationship."

"I wasn't aware that you debriefed Sasha that thoroughly," Dick observed.

"J'onn."

"Oh."

"Crane's whole paradigm from what he said last night seems to be based on mastery, that the master only remains master as long as the student still needs him."

"That's not you, Bruce," Dick pointed out gently.

There was a hesitation. "I know that."

"Go on."

"He withheld information about you as one of his bits of mastery. Dick, I remember that Crane's run in with you in Bludhaven ended in his defeat. I didn't press for details then, but..."

"Yeah." Dick set down his gauntlets and thought for a minute. "He had me going for a while," he admitted. "It wasn't pleasant."

"Dealing with Crane's drug cocktails never is."

Dick bit back the urge to ask what Batman had experienced of them. He could guess. "He was trying to trigger a named phobia; I remember him commenting to Blockbuster on it. Then I went under again and he almost had me, he wanted to open up my head and know what fear I was staring in the face."

"And?" Bruce prompted after a moment of silence.

"He did me a favor. It was a baseless fear. I didn't realize it until that moment, but..." Dick considered for a moment telling Bruce, how he had feared failing Bruce, of becoming another Jason to add to Bruce's overwhelming sense of guilt. Another time, he decided, remembering how fresh those guilt issues would be in Bruce's mind with Stephanie's injury.

"Anyway, when he got me to that point, I snapped out of it and turned on him. I had him telling me everything about Blockbuster and Soames. Then I trussed him up in nothing flat, tied in a room to face Soames, to confess his own failure."

"He wanted Du Bois to suffer the same humiliation," Bruce pronounced, and Dick could hear the detective wheels spinning as Bruce spoke. "He suggested that Du Bois use you as a hostage against me - as a better hostage against me," he added.

"A better hostage? Wait, this means Robin's theory might not be so farfetched. Du Bois might have targeted Spoiler to get at you."

"He was with Crane when they took down the cover. He knew Crane's rationale was to keepme busy."

"But Du Bois didn't take Spoiler. He just gassed her, right?"

"And Crane didn't know that."

Dick began inventorying again, checking each gauntlet compartment and restocking each in turn. "So we still don't have Du Bois's motive. Beyond potentially trying to get to you."

"Which wouldn't make sense from Crane's perspective, which is that either of a heist or a rescue. But it would make sense if Du Bois is operating under a different agenda than Crane knows about."

"The operative theory," Dick remembered suddenly from his previous night's conversation with Oracle. "You think he's hooked in to our beloved commander-in-chief?"

"There's too wide a field of possibilities there," Bruce noted. "Checkmate has been way too active locally for my comfort, but this kind of tactic..."

"He could be rogue. Or borderline. An experiment maybe - hook up an operative with one of the freaks, get inside the Gotham underground."

"Without realizing the danger in that kind of plan. Typical lack of foresight. Hmm."

"Bruce?"

"I don't know yet. Although just because he doesn't have information on you from Scarecrow doesn't mean he doesn't have you in his sights."

"Noted. What about the others?"

"I've had Oracle give Huntress and Azrael the head's up. Batgirl and Robin will be running joint patrols until we bag Du Bois."

"And you?" Dick asked carefully.

"I think I can be as tough as you," Bruce replied, a hint of unexpected humor in his tone.

Dick tucked his gauntlets into their storage space. "Sure you don't need a refresher course?" The last word was interrupted by a sudden yawn.

"Dick." It was the Voice, but something in it was more teasing than angry.

"Sorry," Dick apologized sheepishly. He stood up and stretched. "I should probably go back and crash so I can finish clean up here tonight. My shift tomorrow ends at 8 if you want me to swing on up there."

"Yes," Bruce decided.

Dick crossed back to the entrance to his apartment. "I'll see you then. Did you need anything else?"

"No. Get some sleep."

"Yes, sir," Dick answered. "You should, too," he added more seriously.

"Dick."

"Fine. Good bye."

"Bye."

Dick clicked off the talk button and flopped back down on his bed. This time he made sure he wasn't lying on his arm before he fell asleep.

The Apprentice, part 12

Robin pulled his cape more tightly around his shoulders as the fog horn bellowed its lonely call over the Tricorner Docks. "It makes it feel colder," he complained.

At his side, Batgirl cocked her head, her sole motion of the last 15 minutes. She stayed that way until the sound came again. "I like it," she pronounced.

Robin gave her a look. "You're weird."

She shrugged fluidly. "Move soon," she decided. "Getting too thick to see."

Robin nodded his agreement. What had been wispy greyness was quickly becoming pea-soup fog, rolling around them in ever thicker waves. He began a reach for his jumpline, but was arrested by a scream from somewhere below. The fog made the sound seem omnidirectional, but Batgirl seemed to pinpoint its location instantly, diving off the rooftop.

Shaking his head, Robin pulled out his line to follow her, glancing across the street for an anchor point. At that moment, a gap in the fog revealed a figure on the opposite building.

He clicked his comlink open as he changed his intended direction and swung across the street. "I've got a prowler," he stated.

Batgirl's response was almost instantaneous. "Muggers. Join you in three. Wait."

Too late for that, Robin reflected, catching a glimpse of the figure dashing away. "I'm pursuing."

"Robin." That was Batman. "Wait for Batgirl."

Robin touched down on the rooftop and drew in a breath to object. His better instincts caught his words before he could speak them, and he squinted in the direction of his fleeing target. The fog roiled and curled and seemed to solidify, taking the shape of a man. Startled, Robin took a fighting stance and readied for attack, then felt a shock of recognition. His stomach felt like it dropped inside his body. "Dad?" he whispered.

"Robin? Batgirl, disengage. Get to Robin!"

"Trying," Batgirl replied, and there were echoes of falling punches through her comlink. "Hands full."

Robin blinked at the apparition, so lifelike, of his father, tied, gagged, bleeding... and seeming to know that he was staring at his own son. Fear toxin, his shocked brain registered, and muscle memory guided his hand to his belt and found his rebreather and the anti-toxin kit. He pressed the first into his mouth, then forced himself to breathe normally as he plunged the needle of the syringe through his kevlar and into his thigh.

He winced at the sting and shook his head to try to clear it, taking a half involuntary step forward as his dead mother seemed to appear out of the mist. She was smiling softly, but behind her the Obeah Man was leering, a knife raised. He tried to call out, to warn her, but something was wrong with his voice. He tried to throw his weight forward, to reach for a batarang, but his body would not respond.

And then she was gone. His father was gone. There was no Obeah Man, just a lanky masked figure coming forward through the mist. The masked man reached out a hand and toppled Robin to the roof.

"Robin, respond! Batgirl-"

Sounds of scuffle sounded over the comlink. "Almost free."

The man leaned over Robin and plucked the "R" from his chest. He pulled a slip of paper from a pocket and spindled it onto the sharp edge of the R. Then he knelt and raised the R, driving it down into Robin's chest.

"I'm coming, Robin," Batgirl's voice announced.

Robin felt the scream catch in his throat as his skin was pierced and the fibers of his pectoral muscle parted around the sharp edge of his own weapon. He watched helplessly, unable to move, as the lanky man rose and disappeared back into the mist. A moment later, Batgirl appeared in his line of vision.

He felt the tears wetting his cheeks unchecked as his eyelids refused to blink. Similar warm wetness was spreading beneath his kevlar.

"Robin!" Batgirl was stripping off her glove, reaching to check the pulse in his neck. He felt her fingers and he wanted to tell her no, to go after Du Bois.

"Batgirl, report!" There was an edge to Batman's voice.

"Robin is down. Pulse is strong, breathing - Robin?" She was touching his cheeks, her mask hiding what he was sure was an expression of concern. A gentle pressure at his mouth pulled free the rebreather.

He couldn't tell her to go; he couldn't reassure Batman. He felt her fingers pinch his arms.

"No voluntary muscle response. Stab wound, appears shallow. Seems conscious."

"Stay with him. I'm en route."

No, Robin wanted to protest. He's getting away. He internally winced as Batgirl touched the R protruding from his chest, trying to be gentle, trying to decide whether to pull it free or leave it in place. He heard the rustle of paper against her fingers.

"Du Bois left note," she reported.

Oracle's voice came on suddenly; Batman must have signaled her. Or her system had picked up key distress words. Robin wasn't certain. "I've alerted Leslie. Is he stable?"

"I think so," Batgirl replied, wrapping her hand around the unresponsive fingers of Robin's left hand. Her face was turned outward, scanning the rooftop. "Used anti-toxin."

"Oracle, get word to the others. It might be a drug reaction. Dammit. Batgirl, my ETA is six minutes. Describe the note."

There was another rustle, and Robin despaired of them ever catching Du Bois. He tried to will his fingers to close on Batgirl's hand, to signal her in some way.

"Preprinted," Batgirl described, and Robin could see confusion through her mask. "It is - like when go to the store? To get sandwich stuff? The ticket?"

"A number ticket?" Oracle supplied.

"Yes. Just a two."

There was enough silence on the line to cover a curse or an intake of breath. Then Batman's voice was back. "Four point three minutes. Hang in there, Robin."

Robin could only stare as Batgirl stroked his hand.

The Apprentice, part 13

Leslie Thompkins moved steadily down the hall toward her office, forcing herself to rein her conflicting emotions and keep an open mind. Her ambivalence toward Bruce's crusade always spiked when his young charges found themselves in the line of fire, but a part of her had to admit her own culpability. She had never truly approved of the Bat, but...

She took a measured breath. She was angry, and she was worried. Both emotions were fair, but she knew that she could not lay either response at the feet of the man she knew waited for her. Maybe later she would talk to Alfred, but for now, she put one foot in front of the other.

By the time she opened the door to her office, she was almost calm. Nonetheless, she could hear a hint of her own disapproval in her voice as she reached into the pocket of her lab coat and set a vial of blood on her desk. "I thought you might want to run your own analysis of this."

There was no discernable movement from the deep shadow behind her desk, but a quiet voice asked, "How is he?"

She kept her voice carefully professional. "The paralysis is wearing off. He's calling his father now to offer some excuse so I can keep him overnight for observation."

"And the stab wound?"

"Superficial, as you know. Four stitches. Probably won't even leave an appreciable scar."

She paused, sensing a palpable relief emanating from the shadow. "You should talk to him," she suggested.

That drew a sigh and a rustle from the shadow. She waited, and after a few minutes, a black gauntlet reached forward to claim the vial of blood, disappearing it somewhere within the shadow.

