Paper Hearts
By Chicago and Darklady

Disclaimers: Characters and settings owned by DC Comics. They've been borrowed without permission for fun, not for profit. The situation and plot belong to us.

Continuity note: A J'onnverse story - the entire 'verse takes JLA #58 as it's leaping off point and incorporates subsequent canon developments if we like them. Most important deviation from canon: the Bruce Wayne: Murderer? storyline never happened in this 'verse (we presume Vesper, spurned by Bruce and unsuccessful in her Batman hunt, merely moved back out of town). Also I've ignored recent developments in Nightwing regarding the Torque/Tad schism. This story is in about month 4 of the Bruce/J'onn relationship. It happens about two months after All's Fair.

Canon notes:
Part 2 - J'onn's means of managing identities is nicely explained in Action Comics #774.
Part 4 - Notably during Knightfall, the Bat crew has been shown to have an ambulance. We decided that WayneMed has a whole fleet. 
Part 5 - We take JLA Year One as canon (12 part Waid mini), so Dinah and J'onn have a LONG history of working together. Also see Shadow of the Bat #36 for some of Dinah's history with Batman.
Part 6 - For a time, Batman actually moved his base of operations to his Gotham City penthouse, abandoning the Manor. The penthouse has not, to my knowledge been retconned out of existence. Sasha became "the cover" in Tec #765 (after several issues in costume with no hint of a code name)
Part 8 - Sasha's first encounter with Scarecrow was in GK #23.
Part 13 - references GK #23 
Part 17 - the network of caves throughout Gotham was revealed as the work Bruce did during the run of Prodigal. He made use of them during NML and Cassandra currently calls one home (starting in Batgirl #14).
Part 21 - Hatter hit the GCPD in 'Tec #758-760.
Part 23 - J'onn's awareness of how death communicates itself telepathically comes from the 1989 JLI annual.
Part 30 - Sasha was trained by Walker, now serving as part of the 
Secret Service for President Luthor (see 'Tec #756). Various discussions referenced occurred during Batman #598 and 'Tec #763, as well as other issues around that time.


Acknowledgements: This fic is Darklady's fault, although I claim responsibility for the actual writing of parts 2 on. Darklady wrote part one and when I sent her part two as a rejoinder, she kept feeding me bunnies. So whether she knows it or not, Darklady is responsible for the timeline, the choice of villains, and the fate of Sasha Bordeaux.

Rating: Eh, PG mostly, although some parts might merit a PG-13 or even an R for language and violence and a very small amount of adult themes.

Archive: Batslash, nascent J'onnverse page.

*Beeeedinggg*

The tight green cone that was the Martian Manhunter looked up. High on
the curving, screen-covered wall one of the displays had begun blinking. Incoming call. Oracle.

J'onn thought at the switch. "Watchtower."

The face icon that marked The Oracle froze on the screen, then vanished, revealing the far warmer image of Barbara Gordon. "Hi, J'onn. It's you."

"Problem?" J'onn morphed into his most conventional form. "I was just about to transfer over, but if you...?"

"No." Barbara waved away his concerns. "I was just calling up to say I was going off line myself. Titans Tower will be taking over. Unless...?" She hesitated. Barbara really *did* want the time off tonight. It was February 14th, and Dick had made dinner reservations at Club Terpsicore. And he had enlisted Cassandra to track down what even Babs had to admit was the perfect dress. So she honestly wanted to go out tonight. She wanted it - but she didn't *need* it. Not really. Not if the world was in danger.

"No." J'onn smiled carefully at the screen. "The Watchtower is quiet. One small volcano in Belize, but Kyle is taking care of that."

"Oh." A moments pause, then, "That's good."

"But?" J'onn leaned forward. "Since you called? I would like to thank you for... arranging matters."

Matters? Barbara blinked. Oh, that. "The roses." Her smile grew into a slightly over-wide grin. "No problem. And even if it was - it was *so* worth it. You should have seen Bruce's face when he walked into his office. Not that it was anything but blank, but..." Barbara's words caught on a giggle.

"I know," J'onn answered. "I felt it up here."

The giggle turned into a snort. "Be warned, though. The Bat doesn't get mad..."

"He gets even." J'onn finished the quote. "I know. Lavender orchids and *ten* pounds of Godiva. No record in the transporter logs, so I think he got Kyle to bring it in."

"Thus the volcano duty?"

"Please." J'onn tried - not too successfully - to shift his expression into one of offended dignity."I would never assign holiday duty based on... personal considerations." When that failed, he tapped the box in
question and added, "Besides. I *like* chocolate."

Evidently, Barbara thought, chuckling even harder as several empty paper frills flew up, spinning slowly in the lessened gravity.

"Ten pounds?" she made a show of peering at the screen. "I didn't know
Godiva made a box that big."

"I didn't know they made them heart-shaped." J'onn held up the box, giving Barbara a clearer view of the lace-covered lid. "That is a rather disturbing image, you know. Plucking treats out of a
representation of a vital organ. The sociological implications are..."

"Eeew." Barbara's grin twisted. "Sorry J'onn. It never occurred to me
before, but.. eww." She slapped her ear, as if to reset the thoughts
beneath. "Maybe I'm glad now Dick just sent the gold box variety."

This time it was J'onn who blinked. "I didn't think you particularly
liked..."

"I don't." Babs reclaimed her smile. "Cass ate it. With Tim. But that
doesn't mean I don't like to *get* it."

J'onn shook his head. "Have I mentioned that Terrans are incomprehensible?"

"Regularly." Barbara pushed back, giving J'onn a view of her green
velvet gown and bunny slippers. "Although Dick insists that it's just
me."

"No." He considered making a remark about the slippers, then let it pass. Not from kindness, but because the ammo would be more useful later. One of the advantages of sharing thoughts with a master tactician. So for now he contented himself with assuring her, "It's
the species. I have enough experience to judge."

Barbara flicked a rubber band at the screen. "I'll remember to tell
Dick that next time he complains."

*treeezeeep*

"Problem?" Barbara's face was serious again.

"Transporter signal." J'onn answered. " But it does mean I *will*have
to go. Bruce is taking me out tonight - and I need to change."

(Part 2)
Bruce gazed at Alana over the candle that adorned the center of the small table they shared at Chez Ambrose, then leaned forward enough to blow out the little flame. His gesture was halted by Alana's hand on his wrist. *Isn't a candle light dinner part of the ritual?* J'onn projected mentally, mindful of Sasha's presence a few feet away.

Bruce smiled slightly and extinguished the flame. *I'd rather you be captivated by me,* he returned. *Besides, I doubt Chez Ambrose stocks Chocos.*

Alana arched an eyebrow. "I believe that counts as a romantic gesture," she remarked aloud.

"You asked for a romantic evening," Bruce replied, taking her hand. He would have as happily spent this night at the Manor, or - more in keeping with his usual habits - ignored Valentine's Day altogether, but J'onn had expressed a certain wistfulness for the human holiday, one he never had occasion to celebrate. And if J'onn desired a traditional Valentine's Day? Who was Bruce to deny him the rare request? He raised Alana's hand to his lips. "You look lovely this evening."

He heard Sasha shift behind him, the sound registering her disapproval. Dick had speculated that Sasha was a tad jealous of "Alana" and all the other women Bruce had been dating, while J'onn had picked up a glimmer of pity for Alana from Bruce's bodyguard. "She thinks you're cheating on me," J'onn had told him, mirth in his eyes.

Regardless of what Sasha thought, however, J'onn - Alana - did look beautiful. Zo'ok adorned her thin form with a classic "little black dress" which managed to be tasteful while still showing a fair amount of leg. There was a hint of curl in Alana's normally stick straight brown hair and an impression of minimal make up on her face that made Bruce admire J'onn all the more. Every detail of Alana's person spoke to J'onn's skill at fully living an identity, keeping completely in character to the way the slightly retiring Alana would handle a rare public outing with her beau. She was even beaming perfectly at Bruce now in response to his compliment.

"Would Monsier and Madamoiselle care for drinks? Or perhaps a bottle of wine?"

Bruce glanced up at the waiter who had arrived unobtrusively and stood patiently at ready. Then he looked to Alana. "Wine?"

She hesitated. "Red?"

Bruce nodded and turned to the waiter. "And I think we should sample the escargot," he ordered, eliciting a little giggle from Alana.

"Very well, Monsieur Wayne."

"Doesn't he want to know what kind of wine you want?"

"He already knows," Bruce dismissed, knowing this chatter was for Sasha's benefit.

Alana grinned. "Of course. Y'know, I've never eaten snails before."

"So it will be a night of first times. No, no, you don't need to light it." This last was directed at a busboy, clearly under directions from their waiter to set things right at the secluded Wayne table.

The young man hesitated, apparently discomfitted at the notion of the waiter returning to find the candle left unlit. "You're sure?"

"I'll tell Laurent," Bruce assured him generously, giving Alana a sly glance of pure "Brucie" origin. He even knew the waiter's name, the look conveyed with an almost preening quality.

Alana bit back a smile, clearly appreciating the act which J'onn had seen once before in another restaurant in another guise.

Later, Bruce would curse himself for his moment of inattention, although a part of him knew that he could not have responded quickly enough to prevent the busboy from grabbing Alana and pressing the little pistol to her ribs. Even Sasha, in a mode of complete watchfulness, was startled by the sudden action, although her own gun was drawn within a split second. Her lips curled to shout an order, but the word died unspoken as the busboy hissed, "Say anything, and she's dead." He ground his .22 into Alana's side to emphasize the point.

Bruce quickly scanned the area. He had deliberately chosen a table in one of Chez Ambrose's "les coins romantiques" - designed to maximally shield lovers from the rest of the restaurant. No one could see what was going on behind the ornamental screen and potted plants. Unfortunately, there was also no way to disarm or disable the man while still ensuring he would not shoot. And while J'onn J'onzz would be unharmed by a bullet, this was not a J'onn J'onzz moment. Nor was it a Batman moment. It was Bruce Wayne and Alana Jones - and the spectre of a secret identity that must be protected.

He met Alana's eyes, noting the quiet calm in them that did not match the fear on her face. He focused on her as he asked, "What do you want?"

A short, quiet laugh came from the busboy. "From you?" he snorted. "Nothing. Nothing save your death."

And suddenly the barrel of the gun was pointed at his forehead and Sasha was yelling "STOP!" and Alana was rising and blocking his view of the bullet resting in its chamber and there was a sound of detonation muffled by flesh, echoed by screams and the sudden appearance of Laurent and the subduing of the sobbing and baffled busboy.

These facts entered Bruce's consciousness only as confused impressions, a backdrop to the slow fall of Alana's body onto the table.

************

"Bruce, I'm sorry."

Sasha, hovering, breaking the silence of the waiting room to the trauma ward, mercifully empty save for them. The GCPD was doing a good job of keeping the media hordes at bay.

"I just - I had him, but - I couldn't pull the trigger."

Highly trained telepaths can do that little override on your instincts, he didn't say. J'onn must have sensed something, realized the busboy was not acting under his own power. Not that that excuse was keeping the man out of police custody, but it had saved his life.

"I think -" She paused, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before blowing it out with a sigh. "I think it might be best if I leave your employ."

Quit? Bruce puzzled over this for a brief moment. Of course. Her failure to pull the trigger made her question her ability to do her job.

"No."

"Bruce, if I can't protect you-" She trailed off, sensing he had no interest in discussing the matter.

Silence returned.

Sasha stationed herself against a nearby wall.

Bruce felt he should tell her to sit down, but he knew she would refuse. He couldn't tell her that he already knew Alana was fine any more than he could insist that the paramedics leave her be when the ambulance arrived at Chez Ambrose.

J'onn had to stay Alana for as long as they were in the public eye.

He had no choice but to bleed into the snowy white table linens that Bruce pressed against the hole in Alana's back.

"Mister Wayne?"

A doctor emerged into the waiting area. Bruce waited expectantly.

"Your - friend - is a very lucky woman," the doctor - K. Barlov by the nametag - announced. "From the angle of the shot, I would have thought there was no way that the bullet could have avoided hitting either her heart or her aorta, but it's the damnedest thing - the bullet passed between them without so much as nicking either of them. There's no damage to her lungs or spine, and I'll be damned if I know why, but the bullet stopped just short breaking her sternum. We were able to extract it with just a small incision beneath her left breast. Her body's still suffered a major trauma, but -" He shook his head. "It's pretty incredible."

Bruce nodded. "Can I see her?"

Barlov hedged. "We've just transferred her to recovery. I'll have one of the nurses know when you can go in."

"Thank you, doctor." Bruce turned his stare back out to the parking lot of the hospital and the press hordes just beyond, trying to decide how quickly he could demand Alana's release to a private facility. Alfred was ready to roll at a moment's notice, and the sooner they got J'onn out of -

*Bruce?*

Weak, but J'onn.

*You should have let it phase through you.* Gruffer than necessary, Bruce regretted almost instantly.

*And let it hit you?*

*I would've-*

*Dodged? You're not bulletproof, Bruce.*

*Neither are you!* Bruce retorted hotly, remembering the faint taste of pain in J'onn's mental touch as Alana's body lay across the table. A body that would pass medical scrutiny was also one which felt exactly as a true human's would.

*Bruce.* There was reprimand in J'onn's tone.

Bruce deliberately unballed the fists clenched at his sides. *How are you feeling?* he asked carefully.

He could feel J'onn's mental nod of approval. *Rather sheepish,* he confessed. *I should not have allowed-*

*Don't,* Bruce interrupted, feeling guilty now for the way J'onn had shored him up at Chez Ambrose, focusing his energy on reminding Bruce that things were not as they appeared. Even when "Alana" had gone in for surgery, he had kept something of a link going - joking that he had to keep his consciousness in Alana's big toe to escape detection by the EEG - until Bruce had begged him to save his strength.

*Very well,* J'onn allowed, *provided you stop beating yourself up about it.*

*I-* Bruce began, then stopped. J'onn had a point. They had both acted as best they could in the situation, preventing any civilian casualties. And there was a larger question to address, as J'onn was pointing out.

*Any sense of who was behind this?*

*It had to be Hatter,* Bruce answered grimly. *The mind control - the busboy claims he doesn't even remember obtaining the gun, let alone carrying it to work.*

*And why Bruce Wayne was targeted?*

*Might have been opportunity. He'd just started his shift. No reason to know I'd be there, or that this busboy would have our table.*

*But might as easily become vendetta, since you got away,* J'onn warned.

*It still doesn't make sense, though,* Bruce mused. *What does he stand to gain? And you're distracting me.*

There was a sigh in J'onn's voice. *I'm fine, Bruce. Will it make you feel better to know I've drawn the nerves away from the damage? That the injury now is only as dramatic as need be to pass visual inspection?*

*I don't want you injured at all.*

This drew a soft mental caress. *I know. But it's temporary.* There was a little extra emphasis on the word temporary, a pointed reminder.

Bruce sighed, drawing Sasha's gaze. Her eyes were troubled, guilt clearly warring with concern. One more issue to deal with, he remembered. Again there was an approving touch from J'onn, laced with reassurance. *I'm glad she's here,* J'onn stated. *If you have become a target-*

The surge of worry that accompanied the thought made Bruce feel suddenly selfish, ashamed that he had not realized that J'onn would be as concerned for him - with more reason - as he was for J'onn. *If so, there won't be another attempt tonight,* he reassured. *And-* his thoughts slipped into more Bat-like tones - *Hatter has just earned my undivided attention.*

There was a forced chuckle from J'onn. *Lucky him. But be careful.*

Bruce offered a mental grunt in reply and crossed to take a seat beside the still standing Sasha. "Be ready," he said to her softly. "Once we get Alana moved, we'll have a lot of work to do."

Something like gratitude flared in her eyes. "Whatever you say, boss."

(Part 3)

"So," Barbara began as Dick pulled into one of the visitor spots of the garage beneath the Clocktower, "you wanna come up for 'coffee'?" She glanced at him suggestively as she spoke, letting her eyes trail down his body.

He replied with a lacivious grin. "With cream?"

She snorted at that, then found herself swept into a deep kiss that sent a thrill through her body. "Oh yes," she breathed when her lips were free again, "definitely with cream."

He grinned again and swiftly exited the vehicle, vaulting the hood to open her door. Then he leaned in, once again claiming her lips. She responded eagerly to his tongue, unwilling to break the contact to object when Dick lifted her from the car. She heard the door slam and then the beep of the alarm system, but neither sound distracted her from the sensation of Dick's mouth working against hers.

She only laughed when Dick fumbled with the elevator codes, swearing quietly as he tried to deal with the buttons while not losing his hold on Barbara. "You got yourself into this mess, twenty-something wonder," she pointed out indulgently. She reached a languid hand to the keypad, entering the correct sequence.

"Thanks," he acknowledged, kissing her neck. She leaned her head back, giving him access to the curve of her throat as the elevator traveled upwards. He accepted the invitation, nibbling and kissing at her soft flesh with relish. He barely broke of his ministrations when the elevator doors opened, only glancing up enough to see his way to the couch.

When they entered the living room, though, Barbara stiffened suddenly and pushed away from him slightly. "Something's wrong."

He followed her gaze, noticing the red signal light over the door to her workroom.

"Chair, now," she ordered, and he did not hesitate, immediately spying one of her spares and settling her into it. He followed without comment as she wheeled into the workroom.

Nearly every monitor was active, displaying muted news feeds from a dozen sources. She heard Dick breathe, "Oh no," as an image of Bruce Wayne crossed one screen, his tuxedo shirt bearing an unmistakable smear of red. "What happened?"

"I'm getting that, Dick," she noted sharply, activating the queued police dispatches. Her eyes tore through the transcripted text.

"Busboy pulled a gun on Bruce at Chez Ambrose," she reported. "Claims he has no recollection of doing it. Only fired once, but -"

"J'onn," Dick noted grimly, watching as WGTM showed an image of "Alana Jones."

"Well, that's a stroke of luck," Barbara commented, opening a phone connection. "At least it wasn't a civilian."

"Wayne Manor," a cultured voice suddenly cut in through the workroom speakers.

"Alfred, it's Barbara. We just heard. Status?"

Palpable relief came through the line. "Miss Alana is recovering from surgery and Master Bruce is seeking her release to a private facility," he reported crisply. "Master Tim has managed to get downtown and stands ready to bring the ambulance in, but-"

"I'm sending Dick," Barbara cut in, glancing at him as she spoke. She reached to grab a set of keys and tossed them to him. "Take the bike," she mouthed.

He was out the door almost before he had caught the keys.

"Miss Barbara, it might be wise to also send someone less - recognizable. Ms. Bordeaux is also on hand."

"Right," Barbara affirmed, opening another comlink. "Hold on a sec."

"You've called it an early night. You and your birdboy have a spat?" a cheerful voice remarked.

"Dinah, I need you at 17th and Comorant two minutes ago."

Dinah's voice became all business. "On my way. Situation?"

"Back up for Dick. Ambulance pick up."

Dinah inhaled sharply, and Barbara could hear her processing the information. "Who?"

Barbara hesitated. It wasn't strictly need-to-know, but - "J'onn."

"Oh, jeez. What-"

"Caught a bullet in human form. We need to get him clear of public scrutiny as soon as we get him released. Dick can brief you further."

"Understood. Canary out."

Barbara returned to Alfred. "Tell Tim he can stand down as soon as Dinah gets there. You need me to do anything else?"

"Not now, Miss Barbara - although I suspect you will be hearing from a mutual friend in short order."

"I'm surprised he hasn't called yet."

There was the faintest pause. Then: "They didn't want to interrupt your evening. And I think Master Bruce has been - preoccupied."

Barbara paused the still scrolling transcripts. "Are you okay, Alfred?" she asked.

"I'll carry on, Miss Barbara. As always."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly. "Call if you need me."

"I will," he promised. "Good bye."

"Bye, Alfred." She hung up the connection and opened the comlink to Dick.

"Dick?"

"Go ahead, Barbara."

"Dinah's on her way." She glanced at her tracing monitor. "ETA two minutes."

"Got it. I'm almost there. Any more word?"

"Negative. Alfred will call when they need you."

"I'll be waiting."

"Oracle out."

The adrenaline was beginning to fade. Barbara sighed and stared at her screen for a moment, then unpaused the transcripts. They quickly degenerated to media control reports - no new information there. She shut them off and began pulling all her files on the Mad Hatter. It was going to be a long night.

(Part 4)

Sasha stood watchfully to one side as Bruce finally secured the doctor's reluctant approval to transfer Alana to a private facility. A part of her wanted to argue Bruce out of the idea - the woman had just been *shot*. Shot because Sasha had been unable to pull the trigger at the crucial moment. That thought alone was enough to keep Sasha quiet.

Why hadn't she fired? It wouldn't have been the first time she'd taken someone down. It was what she was *trained* for, even if Batman - Bruce - insisted that she not use lethal force. Had he gotten inside her head enough that she could no longer do her job? That was unacceptable. The shooting of Alana Jones was unacceptable.

That poor woman. Sasha didn't particularly like her, that was true. Sasha wasn't keen on any of the women that Bruce brought home, a continuous stream of rare beauties and vacuous socialites that made Vesper a more pallatable option. Of course, Sasha had felt threatened by Vesper. She hadn't admitted it to herself at the time, but in the hard light this night's events? She had to admit the same anger and resentment she'd felt toward Vesper were part of her emotional reaction to Alana. Alana actually seemed smart enough and attractive enough to be almost worthy of Bruce.

Was that why she hadn't pulled the trigger?

That was almost more frightening than the idea that Batman's code had messed with her head. Could she truly, deep inside, be vindictive enough to *let* Alana be Bruce's human shield?

No, she told herself firmly. No one - not the shooter, not Bruce, and certainly not Sasha Bordeaux, could have expected that frightened looking woman to stand when she did. It just wasn't the kind of thing that people did when a gun shifted its target. But still...

Bruce was moving, and she automatically fell in behind him, still watchful. When he reached Alana's room, she put a hand to his arm to stop him. He didn't protest as she carefully cased the room, assuring herself that no one save Alana was present. She checked the bathroom and behind the curtains - any likely hiding place - sparing only a cursory glance at the woman on the bed. It was Alana, serenely still - a peaceful little creature who should be laughing on the dance floor as Bruce tried to teach her to jitterbug, not lying in a hospital bed.

Sasha pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded to Bruce, slipping by him to take up her station outside the open door.

She didn't watch as Bruce approached Alana's bed, although she imagined him taking up Alana's hand, waking her with a soft kiss on her forehead. A soft murmur of conversation began, and for once she didn't strain to catch the words. Bruce might not be in love with
Alana - how could he be when he so casually dated other women in her absence? When she didn't know how he spent his nights? But Sasha had seen the anguish on his face in the restaurant, and it seemed deeper than a regret that retiring little Alana had been pulled into the darker part of his world. And his tense silence in the waiting room - partly the Bat, to be sure, but also something of Bruce Wayne hurting in a way that Sasha could not answer. He might not love her, but it was clear that he cared about her more than some of his more obvious "cover" girlfriends. And given what had happened? Alana deserved a private moment with a man she clearly loved.

He must have said something funny, for Sasha heard an interrupted laugh from the young woman. She winced sympathetically - the halted sound carried a taste of pain, as did the chiding response from Bruce.

A sound of wheels in the hallway drew her attention sharply, and she scrutinized the pair of paramedics coming down the hall. Dr. Barlov walked with them, talking intently to the man who wheeled the gurney, likely sharing his reservations with fellow medical professionals, even if he wouldn't dissuade them from taking Alana away. They wore WayneMed name badges, so they knew where their paychecks were coming from. Unless Alana's life were truly threatened by this transfer? It was unlikely they would go against Bruce's wishes.

The female paramedic, less attentive to Barlov, detached herself from the threesome and moved ahead of them to stop in front of Sasha. "Bodyguard?" she asked.

Sasha nodded, studying the small blonde woman.

"The cops checked us coming in," she reported, pulling out her ID and handing it to Sasha, "but if you'd like to pat us down anyway-" She raised her hands obligingly.

Sasha looked at the ID and matched the picture to the face, then handed it back and patted the woman down. She was clean - although if someone really wanted to get at Bruce? A medical technician would have subtler weapons than a garden variety thug. Sasha would have to trust that WayneMed screened its employees thoroughly.

"Really, Ms. Bordeaux," the doctor objected as he and the other paramedic caught up.

"It's all right, doc," the male paramedic reassured, presenting his ID and accepting the same treatment. He offered a slight smile that crinkled the skin around his hazel eyes. "She's got a job to do, too."

There was something familiar about his face, but it didn't ring any alarm bells, and it did match the ID. She nodded curtly as she handed back the laminated card. "Go on in."

They did so, and Bruce drifted back to stand near Sasha as the paramedics transferred Alana to the gurney and settled various medical equipment for the journey to the ambulance. The young man joked gently with Alana, and the woman took pains to make sure she was as comfortable as possible before they unbraked the wheels and began to move back to the hall. They paused at the doorway when Alana said, "Bruce," and they shifted to let Bruce come to her side. "Walk with me," she requested.

Bruce nodded, and Sasha noticed the female paramedic shoot a hard look at Bruce as they started moving again. Sasha wondered what the news reports were saying about the shooting to provoke such a look.

Bruce stayed by Alana's side until they reached the ambulance bay. Then he squeezed her hand slightly and said, "I've got to go."

She nodded. "I know. You'll come by later?"

He kissed her hand. "I promise," he said solemnly, stepping back to let the paramedics lift her into the waiting ambulance. He watched them shut the doors, then he reached for his cell phone. He entered the number and put it to his ear, and almost before it seemed to have time to ring, he was growling, "Around back."

Alfred, Sasha realized, as surely as she realized that she was no longer dealing with Bruce Wayne. He led her back into the hospital and through a maze of hallways, finally exiting the building into an alley where the limo stood waiting. Alfred wordlessly opened the door for them, and she wondered how he had evaded the press. The limousine was not a subtle vehicle.

"The penthouse," Bruce ordered, and Alfred clsoed the door behind them and took his place in the driver's seat.

Sasha waited until they were moving to speak. "What now?" she asked.

"Now we find Hatter's agents," he replied grimly.

Part 5

Dinah moved forward and slid into the passenger seat.

"How is he?" Dick asked, not taking his eyes from the road.

"Oh, a little green," Dinah joked, then regretted immediately. A wave of disapproval seemed to radiate from Dick Grayson at her levity, and she found it puzzling. Since when had Bat Jr. been so concerned for J'onn? "He's tired," she reported more soberly, studying Dick's face intently. He still didn't look at her, although he seemed to be checking the rearview mirrors more than was necessary.

She frowned. "We pick up a tail?"

"I'm not sure." He turned east on 28th. "Looks like it though. Probably media."

Dinah snorted. "Anything for a scoop. Plan?"

"I'm going to head to Leslie's. You think he can manage invisibility?"

"I'll ask." She rose again, working her way to the back of the ambulance.

J'onn had dropped his human guise as soon as they had gotten underway and Dinah had disconnected the various medical equipment they'd encumbered him with. He now lay quietly on the ambulance gurney, his eyes closed. Dinah could not even speculate why he had chosen to take a bullet rather than merely reveal himself as the Martian Manhunter - yeah, he'd been with Bruce Wayne, but there were ample means to explain why a Justice Leaguer might be serving as an extra bodyguard for the mega-billionaire. It might be sticky, but it would definitely better than having J'onn out of commission - however temporarily.

She sat on the bench opposite the gurney and reached a gentle hand to J'onn's shoulder. "J'onn."

His eyes opened slowly. "Yes, Dinah."

"Sorry to wake you, but we seem to have company." She jerked her head in the direction of the back of the ambulance, a wry smile on her face. "Dick wants to know if you can go invisible if we need you to."

J'onn nodded. "I'm really fine, Dinah. Please let Dick know that. Regenerating the affected cells takes a little time, but I have fought with much more severe injuries."

"Well, we shouldn't need you to fight, just be unseen," Dinah pointed out lightly. She studied his face for a moment as the ambulance leaned slightly. The on-ramp to the Aparo Expressway, she half-consciously noted, mentally calculating how long it would be to Crime Alley. They had a little time to talk. "Please tell me you didn't take the bullet because you're in one of your 'I want to know what human feels like' moods."

A surprised chuckle answered her. "No, no - nothing like that. At least, I wasn't looking to get shot. Although having done it once -" he grimaced - "rest assured I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience."

"Smart Martian," she approved with an ironic smile. She glanced forward, but there was no sign of impatience from Dick. "So," she began, "why *did* you let him shoot you?"

"It was... the best option." His tone was quiet, and his gaze grew distant. She felt uncomfortably as if she were prying as his mouth hardened into a line that reminded her of an expression that seemed more Batman than J'onn J'onzz.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I should know better than to question your judgment." She stood before he could offer the reply his startled expression seemed to imply, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Just rest," she ordered, heading back toward the front of the vehicle.

"...Dr. Thompkins know the supplies are en route," Dick was saying into the radio.

"Understood, Unit 42," a man's voice replied. "Over and out."

Dick replaced the radio handset, a faint smile on his face.

"Still got our tail?"

"Hopefully not for much longer," he answered, and Dinah became aware of sirens approaching from behind them.

"He wanted me to let you know he's fine."

Dick grunted in acknowledgment, easing the ambulance into the right lane and slowing. Dinah craned her body to catch a glimpse of the source of the sirens. After a moment, a WayneMed ambulance barreled by.

"That's it," Dick murmured. "Take the bait." A sedan pulled out after the other ambulance, and Dick grinned. "They don't know how much a favor they did is when ambulance service was privatized in Gotham," he commented, putting his foot to the accelerator.

"They think they chased the wrong ambulance," Dinah realized admiringly.

"Yep. Although we should probably have J'onn go invisible at Leslie's anyway, just in case. Maintains our cover story."

"Which is?"

"Routine supply delivery. WayneMed makes them to Leslie's clinic often enough that no one would question it."

"Nice. And then we leave J'onn there?"

Dick shook his head. "Too much unpleasant mental noise. He'll go back to dispatch with us."

Dinah sat back, regarding Dick curiously. "You sure know a lot about Martians all of a sudden."

He didn't rise to the bait. "Bruce's orders. If J'onn's well enough, he can slip out when we pass by the penthouse. Otherwise, I can commandeer one of the motor pool cars and give him a lift."

"You've been busy,"

He tapped an ear. "Babs is coordinating." He gestured out his window as he took the Bowery exit, and Dinah saw the Batsignal come into view.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Dinah muttered.

"Not any more." Dick gestured at the dashboard clock, clicking to 1:33 a.m. "Now it's just another crummy day in February."

She snorted. "At least it's not snowing."

"Don't tempt fate."

They lapsed into silence as Dick navigated through the streets of Crime Alley, finally pulling up in front of Leslie's clinic. He shut off the engine and handed Dinah a clipboard. "Look busy with this for a minute," he directed. "I'm going to go talk to J'onn."

Dinah accepted the clipboard with a blink, glancing down to see that it was the log of dispatches. Dick's handwriting had already acknowledged the stop at Gotham General, ambiguously described as a pick up. She pulled a pen from the clip and began the next entry.

"February 15, 1:38 am. Drop off supplies at Gotham Free Clinic." When she looked up from writing, she saw Dick already out on the sidewalk, talking to one of the clinic staff. She glanced into the back of the ambulance, but there was no sign that J'onn had ever been there.

She opened her door and stepped down from the ambulance, slamming the door and going to join Dick. The other man nodded to her as she approached.

"...supposed to knock off at two, but if you need-" Dick was saying.

"No - we're just glad you came when you did. It's like your dispatch guys are psychic."

"Well, me and Dinah will just bring this stuff in then. If you wanna sign off, we can let you get back to work."

Dinah mutely offered up the clipboard, recognizing her cue and relieved she had not left it in the ambulance. The tired looked clinic worker initialed the paper without even really looking at it. "Thanks," he said, handing it back to Dinah. "See you guys in there." He turned and retreated back into the clinic.

"What was that about?" Dinah asked.

"Scarecrow," Dick replied grimly. "They've got two victims in there and are low on anti-toxin."

"And we just happen to be carrying anti-toxin?"

Dick opened the back doors of the ambulance and patted one of them fondly. "Unit 42 has all sorts of special stock." He entered the ambulance and deftly triggered a hidden panel. He pulled out a case and handed it to Dinah. "Go ahead and take those in. I'll follow with some of this other stuff."

She accepted the precious cargo and followed the path the clinic worker had taken earlier. It led her into a howling waiting room, packed with injured and ill. Never mind mental noise, she thought to herself, wincing at unmistakable screams of fear coming from somewhere further back in the clinic. The physical noise was enough.

She made her way to the admit desk. "Anti-toxin," she explained to the harried desk nurse, setting the case on the counter.

"Oh, thank god," the woman replied. "Oscar!" she called to a passing man. "Get this to Doc Leslie, stat!" She handed him the case, and he took off at a near sprint.

"Crazy night," she apologized to Dinah.

"Yes," Dinah agreed as Dick came up beside her carrying two other cases.

"Where's Leslie want this?" he asked.

The desk nurse reached over and plucked the cases over to her side of the counter. "I'll get them where they're supposed to go," she promised. "Thanks, guys."

Dick caught Dinah's elbow and led her away as a wheezing old man reeking of booze flopped himself across the counter. "All right, Mr. Gerule," the nurse began.

Dinah shuddered. "I hate hospitals."

"Tell me about it," Dick replied, his eyes scanning the walls. He stopped and crossed to a pair of dilapidated vending machines, digging into his pocket for quarters.

"What-?" Dinah asked.

He didn't answer, making his selection and reaching into one of the machines. He turned back to her with a grin, holding up his purchase. A pack of Chocos.

"Let's go," he said, leading the way back to the ambulance.

Dinah hesitated. "Shouldn't we-"

Dick waited until the clinic doors closed behind them to answer. "No. Leslie would have told them to send us back if they needed us." His eyes flashed toward the downtown sky, but the Batsignal was gone. "I suspect we'll have other business tonight."

He opened his door and hopped into the driver's seat, and Dinah crossed over to her side of the ambulance and got in. "I'll never figure you Batfolk," she commented.

"Part of our charm," he replied, glancing into the rearview mirror. "We're clear," he announced. Then he turned and tossed the Chocos toward a shadowy corner of the back of the ambulance.

J'onn shimmered into view as he caught the package with a slight smile. He ripped open the plastic and extracted a cookie. "Thank you, Dick," he acknowledged.

"You're welcome," Dick replied, starting the engine.

Dinah pulled on her seatbelt and sat back.

"Bruce isn't expecting the Scarecrow," J'onn pointed out in the quiet. There was a heavy note of concern in his voice.

"None of us were," Dick noted, turning the ambulance back toward the expressway.

Dinah glanced at him. "This whole thing wasn't about the Scarecrow?"

"We thought it was Hatter. J'onn, you good for the penthouse?"

"Yes," J'onn answered. "Unless Bruce needs me-"

Dinah furrowed her brow. J'onn was always solicitous, but offering to help Batman? Hell, even she knew enough to keep a low profile in *his* city.

"Just go with it, J'onn," Dick advised, and there was a muted sympathy in his voice.

The sigh that answered him spoke volumes.

"You want me to drop you off, Dinah?"

"Nah. Gotta get my bike anyway."

She turned to stare at the city going by as Dick returned to the expressway. "You catch all that, Oracle?" Dick said softly, and Dinah realized he must have had his mic open. After a moment, he said, "Understood. Nightwing out."

A heavy silence descended over them as they headed back into the night.

(6)

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the unmarked car that slid into traffic behind the limo as it eased from the alley. He was torn between approval and annoyance. The GCPD was thinking at least, acknowledging that while they had the shooter in custody, there were enough questions to keep a tail on Gotham's favorite son, make sure no one else was waiting to take a crack at him. He decided not to ask Alfred to evade them.

There were uniforms at the front entrance to the penthouse, but they were more useful, holding back the press that had camped there. Had someone leaked his itinerary, or were they just being thorough, he wondered? Clearly Montoya was worried that it might be the former, for she insisted on providing him with an escort to his penthouse, and he was kept waiting in the foyer off the elevator while Sasha and a team of four carefully inspected the premises. He chafed a bit at the fuss, keeping the bewildered mask of Bruce Wayne carefully in place. He was tired, he complained, and didn't they already have the gunman? Finally, the police left, their apologies ranging from genuine to thinly veiled contempt. Bruce waited only until Alfred had secured the elevator and double locked the door to the private bedroom suite before he crossed to the wall of the study adjoining the bedroom and accessed a hidden trigger. A few punch codes later and the wall opened into a serviceable lair.

Sasha let out a low whistle. "A cave in every corner?"

"Suit up," he replied brusquely.

She started to say something that might have been a protest before Alfred pointed her to the row of uniforms - her uniforms - that were kept there.

"Fine," she grumbled, grabbing one of the suits and stalking to the bathroom.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked,accepting the garments Bruce shed as soon as the bathroom lock snicked into place behind Sasha.

"Arkham logs still show Tetch in his cell," Bruce reported, sharing what Oracle had told him. "I've sent Batgirl to verify. The -" he grimaced - "the *cover* and I will see what we can get on the shooter, how he might have been influenced - which J'onn says is true." He reached for his belt, setting it across a chair before he pulled on his gauntlets. "I've asked Dick to find a way to get J'onn back here unobserved. I may need Nightwing later, but I want J'onn to stay here."

Alfred nodded as Bruce settled the cowl over his head, completing his transformation to the Dark Knight. "And may I ask how he is doing, sir?"

Batman paused, the fall of Alana's body replaying in his mind. He forced the image roughly from his mind. He needed to focus. "He says he's fine."

"Then he is," Alfred said firmly. "And I shall have Chocos ready for his arrival."

Batman didn't allow himself to show the gratitude he felt, instead keeping his face stoic as the bathroom lock clicked again and Sasha - the cover - emerged. They should have found a code name for her, he thought, but he had not intended to actively use her in the field. He hoped he still wouldn't have to, but he acknowledged to himself that he would use her resources if he needed them. He would just have to remember to call her "cover."

"All right, boss, what now?" the cover asked.

He didn't bother to glare at her, instead turning toward the bolt hole entrance. He made a quick check of the rooftop and surrounding sky and - damn. Batsignal.

But no choppers or other spying eyes likely to notice their sudden appearance on the roof. He zipped up the ladder, emerging into the night.

"Looks like we're right on time," Sasha - the cover, he reminded himself - remarked, rising behind him and gesturing toward the Batsignal.

He shot off a jumpline and began the leap to the next building.

He could hear the cover following, quiet but not silent in the night. He let her catch up when he finally arrived across from GCPD headquarters. "You could at least give some orders," she grumbled.

"Stay in the shadows. Do not let Akins see you," he obliged. He turned and shot off a final jumpline, ignoring both her muttered response and the ping of his comlink. He would get Oracle's information as soon as he finished with Akins.