"Bruce," she chided.

An unexpected creak sounded from her chair, and suddenly the uncowled face of Bruce Wayne leaned forward to rest into cupped palms. "I don't trust myself," he confessed.

Leslie blinked, surprised at the confession and at his move into the faint ambient light leaking in from the hallway. She hitched her hip onto the desk and reached a hand to touch one of his wrists. "Bruce?"

Troubled blue eyes turned up to meet hers, and she felt her worry push her anger to one side. "I want to tell him he can't go out there again," he confessed.

Leslie rubbed her thumb over the gauntleted wrist, knowing the touch could not be felt but needing to make the gesture. "Would that be so bad?" she asked gently.

"It would hurt him," Bruce said succinctly, conviction clear in his tone. "And it wouldn't do any good." He nodded as if to himself. "It was easier to make myself believe that with Spoiler."

Leslie stilled her hand and gave a light squeeze to Bruce's wrist. She had had the same debate with herself countless times regarding Bruce, had discussed it at length with Alfred. Ultimately, she had come to the same conclusions, but it surprised her to see Bruce replicating her thinking.

"I made that mistake with Dick, and with Jason. I tried to will them out of danger. When that didn't work, I tried to will you all away from me, so you wouldn't be hurt."

Bruce glanced at her as he said this before letting his gaze fall unfocused into the middle distance, clearly deep in thought. She continued to hold his wrist, letting the silence stretch.

RINNNNNNG

Leslie suppressed a scowl and was surprised to feel Bruce start slightly at the shrillness of the phone by his elbow. She wanted to just turn off the ringer or tell whoever it was to go away, but she was still a doctor with a job to do.

She picked up the receiver. "Dr. Thompkins."

The voice that answered her surprised her. "Hello, Doctor. It's J'onn."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Hi."

"Bruce is with you."

She glanced at the unmasked Batman sitting at her desk, still apparently caught in his own thoughts. "Yes," she confirmed. The word brought Bruce's attention to her.

"He is... distressed?"

Another glance at Bruce, who was now watching her narrowly. "Yes."

"I will defer to your judgment," the Martian's baritone stated. "Is there some way that I might help?"

Leslie met Bruce's eyes, reading the suspicion that had flooded over his self-doubt. "Robin was injured," she reported, noting a glower beginning on Bruce's face. "He'll be fine."

"Robin will be," J'onn clarified.

"Yes."

"Bruce didn't call me," J'onn explained. "I will let him be if you think..."

"Just a minute," Leslie decided, and she took the phone from her ear to hold it mutely in Bruce's direction.

He glared at her for a moment, his hands resting palm down on the desk and his expression stormy.

She met his eyes calmly, the phone still held out toward him. "It's J'onn," she finally revealed.

The glare broke, replaced fleetingly by surprise before an unreadable mask seemed to slam over his features.. Another moment passed, and Bruce reached up to claim the receiver and bring it to his ear. "J'onn," he said without inflection.

Leslie watched him listen for a moment before his stern face began to waver.

"Yeah," he admitted after what must have been either a long explanation or a very patient silence on J'onn's part. A heavy sigh shook his frame. "Yeah," he said again.

Bruce's voice was getting softer, more private, and Leslie could swear he was almost shaking a little as he listened again to something from J'onn.

"You're needed where you are," Bruce decided after another long pause. "We'll be okay here."

Leslie bit her tongue against a retort that no, they would not be okay, that Bruce wasn't okay. It occurred to her that J'onn must know that to have called, and she was aware of an odd jealousy growing in her. She internally squashed the unexpected emotion as she watched Bruce's face soften, his eyes appear to grow tear-glassy for a split second. Here was the comfort she had never been able to give, the "talking sense" that Bruce would refuse to listen to so adamantly from Leslie.

Or at least, that was what she imagined. Bruce was giving no clues, only listening to the phone.

After another couple of minutes, Bruce took in a deep breath. "Okay," he agreed to some unknown proposal. "Yeah, you're right."

Another pause.

"You too. Thanks."

With these last words, Bruce took the phone from his ear and replaced it softly in its cradle. He rose to his feet, then, reaching his hands up to pull his cowl back into place. As suddenly as he had appeared, the vulnerable Bruce Wayne was gone, replaced by the Bat.

"Thank you, Leslie," he said formally. "Please tell Robin I will be by later this evening."

Leslie nodded, turning away a little. "I will."

When she turned back, he was gone.

The Apprentice, part 14

Stephanie sighed and shifted on the sofa, carefully rearranging the position of her arm in its sling. On the television, Judge Julie was ripping the plaintiff a new asshole, which was at least more entertaining than watching another round of women asking talk show hosts to run DNA tests on their children and their potential fathers. Even Steph's codeine haze did not make their stories more palatable. Too close to home.

Of course, the alternative talk show option was "my teen is out of control," and that was an even sorer point. Fortunately, Steph's mom had given that lecture a rest, evidently deciding that Steph's injury had made the point for her.

In point of fact, Steph's mom had been surprisingly mellow on the topic after an initial round of yelling. After the morning's query as to whether "he" (meaning Batman) had tried to contact Steph had produced a sad no, Mrs. Bellinger-Brown had even been almost sympathetic. And really, Stephanie was beginning to understand where her mother was coming from. Not that she could blame Batman the way that her mother did, but the whole vigilante life style was developing an increasingly sour taste in Steph's mind.

bedeebeedeeep

Steph groaned and shifted again in order to reach for the phone. It had rung a second time before she had herself squared away enough to lift the handset.

"Hello?

"Steph?"

"Tim?" She couldn't quite keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Yeah. How are you doing?"

She hit the mute button on the remote, killing the sound on a commercial for a workman's comp lawyer. "Crummy," she answered. "Mom canceled the cable and there is nothing on TV."

Instead of the expected chuckle, she got a subdued, "Oh," from Tim.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He paused. "Is it okay for me to come over?"

Well, that was unexpected, she reflected. "Sure, if you want. Mom's at work until 10, so..."

"Okay." Tim's reply sounded relieved. "I'm parked just down the block. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Wha-"

But Tim had hung up already, not even waiting for a good-bye. Frowning, Steph turned off the TV and returned the phone to its cradle. She used her good arm to help pull herself to her feet and crossed to the front window. Sure enough, there was Tim Drake walking up her sidewalk.

She got to the door before he did, opening it before he could ring the doorbell. "Tim!" she exclaimed, reaching out with her good arm to give him a hug.

He returned the embrace gingerly. "Hey Steph."

"Well, come in," she hustled, drawing him through the door and into the house before nosy Mrs. Arta next door could notice her visitor. "What's up?" she asked as she closed the door and locked it behind her.

Tim replied with a wan smile. "I just wanted to stop by and see you," he explained, although his troubled eyes suggested deeper motivations.

"Well, you're seeing me," Steph pointed out.

She felt bad for her vague curtness when Tim seemed to wince at her tone. He shifted uncomfortably. "You think we could talk? Not in the foyer, I mean?"

Steph shook herself. "Oh, right." She moved toward the kitchen. "You want something to drink or something?"

"Water," Tim confirmed, trailing behind her. "How's your arm?"

"I think it hurts, but I'm too drugged up to care," she replied, rummaging in the refrigerator for the filtered water. "At least the headache has died down."

Tim claimed a chair at the kitchen table, accepting the pitcher Steph handed him and setting it down as she pulled two clean glasses out of the dishwasher. "Yeah," he said, "concussions aren't fun."

"Had a few, have you?"

He nodded, pouring water into the glasses Steph set on the table. "Maybe a few too many." He took a swallow of water.

Steph sat down and looked at him curiously. "Oh?"

He shook his head. "Sorry. Just in a mood."

"So I see." She waited a moment, formulating her question. "Troubles with the boss?"

Tim sighed. "Looks like we're both off this case."

"What? What the hell is he -"

Tim held up a warding hand. "Steph."

She quieted.

"Du Bois got me, too. Last night."

Steph's eyes widened. "Oh my god. Are you okay? What-"

"I'm fine now." Tim turned his water glass, staring blankly at it before lifting his eyes to meet Steph's and offering her a rueful smile. "Four stitches, a tetanus booster and a night at Leslie's later."

"Stitches? What happened?"

In answer, Tim reached to the hem of the sweater he wore, pulling it and the t-shirt under it up to reveal a bandage on his chest, just at the place where the Robin insignia graced his uniform. "Stabbed by my own weapon," he explained as Steph stared at the evidence of his encounter with her assailant. He let his shirts fall. "It was stupid. He gassed me, but its not Scarecrow's toxin. It's something new, designed to interact with the anti-toxin we carry. Causes temporary paralysis."

"Oh Tim-"

"The big guy's pretty upset."

Steph blinked. "He didn't -"

"Fire me? No." He glanced at her. "Not you either."

Steph felt her eyebrows draw down in puzzlement. "No?"

"No," Tim confirmed. He brought up a hand to rub across his brow, then let it drop. "He's... I don't know. It was sort of weird. He told me that he -" Tim stopped, a frustrated expression on his face.

"Go on," Steph urged.

Tim sighed. "Nightwing was surprised by it, too, a little, when I told him about it. Not angry surprised, just..."

"Tim, what did he say?"

"Just that he needed to focus on this case right now, that he didn't want to make a bad decision about his team-"

Steph stared at Tim. "His team? Well, that leaves me out."

"I don't think so." Tim hesitated again. "I think he even wanted me to talk to you about this, actually. Like he didn't say as much, but he expected it. That he can't just keep throwing us into harm's way, but he can't think about how to make things safer while Du Bois is still out there."

"He actually said that?" Steph's mind balked at the idea. Batman just didn't admit to uncertainty. He made decisions and when he said jump, he expected to be obeyed. A part of her, however, was feeling a growing indignation. Batman wasn't throwing her into harm's way; she was doing her own thing. The gall of him...

"That's what he meant," Tim clarified.

Steph snorted. "So you're not sure what he meant. You're just interpreting."

Tim shook his head slowly. "No." He rubbed his hand over the upper part of his other arm. "Steph, my father doesn't know what I do."

"I know that," Steph pointed out impatiently. What was Tim driving at?

"I know. Just - it sucks, lying to him all the time. And I was thinking last night about how the reason I lie to him... It's not about the whole identity thing, not really, although that's part of it. It's because I know, deep down, that as much as my father seems not to care... he'd feel the way your mom does."