He dropped silently into the shadows behind Akins, taking a moment to observe the other man. The commissioner's posture radiated his sense of unease. It was no secret that he tolerated Batman, forced by circumstances to respect the Dark Knight's usefulness in a city like Gotham. The feeling was mutual.

The cover swung in beside him, landing quietly enough - he noted with approval - that Akins did not turn. It was almost funny, the hypnotic effect the Batsignal had, keeping those who turned it on scanning the skies in the direction that the light slanted. Even experience with Batman's entrances did not alter this human reaction.

Nor did it tonight, and Akins gave a suitable start when Batman finally stepped from the shadows. "That's not the way to make friends," the commissioner complained.

"Hatter," Batman said flatly, cutting to the chase.

Akins frowned. "No, actually. Scarecrow - active in Crime Alley. I've got my people confirming his escape from Arkham, but it's his M.O."

"Confirming?"

"They didn't report his breakout. Why did you think Hatter? Something to do with the attempt on Wayne?"

Scarecrow's escape was not reported? Batman narrowed his eyes. "The Crime Alley situation?"

Akins glared at him. "Fine. Don't answer me. But we've taken the suspect to Gotham General to see if we can verify his claim that he was not acting of his own volition. Here's the preliminary report on Crime Alley." Akins thrust a manila folder at him.

Batman plucked the folder from his hands, opened it, and quickly scanned its contents. A shoot out involving six men - three killed instantly, a fourth dying en route, and two more admitted to Gotham Free Clinic raving with fear. He noted the intersection and handed the folder back. "I'll look into it."

"You do that," Akins sneered, turning to switch off the Batsignal. Batman used his distraction to disappear back into the shadows. He watched as Akins opened his mouth to speak again, then closed his mouth in surprise to find himself alone. He scowled at the place Batman had stood and retreated from the rooftop to the offices below.

The cover spoke as soon as he was gone. "Scarecrow? But-"

Batman shot off a jumpline, opening a channel to Oracle. "Report," he ordered without preamble.

"We got new problems," she said grimly.

"I know." He landed on a new rooftop. "Scarecrow."

"Arkham confirmed his escape three minutes ago. Nightwing is en route to your location."

The cover again caught up with him. "Batman-" she began.

He held up a silencing hand. "Tell him to meet us at Gotham Cathedral. Batman out."

"Don't you dare fly off again!" the cover snapped. "What the hell is going on?"

"The Scarecrow has escaped Arkham. His activity in Crime Alley suggests he is baiting me. We will meet with Nightwing at Gotham Cathedral. You will come along as backup only."

"Why does Crime Alley mean he's -"

Batman didn't wait to hear the end of her sentence, once again shooting off a jumpline. This was not good. First Hatter going after Wayne and then Scarecrow calling him out by acting in the neighborhood where his parents had been shot? The events were not necessarily connected, but for all their madness, Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch were very intelligent men. His mouth pressed into a grim line as he forged on into the night.

(7)

Barbara frowned at her screen, replaying Bruce's description of the night's events in her mind. The busboy's claim of not remembering even obtaining the gun, the attack that J'onn had not been able to read before it came, J'onn's confirmation that it seemed like there was some sort of mind control going on... it had Hatter's fingerprints all over it. Not that Hatter hadn't developed some pretty sophisticated remote technology, but from within Arkham? How was he transmitting? More to the point, how had he found a way to get any receiver onto - or into - the busboy?

Dick's voice suddenly came through the speakers, interrupting her train of thought. "Fear antitoxin? Yeah, we've got some," he was saying.

An unfamiliar voice answered him, and she realized he'd opened the link for her benefit. "Thank god. Ambulance delivered these two GSWs about fifteen minutes ago absolutely raving. Screaming their heads off in terror. Doc Leslie took one look and said Scarecrow, so we don't even dare sedate them. It's an unholy..."

A sudden alert blared over the conversation, and Babs felt a sense of dread as she silenced it. Arkham. Someone had called Arkham and triggered the software that picked up key combinations of words. She turned down the comlink speaker and pulled up the recorded phone log.

Shit.

GCPD called Arkham, looking for report of Scarecrow's breakout. Arkham hadn't made one - because their internal cameras were showing the same thing hers were. But a physical check had revealed he was gone.

Shit.

Her hand flew to open a channel to Batman. What was going on? Her monitors should have caught it. If Crane had been out long enough to actually do something...

"Come on, Bruce," she muttered.

No answer.

Damn. Damn damn damn.

She flipped off the signal angrily, then remembered. Batgirl.

Cassandra at least answered promptly.

"Here."

"Batgirl, hold up," she ordered.

"New orders?"

Barbara thought for a second. "Revised orders. Scarecrow is out."

"Need me-"

"No, I still need you to check Arkham. But be careful - my monitors didn't show the Scarecrow breakout."

"Hatter might not be there."

"Right. And I can't trust my reports to back you up when you're in."

"Will check in," she promised. "Batgirl out."

Barbara closed the signal with a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut against a growing tension headache. When she opened them again, a red signal light reminded her that Dick was still transmitting. She turned the speaker back up.

"...you Batfolk," Dinah's voice was saying.

"Part of our charm," Dick answered, and Barbara could not resist a snort. Yeah, Dinah was really keen on Bat charm. Dick raised his voice to say, "We're clear."

Barbara felt a sense of relief when she heard a muffled reply - a note of gratitude in a familiar voice. J'onn. At least there was one less thing to worry about. They talked for a moment about the Scarecrow's unexpected presence, and she gathered that J'onn was well enough to make it to the penthouse - and to chafe a bit at not going into battle himself. That would reassure Bruce, take some of the edge off his brusque communications. Not that the Scarecrow wouldn't do his part to put that edge right back on.

Dick was asking Dinah if she wanted a lift somewhere, and she was answering that she had to pick up her bike. Barbara nodded with approval. They might need her again. Then Dick's voice was asking, "You catch all that, Oracle?"

"J'onn to the penthouse, Dinah back to the bike, you en route to meet Batman after you drop off the ambulance," she rapped out firmly.

"Understood," he replied. "Nightwing out."

She closed the channel and rechecked her Arkham monitors. Scarecrow still looked to be in his cell. Yes, whatever this was was big enough to deal with Batman if he squawked about her sending Nightwing. Not that she suspected he would - not once he realized that he had two lunatics working their will in his city.

A new signal sounded, and she opened the link.

"Report," came the expected growl.

"We got new problems," she said grimly.

"I know. Scarecrow."

She allowed herself an ironic smile. Akins was doing his job. "Arkham confirmed his escape ten minutes ago. Nightwing is en route to your location."

She could hear Sasha's voice in the background, whatever she intended to say abruptly cut off as Batman answered Oracle. "Tell him to meet us at Gotham Cathedral. Batman out."

No squawk, she noted with satisfaction, as she opened a channel to Nightwing.

"Go ahead, Oracle."

"Batman requests a rendezvous at Gotham Cathedral. You have an ETA?"

"We're almost to the dispatch center. J'onn's already at the penthouse. Tell him fifteen minutes. I'll call him directly once I'm airborne."

"Will do. Oracle out."

She closed the channel just as another line beeped. No rest for the weary, she reflected, answering Batgirl's call.

"Infiltrating Arkham," the younger woman reported. "Assume security high?"

Right question, Barbara noted, glancing at her Arkham displays. They did show the security alert, suggesting her tap into the official lines was still active. Perhaps it was just her cameras that were suspect. "Very high," she replied.

"Good. Give twenty."

"Starting the clock. I'm calling Robin in if you don't call by then."

"I'll call." The line closed, and Barbara shook her head at the confidence in Batgirl's tone. She would call, Barbara had no doubt. And Barbara would still put Tim on standby. But for the moment? She pinged Batman.

"Yes."

"Nightwing ETA 15 minutes - he'll call you once he hits the jumplines. Batgirl's entering Arkham and will call in in 20 minutes. I'm about to contact Robin for backup. And J'onn's at the penthouse."

Did she imagine it, or did she hear a release of held breath over the line? "Good. Have any Scarecrow information you can get ready when Nightwing arrives."

"You got it, boss. Anything else?"

"Just continue as you are. Out."

An alert came from her monitor, and she saw the police report on the Scarecrow incident was hitting the database. She'd pick it up in a minute. First, another call.

"Robin," she spoke into the line.

"Found Hatter?" he asked.

She snorted. "I wish. He might be at Arkham."

"Might?"

"Something's wrong with my system - I've got the Scarecrow active in Crime Alley and still appearing sound asleep in his cell."

"That's not good. You sure it's the Scarecrow?"

She paused, considering. Were they dealing with some villain who was borrowing MOs? None of them had actually *seen* Hatter or Scarecrow. "Good question. Although Arkham confirms his escape."

"But not Hatter's?"

"Not yet, anyway."

"Great. So we've got an information glitch. You need me to check it out?"

"I may. Batgirl's investigating now, but if she runs into problems -"

"If she runs into problems, then you'll need more than me."

Barbara smiled. Some days she thought Tim was the only half-sane one among them. "Don't sell yourself short, junior. I might need you anyway if Cass can't track the problem."

"So you're telling me to stand by."

"Right on the nose, Boy-Wonder. Can you get clear of the folks?"

"No sweat. I'm crashed in my room as far as their concerned after having way too much fun out with the guys. Speaking of which, how's J'onn?"

"He's fine - back at the penthouse. And I've gotta get back to work."

"I'll wait for your call."

"Thanks, Robin."

She took a moment to mentally place everyone on the team. Batman, Sasha, and Nightwing meeting at Gotham Cathedral, Batgirl at Arkham, Robin on standby. Alfred at the penthouse - and J'onn, but the odds that Batman would *allow* him to help? And then there was Dinah-

As if on cue, the comlink pinged.

"Yes, Dinah."

"Hey, girlfriend," Dinah's voice called cheerfully. "Got Bats on the wing tonight, eh?"

"And how. You on your way in?"

"Gotta return your bike," she pointed out. "You gonna need me?"

Barbara didn't miss the hesitation in the offer. "I might," she allowed. "How soon can you be here?"

"Ten minutes - fifteen at the outside. This got anything to do with J'onn playing bodyguard for Bruce?"

Barbara blinked and swallowed a laugh when she realized Dinah's misapprehension. "No. No, nothing at all. But I'll fill you in when you get here." Maybe, she added to herself.

"I'll hold you to that. See you in a few."

Dinah signed off, and Barbara turned to the police report. The digital clock display showed 2:04 a.m.

(8)

"The altercation took place at the corner of Finger and Eastern," Batman reported grimly.

Nightwing let out a low whistle as he settled on one of the cathedral parapets. Finger and Eastern. Two blocks kitty corner from the Monarch Theatre. "You think he's calling you out." That would make sense. Scarecrow had gotten a peek at some of Batman's fears - not enough to suss out his identity, but enough to recognize a connection between the old theatre and his arch-nemesis. And Jonathan Crane was not stupid - he would let a place do part of his work for him without any hesitation.

"Okay, what am I missing here?" Sasha blurted, still pacing as she had been at least since Nightwing had arrived, and probably before. She gestured toward Batman. "*He* said the same thing. Why the hell-?"

"The Monarch would make a reasonable hideout since the reconstruction has been stalled," Batman overrode, pointedly ignoring Sasha's outburst. "It would be wise not to read too much into it."

"But he does have a beef with you since that last escape." That one hadn't been pretty - for all its brevity and lack of damage. It would be the last time Multigon would pull such a stupid stunt, but it had dangerously sold Scarecrow on the idea that Batman was dogging his every step and needed to be put down. Oracle had reported that it had become part of his routine ravings at Arkham.

Batman nodded. "Noted. The Monarch is our first target, but do not assume he will not be elsewhere. Nightwing, flank the building once we get in the neighborhood, and keep your eyes and ears open. You've got anti-toxin?"

Dick reached into his gauntlet and pulled out two ampules of the serum, handing them to Batman. He kept the anti-toxin on hand as a matter of course after Blockbuster had hired Scarecrow in an attempt to break him, but the emergency dose would not be enough if they had
to deal with other Scarecrow victims. "Restocked Unit 42 and doubled up in case-" He glanced significantly at Sasha.

She halted her restless motion to glare at him. "I didn't fail belt-stocking 101."

Batman turned, fixing her with a hard look and stepping toward her so that he loomed over her smaller form. Nightwing felt a hint of sympathy, half regretting provoking her. Still, she needed the lecture; she was too new to this. "This will not be like your first encounter with Crane. He has clearly had time to plan this. Undoubtedly he's cooked up some more potent toxin - or more specific one." Batman reached out to press one of the ampules into her hand. "It's entirely possible that even this won't counteract the effects of his poison. There may be civilians affected in an uncontrolled environment. There are no Arkham guards waiting to help us secure him. He may be gunning specifically for me - and anyone with me. A misstep will be fatal, for you or for one of us. This is *not* an issue of pride."

Batman spun away, cape snapping, and put his hand to his cowl. "Go ahead, Oracle."

Nightwing watched as Sasha stared for a moment at the phial in her hand, then wordlessly put it into her belt. Good. There wouldn't be time to explain or clarify orders in the heat of battle. And while Batman would prefer to keep her out of the line of serious fire, there were too many uncertainties here. There wouldn't be the luxury of thorough briefings, which he knew from previous experience the "cover" tended to want.

"That confirms our suspicions," Batman was saying. "We're heading out." He turned back toward Nightwing. "Batgirl found Tetch still in his cell."

Nightwing nodded his understanding. That didn't render Hatter innocent, just increased the likelihood that he was working in concert with Scarecrow. Not a comforting thought.

"They've identified the Crime Alley deceased," Batman continued. "One of them is Jorgy Encarnacion."

Damn. Known Scarecrow henchman. Which meant Scarecrow had time to coordinate some kind of team. Nightwing frowned. "There'll be lookouts. Maybe hostages."

"Agreed. Approach with extreme caution. Cover and I will take a stealth path to the front entrance."

A slower path, Nightwing understood. "Got it." Dick turned to the roof lip and paused. "I'll signal you when I get in position." Then he dove off the rooftop, shooting his jumpline from freefall and deriving a moment's satisfaction from the gasp he heard from Sasha as he made his leap. Batman would chastise her, but it was still good to hear her inadvertently acknowledge the reminder of her rookie status. She needed to realize viscerally that she had to rely on orders if
they were going to make it through the night, no matter where those orders came from or the tone in which they were delivered.

His comlink pinged in his ear as he somersaulted onto the Emory Building. "Hey, Oracle," he answered.

"Watch your butt tonight, flyboy," she ordered. "I've got Batgirl investigating the Arkham situation, and I really don't like the looks of this."

"You think they're in cahoots?"

There was a silence. "They could be, but it doesn't make sense. Scarecrow is pretty straightforward if all he is after is Batman, but why go after Bruce Wayne? Unless Scarecrow is supposed to distract Batman"

"You think the shooting was motivated? Not just a 'pick a random restaurant patron'?"

"The latter makes sense, but my gut doesn't like the feel of it. I'm not sure if I'm more worried that they are working together and I'm missing some crucial key to the case, or that they have nothing whatever to do with one another and I'm not looking hard enough at individual motives."

Nightwing began working his way along the tall row houses that bordered Gotham Park, tacking a jumpline route along the alleys. "What's Batman think?"

"Not enough data."

"And J'onn?"

"I'm reluctant to -"

"Call him," Nightwing interrupted. "He'll have insights, and I know he's not exactly comfortable with being left out of the action. He'll go along for Bruce's sake, but-"

"Yeah."

"Radio silence zone, babe," Nightwing reminded her as his jumpline caught the corner of new construction and swung him across the boundaries of Crime Alley.

The answer was a click of sign off as he began a more careful path through the neighborhood. He clicked the button on his gauntlet which would scramble his GPS signal as he moved swiftly through the darkest shadows. It was unlikely Scarecrow had lookouts this far out, but they didn't know how much advance planning he had done. No sense taking chances. And while radio silence wasn't strictly necessary, he needed his focus. Two minutes later he had touched down on the half-finished condominium complex behind the Monarch Theatre.

There was a faint, tell-tale glow at ground level, where the basement level windows of the half-rebuilt theatre were inadequately covered. No sign of anyone higher.

Nightwing tapped his comlink twice to signal Batman and was answered by a short series of taps. They were five minutes out.

He tapped again - confirmation that the Monarch was somehow involved and his intent to look closer.

An acknowledging tap, and he moved to the street side of the condominium complex to upsail down to the unfinished picture windows and carefully pull the plastic away from the frame the workmen had hung it in to keep wamth inside the construction site. Half a minute more and he was down to ground level and finding a gap through which to watch for activity in the building across the alley.

There was at least one guard - his shadow crossed in front of the light. Interior shadows were less distinct - he guessed at least two inside, but that was imprecise at best.

A double tap came across his comlink - Batman and Sasha in position. A few minutes for them to case their angle, and then quietly take out the guard and-

"Nightwing!" Barbara's voice hissed urgently in his ear.

He clicked his link three times significantly.

"You don't need to answer, just listen," she replied. "I've just got a report from Bludhaven. Torque has taken hostages in the West Exeter Apartments. He is threatening to kill one an hour until you show - and he means it. They've already got one dead."

What the hell? He sent a quick series of taps. Advise?

"Nightwing, go." Batman's voice, firm in his whispered order. Oracle must have opened the channel to both of them.

He frowned. He couldn't let Bruce try to storm the Scarecrow's hideout alone - not with an unseasoned partner. He clicked his radio again.

"We've got this," Batman replied. "Go."

What was it Dinah had said? Something about crappy Valentine's Days? Had February 15th been declared official villain attack day?

He retraced his path back to the top of the condominium complex. "I'm on my way to the 'Haven," he whispered as he began the careful rooftop route away from the Monarch. "Babs, give me the GTA schedule."

"Red eye express comes through in 15 at the Sprang Bridge," she replied. "He started the clock to his next victim about 10 minutes ago."

Cutting it close. But it still made him uneasy to leave Batman.

"I'll call in reserves if they need them," Barbara said quietly as if reading his thoughts.

"I know you will," he answered, clear enough now of Crime Alley to make good time southward. "I just hope they don't need them."

"Me, too, Hunk Wonder. Me, too."

(9)

Batgirl carefully worked her way into a crawl space over a janitorial closet, navigating from the carefully memorized plans of Arkham Asylum. She engaged an infrared scan of the room below, satisfying herself that it was unoccupied. Then she opened her comlink. "Oracle."

The response, to her relief, was immediate. "Go ahead, Batgirl."

"Hatter in his cell," she reported in a whisper.

There was an explosion of breath over the line. "Ooo-kay. Trouble getting in?"

"No. Security grid faulty in section D-14. Slipped in there."

"D-14." The clatter of computer keys could be dimly heard over her earpiece. "Damn. I'm not showing the fault. Were you able to determine why the gap exists?"

"Nothing visible. Could be a shunt."

More key clattering. "That would make sense. What is Hatter doing?"

"Pretending to sleep."

"Pretending?"

"Breathing wrong, body too still."

"Nice. And here I was hoping to eliminate a suspect."

Batgirl allowed her mouth to quirk at the heavy irony in Barbara's tone. "Still have electronic problem."

"I know. What I can't decide is whether Tetch orchestrated with Crane or if Crane's escape was fortuitous."

"Fortoo-?"

"Lucky chance," Barbara clarified. "Where are you?"

"Crawlspace over closet M-3."

"Hmm. And between your entrance and there?"

"Security in place. Left my bypasses installed for quick exit. You read them?"

"Let me check... no. What the hell?"

"Think security grid and your link problem related?"

There was a pause as Barbara considered. "It would make our life easier if they were. Well, my life. There's a limited number of overlaps in the electronics."

Batgirl nodded to herself. Of course. Oracle's system was a post-building installation designed precisely to catch the kind of shunt work that would weaken Arkham's internal security. But given Bat protocols? The Oracle taps would be in the places least accessible to ordinary maintenance. "I investigate."

"Wait," Oracle ordered. "Two things first. Did you check Crane's cell?"

"Twenty minutes," Batgirl reminded her. "I good, but not miracle worker."

"Right. Sorry. Okay. I want to see if we can retrace Scarecrow's escape route. That might give me a better idea where to look for any electronic interference in our system. Once you've done that, then you can keep an eye on Tetch while I run my analysis of your data."

"Okay. Going to Crane's cell. Batgirl out."

She closed her channel and contemplated for a moment. The perimeter breach was in D-14. Scarecrow's cell was in section E. Best to back track to D-14 and try the most direct route. If Crane was out by fortu - by lucky chance, he wouldn't know he wasn't tripping security and would move quickly. She mentally traced her previous path. With only one more security bypass, she could get from M to E block in short order. Even given the bypass time, it would be quicker. Decision made, she moved forward in her crawl space and into a ventilation duct, shimmying through to a set of catwalks installed for maintenance work.

She hesitated at the edge of the ductwork, sharply watching the catwalks. No one. There should be, she judged harshly, given Crane's break out, but no. Not yet, anyway.

She slid out of her crawlspace and landed lightly on the catwalk. She jumped lightly from walk to walk to traverse the radial structure more quickly and position herself toward M block. She had almost reached her destination when a metallic clank sounded. By the time the security worker's head appeared over the lip of the access panel, she was deep in the shadows overhead, clinging to the support lattice work.

"-not going to find anything," the man groused to his companion below. He hauled himself onto the catwalk with a grunt. "I did the visual inspection myself last night. He had to get out some other way."

Another head peeked through the access panel. "CYA, brother. They're looking for someone to blame. Better for us if we can prove it wasn't our fuck-up."

"Yeah," the first man conceded grumpily, oblivious to Batgirl passing overhead in perfect silence. She positioned herself over the access hatch, confirming there was no one behind the second security worker. She double checked with the infrared. Might be worth taking the halls from here. A blip of bodyheat dissuaded her and she moved on. She let the noise of the still grumping security workers cover the slight sound of the ventilation duct cover sliding aside to admit her. Twelve feet, and then the security curtain for E block. She found the access panel by feel and slid it open.

She frowned. No telltale light. Off? Or already bypassed? Possibly off for the workers behind her, but after a breakout? Hard to tell. Arkham workers might tolerate the inadvertent tripping of the alarm by the workers, or they might want to spare their already frayed nerves. She slid the panel back in place and continued into the crawlspace over block E.

Crane's cell was crawling with guards and GCPD when she arrived and peered through a carefully placed peep hole. They couldn't see what she felt under her hand - straw. In the crawlspace. He'd made his exit through the ceiling, then, but how?

She narrowed her eyes. Each Arkham cell had a laser protected ventilation outlet in the fourteen foot ceilings. Not reachable by normal human effort, and any attempt to reach it by piling furniture or upending a bed was prevented by the fact that all such furniture was bolted to the floor. And no one on the Arkham staff would have allowed Crane to have straw. An accomplice? Likely. Which meant Crane had had time to discover the security failure and contact someone on the outside. Not a good sign. How long had he had to plan his escape? He wouldn't have waited too long once he discovered the possibility, unless...

If the security breach had been intermittent - observably so - Crane was smart enough to note it. Batgirl shook her head. This was something to report to Oracle, to work out somewhere other than here. For the moment, she had other orders.

Getting to D-14 took almost no time - security was still active at E-14, but clear pry marks on the access panel between blocks suggested someone already knew that. Crane? Or his accomplice? Or both? And how would they know?

She scowled as she stared out at the Arkham grounds from her perch just inside the air intake grid and tapped open her comlink.

"Hold on, Batgirl," Oracle's voice ordered. A minute passed, then two, and then Oracle was back. "Okay, go ahead."

"There was an accomplice," Batgirl stated grimly. She swiftly reported Crane's route to the outside, noting the security failures en route. She could hear Barbara entering the data as she spoke.

"Great," Barbara said as Batgirl finished her report. "Well, the good news is that narrows our search to five possible tap sites. I can probably thin that down to three in a few minutes."

"The bad news?"

"If Crane had an accomplice, this problem is old enough to raise our favorite Bat's hackles. And I can't tell if it means Hatter is working with him or not. And the night keeps getting worse."

"Worse?"

"Torque's active in Bludhaven."

"Nightwing?"

"On his way to deal with it."

"Scarecrow?"

"Batman has found his hideout and suspects a trap. I'm sending Canary to join him and the cover."

Batgirl grunted. "Stretched thin."

A short laugh answered her. "Tell me about it. So don't need backup, okay?"

"Robin," Batgirl reminded her.

Barbara's voice came back sobered. "Yeah, he's still standing by. But the way the night is going? I'm just hoping I don't have to send him out after anyone else."

"I go watch Hatter now. Call if you need me."

"I think we need you most where you are, but I will. Oracle out."

Batgirl sat for a moment longer, looking out over the path Scarecrow had taken away from the Asylum and into the city. Then she swiftly crept back through to the space over Tetch's cell. One glance, and she practically flew back to her space over closet M-3.

"Batgirl?" Oracle answerd her call. "Something wrong?"

"Hatter doing something," she hissed. "Stiff in bed, eyes rolled back, fingers moving like typing."

"Damn! Can you see - no. Where are you?"

"M-3 again."

"Okay - quickly, put one of your bypassers onto the grid at M-7, and activate the tracer on it. Then go back to Tetch and signal me when he stops what he's doing - if he hasn't already."

Batgirl was already moving. "Think we find source?"

"I think," Oracle began grimly, "we better hope we do, or this night's going to get even longer."

(10)

Alfred set a new plate of Chocos close to J'onn's elbow. He glanced up at the computer screen stretched in front of the Martian, noting that J'onn had opened a tracking map of the Gotham-Bludhaven corridor. "More trouble?"

J'onn nodded, his face creased into a frown. "Torque. As if the night wern't bad enough."

Alfred laid a comforting hand on the broad, green shoulder. He could sense J'onn's desire to be out with the rest of the team.

J'onn sighed. "I know," he answered Alfred's unspoken thought. "Batman is worried enough about all this. And facing the Scarecrow with too many worries..." He trailed off.

"Batman is ... uniquely able to close off his emotions," Alfred reassured.

J'onn glanced back at him with a hint of a smirk. "That was...diplomatic," he replied.

"A necessary skill in this household," Alfred returned with a hint of irony, relieved at the mild humor. He hoped the night would continue to allow them to joke.

J'onn leaned forward as a small window began to scroll new text. "Oracle has dispatched Black Canary," he noted with approval. "I don't think Batman will wait for her arrival, but that's better than no back up."

"He won't wait?" More had developed in Alfred's brief absence than he realized.

J'onn shook his head. "Hostages. And there's too much up in the air. That mess at Arkham -" he waved toward the Asylum blueprints in the upper right hand corner of the screen. "It could all be coincidence, but circumventing Oracle's monitoring? Going after Bruce Wayne? Using the Monarch as a hide out? And now Torque explicitly asking for Nightwing-"

"He asked for him?"

"He is killing hostages and refuses to negotiate with anyone other than Nightwing," J'onn explained.

"That is rather alarming," Alfred acknowledged, staring up at the tracking dots showing how very far apart his charges were from one another. It *could* be coincidence, but it looked unsettlingly like a case of divide and conquer. "I-"

A doorbell ring interrupted his thought, and he met J'onn's eyes. "I suppose you didn't order pizza."

J'onn shook his head, and the bell rang again. There shouldn't be anyone there. The elevator was secured - would not even travel to this floor without a security override.

Alfred frowned and left J'onn's side, exiting the bedroom suite and carefully closing and locking the doors as he moved through the penthouse. Another doorbell ring, followed this time by muffled shouts. The door was soundproof enough to render the words unintelligible, but a glance at the elevator security feed showed two members of the GCPD, weapons drawn and at ready.

Alfred depressed the answer button. "Is there a problem, officers?"

On the monitor, the officers seemed to relax slightly, although the remained at ready. "We just were radioed a distress call," a female voice reported.

A distress call? "We made no such call," Alfred protested.

"We still gotta check it out. Let us in."

"Very well," Alfred agreed, unlocking the elevator doors. The two officers almost lunged into the room, scanning the visible areas of the penthouse sharply.

"Where's Wayne?" the woman demanded.

"I'm afraid Mr. Wayne is sleeping after the traumas of the day," Alfred pointed out. "He has asked not to be disturbed."

The officers exchanged a look. "We're going to have to disturb him," the woman stated, at least having the decency to sound apologetic. "The call came from Wayne himself."

"That is quite impossible," Alfred said firmly. "I can personally attest -"

The male officer, quiet until now, gave Alfred a suspicious look. "Oh, yeah? Convenient for you."

"Crawford," the woman reprimanded. "I'm afraid we really have to insist-"

"Alfred?" a sleepy voice broke in, drawing all eyes to the bedroom door. Alfred gave a mental thanks as "Bruce Wayne" emerged, wrapped in a bathrobe and sporting an impressive case of bedhead. "What's -"

Whatever J'onn might have said was cut off by the sudden ringing of gunshots and the crack of splintering wood. Alfred ducked instinctively, noting J'onn also dove for the floor as the woman officer screamed, "CRAWFORD! WHAT THE HELL-?"

There was a thump of a gun dropping onto thick carpet, then the heavy sound of knees hitting the ground. "Oh my god," Crawford was gasping. "My god. I didn't mean - I wasn't - Wayne -"

Alfred straightened, noting with relief that "Bruce Wayne" was also regaining his feet. To his left, the female officer stood with her gun trained on her partner. The smell of cordite was heavy in the air. "Dispatch, we've got another attempt on Wayne," she was reporting into her radio. "Situation under control, but I need back up. And send psych." She glanced toward "Bruce" as her radio came alive with orders. "You okay?" she asked.

Alfred hurried to J'onn's side as J'onn answered, "I've had better nights. What's the idea?" His face was stormy - an impressive imitation of shock fading to outrage. J'onn was even shaking a little.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said gently. "Are you sure you are unhurt? Perhaps you should sit down-"

"I don't want to sit down. I want an explanation. Why are the police shooting at me?"

Tears were actually flowing down Crawford's cheeks. "It was like I didn't have control. I swear. I'm a good cop." He looked desperately toward his partner. "Tell him, Bit. I'm a good cop. I'm a family man. I don't even like to carry..."

The elevator pinged, and Alfred looked anxiously at the door as an angry looking Rene Montoya burst in, followed by her more cautious partner and another pair of officers. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded. "Lawrence, Crawford, report!"

"We were answering a distress call - must've been false. But then Crawford opened fire-"

"I didn't - I wasn't trying -" Crawford blubbered.

Rene shot a disgusted look at the officer. "Cris, help Lawrence get him downstairs and book him. Renoit, Darcy - you know your job." She moved toward "Bruce." "You okay, Mr. Wayne?"

Alfred led J'onn to a wingback chair, urging him to sit. The hint of shaking J'onn had shown earlier had become a genuine trembling as J'onn put his hands to his face. "I don't get it," he complained. "First, poor Alana, and now..." He swallowed hard, and Alfred left his side for a moment to pour a him a glass of brandy at the wet bar. The flash of camera bulbs flickered in the room as Renoit and Darcy began photographing the scene.

*I closed up the computer,* J'onn projected into Alfred's mind, allaying the butler's sudden stab of worry.

When he returned to press the drink into J'onn's hand, Montoya was promising, "We'll get to the bottom of this, Mr. Wayne. We need to get you to tell us what happened, and talk to your butler, and - where's your bodyguard?"

"Mr. Wayne asked Miss Bordeaux to go to Miss Jones once he saw how well the GCPD had secured the building," Alfred explained, letting a hint of irony into his tone. "She left about an hour ago via the fire escape to avoid the press."

Montoya nodded, although suspicion remained in her eyes. "Fine. So we will get your account of what happened, and then we'll post a unit here with you. A *carefully screened* unit," she stressed.

J'onn nodded and took a swallow of the brandy, grimacing as the liquid burned his throat. He was doing an admirable job of playing the part, Alfred noted. "Officer, I think if we can deal with this quickly, I think it would be best if Mr. Wayne be allowed to lie down and recover from this latest assault."

"We'll be as quick as we can, but we don't want to miss anything."

"Captain," one of the other officers interrupted, holding up evidence bags in which he had secreted the slugs he had removed from the bedroom door. "Three shots. You're lucky, Mr. Wayne. You must have reflexes of a cat."

J'onn looked up with a weak grin. "I'm feeling like I've got nine lives tonight," he replied shakily. "Alfred, can you bring me a heavier robe? I'm feeling chilled."

"Right away, sir," Alfred answered, stepping by the police officers and making his way into the bedroom. He glanced at the bullet holes in the door as he passed and shuddered. Crawford hadn't missed "Bruce Wayne," but no one needed to know that that was because Martians were hard to hit.

(11)

Batman was five minutes due east of the Monarch when the tap came across his comlink indicating Nightwing was in position. He glanced back at the cover, settling with something less than perfect silence on the roof beside him. Not surprising - it was the reason he had taken them so far out of their way. Frustrating, but he had to work within the cover's limitations if they were going to survive the night. He sent an answering tap to Nightwing, then shot out a new jumpline.

Nightwing's reply clicked over the whistle of wind - the Monarch was definitely involved somehow, and Dick was checking it out. Batman resisted the urge to tell him to wait; Nightwing knew what he was doing, and Batman recognized that the events of the night had heightened his usual anxiety for his team. He could not afford that worry now, not against Crane. He tapped out an acknowledgment as he touched down on another rooftop, then was off again.

Two more jumps, and they were across the street from the front of the Monarch, shielded from view by a roof top resevoir. He keyed that information to Nightwing and turned his attention to the half-rebuilt theatre.

The building was dark, its derelict facade lit by recently installed street lamps that did much to dispel the usual gloom of Crime Alley. Gentrification was beginning, and he pushed his ambivalence about it to the back of his mind. Better that the streets were safer. Better that the taint of a double-murder be forgotten by the city, even if he could never forget.

"Nightwing!" Oracle suddenly hissed, and Batman tensed as a series of pointed taps came over the line.

She ignored the implied message, urgency in her tone. "You don't need to answer, just listen. I've just got a report from Bludhaven."

Batman grimaced. If she was breaking into the mission, it could not be good.

"Torque has taken hostages in the West Exeter Apartments," she was saying. "He is threatening to kill one an hour until you show - and he means it. They've already got one dead."

There was the faintest of pauses before Nightwing tapped out a swift reply. He wanted advice.

For a second, Batman considered telling him to stay. Storming a potential criminal headquarters with only the cover was not impossible, but it would be tricky. And he had long harbored bad feelings about Torque - the man was too cagey, too dangerous. But there were lives at stake, and there was only one right answer to the situation. "Nightwing, go."

He could hear the uncertainty in the question that tapped through in response, and a part of him smiled to recognize that the younger man was echoing his thoughts. He did not allow himself to reflect too closely on the grim sort of pride he felt, instead giving his voice a commanding tone. "We've got this. Go."

He watched the shadows carefully until he saw a flicker of dark on dark - invisible unless a person knew exactly what to look for. He felt a touch on his arm and turned to see the cover giving him an inquiring look.

Better, he thought. "Nightwing is needed elsewhere," he whispered to her. "His actions and position suggest there is at least one guard around back."

"One in front, too," she pointed out softly, gesturing toward the glow of a cigarette briefly visible under the shelter of the marquee.

Batman nodded and scanned the building. Scarecrow and company were likely in the basement level, inhabiting the old dressing rooms and scene shop, but he wanted to be sure. The jutting rise of the fly space over the theatre roof would be the safest access, allowing a view of the stage at least. Less easy was the fire escape from the balcony level, above the level of the street light but not enough that an entering body would not be partially backlit, never mind the difficulty of landing silently on the iron apparatus. He considered. Dropping the guards now would have them out of the way later, but it might alert Scarecrow of their presence. No. Better to enter unobserved - keep the element of surprise and potentially catch the guards from the direction they weren't looking, namely the building they were supposedly watching.

He turned his attention back to the cover, noting the pinched expression on her face as she watched him carefully. Fear was natural, he reminded himself - could even be useful. Still, best to try to minimize any opportunity for Scarecrow to get to her.

"On my signal, swing over to the theatre roof," he ordered quietly. "Go to the fly system. They should not have begun replacing the fire traps yet so at least one or two should be tripped open. Case the stage from that position, and don't let yourself be seen. I will check the auditorium and signal you when I want you to move."

She nodded and moved into position to jump. Batman stared down intently at the smoking guard, waiting until he turned to move more fully under the marquee and then waving the cover across.

She moved with alacrity, tumbling onto the rooftop and slipping through the shadows to the fly system. He watched her, then heard her voice come urgently over her isolated channel. "People on stage. Appear unconscious."

"Hold," he ordered, cursing to himself. This raised the stakes. Could he free hostages, protect the cover, and take down Crane?

"Batman," Oracle's voice cut in, "I'm sending Canary."

She must have been monitoring the cover's line. He hadn't ordered that, but Oracle didn't need to wait for orders to do something. Sometimes wouldn't wait even when he wanted her to. But she, like Nightwing, knew her job.

"Can't wait," he growled in reply, determining his next move.

The fire escape was newly installed for the construction workers, and the doorway into the theatre was hung with plastic to keep out the chill. A hint of breeze revealed it was not tacked down - or rather, it probably had been before construction had halted and squatters had returned to the old theatre.

He readied a jumpline, watching the guard below carefully for the right moment...

His swing carried him silently through the air, brushing him through the plastic and low onto the balcony floor. He froze there, waiting for any sign that his entrance had been observed.

Silence.

He rose slowly, clicking his lenses to infrared and creeping forward to survey the auditorium and stage below.

Deserted.

Deserted save for three bodies on the stage, stretched rigid but alive. Likely homeless, dosed with Scarecrow's toxin and rendered catatonic rather than violent or panicked. He gauged the distance to the ground and shifted until he was over an aisle before dropping to the floor below. "Clear," he whispered into his comlink as he rushed forward onto the stage. "Come down."

He was already reaching for the anti-toxin when he reached the first victim, pulling out one of the modified bee-sting kits in his belt. Even well stocked, he only had two one-use syringes, and the cover would have two more. Another time he might dispense an oral dose of the anti-toxin, but who knew how long these people had lain here in paroxysms of fear? No, they had to go with the fastest delivery system or risk -

A soft thump beside him, and he looked up at the cover. She was scrubbing her hands across her face in a vaguely irritated way. "Cobwebs," she explained, stilling the gesture at his hard look. He turned his attention back to the woman lying closest to him, preparing the anti-toxin, then realizing to his horror that she was no longer breathing. He plunged the needle into her arm, and her mouth stretched open in a silent suffocating scream, dying right in front of him just like -

"Omigod, get it off me!" the cover suddenly gasped, her voice low and urgent. "Nooo, there's hundreds..." She was backing up, her hands thrust in front of her.

Damn! They were already exposed.