Steph sat back in her chair. Her mother. For a minute she had managed to forget how upset, how hurt her mother had been. How she finally understood that her mother's anger was, no matter how aggravating, about how much she loved Steph. The pinprick of tears stung the back of her eyelids and she blinked hard against them.

"I think that's what Br - the big guy is thinking about. Not only about us, but about our parents. About what it means to put someone else in the position of losing someone."

Steph swallowed. "Yeah. I've been thinking about that, too." Too much, actually. Her Spoiler costume was still back at Gotham Free Clinic, and she had a feeling if she asked for it back, Dr. Thompkins - Leslie - wouldn't refuse her. She'd probably want to talk to her about it, but...

But did Steph want to still be Spoiler?

"Steph?"

Steph started out of her thoughts. "Sorry," she apologized, giving Tim a wan smile. "I was just thinking about - if you came and said I was fired, I'd be so mad. But-" She stopped, suddenly suspicious. "You don't think he's using some reverse psychology or something?"

A surprised laugh burst from Tim. "I wouldn't put it past him, but I don't think so. But you were saying?"

Steph bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know," she admitted. "I don't even know how I feel about any of this anymore."

"Yeah," Tim echoed. "I always said I didn't want to be Robin forever, but I guess I want to leave on my terms. Not because I did something stupid."

"Tim, getting attacked by a bad guy isn't-"

Tim interrupted her with a pointed look.

Steph slumped a little, wincing as she jostled her arm. "I see what you mean." She sighed. "This sucks."

They sat in silence for a long moment, sipping at their water. Welcome to my life, Steph thought somewhat bitterly.

Tim finally shifted, pushing his chair back a little and clearing his throat. "I should go. My dad-"

"Yeah," Stephanie agreed, looking up from her water glass. "I understand."

Tim stood and waited an awkward moment. "See you later?"

"Sure," Steph replied non-commitally. The codeine was wearing off, and her arm was starting to throb. She accepted Tim's kiss to her cheek without bothering to offer her lips.

He straightened. "I'll see myself out."

"Okay."

Another moment, and he was gone, and there was just the pain in her arm and two half-filled water glasses sweating on the kitchen table.

The Apprentice, part 15

"Damned needle in a haystack," Barbara muttered, picking up a file and dropping it back to the table with irritated vehemence.

Cassandra's arm moved swiftly to prevent disarray of the stack of papers in front of her, but she did not lift her eyes from the pages she was scanning.

Barbara sighed. "Cass, I don't see what you're going to pick up that the search engines haven't. The government just has too many agencies stockpiling this combination of chemicals. And Gotham is too central to too many operations to-"

"Masters," Cassandra stated, still not looking up.

"What?"

"Masters." Her mouth tightened into a scowl. "David Cain."

"Cain - Cassandra, what are you reading?" Barbara reached across, snaking the paper out from under Cassandra's eyes. She was half-surprised to realize it was the same transcript she had set Cassandra down with three hours earlier.

Only half-surprised, though. She had given the file to her out of sympathy; she could see the weight of blame Cassandra was carrying. Both Spoiler and Robin had, to a certain way of thinking, been taken out on her watch. Cassandra's rudimentary reading skills meant she was something less than an asset in this kind of work, but the girl needed something to do. And given that Batman was playing lone ranger, someone had to be there to give Cassandra something to do.

Barbara stared at the transcribed page. The words "masters" and "David Cain" appeared nowhere on it. It was a weird transcript to begin with, captured from a known shadow frequency but seeming to be about mundane matters. Given they were reduced to reading shipping orders, Barbara had printed it out along with dozens of other transcripts in her "miscellaneous" file.

"Cass?"

Cassandra's face still wore a faint scowl. Her finger reached out to poke the middle of the page. "Seven under par."

Okay, Barbara conceded, that was there.

"About me," Cassandra said.

Barbara looked at her blankly. "Gonna have to help me out here, Cass."

"Masters said that. When I stop him."

Masters. Suddenly it clicked into Barbara's mind. The rogue agent Cass had put away, the one who had gotten the tape of Cass in action without her mask, who had ordered the death of the sharpshooter Cass had saved.

Barbara looked at the transcript with new interest, phrases jumping off the page. "Must run in the family." "Blood thicker than water." "Never liked that crowd she ran with." Her eyes darted up to the upper right hand corner of the page where the date was printed. Last July. Before they had caught David Cain sneaking into the Batcave. She resisted the urge to curse at a missed clue in a case already resolved. And another uneasiness began to eat at her.

"Masters figured out your connection to Cain?"

Cassandra dropped her eyes.

"Cass?"

bedeeep

Barbara sighed. "We're not done," she warned, turning to her laptop and slipping a headset over her ear. "Oracle."

"Hey, babe. It's me."

"Just getting off shift?'

"Twenty minutes ago. En route to Gotham now."

Barbara glanced at the computer clock. 8:30 pm. "Great. You can swing by here and pick up Batgirl before-"

"Babs, hold up. That's part of why I'm calling."

Barbara raised an eyebrow, aware that Cassandra was now watching her closely having heard her name. "Keep talking," she prompted.

Dick sighed over the line. "I'm thinking maybe there's somewhere else I need to be tonight."

Barbara nodded to herself. "You're heading straight to the Manor?"

"Yeah."

"He might not be happy about that."

"I'm not so sure. He sounded like he wanted me out there yesterday."

"You double check that since last night?"

After a beat's pause, Dick's voice came back with a hint of irony. "I haven't exactly talked to him since yesterday. But based on what Tim was telling me this morning, I don't think I'm going to give him the chance to tell me to sit this out."

"Understood. So you'll check in again when you get to the Cave?"

"Yeah. Love you."

"You, too."

"And Babs? I'm sorry I'm not coming by there tonight. It's just-"

"I understand, Dick. Just don't get in a stupid pissing match with him, okay?"

"I'll try. Nightwing out."

Cassandra was watching as Barbara pulled the headset off. "Nightwing going to Batman?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra gave a satisfied nod. "Good."

"Good?"

But Cassandra only shrugged, her eyes wandering the room in a studied way. Barbara pursed her lips in irritation. While she was glad that Cassandra was making strides toward more normal human interaction, she could live without the teenage moments.

"So looks like you and me do more detective work until we get word from the boss," Barbara announced pointedly. "Which means now I want an answer on why you think Masters figured out your connection to Cain."

Cass scowled a little. "Is stupid."

"Cass."

"Cain had contract on me."

Barbara sat back in her chair, blinking. "What?"

"When decoy Batman, at Hanford Island." Cassandra set her hands on top of the papers in front of her and stared at them. "Cain send satellite feed to distract Batman, make him think Cain offshore."

"He was here."

Cassandra nodded. "Had contract on me."

"You knew."

"Suspected. He missed."

"Missed. Wait, he targeted you and missed?" Barbara felt her blood rising in anger. This had all happened before Shiva, before Cass had dealt with the deathwish that hung over her during her first year as Batgirl. Cass had been targeted, shot at, by a top assassin - by her father...

Barbara shook off her train of thought, reminding herself the moment was over. A lecture wouldn't help now. "What makes you think that Masters knew-"

"They stole Cain's tapes. Of me." Cassandra lifted her eyes finally. "Cain try to frame Bruce because of me."

Barbara considered for a moment. Masters had been trying to track down Cassandra, somehow knew about her connection to Cain, and had apparently known something about the plot to frame Bruce Wayne. No. Her eyes traveled back over the transcript. There was nothing there to suggest that this conversation was linked to frame attempt. She was reading backwards from what she knew. Bad form. But...

"Masters might know Cain's daughter is Batgirl."

Cassandra met Barbara's eyes, and there was something desperate there.

"Shit." Barbara wheeled back from the table and headed toward her war room. She was going to need the big computers for this. "Cass, this could be really bad. If he figured that out-" She cut herself off. From the look in Cassandra's eyes, she had realized the implications. No sense making her feel worse. But the timing of this, when they were trying to find out what was going on with Du Bois - the whole thing set her mentally cursing.

She pulled up to her workstation and powered up the Crays. First things first - find out where Masters was now. Cass - Batgirl - had taken him down well over a year ago. Shit, why hadn't Barbara realized then. And this transcript was newer. If-

The search engine took less than three seconds to give the answer. Barbara stared at the screen.

"Dead?" Cassandra asked, recognizing the general format of the death certificate.

Barbara glanced at the date. August. After the frame attempt. Probably Luthor cleaning house. "Looks like," she confirmed, wondering if she should believe her eyes. Dead, or just disappeared? She set her fingers over the keys again, starting a search for fingerprints, DNA, known aliases, anything. That would take longer. She minimized the search window and turned her chair back towards Cassandra.

"Okay, we need to think." Barbara closed her eyes, the transcript Cassandra had been reading pulling up in her mind. There was more there than she was realizing. Not just a discussion of David Cain and his connection to Cassandra. For that matter, why was he talking about Cain in the first place?

Her photographic memory zeroed in on a comment that had appeared near the top of the page. "You'd think free lance would pay better."

Masters had hired Cain. Had -

The computer beeped, and she turned back to see her searches had turned up zero. She enlarged the parameters, looking for business holdings, stocks held. Masters. What had Batman said before he allowed Batgirl to go after him? "I'd been waiting, watching him, wondering if he's part of anything larger..."

The tapes Masters had made dated back two years. Batgirl had destroyed them not long after that, reclaiming her anonymity before going after Masters. Cain's contract on Cassandra had brought him back to Gotham 18 months ago. Masters was ... her fingers flashed over the keys ... not in restrictive custody very long. She began running her collection of captured transcripts for matching speech patterns.

"Barbara?"

She glanced over her shoulder at Cassandra, who was hovering a half a step behind her chair. "I think your man Masters links up to the current case," she explained. "I can't say for sure, but-"

The computer beeped again, and a list of files containing the speech pattern in the July transcript began scrolling in a new window. Barbara stopped the scroll and looked for the first hit after Masters' release back to active duty. November. Almost a year ago.

Almost exactly the day of Konstantin du Bois had been hired by Arkham Asylum. "Bingo," Barbara breathed.

"What?"

Barbara's fingers flew back over the keys as her search engine popped up Masters' holdings. Their distribution was consistent with typical posthumous patterns for business holdings. "I think Masters set Du Bois up with Scarecrow." Transcripts were popping open in rapid succession, Barbara's eyes scanning them for key phrases. "Seven under par is you. And-" Her eyes narrowed and she pulled up a new transcript. "Crap. Cassandra-"

"Yes."