He didn't let himself think, pushing through the fog of growing fear adamantly. "Cover!" he snapped, freezing her in her tracks. She stood trembling, staring at him desperately as he swiftly pulled out a new syringe and injected the anti-toxin into her body. She shuddered as he held her for a minute, fighting his own delusion that her heart was on the verge of stopping. "It's the toxin," he said. "In the air or - in the cobwebs." Or on the plastic hung over the door that had brushed across his face as he swung in.

He reached into his belt for an oral dose of the anti-toxin. He'd have to fight through until it took effect, but given his options?

"Inject the other two victims," he ordered the cover. "I'm going after Crane."

He released her as soon as she nodded, slipping back into the wings to the staging area, where he knew there was a long forgotten trap to a storage room. He swallowed hard against his racing heart, forcing himself to calmness as he pressed his ear to the trap door.

A radio played below, its chatter making it difficult to determine how many people were with Crane. The Scarecrow's voice was obvious enough, and at least one more man, and...

"...aking news from Gotham City. Police report a second attempt on the life of billionaire industrialist Bruce Wayne has been successful. A shocked press watched as police wheeled a..."

J'onn!

He felt his stomach knot uncontrollably as he surged to his feet. Not J'onn. Please not J'onn...

He launched a jumpline up through the fly space, pulling himself with inhuman speed up into the night. J'onn couldn't die. He wouldn't. He...

*BRUCE!* J'onn's voice, calm but firm.

Bruce dropped onto a rooftop, panting and sweating. *J'onn? What happened? Are you-?*

*Bruce, calm down. I can feel the toxin working in you. Deep breaths.*

Of course. Deep breaths. J'onn was okay. It was just the toxin. * So they didn't try again?*

*They did, but that's not what you should be worried about right now.*

*J'onn.* Batman's cool calm began to reign again in Bruce's mind, aided by the reassuring touch of his lover's thoughts. J'onn was okay. He was okay. He was on a rooftop, the anti-toxin taking hold and...

The cover.

She hadn't followed him out.

"Damn!" he cursed, grabbing his binoculars from his belt and scanning the roofs between him and the Monarch. No sign.

There was a soft touch of boots behind him, and he whirled defensively at a figure who deftly dodged his strike. "Whoa, Batman - save it for the bad guys."

"Canary," Batman growled.

"You okay? You don't-"

"We're going to the Monarch. Direct approach; they already know we're around. You've got anti-toxin?"

Canary nodded, her face taking a grimness to match his tone.

"Good." Batman readied a jumpline and stared out over the intervening rooftops toward the site of his failure. "We've got at least three hostages," he reported, "and one of our own."

(12)

Barbara pulled up the GTA schedule a split second before Dick asked for it, glancing at the time as she answered him. "Red eye express comes through in 15 at the Sprang Bridge. He started the clock to his next victim about 10 minutes ago."

Damn Torque. She hated Bludhaven. What had happened to the days when they could ignore that armpit? That was unfair, she knew - Dick felt like he could make a difference there, and it was a noble - if ultimately futile, in her opinion - cause.

It didn't help matters that they really did need Nightwing in Gotham, but Batman was right. Save life where you could. And Dick didn't need to have the fight he left behind weighing on his mind. "I'll call in reserves if they need them," she reassured him.

"Where you sendin' me, boss-lady?" a voice behind her queried as Black Canary entered the war room. She held up her hand as she listened to Dick's answer.

"I know you will. I just hope they don't need them."

She glanced at the unscrambled GPS signals on her monitor, showing one rapidly departing blue dot and the rest of the team scattered through the city. "Me, too, Hunk Wonder. Me, too."

She closed the signal with a sigh and inched the volume up on the monitor channel she'd set. Quiet for the moment.

"Bad news?"

"When is it not?" Barbara replied, glancing at Dinah. The other woman was leaning back against a work station, a deceptively casual pose. She knew without words that Dinah was ready to jump into action. "Trouble in Bludhaven."

"So Nightwing's going," Dinah interpretted. "You want me to cover his position?"

Barbara scowled thoughtfully as she considered the activity on her screens. Batgirl still at Arkham, her own signal still obscured to Oracle's computers but her bypasser at M-7 sending a report of electronic activity in the block. Robin was still on standby. Bat-scale criminal activity in Bludhaven and Crime Alley. The way this night was going, it wouldn't surprise her to suddenly see a new flare up closer to home, and as good as Tim was, she didn't want to send him into anything alone. "Wait," she decided.

Dinah shifted uneasily. "You sure?"

A ping sounded, and Barbara opened the channel.

"He stopped," Batgirl reported, and a sudden squeal from the computer punctuated her words. The bypasser, it's signal now wildly fluctuating.

"Got him!" Barbara exclaimed, her fingers flying over the keys as she interpretted the incoming data. "He's definitely using the Arkham grid. Damn!" She tried another key combination, flashing views of the Arkham blueprints at dizzying speeds on the monitor. "Stay put for a minute," she ordered. She launched a new program, setting it to work on the data. "Or five," she amended. "I'll call back with directions."

"Understood." A click signaled the closing of Batgirl's line.

"What the hell was that?" Canary asked.

"Hatter," Babs replied, frowning at her screen. He had definitely been sending a signal using the Arkham system, but where was his transmitter? She was not sending Batgirl on a wild goose chase.

"So it is-"

The cover's voice sounded over the monitor channel, and Dinah stopped speaking as Barbara turned up the volume.

"People on stage. Appear unconscious."

"Damn it all!" Barbara cursed, switching the Arkham data to another screen and replacing it with a map of Crime Alley. The cover somewhere in or on the Monarch, Batman across the street. His raspy order filtered over her speakers: "Hold."

Barbara glanced at Dinah, already picking up her helmet. "Crime Alley?"

Barbara nodded and turned back to her screens, opening a channel to Batman. "Batman, I'm sending Canary." Clocktower security showed Dinah already entering the elevator to the garage.

"Can't wait," Batman replied tersely, closing the line. She bit her lip as she watched his tracking dot move across to the Monarch. This was not good. He was right, they couldn't wait, but going up against Scarecrow with a virtually untested partner? Dinah's signal showed her already gunning out of the parking garage below the Clocktower. Barbara pinged her.

"Go ahead, Oracle," Canary answered.

"Ditch the bike and go rooftop when you get in the neighborhood," she ordered. "I'll tell you if something changes."

"You got it," Canary agreed. "I'll call when I get nearer."

"Good. Oracle out."

She forced herself to look away from the Crime Alley map, turning her attention back to the Arkham data. In three minutes, the program had already eliminated several of the potential tap sites, but not enough yet to give Batgirl any direction. Her stomach felt twisted. She could only wait...

A blaring alert sounded suddenly, causing her to start in her chair. She slapped the alert control, and the police band opened. "...fired. I repeat, shots fired at the Wayne penthouse..."

Barbara's heart leapt into her throat. The penthouse. J'onn and Alfred.

Another whooping alert, this time with a flood of red light. The media. Crap. She stabbed another button on her console, angling her chair to face the Channel 3 news feed flaring on. Roger Alomar's face gazed seriously from behind his anchor desk as he reported the
breaking news: at least three shots had been fired in the Wayne penthouse and preliminary reports were indicating a cop had been responsible.

Hatter.

She considered and discarded the idea of calling the penthouse. Oracle channels would not be discreet enough if there were cops everywhere, and she should leave the phone lines free in case Hatter had an associate planning to make demands. Unlikely, but still...

She muted the sound and twisted her wheels back to her control console, checking the Arkham data as she did so. Three possibles. Close enough.

She opened a channel. "Batgirl."

"Oracle."

"He's after Bruce Wayne. God only knows why, but we've got to stop this before he tries again."

"Where?"

"I've got it narrowed to three junctions. Closest to you is M-21. Then there's possibles at A-6 and at K-12."

"Think more than one?"

Good question. "Probably not," Barbara decided. "But I can't rule it out. Just check and call me at each site."

"Got it."

Barbara turned back to the police band, automatically quieted when the media alert had sounded. "... suspect at alpha six and take him to gamma squared..." Crispus Allen's voice, using a code to thwart the inevitable media support teams who would also have their scanners tuned. Probably was a cop if they were so keen to keep him out of the public eye - and were taking him to Gotham General. She scrolled back through the transcripted exchange with dispatch. No ambulance called. That was good news, at least.

She looked up to the Crime Alley map. Canary, now making slower time through the neighborhood. And...

Her brow furrowed as Batman's signal suddenly flew from the Monarch, heading south. Fast. Faster than he could with the cover in tow.

Which she wasn't. Sasha's signal remained stationary in the theatre.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

She bit her lip, her fingers hesitating over the computer keys.

Screw it. So the cover found out about Oracle. Better that than dead.

She swiftly reconfigured the monitoring link she had to the cover to a proper communication channel.

"Cover," she hissed.

No answer.

"Cover," she tried again, insistently.

Not a peep from the bodyguard, but instead a sound that made Barbara's blood run cold: the menacing laugh of Jonathan Crane.

(13)

(WARNING: scene includes torture - not for the squeamish)

Consciousness returned with an ineffectual jerk and the sound of sepulchral laughter. Bound. And blindfolded. How-?

Memory returned in a rush, treating the hostages, then the unexpected flight of Batman, the reach for her jumpline and - darkness. Scarecrow had caught her - and still he was laughing, a stark contrast to the stuttering man she had seen at Multigon. And the laughter seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, disorienting her.

She grimaced, testing her bonds. She was tied to a chair; each ankle secured to a different chair leg, her arms pulled straight down to the other two legs, where they were tied at the wrist. Straps across her chest and thighs kept her from arching up, kept her firmly attached to the unforgiving wood. Not inescapable - at least, she had seen Batman handle more difficult. But her fingers were already numb, and there was no give in her bonds.

She gave an experimental lunge.

The chair didn't budge, but the laughter intensified.

She gritted her teeth in annoyance. "How long you been practicing that laugh, Crane?" she spat.

That quieted him a little, or at least replaced the laughter with words. "Such defiance! But do not mistake such bravery. Courage is a response to fear." There was a brush of burlap across her jawline, and she fought a shudder to lunge uselessly toward the contact, prompting a menacing chuckle. "You see? You can almost smell it."

"He's coming for you," she threatened, hoping it was true.

Another laugh. "Oh, I count on it, my dear. Although who would have believed my trap would yield such valuable bait?"

There were hands on her arm, pushing up the kevlar sleeve. She clenched her muscles, trying to struggle.

"This is a new one in his little army. What motivates her, do you think? Some fear. And we will find it, my student."

She gasped at the pinch and burn of a needle entering her flesh. Fight it, she told herself, rationalizing it was only her imagination that she could feel something searing through her veins, forcing her heart to beat faster.

"Yes," Crane's voice hissed. "Taste her fear. She will tell herself that the antitoxin the Bat has given her will protect her, or she will use his little mental tricks to steady her mind, but she will fail."

She swallowed hard, seeking the mental center that Batman had drilled her to cultivate. She hated those lessons, the implication that all her discipline learned before his employ was inadequate.

And now she couldn't do it. He didn't want her death on his conscious. He said it all the time, every time she argued for a greater roll in his crusade, a better angle from which to protect
him...

"Ahh." Another brush of burlap over her forehead, blending beads of sweat into a damp smear, cold and chilling. "You can see he hasn't had her long. Already cracks in the armor he gives his disciples."

Disciples. She wasn't Batman's disciple. She was his bodyguard, the cover.

"Why did he leave her, I wonder? Maybe she knows."

"He'll get you," she ground out, mentally cursing the waver in her tone. Why did he leave her? Because of her failure to save Alana? No, that wasn't right. Alana was alive, and he didn't operate that way. Not about vengeance, he insisted.

He didn't leave her, she decided. He wouldn't. But he counted on her to respond when he flashed away - trusted her just once to act without orders. What she wanted him to do. And she failed.

"There is something about this place for our Batman," Scarecrow continued. "What is it that makes him run and abandon one of his own? What fear is at his heart?"

"He's not afraid," she contradicted, but doubt stirred in her mind. All the cryptic comments about Scarecrow calling Batman out. About the possibility of a trap. He was right, and now...

Scarecrow would kill her, she knew with cold certainty. Kill her to break Batman, if that's what it took. To break him so he could kill him, leave him cold and dead and a victim not of Scarecrow, but of Sasha Bordeaux, too stubbornly stupid to understand that at every step she was making him vulnerable.

She couldn't let him know. Couldn't let Scarecrow have the ammunition...

"He knows your game," she warned. "He won't-" She stopped herself. She would make it worse. Better to stay silent.

But Crane was laughing again. "Oh, she is very new," he crowed. "Such misplaced and misunderstood faith. She has not seen how he writhes when you threaten his underlings. Remember this is his Achilles' heel. Study it, and understand how it will not be our weakness."

Our. Sasha blinked beneath the blindfold. Earlier he had spoken to his "student." She cursed her lack of perception. She had thought he was addressing her, his curious speech pattern one of madness. But no, there was someone else with them.

"What's your name?" she asked, listening intently to isolate where the other person might be.

"You have already addressed me by it, my dear," Crane pointed out loftily.

"Not you. The other one. Your student."

This brought a cackle from Scarecrow. "Good," he declared. "You see how his followers are smart. I had wondered for a moment if he had misjudged, but intelligence is a useful thing. So much more potential fear."

"He's mad, you know," she continued, feeling stronger. "What lies has he told you? That fear is our teacher? That knowing how your brain cannot separate fantasy from reality gives you power?"

"You know my work," Crane preened. She felt him lean in closer, straw pricking at her ear and catching in her hair. "And you know I'm right. You can feel it, can't you? He abandoned you, perhaps as part of a game plan he wouldn't trust you with. I know him you see." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I know how his head works - better than you do, it seems. He has begun to train your mind, but he hasn't finished, has he? He would never be so foolish to think that I would take an acolyte without studying his methods. He knows not to underestimate me."

She felt the pressure of a hand on her knee, her heart accelerating again as his words wormed into her skull.

"Do you know what it means to be one of his? You are his bulwark against total social isolation, but he takes you into his dark world with him. Even here, where I know his fear is rooted. Oh, you don't have to tell me. I've known for a long time. But he won't even trust you with that. If he did, you would be acting differently now, so don't deny it. He has begun severing you from the world in which you know the rules, but how much more that makes you dependent on him."

Sasha swallowed hard, feeling tears gloss over her eyes. She demanded to join his crusade. It was her choice. She forced it on him, and he had warned her over and over. She couldn't protect him. She could only hinder him. Why hadn't she realized? She could be useful to
Bruce Wayne. She could be where the Bat had to hide. But Batman? She was wrong about Batman. She thought of him only as Bruce Wayne, still vulnerable inside the suit. But she had it wrong. Even Bruce Wayne wasn't vulnerable. Just... amenable. Aware. Conscious of social convention.

She was going to get him killed.

He chest felt constricted, moreso than the bonds could account for. She remembered the look on Bruce's face as Alana collapsed, bleeding, onto the table of Chez Ambrose. And if Alana had not stood when she did?

Her mind replayed the incident, saw the bullet rip into Bruce's skull. Because she couldn't fire. Because he would rather die than see another human being mowed down, and she knew it. And all the years of training in the world, the thing that made her who she was...

She would never work again, but that was not the worst of it. Even dying would not be the worst of it. The worst would be...

She squeezed her eyes shut, battling the tear fall, trying unsuccessfully to steady her breathing. Sweat trickled down her body as her heart pounded in her too tight chest, and the scenes unrolled in her mind. Again and again, Batman found himself at the heart of a succession of horrible deaths; stabbed, shot, strangled, beaten, gutted, drawn and quartered, whipped, burned... and everytime the mask slipped, the cowl pulled or cut or melted free to reveal the anguished face of Bruce Wayne, staring out at her with accusation in his eyes, recognizing her as his killer...

A strangled sound escaped her, and the Scarecrow's hideous laugh echoed around her over the sound of screams...

"Our work here is done," she heard him say, and she felt the blindfold ripped away...

She forced herself to open her eyes, to see her tormentors...

But they weren't there. There was only a twisted, kevlar clothed body, legs at impossible angles, costume shredded above the waist where deep cuts could not compete with the gaping, sucking wound in his chest, blasted open to reveal the heart pumping only to spray
blood onto the floor and slowing as she watched in horror. The wet sound of desperate breathing overwhelmed the Scarecrow's laughter as blood-streaming mouth gulped at air that would never fill lungs. And above that mouth the broken nose and shattered cheekbones of a beaten face, somehow not beaten enough to swell the eyes completely shut.

And the eyes. The whites were lost to burst blood vessels, but the blue remained. Deep piercing blue. Blue that was riveted on her - no, past her - anguished beyond the pain of his body.

She turned her head, made herself look away for an instant to follow his gaze.

Her cheek bumped a hand in which her blindfold dangled from limp fingers.

Limp fingers that belonged to an arm hanging down clad in black and blue.

An arm that connected to a body suspended from the ceiling above by a meat hook driven through its ankles.

A body that barely retained a head, thoroughly doused in blood from the spine deep cut to its throat.

Nightwing. Trying to rescue her even as he died. Bruce's son.

Bruce.

She turned back to him to see his broken eyes had found her face, now found her eyes, not even accusing - just lost. Because of her.

One more burbling gasp and she realized the blood arcing from his chest had become a trickle, and the heart in the yawning cavern that used to be his chest... stopped. Dead.

Sasha strained against her bonds and screamed.

(14)

"That's honestly a-all-"

"Mr. Wayne?" Rene Montoya's worried voice echoed distantly through a sudden stab of panicked anxiety that caused the tumbler in J'onn's hand to slip free and thud dully on the carpet as he put a hand to his forehead.

*BRUCE!* he projected, filling the word with calm command.

"Mr. Wayne, are you all right?"

J'onn managed to give Montoya a shaky smile. "It just all hit me, I think," he offered, his inner ear tuned to Bruce's frantic questions.

*J'onn? What happened? Are you-?* Not the typical voice of Bruce Wayne - rather the familiar but deeply buried pain of a broken eight-year-old, ripped unexpectedly to the surface.

J'onn forced himself to remain steady, calming. *Bruce, calm down. I can feel the toxin working in you. Deep breaths.*

Over his bowed head, he could feel Montoya answering Alfred's approach with a troubled and apologetic look. "That's enough for now," Montoya was saying. "We may need to contact you later with further questions."

"Fine," J'onn agreed absently, carefully lending the weight of telepathic suggestion to Bruce's efforts to fight the toxin, to help his lover reestablish his equilibrium.

Bruce was already more focused when he asked, *So they didn't try again?*

"Master Bruce?"

J'onn glanced up into Alfred's worried face and accepted the robe the other man had fetched for him. He let his eyes talk for him as he said, "Thank you, Alfred. I think perhaps I should go lie down. I didn't realize until just now..." He was intending to communicate that Bruce had heard about the shooting, but he found himself also realizing that had Bruce Wayne been here instead of J'onn, there was a chance he would be dead. Not a fear he needed to share with Bruce right now. For Bruce, he projected only reassurance: *They did, but that's not what you should be worried about right now.*

Alfred, though, seemed to read both parts of J'onn's unfinished thought, gently urging J'onn to his feet. "You should rest," he agreed, his eyes intent on J'onn's face. "Give yourself time to deal with this."

In his mind, Bruce's desperate hold was easing, the Bat regaining focus. *J'onn,* Bruce projected, the word laden with relief and gratitude.

"Mr. Pennyworth, we still need to talk to you," Montoya reminded.

Alfred glanced back from the doorway of the bedroom suite, his hint of annoyance invisible from his expression. "Of course. Just let me see to Mr. Wayne."

He didn't wait for Montoya's nod, steering J'onn toward the expansive bed. "You're in contact with him?" he whispered.

J'onn nodded, *He got a dose of the toxin,* he explained, the need to tightly control his own telepathy easing as Bruce's panic began to fade. Or changed direction, he realized suddenly, gripping at the bedstead as a new wave of Bruce's self-recrimination hit him.

*J'onn?* Alfred's hand pressed against his shoulder, encouraging him to sit. J'onn obeyed.

*Crane's got Sasha.* He scanned through Bruce's - Batman's - calculating thoughts. *Canary's just arrived.*

Alfred's hand gave a little squeeze. *It will work out,* he opined hopefully. Then aloud, "I'll just go see to our police friends. Call if you need anything."

J'onn nodded and lay down, keeping anxiously abreast of Bruce's thoughts as Alfred left the room and closed the bullet-scarred doors behind him. Bruce's guilt was sand-paper raw, his plan impulsively self-destructive. *Batman,* he called, hoping the professional conceit would shake the still too-close-to-the-surface fear that Bruce felt for J'onn.

*Go ahead, J'onn.* Cool tones. Good.

*My scans show your judgment is still clouded.*

*I don't have time -*

*Batman.* J'onn cut off the menacing growl firmly. *Are you going to cost Black Canary her life as well?* He'd rather not use that card, but given the circumstances?

A sudden surge of anger, followed quickly by recognition, confirmed J'onn's decision. A moment's more pause, then, *Suggestions?*

J'onn projected approval as he broadened the telepathic link. *Hello, Black Canary,* he said deliberately, letting the action signal Batman of his intentions.

*J'onn? If this is a social call-?*

*Canary,* Batman rumbled over the link.

*Oh,* Dinah answered. *I see.*

*I would suggest,* J'onn continued, connecting the link to Oracle as he spoke, *abandoning all your communication and tracing equipment, Dinah.*

*J'onn?* Oracle queried.

*It is possible that Crane has ways of sensing electronics. It would explain his escape. He is expecting Batman - not Canary. If Dinah is electronic free and stays to the shadows...*

*He might not know she's there,* Batman finished with approval, his tactical intelligence kicking in, much to J'onn's relief.

*So you'll maintain a telepathic link for us?* Oracle confirmed.

*I could even monitor this mission for you,* J'onn offered, *so you can attend more closely to Bludhaven and Arkham.*

*Agreed,* Batman cut in. *Oracle, we will call you only if we need your resources.*

*Understood,* she replied. Then she sent a more focused thought at J'onn. *You sure you're up to this?*

He sent a wave of reassurance against a bitter lead-tainted tang from her own memory. "I am fine, Barbara. These bullets did not require stopping.*

The fact that it was what she needed to hear did not prevent her mental wince. *That close?*

*Bruce doesn't need to know,* he pointed out, redirecting her mental energies with the comment.

He felt her give the equivalent of a nod. *Yes,* she agreed distractedly. *And speaking of Bludhaven... Thanks, J'onn.*

*One does what one can,* he remarked philosophically, a hint of irony in his tone.

*Welcome to my world,* she shot back.

*Where I cannot begin to be your peer,* he answered.

*Watch your mission, Martian,* she ordered, *and let me watch mine.*

He smiled faintly, sending her the impression of a salute. A pulse of gratitude echoed back as she focused back on her work, the moment for niceties and reassurance gone as new alerts sounded. J'onn kept his mental sigh to himself as he listened to Batman and Canary plan and cast his telepathic sense across the city. So much fear and doubt.

So much.

(15)

"At least there's no helicopters," Nightwing grumped as he touched down two buildings away from the West Exeter Apartments.

"There were," Oracle reported, coming unexpectedly online. "Torque detonated an explosive on the 14th floor and promised more of the same if they didn't move off. Four cops injured."

"Great." Nightwing walked to the edge of the roof and gazed toward the West Exeter. Sharp shooters were stationed on every rooftop around the 16 story apartment building. Below, police barricades held back citizens - some in bathrobes and slippers in the cold February air - likely residents of the building. Yellow tape cordoned off a stretch of sidewalk, even at this distance obviously stained red. Torque was dropping them off the roof. "How's my time?"

"You've got twenty-three minutes, and I've gotta get back to Batgirl." A beeping in the background emphasized the point.

"Wait - before you go - tap me into the negotiator's line."

"Just wave my fingers?"

"If anyone can-"

"You're on in ten seconds. Bye."

Her voice cut out to be replaced by the faintly desperate tone of the BPD negotiator. "...produce an urban legend. Even if he is real, we-"

"Soames." Nightwing pitched his voice in his best Bat imitation.

"Jesus!" the negotiator gasped. "What the hell? Who's on this-?"

"There you are, lad," came Soames familiar brogue. "What kept you?"

"Let them go, Soames." Nightwing studied the police positions as he spoke, looking for a route of approach.

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but this is an official-"

Soames' laughter interrupted the negotiator. "Eh, getting a little ahead of yerself there, lad. This is a trade deal, even if my former colleagues down there are too stupid to recognize their ace."

In the background, Dick could hear the bark of orders, to trace the line, find the owner of the voice. Over those sounds, the negotiator's voice returned to the line, calmer than before. "If we
are able to deliver Nightwing, how can we be certain you will not just kill him and the hostages?"

Good question, Dick reflected.

Soames had an answer. "You can't. But if he doesn't have his hiney here in... 19 minutes, Trixie here-" there was a gasp and a whimper in the background - "will be joining her husband at ground level."

"No, please," the woman's voice pleaded as Nightwing noted the long balcony along the face of the building closest to him. "Please help me. Don't-"

There was a sickening thud, and Soames voice came back. "I hate it when they go all squealy."

Nightwing launched himself toward the balcony as the negotiator spoke. "Dammit, Torque! That girl better -"

"Oh, she's alive," Soames answered easily. "Hardly in my interest to diminish my supply of hostages."

Nightwing came up from the roll that ended his leap, his eyes taking in the false stone facade of the wall in front of him. "Given I'm here," he stated levelly, "perhaps you should refigure the supply and demand."

"What do you propose, lad?"

A trellis was anchored outside one apartment, supporting the tangled trunks of some perennial creeper. Nightwing gave it an experimental tug. Solid. "One hostage will serve as well as a dozen. Consider the benefit of a good faith gesture in assuring my appearance." He began to climb.

A snort came across the line. "With our trigger happy friends down there? I know in what esteem they hold you. One person caught in the cross-fire that gets us both won't give them the qualm it would give you, hero."

"Hold on, Torque," the negotiator cautioned. "The Bludhaven Police will not risk a civilian-"

"Please," Soames replied sarcastically. "I used to be you. Redhorn hasn't changed policy that much."

The trellis ended four feet from the lip of the roof. Nightwing contemplated. A jump line to the stone drain spout 10 feet over? Could be done silently, he determined, acting as quick as thought. "How many do you really need, then?" he asked, swinging on the line and beginning to pull himself up hand over hand.

Soames chuckled. "Right question. You should be taking notes, Gouavich."

The negotiator's name, Nightwing realized, reaching an arm over the drainspout. "How many?" he prompted.

"Listen, whoever you are-" Gouavich began.

"I'd say four," Soames offered.

"Not good enough," Nightwing shot back, muscling his body over the roof lip and dropping into a crouch in the shadows. Two sharpshooters were positioned at the other end of the roof, their attention tightly focused on the building across the way. The air intake for the heating system lay between him and them, the whirring fan loud enough, he decided, to cover his voice.

"You're down to fourteen minutes, hero," Soames said threateningly.

"Don't do it, Torque," Gouavich warned. "You drop the girl and-"

"I'm less than two minutes from your position," Nightwing pointed out. "I hear the BPD has all but two of the hostages, you get me sooner. And I'll catch the girl."

"You catch her, and I blow up the apartment below that little blaze my last explosion started."

"Shit!" Gouavich's voice, muffled but clear enough to make out. There was shouting in the background, orders to the fire chief to get his men out.

"Picked up some new tricks in Lockhaven?" Nightwing probed, slipping along the shadowed side of the rooftop air conditioning unit.

"Twelve minutes."

"Let's say you do drop her. Let's say I catch her and you do some property damage," Nightwing outlined, climbing stealthily up the work ladder on the unit. "Then we're back where we started, aren't we? How does that get you what you want?"

"Jesus, man, don't provoke-"

"I can drop them faster than you can catch them."

"And then you'll be out of hostages, and you still won't have me, and the police won't have an excuse not to storm your position."

"I could detonate the explosive I have here."

Nightwing set his feet carefully on the metal of the AC unit, easing toward the vantage point closest to the West Exeter. "You expect me to believe you're suicidal?"

"Dammit, he's already -"

A laugh cut off Gouavich's protest. "I suppose that makes as much sense as you allowing me to kill someone else," Soames admitted.

"I think we understand each other." Nightwing couldn't see into the penthouse Soames occupied - nor, he suspected, could the sharp shooters. They were biding their time, waiting for him to appear for a clear shot, their eyes unwaveringly locked on the building. Would they fire at Nightwing when he swung across? He'd have to gamble they wouldn't.

"All right, hero. I'm keeping three."

"Two."

"You want two, I'm dropping Trixie for fun. And then the hostages should be in range of the explosion."

There were more barked orders in the background, and Nightwing could see a group of police surge into the building.

"Gouavich!" Soames barked. "You tell your men they meet the hostages on the tenth. No closer."

"I will, I will," Gouavich promised earnestly, his shouted call muffled as he covered the receiver.

"Gouavich," Nightwing added. "I'll wait for your signal. When you have all but three in your custody, I'm going over."

"Listen to him, Gouavich," Soames added. "You've got nine minutes before I drop the former councilman's wife, regardless - so I'd hustle on the signal."

"Nine minutes?" Gouavich objected. "Give them time to get down the stairs..."

"Nine minutes," Soames reiterated.

"Look, Nightwing, if that's who you are. Talk to him. He's got to give us-"

"They're on the way down already," Nightwing interrupted, noting shadows fluttering across the emergency lights visible in the hallway of the adjacent building. "I'll wait for your signal."

A flurry of movement caught his eye below, and he saw one of the sharp shooters suddenly jerk his head up and look around. Damn. He'd given away his position. He'd have to move before they could pinpoint...

A shout below and he had no choice but to shoot out a jumpline. He heard a few bullets whistle by as he swung across the gap to the West Exeter building - but only a few. Someone on the ground must have given a cease fire order.

He aimed his body for a shattered window of the penthouse - undoubtedly the one through which Torque had shoved his first victim - and tumbled through to roll upright, all senses alert.

He was greeted with laughter. "Oh, that's our boys in blue. Shoot first and ask no questions. Seems they might like you less than me."

Nightwing turned toward the voice, pulling out a batarang. Soames was deep in the shadow, a woman - presumably Trixie - caught up against him with a gun muzzle biting into her flesh. Soames free hand held a cell phone, and even across the room, Nightwing could hear the squawk of Gouavich's voice. He reached his free hand toward his ear. Had he inadvertently closed his connection? "Tut, freeze that hand. And even if you toss that," Soames pointed out, nodding toward the batarang, "it doesn't take much to squeeze a trigger."

Trixie stared at Nightwing with desperate eyes, tears and snot running down her face and smearing her makeup macabrely.

"Let her go, Soames."

"Oh, I'd like to, lad. In fact, I can think of no one I'd rather never see again. But she's my insurance, y'see. At least until you take over for one of my other happy friends."

Soames nodded toward a door leading out of the room. The other hostages. Nightwing began working his way to the door, keeping Soames in view, watching for his opening.

"You'll like this one, hero. Kind of thing that just gets the old juices flowin'."

The door was ajar. Nightwing cautiously pushed it open, keeping his eyes on Soames.

"Go ahead. Look."

Not much choice. He'd have to trust his kevlar to hold if Soames decided to turn the gun on him. He glanced over.

Two men - one obviously a waiter, the other in a tux - were each tightly clutching something. Wires led away from their hands to...

A very large bomb.

Soames saw the recognition on Nightwing's face and began to laugh. "Just your speed, eh, lad? I trust you know a deadman's switch when you see one."

Nightwing looked back to the villain. "What do you want, Soames?" he growled.

"Go on in," Soames urged, following as Nightwing obeyed. "I want to see you think your way through this."

Nightwing gritted his teeth. Cat and mouse. Torque had already dropped the cell phone. The BPD were now irrelevant. This was what he wanted.

"You don't need Trixie anymore," Nightwing noted. Take this one hostage at a time.

"Well, so long as you're moving around freely, I beg to differ. But there's a way around that." He nodded toward the bomb. "I'm sure the district attorney would be happy to give you his responsibility."

Nightwing looked at the tuxedoed man. It was the district attorney, sweat dripping down his face as he maintained a white knuckled grip on the switch.

"Don't think too long, hero. It's a simple offer. You take his place, I let him and Trixie go. Then we're down to that one hostage you requested."

Nightwing looked at the waiter. The man's head was bowed, likely in prayer. He was visibly shaking as he held his switch.

Options? He considered. Not many, and none that could promise better odds than Soames' offer. He stowed his batarang and stepped forward to touch the district attorney's hand.

It required two hands - two buttons set into the switch, but too far apart to span one handed. They enacted the transfer slowly, letting Nightwing's thumbs slide into the places formerly occupied by the district attorney's grip. As soon as Dick had it, he met the other man's grateful eyes. "Go," he ordered.

"One moment," Soames interrupted. He thrust Trixie away from him roughly, causing her to stumble into the district attorney's arms. "Get that sniveling bitch out of here."

Trixie clung to the district attorney, who took a moment to steady her. It was almost a moment too long.

"I said, get the fuck out of here!" Soames bellowed.

Trixie let out a squeak, but the district attorney caught her wrist and almost dragged her away, hurrying out of the room and toward the entrance to the stairway.

Nightwing kept his gaze firmly on Torque. "Now what?"

Soames rubbed the barrel of his pistol against his neck brace thoughtfully. "Now what? I'm surprised at you, Nightwing. The answer is simple enough."

Out of the corner of his eye, Nightwing saw the waiter look up and start to step forward. Dick turned, opening his mouth to speak, then froze.

Tad. It was Tad. And he was smiling.

"Surprise," he said gleefully, raising his hands over his head.

A sharp crack.

Then darkness.

(16)

Batgirl was back in the catwalks, making her way to A-6. M-21 had been untouched - not surprising, really, given its relatively public location along a main hallway. The slimmest of crawlspaces ran inside the wall to the Oracle designed junction box, and Batgirl began to
suspect why she had been tapped for this mission. If Robin had Nightwing's flexibility, he _might_ be able to squeeze through, but any of the others?

What it meant in real terms was that it had taken Batgirl longer than she had liked to shimmy down and check the location. Given her time to digest Oracle's hastily delivered information: Hatter was after Bruce. She could only know that if another attempt had been made on Bruce's life, but Bruce wasn't available to be attacked. That either meant Hatter and Scarecrow were working together and had figured out who Bruce was - or they weren't. And there was only one person who could stand in for Bruce if Hatter's attack had been aimed at the penthouse.

J'onn.

There hadn't been an opportunity to ask when she had called to report M-21 was clear. Barbara had sounded distracted and worried, accepting Batgirl's report and quickly signing off.

Batgirl snaked up into the ventilation system again, this time in A block. The going was easier, less cells here. Most of the block was taken up by a cafeteria complex, darkened and empty at this hour.

A-6 should be... entirely inaccessible through the walls. She scowled. How had they set up the system in the first place? Unless...

"Oracle," she called.

The reply was slow in coming and clipped when it came. "Hold on."

Batgirl considered the cafeteria below her. She dredged up the specifics from the blueprints in her memory, scanning for the camera placements. One there, and another... She swiftly estimated their ranges. If there was a blind spot, there wasn't much of one.

Worst case scenario - they discovered she was here.

Worth the risk.

She dropped down to the floor, hugging the shadows. Pressed against the wall, her eyes could discern a hairline gap - access panel. She stretched out her fingers, pressing them in a predetermined patterns. Not that one. No. Yes!

The panel sprang out from the wall and slid soundlessly to one side.

"Go ahead, Batgirl."

"At A-6. Hope blind spot."

A tap of keys. "Oh, yeah. That one. You're clear."

Batgirl stepped out from the wall to turn and inspect the electronics behind the panel. The Oracle junction box would be below the lip of the panel, virtually indistinguishable from the expected wiring...

"Oracle."

"Found it?"

Batgirl stared at a clumsily spliced device wound into the wiring. "Looks like."

An electronic squeal sounded in the background of their connection, and Batgirl's eyes widened as a red light began to glow among the wires. "It's on," she reported.

"Crap!" Oracle swore. "I'm calling J'onn. Slap a tapper on it and get out of there."

Batgirl obeyed, taking a tiny magnetic transceiver from her belt and setting it just below the light. Then she scrambled back into the ceiling and began racing back through crawlspaces and catwalks, retrieving her bypassers as she went.

She was almost to D-14 when a screaming wail of sirens flooded through the building.

"Batgirl, hold!" Oracle barked over the line.

Batgirl froze in her place. Below her she could hear scrambling and cursing mixed in with the howling and jeering of the inmates. A long silence held over her comlink.

Finally, Oracle was back. "I had to send a surge back through your tapper, short out the system," she explained. "Messy, but I'm not taking the chance that third time's the charm."

"How long?"

"I blew out my own security controls for your grid," Barbara confessed, "but I've finally got a clear feed. Guards have already found the device, GCPD reporting that they apprehended a reporter sneaking up the fire escape at the penthouse. I sent the surge when he pulled a gun, and it cut the puppet strings. They should put two and two together pretty quickly, but I'd lay low for at least five minutes."

"Then?"

"Just a sec-" There was a click of Oracle switching lines, then more silence. Batgirl shifted into a more comfortable position and waited.

Finally, "Sorry, Batgirl. Give it two more minutes from now. Then head _down_. You're going to have to use the sewer exit. You'll come up all the way at D'Angelo, then double back toward the expressway. Call me when you get that far."

"Need backup?"

"I hope to God by the time you get clear, we won't," Barbara said fervently. "But if you can make it out in under 30 minutes, that'll at least position you to catch the train to Bludhaven."

"Bludhaven," Batgirl repeated flatly.

"Torque. Nightwing went after him, but he's not answering my signal. I've dispatched Robin, but he's the only one I can spare."

Batgirl closed her eyes, sympathizing with the worry that drew so many words from the Oracle. Another villain? Tonight? And Barbara, from the sound of things, at one of those moments where all she could do was wait. Cassandra took a deep breath, mentally plotting her route
and anticipating short cuts. "I'll be at the tracks in 25 minutes," she promised, already shimmying down toward a well hidden bolt hole.

Barbara's voice sounded strained. "I gotta go. I just hope we don't need you."

The line went silent, and Batgirl set her jaw and moved doggedly on.

(17)

Dinah huddled deep in the shadows of the fly space of the theatre, starting as an abbreviated burst of automatic weapon fire sounded outside. *He's okay,* J'onn reassured almost instantaneously, doing as much to counteract Scarecrow's toxin as the antidote rushing through her system.

Batman had sent her ahead, alerting her that Scarecrow had treated the theatre with a toxin which worked on skin contact and arguing for an "exposure and rapid treatment" policy. J'onn had concurred, and while Batman took out the outside guards, Black Canary was acclimating to the terms of the mission.

It sucked.