Barbara highlighted a bit of text. "Straw. Straw is Du Bois. And look-"

"Straw's m-messed up," Cassandra read haltingly. "My c-cou- cougar is not happy?"

"February 15. The day we caught Du Bois. And the cougar-"

"Cain." Barbara felt rather than saw Cassandra reaching for her cowl. "He want Batman dead."

"Hold up," Barbara ordered, opening a line to the Batcave. "Motive doesn't tell us where - "

"Oracle."

It wasn't Batman's voice.

"Nightwing? Where's Batman?"

There was a grimness in Nightwing's tone. "Not here. Alfred said he left half an hour ago and forbade him to tell us. I can't raise him."

Barbara bit her lip and glanced at Batgirl. "This is not good."

The Apprentice, part 16

Batman studied the HomeMaster Broom Company manufacturing plant from a third angle, careful to remain shielded from anyone who might be watching from the multi-story structure. He was mentally comparing the renovated warehouse to the blueprints on file with the city planners office, not anticipating any obvious discrepancies, but taking no chances.

There was a possibility that Du Bois was not operating out of the broom plant. The evidence was sketchy and the string of inferences did not leave Batman convinced he had found Du Bois's hide out. But Batman was tired of waiting for Du Bois to strike again, would not send one of his team as bait to test his theory. No, Batman could take that risk himself.

HomeMaster occupied a strategic position along the winding warehouse district of downtown Gotham. It formed the third point of a roughly equilateral triangle connecting the sites where Robin and Spoiler had been attacked. That in itself could describe a number of buildings, but HomeMaster was also one of the few multi-story warehouses which remained commercially zoned in the aftermath of the quake years earlier. Many manufacturing and warehousing concerns had either replaced their old buildings with more efficient single-story structures or had moved beyond the city limits completely, converting their old buildings to upscale loft apartments. HomeMaster was in fact one of the tallest combined manufacturing and warehousing facilities anywhere along the city docks.

The height of the plant was not insignificant; it made it one of the few buildings from which an observer could, with enough patience and training, map out the various downtown patrol routes traveled by the Bat and his various partners. Throw in the deep footings the building required for its height and there was an easy link into the city sewers, providing entrance and egress below street level.

No, there was nothing guaranteeing that Du Bois was using the HomeMaster Broom Company as his base of operations, but right now it was the best possibility Batman could come up with.

A moment's more observation and Batman had mapped out the best route down to the loading bay doors, a route along which he was unlikely to be observed. He checked that the lower part of his mask was well seated, sealed against any potential gas attack that Du Bois might unleash. Then he traveled 20 feet down the rooftop before launching the jumpline that would carry him into the loading dock.

Seconds later, Batman was in the deep shadows of the loading dock, swiftly bypassing the alarm and picking the lock on the worker entrance at right angles to the truck bay. The lock gave silently, and the door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Batman slipped through as soon as the opening was large enough to admit him and then closed the door behind him and reengaged the alarm.

First things first - he needed to assess each level against the modifications in the blueprints. Old warehouses were notoriously full of "dead" spaces, created by changing technologies that made pneumatic tube communication systems and dumbwaiters obsolete. The wide open floors were also easily reconfigured, and space lost in reconfiguration could be mobilized by an enterprising person with a clever eye. Batman had no doubt of Du Bois's enterprising nature, nor his cleverness.

The shipping and receiving floor of HomeMaster, on a cursory scan, was not such a reconfigured space. Skids full of various shipments, picked and packed and waiting to be shipped, stretched in rows with aisles wide enough to easily navigate forklifts. Batman slid through the shadows to the packing area, starting a circuit that would bring him to the stairwell to the basement level after his initial sweep of the ground level.

He paused in a recess in the wall, taking a moment to key his cowl display with the ground floor blueprint. A rustle sounded to his left, and then there was the odd pinging bounces of wood hitting concrete followed by a feline protest. Batman narrowed his eyes as a black cat dashed just past the ends of his boots, hissing and spitting as it claimed the top of a packed skid.

Barely audible over the cat was the sound of a door falling closed, and Batman withdrew more deeply into the shadows as a flashlight beam sliced through the murk of the loading area. The beam landed on the cat, and a man's voice scolded, "Senja, what did you do?"

The cat answered by bounding away into the darker parts of the warehouse, and the flashlight beam swept perilously close to Batman's hiding place en route to the broom handles the cat had upset. "Damned animal," the man - apparently the night watchman - muttered, crossing to the fallen broom handles. "Martinez is going to be pissed."

The watchman sighed and set his flashlight on a packing table, angling it to illuminate the area where the handles had fallen. He began picking them up and returning them to their original positions, muttering under his breath as he did so.

Batman stayed still, patiently waiting for the watchman to return to his rounds. He allowed his attention to be divided between the watchman and the blueprints presented in his cowl's head's up display, continuing his detective work.

That proved a costly error.

Batman was actually startled when the night watchmen turned suddenly, diving unerringly toward Batman with a broom handle aimed at his midsection. Instinct and muscle memory made up for the split second his mind was surprised; Batman pivoted back to avoid the thrust and closed his hands on the wood thrusting past him. He pivoted again, raising his arms and, by extension, the night watchman's. At least, he started to lift them - but then contrary to most instinctive responses, the night watchman just... let go.

The sudden absence of the watchman's weight forced Batman to catch his balance, giving the watchman enough time to dance back and claim another broom handle. Before the watchman could make another strike, Batman took up space, getting himself out of the corner he had been lurking in. The watchman responded by raising the broomstick into a defensive stance and for a long moment, the two men stood and studied one another.

"You're early," the watchman finally said, and Batman realized suddenly that he was looking at Du Bois. The face no longer matched the mug shot from February, implying plastic surgery. Belatedly Batman realized the night watchman's garb he wore was tailored for easy movement, with extra fabric to disguise Du Bois's actual dimensions and movement.

There was no time for self-castigation for missing such details. Batman remained balanced on the balls of his feet, the broom handle in his hands held easily in a starting kumijo stance to mirror that adopted by Du Bois. No more words were exchanged as they stood for what felt like an interminable timestudying one another.

Du Bois finally took the initiative, lunging toward Batman's right side. Batman deflected the jab of the broom handle with a turn of his wrists, forcing the attack further right and bringing his own broom handle in to stab at Du Bois's ribs. With startling quickness, Du Bois had his own handle up to block, and the earlier stillness was replaced by a flurry of movement.

Furious jabs and sweeping uppercuts were met on both sides by spins and blocks. Du Bois danced clear of one swipe far enough to raise his broom handle over his head and swing it by its end in one hand, bringing it down in a long arc designed to cut Batman's legs out from under him. Batman avoided the cut, although for a moment his cape entangled Du Bois's staff. Du Bois managed just to bring his second hand back to the broom handle, jerking it free of Batman's cape and bringing it up to block just in time to avoid a blow to his shoulder. Batman felt one of the clasps of his cape loosen in the move.

Du Bois spun away from Batman's block, using his momentum to swing around with a leveling blow toward Batman's head. Batman drew his broom handle vertical to block the strike, and Du Bois's staff shattered.

There was scarcely time to think as Du Bois pulled back, a grim smile playing on his lips as he pulled back his now shortened but sharpened weapon to hurl it, spear-like, toward Batman's chest.

Batman stepped back and deflected the projectile, his mind flashing back almost twenty years as his body operated on pure fighting instinct. He had deflected the exact move before. He had programmed the same attack into the fight simulator in the Batcave. He had taught it to every person he had trained.

He had learned it from David Cain.

In the time of Batman's recognition, Du Bois had claimed a new broom handle.

Once more, they fell into ready stances.

Du Bois had been trained by Cain. He had been trained by Crane. He had been picking off Batman's team one by one.

And he was lunging forward once more, his jab again catching Batman's cape as Batman pivoted out of its path.

Now the clasp at Batman's shoulder tore away, and Du Bois followed up with another sweep of his broom handle, this time aiming behind Batman and again catching the cape. Belatedly, Batman realized Du Bois's attacks had been as much at the cape as at his person, and he dove and rolled to avoid a strike that brought Du Bois in too close to dodge any other way.

The move changed their positions, giving Batman an opportunity to drop the handle weakened by Du Bois's earlier attack and replace it with a new one. He turned and did a reverse pivot, bringing a side swipe down toward Du Bois's ankles. Enough playing.

Du Bois left his feet, rolling back before his flesh took the impact of Batman's strike and resuming his feet in time to block a furious attack. Batman pressed his advantage, images of Spoiler and Robin and the cover flashing through his mind. Du Bois backed away from the assault, forced into pure defense as he was forced into the recessed space Batman had started in. He was frustratingly adept at blocking every blow from Batman, catching the strikes with enough give in each block to avoid losing his weapon to another shattering blow.

Finally, Batman had Du Bois's back against the wall, their broom handles locked together in an "X" pattern between them. "Give up," Batman hissed.

Du Bois grinned and ducked down.

The broom handles slipped, their angles changed and Batman's balance interrupted for a split second.

A split second long enough for Du Bois to twist behind Batman and too late, Batman realized that a broom handle was not the only weapon at Du Bois's disposal.

A searing pain screamed across Batman's shoulder blade on the side where his cape had been pulled away. Cold air swept through sliced kevlar as blood began to slick down inside Batman's armor.

Batman pivoted, forcing back hot rage. He blocked a new blow aimed at his head and managed to get a strike in at Du Bois's wrist, forcing the other man to drop the knife he held.

Du Bois hissed and jumped back, pulling his wrist in toward his body and holding his broom handle awkwardly in front of him. Batman took a menacing step forward and raised his staff...

But his muscles would not respond.

The toxin. Du Bois had laced his knife with toxin.

Du Bois's face regained its smile. "You can feel it now, I see."

Batman could only stare mutely as Du Bois dropped the broom handle in his hands and stepped forward to pry the handle from Batman's fingers.

Du Bois reached out fingers to touch the Bat emblem on Batman's chest. "I knew I couldn't beat you in a fair fight. But I knew I would beat you."

Batman tried to force his body to move, but the effort was wasted. A moment later, Du Bois had stepped between Batman's legs and pulled one of them out from under Batman. Batman fell heavily to the ground.

Du Bois stood over him now, stepping across Batman's chest to stare at his face. "I always finish my contracts," Du Bois said, pulling another knife from a hidden sheath at his ankle. He squatted down over Batman's prone body and raised the knife high in his uninjured hand.

"Goodbye, Batman."