And as her heart rate gradually slowed and the adrenaline spike settled, she found herself wondering if Scarecrow's toxin would have ever affected Hal Jordan. Odd, but reasonable. Back on the link with J'onn, running tactics planned by Batman - it was like old times, her
own JLA days. At least remembering Hal Jordan wasn't bringing his image ghosting back at her as Ollie's memory had done only moments before. Either the antitoxin was taking hold, or Ollie represented a fear she was not interested in investigating more deeply.

*Coming in,* Batman warned, appearing seconds later in a monstrous swell of shadow and the whipping sound of furling cape.

She'd somehow forgotten how frightening he could be.

*And frightened,* J'onn whispered in her thoughts. *Watch him for me.*

Dinah blinked. What else was she going to do as the hostages on the stage below began screaming and their guards found themselves the target of a whirling barage of strikes and kicks? But there was something in J'onn's tone, a heavy reminder of the man behind the mask
and of J'onn's unfailing care and awareness of his teammates. Only J'onn would remember how human Batman was in the heat of battle.

*Canary,* Batman suddenly projected, interrupting her thoughts. * Status?*

She glanced down at the stage, aware that her reactions had become appreciation of Batman's technique rather than cold fear at his appearance. *Ready to rumble,* she answered.

*Stay backstage, let the curtains shield your descent. There is a trap door going below the stage about ten feet stage right from your position. Meet me there - but stay out of sight.*

*Roger,* Dinah replied, moving silently over the catwalks and then lowering herself down one of the anchored fly ropes. She caught sight of the final bad guy dropping to the ground, watched as Batman loosened but did not release the bonds of the still shrieking hostages. He was only half a step behind her when she finally touched down.

*The police and ambulance are en route,* he noted, even now not risking speech, not even looking her direction. *Scarecrow is going to be below, but I'm not certain where. I'll case each room I enter and cue you when to follow.*

Dinah nodded from her place in the musty folds of the heavy velvet curtain. The plan was to keep her in reserve, making sure Scarecrow was unaware of her presence until she was needed. There was an irony in that - sneaking around under the distractions Batman was providing.

The trapdoor creaked as it opened, but Batman wasn't aiming for stealth. He leapt down with a speed that would defy reaction - had there been anyone there. She could feel his frustration over the telepathic link as he examined the room for any clues, then ordered, *At my mark, drop down. There's lots of cover options - pick one.*

*Ready.*

She waited for a few seconds, then, *GO!*

The order was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, but she didn't let herself think about it until she had dropped and rolled under a desk. Once under cover she peered out toward the direction of the sound and saw Batman crouching just beyond the remains of a door. She could see readiness etched in his frame, but he was utterly still.

His thought carried through the link, though. *Damn.*

*And people complain that I'm reckless,* Dinah remarked, pulling herself up to dash after him on cue.

*Misdirection is part of stealth,* Batman reminded her curtly.

*Bruce.* J'onn, with a hint of reproach in his tone.

*Can you pick up anything of her?* Batman asked.

*Too much mental static,* J'onn answered apologetically.

Dinah sidled across the floor, moving to the shadow of a file cabinet nearer the door. *Next move?*

A blood-curdling scream came in answer.

*Stay in my shadow,* Batman ordered, sprinting off down the hall.

Dinah obeyed, dashing after him and working to keep pace with his breakneck run. Past the fluttering edge of his cape, she thought she spied movement.

*Batman!*

*I see him.* The screams continued, closer now. *I'm pursuing. Find the cover.*

Dinah resisted comment, following the sound of screams and remaining in his shadow. A few caged bulbs provided pockets of illumination, swinging crazily in Batman's wake and creating dizzying effects, and now a nasty laughter added to the menace of the atmosphere.

"Keep chasing, Batman. I'm sure blondie won't mind death by hallucinogenic overdose."

The words echoed.

*Canary!* Batman snapped. *Heads up!*

He was reaching for his belt, tossing something back toward her. She caught it deftly - a small first aid kit. What didn't he keep in his belt?

*Upper right compartment. FIND HER!*

Dinah barely paused, keeping pace with Batman and letting the screams guide her. She veered off as they rounded a corner and the sound became deafening. She crashed through the first door she saw.

Bingo. Tied to a chair, blindfolded, and screaming as if death himself were at her elbow - which, Canary allowed, was not far off. She didn't hesitate, dropping beside the woman Batman called the cover and opening the little metal case. *I've got her,* she reported, inspecting the first aid kit.

Upper right compartment - a small bottle with a rubber seal. She peeled the plastic from a disposable syringe and snapped the cover off the needle, then pulled five ccs from the bottle. The cover's left arm was already bared.

No time to waste. Suddenly grateful for a life that had involved too much field medicine, she plunged the needle into the cover's arm and injected her with the contents of the syringe.

The cover gasped and screamed again, and Dinah found herself holding her breath. The scream began to fade toward a sob.

*I've got a lock on her,* J'onn reported. *I'm shifting her out of the hallucination. Batman?*

Dinah heard a howl in the distance as Batman's answer came through. *Closing in.*

The cover's rigid body began to slump as her weeping intensified.

*Canary,* J'onn prompted.

*Understood,* Dinah replied, reaching for the twine around the cover's nearest wrist. "Shh," she whispered. "I'm with Batman. You're going to be okay."

She wasn't sure the woman heard her, and her arm hung limply where it had been tied. Dinah swiftly unfastened the strap around her chest and freed her other wrist, murmuring soothingly as she worked. Then she stepped in front of the cover.

"I'm going to take the blindfold off now," she warned, resting her hand gently on the cover's temple for a moment to let her digest the idea.

The woman's gasping sobs were easing, and it seemed as if she nodded. Dinah carefully slipped away the fabric covering the cover's eyes, inadvertently removing the tear loosened mask in the process.

The cover's eyes remained tightly shut for a moment, and Dinah brushed tenderly at the still falling tears on her cheeks. "Batman's going for Crane. The hostages are safe," she explained. "We've got you, now. It's okay."

The cover swallowed hard and blinked open her eyes.

She shook her head dazedly for a second, then a deep groan welled from in her as she doubled over. Suspecting what was coming, Dinah side stepped just before the cover began to retch. The acrid smell of bile filled the small room as the cover emptied her stomach.

*Disoriented. Lack of equilibrium,* J'onn explained, and Dinah sensed he was still easing the cover's mind.

*I'm joining you,* Batman interjected, his tone grim. *I've got Crane.*

Dinah ran her hands soothingly over the cover's hair, lifting it from her face and neck as her heaving tapered off. "Batman caught him," she told the shuddering woman. "It's over."

The cover brought her hands to her face, straightening and shaking her head. "Two-" she choked out. "There's-"

"Shh," Dinah interrupted. "Let me untie your legs."

"Important," the cover insisted. "Not just Crane. Another-"

Dinah continued her untying, but she looked up sharply. "He had someone else working with him? Just now?"

"He said - student -"

Batman appeared in the doorway, the Scarecrow over his shoulder. *J'onn?*

*I'm scanning - her memory says there was someone else here, although she didn't hear or see who it was. But Scarecrow mentioned it.*

The sound of voices echoed through the hall. "Looks like they came this way," someone called.

"The cops," Dinah noted with a start.

Batman unceremoniously dropped Crane inside the doorway and crossed the room to the cover, scooping her into his arms. She gave a little cry as he lifted her, and Dinah noted that she tried to cling to him, her sobbing intensifying again. "Batman, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"Follow," Batman directed, turning and carrying the cover from the room in the opposite direction from the approaching voices. His hand slapped the doorframe as he sailed through, and Dinah hot on his heels noticed it was a signal light. Probably one of several - a proverbial
trail of breadcrumbs.

Which stopped at Scarecrow, because it was clear Batman wasn't keen to deal with the police. He lead Dinah down a series of twisting hallways, then pulled up short at a nearly hidden door.

He set the cover on the ground and swiftly picked the lock, then pressed a plastic card into Dinah's hand. "Twenty paces in, turn right. At the end of a short tunnel, there'll be a door. This will open it. It will relock automatically behind you. Twelve paces beyond that, there's a vault with a computer station. Call Leslie, then appropriate the vehicle parked just outside the vault. Go about three-quarters mile. You'll see another vault door. Park there and use this same card to enter. The elevator there will take you directly up into Leslie's clinic."

Dinah nodded. "Got it."

Batman turned and knelt in front of the cover. "Can you stand?"

She lifted her face, desperately pale in the minimal light. She stretched out a shaky hand and caught Batman's arm, trying to pull herself to her feet.

Batman put his hand over hers. "Never mind. Canary will carry you. You were a good soldier today."

Canary nudged Batman with her thigh, shifting him over so she could reach for the cover's hand. "I'm afraid a fireman's carry will have to do," she noted cheerfully, trying to ease the anguish on the other woman's face. "And you, Batman?"

He was already disappearing into the shadows. "I'm finding Crane's accomplice." The words were heavily certain and threatening.

Dinah shook her head and knelt, swinging the cover's arm over her shoulder to guide the woman's torso to bend. "Alley-oop!" she chirped quietly. The cover groaned slightly but let Dinah balance her weight as she stood. "Catch you on the flip-side, Batman!" Dinah saluted, then slipped out through the door.

It took almost ten minutes to reach the computer vault Batman had mentioned, and Dinah was relieved to settle the cover down on a cot she found there. The woman wasn't big, but human deadweight was still heavy. The woman had cooperated by *not* trying to help - clearly someone who had had experience on the other side of a fireman's carry than the one she was going through.

"I'm sorry," she apologized as Dinah straightened up.

Dinah snorted. "For what? I'm impressed you had your wits about you enough to tell us about the accomplice."

The cover swallowed, tears still threatening in her eyes. "I just-"

"Hey, none of that," Dinah chided. "We've still got to get you detoxed and taken care of. It's been a rough night. I'm Dinah, by the way. Black Canary."

The cover gave her an odd look. "No mask?" she asked.

Dinah chuckled. "You batfolk are all alike. No. No mask. But that's a discussion to save for later. Let me call Leslie."

The cover's eyes drifted closed. "Okay," she agreed.

*J'onn?* Dinah thought.

*She needs treatment, but you got to her in time,* he reassured.

*And Batman?*

*He's got a trail, but...*

Dinah settled in at the computer and pulled up the number to the Gotham Free Clinic. *I don't like the sound of that.*

"Gotham Free Clinic," a voice answered.

"Dr. Thompkins, please."

*Code 3,* J'onn prompted, and Dinah repeated it for the speaker.

"Right away," the voice replied with professional swiftness.

*Since when did you get the Bat codes?* Dinah asked.

J'onn's answer was delayed by Leslie's voice on the line. "Dinah. What's her condition and your ETA?"

Dinah blinked as J'onn noted, *I called ahead.*

"She's shaky and in and out of consciousness - not mobile, but no sign of external injury," Dinah reported. "I need about two minutes to load her into the car, so I can be at your site in about five."

"Understood. I'll be waiting."

The line clicked silent.

*Masters of efficiency,* Dinah commented, crossing back to the cover.

There was no answer.

*J'onn?*

*Sorry. I have to go off link. You're okay?*

Dinah hefted the now unconscious cover over her shoulder with a grunt. *All good here. You going to need me?*

*Just call Barbara after you get the cover delivered to the clinic. And I'll keep a mental ear open, so think my name hard if you get into any trouble.*

*Understood,* Dinah replied, feeling the telepathic link slip as she settled the cover into the passenger seat of the electric car that sat outside the vault. Call Barbara. That didn't sound good at all.

(18)

Robin tucked the Redbird into a Bludhaven blind alley and shot his jumpline into the night. Watching GNN had kept him on edge while he waited for Oracle to call - Arkham breakouts, attempts on Bruce Wayne's life, hostage crisis in Bludhaven - he was almost resentful that Barbara hadn't called him earlier. It was so much easier to be *doing* something than to sit by and imagine what horrors his surrogate "family" was facing.

And then Oracle had called, and he realized that that was worse. Her voice had been calm and steady as she'd explained that she'd lost contact with Nightwing after he'd entered the West Exeter Apartments, and Tim had been able to match her measured coolness.

It was all a facade, of course. Even though there were dozens of reasons why Nightwing might not answer a call, the fact that he had knowingly walked into a trap and not walked out again? Because his tracer had not moved in almost half an hour, despite the fact that the BPD bomb squad was coming closer to defusing a 12th floor bomb and the hostages - save one - had long since been delivered from their captor.

Oracle had briefed him on all this as he drove, leaving him to his own thoughts for only a few minutes when Batgirl found Hatter's transmitter. Then she was back, keeping the line between them open, updating him as information came in and distracting them both from the unacknowledged worry they shared.

Was he hurt? Dead?

No, it was easier by far to track the progress of Batman's mission against Scarecrow. More palatable to share a moment's triumph when Gotham General reported the presence of nanites in the bloodstream of all three of Bruce Wayne's would be killers. Even the frustrating puzzle of motives, the frightening possibility of Scarecrow and Hatter working in concert - even these were better than contemplating the reasons why Nightwing would not answer.

It was only when Robin had crossed into Bludhaven proper that Oracle had excused herself, called away from the line to help handle details of treating the now rescued cover and to track Batman's pursuit of the Scarecrow's accomplice.

Robin let the implications of Crane taking a student occupy his thoughts as he swung the final distance toward Nightwing's unmoving signal. It was only when he finally touched down a few buildings away from the West Exeter that he schooled his mind back to the problem at hand, pulling out his binoculars and studying the site.

There was still a lot of police activity at street level. The occasional swing of a flashlight beam on 12 betrayed their presence there as well, but the penthouse remained darkly shadowed. There were still SWAT teams deployed on the surrounding rooftops, but no one yet had tried to storm Torque's position. Smart thinking on their part - as long as he remained camped with an explosive device, he could still wreak a lot of damage and potentially kill a lot of people. And from the reports of the released hostages, purloined by Oracle's tap of the police band, Torque did have a very big explosive up there, hooked to a pair of deadman switches.

Robin tapped open his comlink.

"Go ahead, Robin."

"I can't see anything from here," he reported. "I'm going to try to get closer."

"Understood," she replied. "But do not engage. Stay to the shadows."

"Right," Robin agreed, signing off again. He swung over two buildings to a higher vantage point, again reaching for his binoculars.

He did not have an opportunity to complete the gesture.

The flash met his eyes a split second before the sound reached him.

Then the deafening roar, rattling windows all around him and shattering those closer to the flaming fireball that suddenly engulfed the top level of the West Exeter Apartments.

He ducked instinctively, even though he knew the debris would not reach him, his throat constricting as he processed what he was seeing. It took him a moment to hear Barbara's voice shouting in his ear: "Robin, report! Are you all right? What's happening? Robin!"

He stared at the now blasted apartment building, his brain refusing to process. "It just exploded," he stated numbly.

"Are you hurt? Robin!"

Tim shook his head, then remembered she couldn't see him. "I'm okay. Just..." He paused, not willing to voice his thought. "Nightwing?"

The silence at the other end of the line seemed to stretch forever as he watched the cops below scrambling and heard sirens wailing in the distance. There were medical teams already moving on the ground, screams echoing up to him as glass and rubble rained down on the gawkers and emergency personnel. Nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. For them or for...

Barbara's voice finally returned, sounding desperately strained. "His signal's gone."

(19)

He felt J'onn in his mind, helping him sublimate the rush of anxious guilt that threatened to overwhelm him as Sasha's screams echoed through the halls. *Stay in my shadow,* he projected at Canary, dashing toward the sound. He didn't bother to check if she obeyed;
Dinah knew her job.

It was difficult to isolate how far away Sasha might be; the screams echoed crazily through the catacomb-like maze of half-rebuilt dressing rooms and scenery store rooms. A motion caught his eye as he careened around a corner.

*Batman!* Canary called. She had seen it, too.

*I see him,* he answered. *I'm pursuing. Find the cover.*

*She will,* J'onn reassured, maintaining his quiet presence in Bruce's consciousness.

A disorienting cackle filled the air. "Keep chasing, Batman," Crane's voice echoed. "I'm sure blondie won't mind death by hallucinogenic overdose."

His already hammering heart seemed to skip a beat. Why had he felt he should bring Sasha into this? The idea of keeping her in the dark about J'onn seemed such a minor concern in hindsight. He reached into his belt. No more anti-toxin, but that wouldn't help now anyway. His hand unerringly found the first aid kit, stocked for just this kind of emergency. One swift motion sent the metal box sailing behind him. *Canary!* he warned. *Heads up! Upper right compartment.* He didn't pause in his pursuit. *FIND HER!*

Straw crunched under his feet, and the continuing laughter seemed nearer. Scarecrow was not getting away with this.

Another corner turned; the screams still splitting the air suddenly concentrated to his left. Canary would notice. He had to keep on. A twist in the hall and double doors flew open at the force of his forward rush.

It was dark here, a cavernously ruined scene shop, directly under the stage. Canary's voice entered his mind. *I've got her.*

Batman engaged his Starlite lenses, haste replaced with caution as he scanned the rubble. A far wall was partially collapsed, a yawning gap beyond fallen timber and crumbled brick. A steel post stood in the middle of the gap, shoring up the structure. He crossed to the spot, narrowing his eyes as he noted a strip of burlap caught in the broken wood. Behind him, Sasha's screams abruptly stopped.

A cold fear that gripped him was quickly eased by J'onn's report. *I've got a lock on her. I'm shifting her out of the hallucination. Batman?*

He stepped forward into the tunnel past the broken wall, and a sudden howl greeted his ears. *Closing in,* he answered, focusing in on the sound.

"NOOOO!" Crane cried. "This isn't how it plays! You don't let your people die. You don't. I know your mind."

Batman took another step forward, looming over the hiding place Crane had appropriated. Arrogant, Batman judged, too eager to see his plan work out to take advantage of the route to the sewers that stretched beyond the alcove Crane occupied.

*Careful,* J'onn admonished. *He's still-*

With a sudden surge, Crane launched himself forward, aiming his fists for Batman's chest. "Damn you! You were supposed to try to save her. That's your character. I know your fear. I KNOW - oof!"

The slam of Batman's fist into his gut cut off his words. "Enough," Batman intoned, following his first blow with an uppercut to Crane's chin. The Scarecrow's head snapped back under the force of strike, and he dropped to the ground.

*You've got him,* J'onn pointed out, checking Batman's desire to add an extra punch to the unconscious man. *Sasha's going to be okay. Bring him in.*

*I know what I'm doing,* Batman snapped, his fists clenching at his sides for a moment.

*Yes, you do,* J'onn acknowledged, his tone carefully neutral.

Batman shook himself and reached down, dragging Crane up to throw over his shoulder. He shouldn't take it out on J'onn, he chided himself, but he sensed his lover's mind was focused elsewhere rather than reading the thought. He started to retrace his route. *I'm joining you,* he projected at Canary. *I've got Crane.*

She didn't acknowledge, but that was fair. She undoubtedly had her hands full with Sasha. Doing her job. He frowned at himself, realizing how ready he had been to pound Scarecrow bloody. He could blame the lingering traces of fear toxin in his system, or the string of disasters that marked the night, keeping him on edge. He could, but he wouldn't. He should be in control, always. He picked his way through the ruined scene shop, forced to slow his pace as he balanced Crane's weight. As he moved, he sent a thought to J'onn. *I'm sorry.*

*We'll talk later,* J'onn answered. *We've still got felons on the loose, and Sasha needs treatment.*

Batman's stomach clenched. *Hatter?*

There was a pause. *Batgirl's found his transmitter and Oracle's got GCPD alerted.*

*He-*

*I'm fine, Bruce. Just one thing at a time.*

Batman knew that. He did. He forced himself to remember it as he picked up his pace through the halls. *J'onn-*

His thought was interrupted by the sound of Dinah's voice asking a question. "He had someone else working with him? Just now?"