The Apprentice, part 17

"I'm almost there, Babs. What have you got for me?" Nightwing's voice was grim, and it echoed over the line with the buffeted sound that came from being on a bike at high speed.

Barbara's fingers were flying over the keyboard. "I've got three possible hits," she reported, trying to narrow it down further. "Masters was connected to businesses all over Gotham, and these are the ones that seem to have the same shadow partners. There's Oswego Greenhouses, over in Coventry-"

"By Arkham," Nightwing stated.

"Yeah. Could be-"

"Too far north," Nightwing interrupted. "Du Bois's hits have all been down south."

"It's possible that -"

"What else?"

Barbara swallowed her irritation at Dick's brusqueness, understanding both his worry and the need to move fast. "The other two are south. HomeMaster, Incorporated has a manufacturing complex down in Old Gotham and The Belisle Group has space in the financial district." She glanced at a side monitor and silenced the perimeter alarm Nightwing had just set off.

"Anything to make either more likely?" Nightwing asked.

"Checking... nothing immediately obvious. You going straight to the roof?"

"Yeah. Dammit! Did you hack the Batcave?"

"There's just maps," Barbara confirmed. "Whatever clue he found, he didn't record it."

Batgirl emerged from the shadows to stand at Barbara's side. "We split up?"

"Negative," Nightwing replied forcefully. "Whatever else happens we don't need to have another of us taken down by Du Bois."

Batgirl glanced at Barbara. "But Batman-"

"Batgirl." He used the Voice, and it brought Batgirl to instant attention. Then his tone softened. "I'm worried about him, too, but we don't know he's found Du Bois. If he hasn't, if he's just dropped off the radar for his own reasons, we don't want to exacerbate the situation."

"I-" Batgirl began to protest, then, "Understood."

"Don't forget your rebreather," he ordered unnecessarily. Then, "I'm almost to the roof. Babs?"

Barbara chewed on her lower lip, feeling the change in the air behind her as Batgirl slipped away to join Nightwing. "It's a coin toss. The Belisle Group has several floors of a downtown building, including a fully equipped gym and their own security division. HomeMaster has one of those old converted warehouses, with all the hidey holes those have. I'm checking employment logs."

Barbara held her breath as she ran the check for Du Bois or Woods or any translation into any language that might match. "There's nothing," she reported. "I got shit."

She heard Nightwing exhale over the line. "Bruce, what did you do?" he muttered to himself. Then his tone sharpened again. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. We're going to swing a loop through the financial district and then back down tothe docks. Rooftops will be quickest. Got an address on Belisle?"

"463 West Wall Street," Barbara rattled off, pulling up a map of the city. "About two blocks east of the land bridge out to Blackgate. HomeMaster is 14 blocks east of that."

"Got it." The tracking dots representing Batgirl and Nightwing were already moving southwest. "Keep on it, see if there's anything else."

"Will do. Oracle out."

She shifted the comlink to standby and stared at the screen for a moment. "Hurry," she murmured

The Apprentice, part 18

Under different circumstances, Nightwing might have allowed himself a moment's pleasure at the way that Batgirl swung unquestioningly after him into the night. It felt... like old times, part of a well-oiled machine. But in old times, he hadn't been the one in the lead. He spoke to Oracle through his comlink: "Keep on it, see if there's anything else."

The answer came back tinnily in his ear: "Will do. Oracle out."

He heard the click of the comlink going to standby and he refocused his attention outward, mentally mapping the most direct route through the city to the financial district.

Old Gotham had no shortage of tall buildings of mismatched height, but there was a weird residential zone between Old Gotham and the City Hall District just north of their destination in the Financial District. He reengaged his comlink, this time to Batgirl, staying just far enough back that they could not be targeted as a unit, but close enough that he did not lose her from his peripheral vision. "Gotham rail?"

"9:50."

He activated the head's up display in his mask as he transferred to a new jumpline. It was currently 9:20. They would be over the rail line in five minutes at most. Too early. "Damn."

"New construction at Latrobe," Batgirl's voice came back. "72 stories. Can swing half block, get in range of Sauerbeck Building."

"Perfect," Nightwing complimented, angling his next jump more southward. These were Batgirl's patrol routes now, much changed by the quake and new construction. The days when Dick Grayson had known downtown Gotham better than the palm of his hand were long gone.

But he knew Latrobe Street, and the new construction Batgirl had mentioned appeared as promised. He came kitty-corner to it to take advantage of one of the taller structures nearby and secure a jumpline as high as he could among the steel girders. The sense of desperate urgency that had gripped him since he had discovered that Batman had gone was increasing, and he forced himself not to rush his jump. Haste would not get them to Wall Street any faster, and...

He tucked into a roll as he released his jumpline and strove to gain an extra quarter block on his swing. His body took three rolls and almost the entire length of the grocery store roof to come to a halt, and behind him he heard Cassandra mimicking his move to a fault. He pulled a pneumatic launcher from his gauntlet and was readying it toward the Sauerbeck when a sudden sense of wrongness gripped him.

He froze.

"Nightwing?"

He held up a silencing hand and carefully turned on the rooftop. A sudden new surge of adrenaline had hit his system, and he felt something close to panic that he fought down with an effort. As he turned toward the southeast, he felt a pull on his consciousness, urging himto come. J'onn? he projected, expecting to feel the Martian's mental touch.

No answer. Or rather, just an intensification of a desperate mental howl.

He opened his comlink as he shot his line back across to the other side of Latrobe Street. "He's at HomeMaster."

"What? Are you sure?" Oracle asked.

The screaming in Dick's head grew more urgent, and he wondered if Batgirl heard it, too, the way she shadowed him without question. "He's there," Nightwing repeated, touching down on a rooftop at a dead run and shooting off a new line just in time to take him airborne again. The howl was getting louder, more insistent.

Ace. It had to be Ace.

And if Ace was shrilling a distress call?

The head's up display had clicked off two minutes. Nightwing could feel the headache developing in answer to the wailing in his head as he crashed down on a rooftop three blocks from HomeMaster. He staggered as he regained his feet, shaking off the concerned hand that Batgirl placed on his shoulder. Ten seconds to the next roof. Another ten and he was under two blocks away. Ten more... fifteen...

He crashed through the loading bay doors, sending wood and fiberglass splintering in all directions from his boots. A corner of his mind made note of the property damage and heard the sudden blare of an alarm, but his focus was on Ace's homing call, drawing his eyes to a flashlight lit corner...

He had a batarang in his hand before he had rolled to his feet, and he released it with perfect accuracy at the blade just beginning its vicious descent toward Batman's still body. A sudden howl joined the clamor of the alarm as Du Bois - it had to be Du Bois - snatched his hand back to his chest and the knife clattered away against the concrete. In Nightwing's head, Ace's siren call suddenly stopped.

Batgirl was already racing forward as Nightwing began to move, but before either could reach him, Du Bois had sprung up and disappeared through a door. They split up in unconscious agreement, Batgirl taking off after Du Bois, and Nightwing skidding to a halt beside Batman.

His heart leapt into his throat as he dropped to his knees beside Batman's unmoving form. There was blood pooling beneath him, and there was no flicker of response. "Batman!" he yelled, trying to make himself heard over the alarm. They would need to get moving before the police arrived.

Nightwing fought panic as Batman failed to respond. Du Bois had a paralysis inducing toxin. Robin had explained to him how it had left him conscious but completely without voluntary muscle control. He opened his comlink as he stripped off one of his own gauntlets and slipped his fingers under the edge of the cowl seeking a pulse. "Oracle, we found him. Batgirl's after Du Bois." A deep relief flooded Nightwing as he felt the steady beat of Bruce's heart through his carotid artery. "We need to get Batman out of here."

"Best option is down," Barbara replied in controlled tones. "How is he moving?"

Nightwing was rolling Batman carefully onto his side to figure out where the blood was coming from. "He's not," he reported, blinking at the long slice across the back of the armor, though which he could see ... a bandage? He felt a tickle against his mind in response to his confusion. Ace.

Barbara's voice was back, edged with worry. "How serious-?"

Nightwing let Batman roll back onto his back and moved to his shoulders to sit him up. "He's hurt, and I think he's got some of Du Bois's toxin. Call Leslie. And -" he grunted as he lifted Batman over his shoulder into a fireman's carry and staggered a little for balance - "down where?"

The sound of approaching sirens was beginning to cut through the alarm, and ... was that the sound of helicopters? He shut the distraction out of his mind, listening to Oracle's voice. "About 30 feet from you, there should be a cage elevator that goes to the basement."

Nightwing scanned the dimly lit loading bay. "Got it." He was already at a half run toward the cage, moving as quickly as he could under Batman's weight. The sirens were closer. He was hitting the down button of the cage elevator almost before he was completely in it. "We're going down. Then what?"

"There'll be a door into the boiler room about 10 feet to the left and six feet behind the elevator entrance. Off the boiler room is a janitor's closet that abuts the sewers. If this has been Du Bois' hideout-"

"It will connect," Nightwing acknowledged, craning his neck to find the boiler room door as the cage lowered enough for him to see. "I see the door. I'll-"

His words were cut off by the sound of distant gunfire. "Batgirl, report!" he barked.

Through the comlink, the din of helicopters was deafening. "Du Bois have back up. Going-"

"Batgirl. Batgirl!"

"I've lost her feed but her signal's still moving," Oracle's voice cut in, managing the illusion of reassurance. "You need to get moving unless you want to deal with the GCPD."

Nightwing flung open the cage elevator door and resecured his hold on Batman over his shoulder before he stepped out and sent the cage back to the first floor. "Oracle, find a way to get Batgirl out of there," he ordered tersely, pushing his way into the boiler room and scanning for the door of the janitor's closet. "I don't care if you have to call Superman. We're not losing any more to him."

"On it," Oracle replied, her signal clicking off.

Nightwing entered the janitor's closet and scanned the space. A cement spattered industrial sink sat low in one corner, a protective surround built into the wall, and Nightwing's practiced eye picked out the telltale scuff marks and smooth edges of a panel door. Now to figure out how to trip it. He lowered Batman onto the cot that took up one wall and crossed to lock the closet door. He paused by the cot on his way back to the sink, eyes meeting those of his unmoving mentor. "I won't let us lose anymore," he promised.

The Apprentice, part 19

Cassandra was relieved when Nightwing finally swung into sight over the roof of the Clocktower. She had been listening to the rapid fire conversation between him and Oracle after Nightwing had ordered her to wait for him, wishing she could contribute. The idea that Batman might be in trouble bothered her, but she didn't have the deductive skills that the other two did. She could only wait for orders, and when Nightwing touched down only long enough to glance at her and shoot off again, she followed him with alacrity.

Dick Grayson confused her, but Nightwing she understood. It was like following Batman in the important ways, the implicit expectations and the schematic conversations that told her all she needed to know to do her job. When the mask was lowered, when he was laughing and wisecracking - then he left her bewildered and uncertain. But now, when the pressure was on...

Her comlink came alive as they neared the boundary line of Old Gotham. "Gotham rail?"

She knew what he meant. The train that ran just east of Old Gotham followed a regular schedule; she hitched rides on it often. She glanced at the head's up display in her cowl, noting the time. "9:50," she reported, announcing the time of the next train.

"Damn."

She heard the frustration in his voice, felt it mirrored in her own body. Oracle had said they were heading to Wall Street. From their general direction now they could... She spoke as quickly as she thought of it. "New construction at Latrobe. 72 stories. Can swing half block, get in range of Sauerbeck Building."

She saw Nightwing adjust his swing and followed as he said, "Perfect." The implied compliment gave her a little rush of pleasure that surprised her. Batman never acknowledged in words quite the same way, knowing she would understand that his change of direction served notice of his approval.

When they got in range of the Latrobe construction, Nightwing shot a line high into the girders, higher than was typical for Batman or Robin. High enough that her estimate of half a block would be conservative, and she cheered the decision as she vaulted after him. He was not overextending; his skill on the lines was something Batman had sent her to him to learn. Flying with Nightwing had proven an unbridled joy, and tonight it was proving a balm to her anxious sense of urgency. He was setting a pace she was fully willing and able to follow.

The three quarter block swing demanded a tighter roll and a longer tumble, and she launched after him onto the long roof of a grocery store where they could slow their momentum. His hand had already drawn out a pneumatic launcher when she regained her feet, but his body was suddenly frozen.

"Nightwing?"

He did not answer, only held up a hand and slowly pivoted back in the general direction they had come. She watched his stance shift and the muscles of his back tighten, and suddenly he was aiming a line to the southwest. "He's at HomeMaster," his voice echoed over the comlink as she hastened to follow.

"What? Are you sure?" That was Oracle, sounding perplexed. But she couldn't see the way he was traveling, the conviction etched in his frame.

"He's there," Nightwing stated, dropping from his line into a dead run before taking off again. Batgirl mirrored his every move, knowing he must be right. He was moving almost too fast, and his landing on one rooftop was awkward, atypical. She reached for his shoulder to steady him as she landed lightly beside him. He shook her off and began to run again, leaping across alleys from rooftop to rooftop, throwing another jumpline to cover more ground and then suddenly plunging down, arcing toward the loading bay of a large warehouse.

An alarm was already screaming as she tumbled to a halt behind him in the rain of debris caused by his boot first smash through the door. Nightwing was scanning the area as if the blaring alarm and shattered door were of no consequence, and she followed his eyes as he flung the batarang he had already brought to hand.

Her stomach clenched coldly as she watched the batarang seem to fly in slow motion, marking an intercept path toward a knife blade descending at speed toward Batman's throat. Then there was contact and screaming as Du Bois jerked his hand to his chest and turned to look at them in raw fury.

She didn't wait for Nightwing's signal to move, dashing forward in a matching fury. She'd taken Du Bois down once, and the GCPD didn't keep him. They didn't keep him and then she couldn't track him, and now he was back. Now he had hurt Spoiler, hurt Robin, hurt Batman-

And he was running. She sensed Nightwing moving behind her, heading toward Batman, and she took her cue. Nightwing was better equipped to heal, to help. Du Bois was hers.

She heard Nightwing call out to Batman behind her as her quarry disappeared into a stairway and a moment later Oracle was on line, accepting Nightwing's report. She tuned out there voices, focusing on Du Bois.

There was no central shaft around which the stairway wound, no place to shoot off a line and get ahead of him. She could hear his footsteps ringing ahead, and she bolted up the stairs after him, gaining a little, enough to catch a glimpse of him rounding the corner as she topped the fifth flight of stairs. A cloud of gas appeared, and she passed through it, unconcerned. He was desperate, hoping she was unprepared. Good.

She heard him slam into something hard above and there was a sudden change of air pressure as a rooftop door opened, swirling and dissipating the fog of gas. She increased her pace, reaching the door before he could slam it closed against her, shoving her boot against the jam.

Her body felt the shock of the impact of the door with her boot, but the steel toe and shank kept her from injury. Du Bois must've realized he would not confine her, because at a touch the door sprang open and she caught a glimpse of him dashing over the rooftop.

She grinned viciously to herself as she took off after him. She had seen the way he had been cradling his empty hand as he had tried to stab Batman, and she knew from the spatters of blood on the roof in front of her that his stabbing hand must've taken a direct hit from Nightwing's 'rang. Two broken hands, then. There would be no jumpline escape for Du Bois.

She slowed her pace as she saw him duck behind the HVAC unit. Cornered criminals, even ones with broken hands, were the most dangerous. From the street below, the sound of distant sirens became audible. Good. Du Bois would not-

She frowned, hesitating as she slipped into the shadows of the HVAC. There was another sound in the night, growing rapidly louder, and suddenly there was light.

The filtering feature of her Starlite lenses kicked in instantly, but she still blinked at the steady glare focused on her. A helicopter? There was a helicopter?

Du Bois suddenly stepped forward from his hiding place, turning toward Batgirl with a nasty grin distorting his features. He held up three fingers.

Batgirl snarled and launched herself at him, tackling him to the surface of the roof. She succeeded in getting him down, but he twisted as he fell, sliding away from her and escaping from her simple pin. Trained by Cain, she reminded herself, regaining her feet quickly and dancing back to avoid his strike to her head.

She spun and captured his wrist, earning a howl from him as she used his momentum to spin him around...

A sudden whistling sounded near her ear, and a chuck of roofing surface exploded two feet from her. The next shot was more off target, allowing her to hear the report, and suddenly Nightwing's voice was in her ear. "Batgirl, report!"

She pivoted and dove for cover, hooking Du Bois's ankle as avoided a fresh round of gunfire and dropping him to the rooftop. "Du Bois have back up. Going-"

There was a sudden scream of heated air against her ear as her cowl twisted, and she altered her direction, tumbling away from Du Bois. "Nightwing?"

No response. She lifted her hand to her cowl and felt the torn covering of the kevlar weave. Just a bullet graze, but enough to jangle the com circuitry. She pulled herself up behind the chimney she had scouted for cover, squinting out against spotlights in the direction the gunfire had come from. Whoever it was had stopped shooting, but they had dropped a ladder down to Du Bois, and he was already securing himself to it.

She rose into a crouch and dashed forward, zigging and zagging to make herself a more difficult target, but Du Bois was already being lifted from the roof. She reached for a jumpline desperately, then jumped back as the ground around her was peppered with gunshots.

A diversion, she realized. They weren't aiming to kill her, just to distract her. And, to her consternation, it had been enough. Du Bois was already out of range, already being hauled into the helicopter.

As the helicopter noise receded, she became aware of the sirens again, now clearly directly below. She pursed her lips and spared Du Bois's ride an angry glare before heading to the opposite side of the rooftop where she could sneak away undetected by the men on the ground.

Two good swings had her safely out of range of the GCPD, and she doubled back a block to drop down to street level. She carefully checked for potential observers before she lifted the manhole cover at the end of a blind alley and descended into the sewer system.

Her fingers went to the compartments of her belt as she moved swiftly along the walls of the sewer. She fished out two electronic components and triggered the cover of the com unit on her wrist. She slowed her pace long enough to watch what she was doing as she plugged the receiver and speaker into the shallow plug built into the interface. She tapped a button and the unit emitted a beep. "Oracle," she called.

"Batgirl! Thank god! You're okay?"

"Yes. In sewers."

"I've got you on my tracking system. What happened with -"

"Got away. Helicopter. No time for tracer. Batman?"

She heard a sigh over the line. "Nightwing's taking him to Leslie's. He's hurt, but it doesn't seem too serious. What's your status?"

"Going to get transport. Where you need me?"

"Hold on." There was a click, and then Nightwing's voice came over the line.

"Oracle?"

"Nightwing, I've got Batgirl-"

"Is she okay?" he interrupted, his voice strained.

"Fine," Batgirl answered. "Du Bois got away. Need orders."

"Away," Nightwing repeated. "Chopper?"

"Affirmative."

"Damn. Goddammit. But you're not hurt? We lost your signal-"

"Bullet caught com, but-"

There were dual intakes of breath over the line, but she plowed on. "Just graze, didn't hit me. Need orders."

She waited through a short pause. "I'm en route to Leslie's with Batman. We need to regroup. Meet me there?"

Batgirl turned down a smaller sewer tunnel on her right. "Should be at downtown lair in five minutes."

"There's a moped there," Oracle interjected. "Not the fastest, but-"

"Will do," Batgirl determined. "He be okay?"

Nightwing's voice softened. "Yeah. Don't worry, Batgirl. Just get to Leslie's."

"I will. Batgirl out."

She dropped her wrist and increased her pace again. Batman was going to be okay. Nightwing was okay. Oracle was still running searches. They would fight another day. That was what mattered.

The Apprentice, part 20

Bruce Wayne lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling because there was nothing else he could do. His shoulder, freshly stitched and bandaged, burned with pain, despite the careful propping of his body so the wound was not bearing his weight. It was a deep cut, and he was aware that it was only Ace's quick action that had saved him from serious blood loss. Leslie had been less than apologetic when she explained she didn't want to anesthetize the site at all while he had Du Bois's toxin in his system, and he sensed her aggravation with him in her tone.

It was appropriate penance, he supposed, remembering the reproach in Dick's eyes as he loaded Batman into the back of the car stashed in the Old Gotham lair. It was pain he would live with, although he was less thrilled that he had been deprived of a comlink on which he could at least listen in on what was happening in the hunt for Du Bois.

He knew the Scarecrow's former apprentice had escaped in a hail of gunfire, and he had been unable to communicate to an obviously upset Batgirl that he did not blame her, that he was only happy she was unhurt. He could only watch with unexpressed approval as Dick debriefed her, engaging her in building a string of deductions about who had been supporting Du Bois, where he might be.

They had already stripped his cowl by that point, so he did not know what words came over the comlink that snapped them both to attention and sent them back into the night. He had tried half-heartedly to teach Ace how to mimic the receiving portion of their communication system, but it had been hard to think through the haze of pain that accompanied the movements of Leslie's needles and thread as she drew layers of muscle and skin back together. He could school his own mind away from the hurt of his body, but Ace? Ace trembled on his wrist at every new assault, and he began to realize it was more important to soothe the little symbiote than force it to any further exertion.

Now Ace curled against his chest, a loop of its essence tossed around his neck in a securing hold. He could feel it measuring his pulse, drowsing inasmuch as a zo'ok could be said to drowse, and he did not want to disturb it.

Not that he could've, physically speaking.

His eyelids blinked to rewet his eyes, and he tried to repeat the move voluntarily. Still nothing.

He listened to the noise of the occasional passing car on the street below. He was in an isolated corner of Leslie's clinic, the staff kept carefully away. Leslie herself was making checks at half hour intervals, and he estimated 20 minutes had passed since he had last seen her. She had hrumphed at his lack of improvement on her last check, but had seemed relatively unconcerned. "You're getting old, Bruce," she had remarked. "You won't bounce back as fast as Tim did."

Old. Was that why he had made such mistakes on this case? He was letting himself settle into an older man's routine, no longer one man on a mission, risking no one save himself...

His thoughts were derailed as he heard a squeak in the hallway. He concentrated, forcing his eyes closed to listen better and suffering a moment's surprise that it had worked. He pushed that aside as he heard the doorknob turn, and his eyes reopened with less effort. He slid his gaze to the side, half surprised to see Barbara Gordon wheeling into his room.

"You must be feeling better. Your eyebrow twitched when you saw me roll in. I was going to send Tim, but it's easier for me to sneak out after midnight"

He stared at her and tried to force his tongue to work. His mouth opened a crack, and he managed to choke out, "Di-"

She moved briskly, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand and dabbing at the drool that trickled from his unresponsive lips. "Uh uhn, none of that. We didn't save you from certain death in order to have you choke on your own spit."

He glared at her, but she seemed immune. "That means no trying to talk. And Dick is out at Arkham with Cassandra." She tossed the tissue into the waste basket at the bedside. "Du Bois showed up there, pumped full of his own drugs and foaming at the mouth. Done up in batcuffs on top of that. But Agent Chase was there looking into some issue with Scarecrow and she's already reported that the cuffs were all wrong."

He parted his lips again, and she held up a hand. "I'm serious, Bruce. J'onn will be seriously peeved if I let you talk and that gets you pneumonia or something because your ability to swallow is impaired."

He let his lips close and gave her an irritated look.

"Oh, don't worry. We didn't report to him how close a shave you had. We'll let you explain that to him." There was a hint of danger in her tone.

"Anyway," she continued, "Arkham is trying to treat Du Bois, but it's a fair bet his mind is gone. Nightwing and Batgirl are trying to figure out who dumped him, but I suspect the trail's already cold. Might be best to let the DEO sort it out now that their suspicions are raised."

With a huge effort, Bruce managed to incline his head once in the affirmative.

"Glad to see you agree with me," she remarked, sitting back in her chair. "You should practice doing it more often."

He narrowed his eyes, but she seemed unconcerned about his anger. She met his eyes without wavering.

"This isn't all about you, you know," she said quietly. "I know you think it is, or think it isn't but feel like it is. Hell, I don't know how that messed up mind of yours works, but I know what you're doing, what you've been doing. And you need to stop. Right now."

He blinked, the action coming more easily than it had earlier, letting confusion show in his face.

"Don't play innocent, Bruce," she hissed. "We've played this game with you one too many times. This whole, 'my mission, my risk, you kids stay out of the way.' It's bullshit, and you know it."

He wanted to protest - no, he wanted to shut her down with a curt word and a pointed exit - but he didn't have those options.

She gave him a half-satisfied smile, as if she were reading his mind. "You have to listen to me now," she pointed out. "So I'm going to say what's on my mind."

He closed his eyes so he wasn't looking at her, but that didn't seem to make a difference. He heard her sigh.

"You are such an emotional fuck-up, Bruce. I know coming from me that's a bit of pot and kettle, but it's true.

"If Dick were here he'd have shut me up all ready - he coddles you, you know. Talk about codependence." She snorted. "And you are such an ass to him. To all of us.

"Why the hell didn't you let J'onn come to help with this? Why the hell didn't you let us help you with this? You think you're really so - so - I don't know what you think you are.

"But I do know this: whether you like it or not, you are the anchor of this family. And don't give me any of your looks, this is a family. You can hate it all you want, but we're going to go out on the streets and risk our necks and hack computer networks and fight crime any which way we can, with or without your approval. Because that's how you taught us. To do good. To do right, even if it's sideways and backwards to the law. Protect the innocent.

"Do you have any idea how hard that is to do when you're distracted by worrying about one of your own, all the time? When someone who trained you to use every available resource forgets his own damned rules and shuts you out?"

He thought her tone sounded choked, and he opened his eyes.

She wasn't looking at him. "I put up with a lot of shit from you, Bruce Wayne. Because no matter how I feel about you as a person, I believe in the Batman and what he does."

She turned back toward him, eyes fierce and glossy with unshed tears. "But so help me, you shut us out again, you drag us down that road one more time - I won't follow. We're done. Understand?"

He stared at her, caught between anger and confusion and unable to do anything to clarify or express himself. And, he realized, that might be a good thing.

She continued to glare at him, then suddenly reached for her ear. "Oracle," she said crisply, belying the anger and hurt on her face.

"Yeah, I figured as much... He's improving... Yeah... I'll tell him... Half an hour?... Okay... Love you... Oracle out."

She lowered her hand and returned her attention to Bruce. "That was Dick," she said unnecessarily. "They didn't find anything further on Du Bois. He'll be here in a half an hour."

Bruce again managed a nod, easier than his last.

She gave him a hard look. "Don't forget what I told you. I mean it."

She reached down to unbrake her chair. "I'm going to go talk to Leslie. You might think about calling J'onn, because I can't imagine he didn't get some sort of sense of what happened through whatever weird link you have." She turned brusquely and wheeled out of the room, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts

The Apprentice, part 21

J'onn phased through the covers, solidifying only when he was between the sheets. He let his body slowly fill and enlarge the space under the blankets which tented over his lover's sleeping form. The slightest telepathic suggestion kept Bruce sleeping just a little longer as J'onn spooned against his back, settling into the warmth of his body.

J'onn let tendrils of flesh slip under the bandages over Bruce's shoulder and back, carefully inspecting the stitched wound. He took advantage of the moment to spread himself through the muscles and veins of Bruce's back, gently massaging healthy tissue and speeding the flow of antibody rich blood to the site of the injury. Bruce would object were he awake, and in a moment, J'onn would let him wake, but he had been put off enough in the last week and a half.

Satisfied that Bruce was healing well and that there were no more hidden injuries needing attention, J'onn snaked his arms around Bruce's body and pressed his face between his shoulder blades, kissing just past the edge of the bandage.

Bruce stirred. "Mmm," he breathed, and J'onn could feel the sound vibrating under his cheek. "This feels nice."

"I missed you," J'onn replied, nuzzling against Bruce's back.

Bruce shifted, lifting and turning his body as if to lie on the opposite shoulder. He winced a little and thought better of it, lying instead on his back. J'onn sat up to allow this movement, then settled his head lightly against Bruce's chest.

Bruce's fingers came up to stroke through Alana hair, although a faint frown - felt rather than seen - persuaded J'onn to slip into something closer to his trueform. "I missed you, too," Bruce murmured. J'onn could feel the calluses of Bruce's fingers caressing the top of his head.

"You were hurt," J'onn observed, his tone carefully neutral.

"It looks worse than it is," Bruce lied.

J'onn nodded and did not call him on it. "And Du Bois?"

He felt Bruce's head shake. "In Arkham. The DEO is investigating." There was more there, but Bruce seemed disinclined to talk about it. His fingers continued their idle motion over J'onn's scalp.

"This feels good," J'onn told him, pressing his body closer to Bruce's side.

The hand on his head stilled. "Come here," Bruce whispered.

J'onn raised himself and looked into Bruce's face. The depths of Bruce's eyes were haunted, a rare glimpse of the sting this case had had for him. J'onn had felt it - had been feeling it since the night Spoiler had been hurt. It had been all he could do not to rush to Bruce's side, to accept that Batman would not welcome the power of a Martian at his beck and call, even when it might make things easier. He had stayed away because, as contrary as it seemed, it was the right thing for them.

But now? The case was over, and he was done with staying away.

He scooted up a little, bringing himself over to straddle Bruce, and leaned down to kiss Bruce's lips. The first moment of contact was tentative, and J'onn could feel Bruce's effort at control, his unwillingness to give in to his desperate need for J'onn's touch.

So be it, J'onn allowed. He brought his fingers up to tangle in Bruce's hair and took the lead, deepening their kiss, slipping his tongue out past Bruce's teeth, claiming Bruce's mouth.

Bruce stiffened slightly at the feel of J'onn's tongue, then his good arm came up to cinch around J'onn's waist, and he met J'onn's mouth with answering strokes of tongue. When J'onn pulled back for a moment, a heavy sigh released from Bruce's body. "You still taste like this mission," J'onn observed quietly, hoping he had picked his moment correctly, that Bruce would open up rather than shut down.

For a second, it looked as if he had pushed too hard; he could see the Bat glaring at him. But then Bruce was rolling his tongue in his own mouth, as if gauging J'onn's comment. "Fear," he said.

J'onn shook his head slightly. "Doubt," he corrected.

Bruce closed his eyes, his good arm still hooked over J'onn's hips, the fingers of his injured side brushing J'onn's thigh. When he opened his eyes again, they were troubled. "Am I that blind? Am I somehow making this attractive to them? Reverse psychologizing them into masks and vigilantism and-"

J'onn leaned down to place a silencing kiss on his lips. "Bruce, your way of shadows, of light and dark and black and white, good guys and bad guys..." He paused, looking into pleading blue eyes. He considered his words carefully. "There is a graceful kind of a child logic to it. It makes sense in its own way, in a world that doesn't often make sense."

Bruce's expression flirted with confusion. "I-"

"Shh," J'onn interrupted. "You were younger than Dick is now when you started this."

Bruce closed his mouth, watched J'onn intently.

"And you began training for your mission almost younger than Dick did."

Bruce nodded carefully, guardedly.

"Does it surprise you that a plan you devised when you were a youth and made happen by the strength of your will and the force of your childish conviction has appeal to other youths?"

"But the danger - they -"

"Will take risks one way or the other. And as much as Stephanie Brown's mother cannot keep her from prowling the rooftops, I am surprised she expects that you should be able to contain such a willful child."

"I encouraged-"

"No, you discouraged. You set rules. You impressed the stakes upon youngsters who, no matter what anyone tells them, will stubbornly refuse to believe in their own mortality."

"But-"

"It worked about as well as it would have with you."

Bruce's mouth snapped closed, and he stared at J'onn as if deciding whether to accept this logic. J'onn met his gaze evenly, secure in his observations, hoping Bruce could understand, or at least catch a glimmer...

Something softened in Bruce's expression. "Thank you for letting me -"

J'onn cut him off with a nod. "I am learning to wait to tell you things until you will hear them."

A corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up. "Do I want to know how many lectures you've stored up for me?"

"No."

The hand on the small of J'onn's back began to make small, absent-minded circles, and Bruce's smile at J'onn's curt answer faded into a distant sort of gaze.

J'onn watched Bruce's face, trailing a hand up to stroke his hair. The contact seemed to bring Bruce back to the moment, for his eyes refocused on J'onn's face.

"Make love to me," he said.

J'onn hesitated, his fingers still twined in Bruce's hair, mindful of Bruce's injury, uncertain what form he wanted. "Bruce?"

"Please," Bruce asked, his eyes adding weight to the request. J'onn began to shift into Alana's form, but the hand Bruce rested against his thigh gave a squeeze. "You. Right now, I just... need... you."

J'onn forced back a half-startled reaction, leaning down to once again claim Bruce Wayne's lips. Bruce's good arm pulled him down, pressing their bellies and chests together. The hair of Bruce's chest and the thin line of hair stretching down from his navel tickled against J'onn's skin, and J'onn sent a ripple through his own flesh.

He swallowed the knowledge of how close he had come to losing this, to losing the man he loved. He let his own disciplined fear dissipate as lips and tongues and hands staked their claims. They were together, and that was enough.

The Apprentice, epilogue

She stepped into the elevator and let the doors close her in alone. She hit the button for the 6th floor and stepped back, raising her fingers to the still warm from the laminator ID badge clipped to the lapel of her sensible suit.

She spent a moment getting familiar with the picture and the name. Laura Grey, 5'10", 150 pounds, hair: brown, eyes: brown. Respectably non-descript, not quite mousy. The glasses really did serve to obscure her face, or make her less recognizable to those who might be able to see past the dyed hair and subdued style. Frames just enough out of style to imply someone too busy to care about such things rather than too out of touch to notice. It was a look that could be turned to whatever purpose she needed it for.

She left off her inspection of her ID as she felt the elevator hiccup to a stop. The doors opened, and she moved with confidence down the hall, drawing on memorized floor plans to lead her to her destination without having to ask directions. She exchanged nods with the few people she passed, then entered the outer office of the corner suite. "I'm here to see the director," she announced to the secretary. "I'm Laura Grey."

The secretary's eyes went to her ID badge, then to her face. "I'll let him know you're here," he stated. "Please have a seat."

Grey nodded once, perfunctory yet pleasant, and settled into one of the upholstered chairs set along one wall. It was a good arrangement - comfortable enough for those who were visiting, just institutional enough to make agents awaiting disciplinary meetings to squirm.

It was less than a minute before the secretary emerged from the inner office, the director immediately behind him. "Ms. Grey," he greeted.

She stood and met his appraising gaze, fully aware that the eyes invisible in his skeletal countenance were studying her transformation. He nodded once in what she took as approval. "Come in."

She accepted the invitation, entering his office ahead of him and waiting as he closed the door and crossed back to his desk. "Have a seat."

She did so, sitting properly in the indicated chair and crossing her legs at the ankles demurely. "I won't work in Gotham," she stated without preamble.

Mr. Bones laughed. "I see your reputation for directness is earned." He paused to light a cigarette. "I have no intention of using you in Gotham. Given your previous high profile position there, it would be foolish to risk your cover."

She gave him a thin lipped smile, covering her reaction to his words. "Forgive me, Director, but government agencies are not always renowned for their wisdom."

He ashed his cigarette, and she wished his features were visible to her. The impassive skull was impossible to read. "Which is why we have need of you," he said, histone giving no hint of offense at her comment.

She shifted in her seat, leaning forward a little. "The file you sent me mentioned a case in Arkham."

He waved that off. "Our field agents are working on that little snafu. You are familiar with Checkmate?"

She gave one curt nod, not offering the source of her knowledge nor its depth.

He gestured widely at the air, his cigarette gracing the movement with a thin swirl of smoke. "As you say, government agencies are not renowned for their wisdom. And it seems that Checkmate has developed an unwise obsession with Gotham's guardian."

She had gathered that from the file. So far, Bones had given her nothing new. "I fail to see what this has to do with me."

Mr. Bones chuckled. "The DEO has... dealings... with Checkmate. Oblique ones, to be sure, but they do employ metas. Metas who know where their loyalties lie." He paused significantly. "We do not appreciate other agencies muddling on our turf."

"You should take that up with the Pentagon."

He sat back, appearing to consider her for a moment, then took a deep drag from his cigarette. He let the smoke stream slowly from his mouth. "We have reason to suspect that the Pentagon is involved in Checkmate's obsession."

She nodded. She knew the Pentagon, well enough to know that this stank of a higher up's meddling. "I begin to see your interest in me. Although I should warn you my profile in DC is not that much lower than it is in Gotham."

He nodded, taking another quick drag and stabbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. "I don't want you in DC. They already are wise to our agents there, and it is in our interest to pretend we don't know that."

"Sound strategy."

"My strategy." She couldn't decide if it was pride or warning in his voice. "Specifically so I could bring aboard someone with your... qualifications."

She raised an eyebrow. "The world is full of insubordinate government agents turned bodyguards," she pointed out.

"Not ones who have faced Scarecrow and Harvey Dent. Or have chased Superman through the White House."

"You're thorough."

"We've had an eye on you."

She decided to let that slide. "So you want me to-?"

"You read the file, Ms. Grey. I imagine you have a theory."

"Your file was short on details, Director. Understandable given I was not yet in your employ when you sent it to me."

He stood up and crossed to the windows overlooking the street, then touched a button on the wall. The curtains closed and a multi-bank wall of monitor rose from the floor. "You're in my employ now. The large central monitor flared to life, showing a man with a steel jaw sitting in what was obviously a containment cell. "This is Dr. Trapps. The mastermind behind the destruction of the Justice Experience decades ago."

She nodded, waiting.

"He broke out a couple of years ago, intent on completing the eradication of that team. He was caught by a joint effort of the DEO and the Martian Manhunter. At that time, the Martian melded Trapps consciousness with that of another meta, a creature that calls herself Bette Noir." A side screen cleared to show a frightening lump of a being, barely recognizable as human. "A favor for her, as you can see, although this body you see was destroyed by Cadmus labs." Mr. Bones crossed back to his desk.

"We recently had reason to do a mindscan of the Doctor, and we made an interesting discovery. Bette Noir is no longer tied to him."

"So where is she?"

"She cannot live without a host body, but where she has gone?" He reached for another cigarette. "Someone went to great trouble, Ms. Grey, of planting a telepathic suggestion in Dr. Trapps mind that Noir was still there."

"Someone in Checkmate, you assume."

"Or directing Checkmate." He paused to allow the implications to sink in. "As I said, Ms. Grey, we do not appreciate other agencies muddling in DEO affairs."

"And you've consulted Martian Manhunter."

Once again she wished she could read his features as he took a moment to light his cigarette. "After an... unfortunate... action by one of our agents, we have found the Martian distinctly less cooperative than he has been in the past. I felt it best not to include him in this investigation."

The news conference, she remembered, a couple years back. The DEO had revealed a sizable number of the Martian Manhunter's alter egos. The fallout had not been pretty.

"I have reason to suspect that the disappearance of Bette Noir and the move by Checkmate to place an operative with Batman's enemies are part of a much larger plot. A plot that goes to some of the highest levels of our government." He touched a button on his desk, and the monitors winked off.

"The highest levels," she repeated.

She felt Mr. Bones eyes on her, gauging her. "Yes." He stood and crossed back to the windows, but he did not yet open the curtains. "It is no secret that the current administration has no love lost for the meta community. It would be wise of us to figure out if there are operations designed to undercut our position within the nation's security."

Doublespeak, she recognized, but she got it. And although her own relationship to the meta community was far from simple, she was not oblivious to the implications of systemic change. The DEO might well be a devil in the works, but the devil you knew was always a safer challenge than what might lurk within Checkmate's plans.

"Your official designation is facilities inspector." He hit the button on the wall that controlled the curtains and returned to his desk. "We have several training and containment facilities scattered throughout the United States, as well as internationally. You won't, by the way, be looking at international sites. We did not disappear your real identity, and the heightened security at places like the Slab would make you before you could do your job."

"I understand." As much as she wanted some distance from her previous life, she was not willing to sacrifice it. If nothing else, she owed it to Bruce Wayne to be traceable. Not that the DEO knew - or ever would know - her reasons.

Mr. Bones opened his desk drawer and pulled out a thick dossier. "Your credentials are here, along with plane tickets for the first four stops on your itinerary. Your first three stops will be routine inspections where we know the facilities are clean, so you can get a feel for normal operations. Although," he glanced over the top sheet of paper in the dossier, "listen to your instincts. You should report anything you find amiss."

"I'll do my job."

"Good." He reached into a second desk drawer and came out with a digital phone. "A direct uplink to my desk is programmed into this phone - scrambled, of course. You can use it for normal calls; the number for the inspectorate is also programmed in for regular reports. You will physically report back to my office on a monthly basis - standard operating procedure for employees with less than a year of service."

There was an ironic twist to his words, and she wondered if he was appreciating his own cleverness in setting up an inbuilt cover for agents he wanted to keep close.

He set the phone on top of the dossier and slid the entire stack across his desk to her. "Welcome aboard, Ms. Grey."

"Thank you, Director." She picked up the dossier and the phone, opening her jacket to clip the latter onto the waistband of her skirt and then depositing the files in her briefcase. "I'll be in touch."

"I count on it," he replied, swiveling his chair toward the view outside in a gesture of dismissal.

She looked at him for a moment, then Laura Grey, nee Sasha Bordeaux, picked up her briefcase and headed back the way she had come.

END