Sasha answered weakly. "He said - student -"

Batman entered into the room, mentally cursing himself. Oracle had reported Batgirl's evidence of an accomplice. Why hadn't he considered? *J'onn?* he asked, seeking confirmation of Sasha's report.

*I'm scanning - her memory says there was someone else here, although she didn't hear or see who it was. But Scarecrow mentioned it.*

Batman exchanged a look with Canary, but before he could say anything, new voices echoed down to them. "Looks like they came this way."

"The cops," Dinah identified.

Batman felt himself kicking into automatic pilot, dropping Crane and collecting Sasha, then leading Canary away from both the scene shop and their original point of entrance. He kicked a trigger as he rounded a corner, opening a wall panel that led into the steam tunnels beneath the building adjacent to the Monarch. The long abandoned underground tunnels extended through the block to link up with the cave network he had established after Bane, and he traveled unerringly to the half-hidden door at the far end of the block.

His mind was not occupied with his flight, however, but with the Scarecrow's accomplice. Stupid of him not to realize that Crane was providing a distraction, allowing his partner in crime to sneak out through the sewer system, his loud complaints enough to provide warning to keep moving. *J'onn,* he projected, *get Oracle to call Robin.*

There was reluctance in the answer as Batman set the cover down and pulled out his lockpicks. *Not an option.*

*J'onn, I know you're -* The lock snicked back, and he found the passkey in his belt.

*It's not that - he's not available.*

Batman put his frustration on hold for a moment to turn to Canary and explain what he wanted her to do. She nodded as she accepted the passkey. "Got it."

He turned away from her to approach the cover. He had been trying not to notice her clinging hold and desperate sobs, to ignore the weight of his responsibility for her state. Now her eyes were searching his face, still tear damp and fearful, as he asked, "Can you stand?"

She tried. Whatever else he had thought of her this night, she was trying. Had been trying. What had he been thinking? How had he not noticed how much she wanted to do the right thing, how unready she was to take on a mission like this? His mind flashed unbidden to Jason - also too stubborn to listen when Batman grounded him. He never should have started her on this path. *She started herself,* J'onn reminded him, sending a clear note of disapproval at Batman's self-approbation.

Batman ignored J'onn, setting his hand on Sasha's and stopping her effort. "Never mind. Canary will carry you. You were a good soldier today."

He couldn't bear to look in her eyes, to see her sense of crushed failure. He gave way easily as Canary pushed him aside, briskly cheerful as she took charge of Sasha. He slipped back into the shadows, caught only for a moment by Dinah's question: "And you, Batman?"

"I'm finding Crane's accomplice," he promised, his voice pitched to hiss through the shadows.

If the sound chilled Black Canary, she gave no sign, her promise to "catch him on the flipside" echoing after him as he retraced his path. He turned his thoughts coldly to his pursuit, considering his options. *Where's Robin?* he asked J'onn.

*En route to Bludhaven,* came the reply, and Batman felt something scream inside him.

*Nightwing needed backup?*

*He's not answering. Oracle sent Robin.*

Not this. Not tonight. Not Dick, too. Bad enough they had shot J'onn, had poisoned Sasha. Bad things come in threes, he heard himself thinking, then scowled and picked up his pace back to the theatre. Superstition. J'onn was fine. Sasha would heal. There were dozens of reasons why Nightwing would go silent without warning. And Batman had his own mission to attend to.

He paused at the access panel between the steam tunnels and the theatre, listening for signs of the police. Silence. Not surprising that they would not go further than discovering Scarecrow's
unconscious form - likely they'd also gotten doses of the toxin. The dark hallways would not be welcome sites of investigation.

Still. *J'onn - can you check?*

*You're clear,* J'onn confirmed. "No one immediately near you.*

Batman slid the panel and closed it behind him, retracing his path back to the sewer entrance exposed at the far end of the scene shop.

The gap stretching off beyond Crane's hiding place was deceptive, not so deep as the darkness made it appear. It narrowed down, constricting to a space barely large enough for Batman to squeeze through. Several of the bricks around that entrance showed palely upturned surfaces, free from the grimy discoloration which was characteristic of the fallen debris in this alcove. A closer look revealed scuff marks in the soft, decaying masonry.

That was enough. Batman dropped down through the space, splashing softly to the sewer floor.

He stayed still for a long moment, listening. There was enough motion in the sluggish water to muffle all but the closest splashing. No sound of breathing, of awkward sneaking around. Crane's accomplice had not stuck around to discover his mentor's fate.

But he had left a trail. The walkway along the edge of sewer tunnel still glistened damply in the wake of a body pulling itself up out of the knee deep water.

*J'onn, I'm tracking,* Batman notified, not waiting for an acknowledgment as he focused in on his pursuit.

Wet footprints trailed off, spaced at running speed, feet up on toes. Must have a flashlight at least, in this dark, to maintain the pace. Likely a man, from the size of the prints - and not a particularly small one.

A fork in the sewer, and the damp footprints suddenly left the walkway. Batman nodded appreciatively - the man was showing some smarts, suffering the discomfort of the cold water to throw off pursuit. How long would he stand it? Batman stared down each branching tunnel, scanning for any sign of where his prey had emerged again from the icily brackish stream.

A coin flip, except...

The left hand tunnel curved - enough that there was not so long a line of sight. In the absence of other clues, he veered off in that direction.

It was the right choice. The man had braved the water longer than Batman would have anticipated, but beyond the gentle curve of the south flowing fork, he had emerged again. His trailing prints were wetter here. Batman was gaining.

*Bruce.*

*Not now, J'onn,* Batman objected. He needed his focus.

*Bruce.*

Batman frowned. It wasn't like J'onn to push, unless...

*What's wrong?*

An atypical pause, and Batman slowed.

*J'onn?*

There was strain in the answer. *I think you are needed in Bludhaven.*

He felt himself gasp in spite of himself, and he unconsciously picked up his pace. *Situation?*

*Oracle has lost Nightwing's signal.*

*And?* Batman was in a full run now, no longer in pursuit of anyone, but rather heading toward the next intersection that would lead back to another hidden accessway to his city caves.

He could feel J'onn curling into his mind, ready to offer support. *There was an explosion.*

Batman tried to close his brain to what he was hearing, focusing on making his way to the Bowery cave. *He's alive,* he argued.

He expected J'onn to prepare him for the worst, to coax him to accept the possibility that Dick was gone. Instead, there was intense silence - not of absence, but of J'onn mutely there.

*Details,* he prompted, seeking to control his wildly spinning imagination.

*He negotiated the release of all but one of the hostages, trading himself for the last two. The hostages reported that Torque had a large explosive device connected to a deadman switch, and he'd already set off a bomb on the 14th floor. The police were held up from storming Torque's position by another bomb set on the 12th floor, and they had just defused it when the penthouse went up. Oracle had not been able to raise Nightwing since he entered the apartment, and his signal showed him still there when it blew.*

Batman careened around a corner as J'onn tersely reported the facts, loosening his gauntlet to pull it from his hand. Dick was alive. He had to be. *How long was he out of touch?*

*About twenty-five minutes. Robin arrived on scene just before the explosion. He was clear of it,* he quickly noted, arresting a new pang that crossed Bruce's consciousness.

Batman began calculating, letting J'onn hold his worry. *Find him,* he ordered, his eyes ranging over the sewer walls as he ran. The access panel appeared, dimly visible beneath dripping pipes.

*If I can, I will,* J'onn promised.

Batman smashed his palm against the lock, slipping through the opening as soon as it was large enough to admit him and triggering it closed before it was fully open, entirely unaware of a watching pair of eyes.

(20)

It felt like she wasn't breathing. She knew she must be, but her body could only process the irrefutable *absence* on her monitor. No signal. Gone.

*Barbara.* A tone of gentle command in her skull. She squeezed her eyes closed.

*J'onn.*

He could read it from her thoughts, and she felt immeasurably grateful to not have to say it again. She just let her mental anguish pound into him, and he patiently accepted it, silently there.

Only for a moment. *Watch Robin,* he warned. *I'll get Bruce.*

Her eyes flew open. Tim. On the scene. And... moving.

She snapped open a channel. "Robin, what are you doing?"

"Habeas corpus," he answered grimly. "He's not gone."

"Robin, the police-"

"They've got their own problems right now. I can get in-" The yellow of his tracking dot showed him already on the building adjacent to the West Exeter.

"Robin, stop. The structural damage-"

Too late. He was already to the site. "Dammit, Robin!" she cursed. "I'm not going to -"

"You won't lose me. And we didn't lose Dick. I can't..." he trailed off, his voice breaking.

"Robin, get out of there. At least wait for Batman," she pleaded.

He didn't seem to hear her. Instead he breathed, "Oh, god..."

"Robin? What? What is it?"

She could feel him steeling himself. "Gauntlet. Half of one anyway. Hold on."

She blinked against tears. "Robin, don't-"

"I have to check."

She knew what he was doing. God help her, she knew. Knew from explosion sites she'd worked herself about finding shoes with feet still in them. About bits of flesh that the brain stubbornly insisted on imagining on the whole body they'd once composed. "Oh, Robin..."
she breathed, willing him to walk away, to let the doubt remain. Her mind's eye saw him so clearly, picking through the rubble, staggering for balance as unstable concrete shifted beneath his feet...

"It's empty," he said.

Her heart seemed to flutter. "What?"

"No fingers, no blood." He sounded close to sobbing with relief. "Empty."

"Empty," she repeated. "Empty." She stared wonderingly at the screen. Habeas corpus. No body meant...

*Barbara?*

*It's empty!* she crowed, feeling giddily dizzy. She shook herself and leaned forward.

"Robin, that's enough. Get out of there."

"I have to find-"

*Tell him I'm scanning,* J'onn ordered.

She obeyed, speaking again on the comlink. "Negative. Let J'onn pick up his trail. Get away from there before something gives and has us looking for your body."

"J'onn?" he asked, his tracking dot showing he was swinging back across the street.

"He's scanning for him. Just hold tight." She turned her attention back to the Martian. *Anything?*

*Nothing surface,* he replied tersely.

She nodded, practically holding her breath. On her tracking monitor, she could see Batman's grey dot traveling at running speed toward one of his underground hideouts. Robin remained still near the West Exeter. Canary's signal beamed steadily from near the Monarch where she had abandoned it before following Batman. Batgirl showed steady progress through the sewers away from Arkham. All in silence. As if everything were waiting on J'onn's effort. Please, she prayed, please...

A sudden sense of relieved sigh blew through her mind. *I picked up a flutter. Not much, but he's alive somewhere.*

Barbara's eyes closed as her body slumped. Thank god. Thank god.

"I'm going back-" Robin began, but he was halted by a cold order, not on the comlink, but over telepathic link.

*Hold, Robin.*

*Wha-?*

*I've linked you,* J'onn explained, his tone distracted.

*J'onn, what can you give us?* Batman, sounding purely calculating. A hint of anger bubbled in Barbara. Didn't he worry?

She felt guilty for the uncharitable thought as a long silence followed his query. There was no sense of patience from Batman - only of unhappy waiting. Finally J'onn spoke: *He's in and out of consciousness, and I can't get a clear sense of place. Somewhere isolated, though.*

*Read his captors,* Batman ordered.

*Bruce-* J'onn began.

*Dammit, J'onn, this isn't about ethics! I need to -*

*Bruce.* A firmer thought, chill enough to silence Batman and interrupt the sudden stab of anxiety that Barbara felt at Batman's flash of temper. *It is a question of distance and knowledge. I know Dick's mind enough to understand how he sees and to pick him out of a
crowd. A crowd in this case of several million. I can tell that there is less dream and thought density around his location, but he is not actively in anyone's thoughts at the moment.*

Barbara nodded to herself at the logic of J'onn's argument and let her eyes drift back to the tracking monitor. Batman, now clearly on some motorized vehicle, and Robin-

*Robin,* she snapped. *Where are you going?*

*The docks,* he replied. *J'onn said isolated - that's either the heart of downtown or the docks. And the docks are closer.*

*Robin-*

*Forget it, Batman. You won't be here quick enough. I have to find him.* The determination in his tone was inarguable, although Barbara could sense the Bat readying to-

*Bruce, he can save time on the search,* J'onn forestalled, calmly reasonable.

A flash of surprise emanated from Robin, not caught in time to avoid broadcast. Barbara wondered if he realized that when he said, *Exactly.*

*This looks to be a new hostage scenario, though,* J'onn continued, *and I think Torque has demonstrated that his negotiation tactics are best handled with strong backup on hand. Oracle, what's the team status?*

Damn he was smooth. She consulted her screen, the need to supply data checking her worry for the moment. *Batman, at your current speed I calculate ETA at the Bludhaven docks in eighteen minutes. The soonest I can have Batgirl there is 50 minutes. J'onn, you're still in
protective custody?*

*Yes,* he replied, just as Batman projected, *He's staying put.*

Barbara ignored this last, continuing, *Canary is -* A soft ping sounded, startling her. She glanced at a monitor. *-in my elevator.*

*We can't all leave Gotham,* Batman pointed out. *Scarecrow's accomplice is still at large. Huntress is still out of town, and getting Azrael down from Ossaville -*

*Take too long,* Barbara finished for him.

"Robin,* Batman began as the elevator pinged in Barbara's apartment, *continue your search. Signal me the moment you find him, but do not engage. I repeat-*

*Understood,* Robin interrupted.

*Oracle, keep Black Canary and Batgirl in Gotham on standby.*

The door to Barbara's workroom opened, and Dinah entered. "Hold on a sec," Barbara told her, keeping her mind open to J'onn's link.

*I'll continue to monitor,* J'onn added, *but I suggest switching back to electronic communication.*

Barbara engaged a blanket com signal. "I concur," she voiced, making her projected thought match her words. "I'll coordinate from here."

"Good," Batman's voice rolled through the speakers. "Robin?"

"I'm at the docks now, casing warehouses."

"I'll be there in 15," Batman stated. "Batman out."

Barbara muted her microphone and turned to Dinah.

"J'onn said to call you," Dinah said quietly, her eyes scanning Barbara's face. "Leslie didn't need me, so I figured I'd just come."

The friendly concern on Dinah's face was almost more than Barbara could bear. A lump grew in her throat, and she couldn't find her voice.

She didn't need to. Dinah read her emotion almost instantly, rapidly crossing the distance between them and bending to awkwardly hug Barbara. "Nightwing?" she asked.

Barbara could only nod mutely and hopelessly fight her tears.

(21)

There were sewers, and there were sewers. In other parts of Gotham, where storm waters diluted the effluence, the squelchiness of the tunnels were more an issue than the odor. But the sewers leading into the D'Angelo treatment plant? Batgirl suspected even Alfred's best laundering tricks wouldn't completely kill the lingering smell.

It was a relief to be back above ground, working her way back toward the train tracks. She clicked open a channel to Oracle. "ETA to train 2 minutes. Bludhaven?"

Barbara's voice came back almost instantly. "Negative. We need you in Gotham."

Batgirl frowned, slowing her pace slightly. There was a choked note in Barbara's tone, and they *needed* Batgirl in Gotham? "Problem?"

"Shorthanded," Barbara answered. "Batman is en route to Bludhaven, the cover is at Leslie's, Nightwing is MIA."

"They got Scarecrow?" The important question for the moment. The more burning question could wait; she was not in any position to do anything about it, and she was not going to make Barbara recount what had happened in Bludhaven unless it was necessary.

"Yes."

"But?"

"His accomplice is still at large. Batman was tracking him-"

And had left that mission to go to Bludhaven. Not good. An unbidden image of Nightwing's body cutting a graceful arc through the air, challenge unmistakable in his body language, flashed through her mind. She forced it from her thoughts. "Last known location?"

"Batman had -" A sudden scream of alert sirens sounded in the background. "What the - hold on."

Batgirl froze in her tracks. No sense moving anywhere until she knew where that alert was going to send her.

"Batgirl." Barbara's tone was grimly business-like. "We've got someone attempting to bypass security at the Crime Alley-Bowery intersection."

The cave network. Her mind flashed through options. The train would take her across the Sprang River, which would give her buildings for the jumpline express. But she'd have to get back across the river once she got east - too much back tracking. No, there was only one
option - down. She began sprinting for the nearest road. "Any idea who?"

"My money's on Crane's junior partner." A clatter of computer keys, then, "Damn! He's good. My auto-deterrants are already disabled."

Batgirl slunk onto the deserted access road, scanning for the expected manhole cover.

There.

She moved swiftly, disappearing down it in a flash. "How close to entry?"

More key-clatter. "The crash door deployed, at least. That'll keep him busy for a few minutes. There's a bike at the Arkham cave."

"Be there in two," Batgirl reported, ignoring the churning of her stomach as she ran. The access ports to Batman's cave network were virtually undetectable if a person didn't know what to look for - if they hadn't been seen in operation. If Scarecrow's accomplice had found one? He must have seen Batman trip it earlier. Which meant Batman had been too distracted - again, an unwanted flash of memory, this time of the unmistakable pride in Batman's stance as Nightwing managed - almost - to sneak up on him. Bad bad bad. No time to think of it, just run.

Run and engage every sense in watching that she didn't repeat Batman's mistake. She kicked her lenses to infrared and amplified the sound detectors in her costume, scanning the sewer around her.

Nothing.

Good.

She snaked off a glove and pressed her palm to the stone wall of the sewer.

A piece of the wall shifted, sliding open into a much cleaner tunnel. She dashed through, closing the access port behind her and turning unerringly toward the Arkham cave - not under the Asylum, as the name implied, but almost a mile southwest.

"Almost there," she announced. "Status?"

"He's still working on it. Got through the outer panel, but the crash door is holding for the moment."

Batgirl palmed open another access panel, this time beside a vault entrance. She hauled the small motorcycle out its hiding place and straddled it, engaging the engine. The sweat trickling inside her suit cooled instantly as she revved the bike and sped down the tunnel, the motion producing a windchill in the February cold. At least it gave physicality to the chill she already felt. "Four minutes," she noted to Oracle.

"He's completely overridden me. He might be in before you get there. Dammit all! We are going to have to do a serious overhaul of our system."

"Think he's Hatter's man, too?"

"God, I don't even want to think about that. If he's this slick - he might just have recognized what was going on with the Arkham electronics without having set it up. Hatter claims it was his genius on that patch box, but-"

"He confessed?"

"GCPD's got him dead to rights with the nanites and the overloaded patch box. They are not happy that he hit them again."

"Two minutes. He say why after Bruce?"

"Nothing on that y- Shit! Batgirl, he's in. Be damned careful. We don't know anything about -"

"He's not expecting me," Batgirl replied, crouching lower on the bike. "On your cameras yet?"

"Not - yes, there he is - and from the look on his face, he can hear the bike coming. Hell, he even looks a little like Crane. Little more built, but tall and lanky."

Batgirl nodded to herself and abruptly kicked the bike into neutral and cut the engine. Coast it out...

The bike began to wobble, and she shot out a jump line, pulling herself into the pipes that ran just below the top of the tunnel. There was enough clearance here, she knew, to make decent time.

"Where is he?" she whispered.

"He's stopped - you've got him confused. Thirty seconds at current speed."

Batgirl sped up, her feet and hands unerringly finding the spots which would not ring or clank as she shimmied along. Infrared back on - and his outline blazed to life, 20 feet ahead and below her and moving cautiously.

Ten seconds.

Five.

Two.

He didn't even turn before she dropped down on him, catching him squarely between the shoulder blades and bearing him to the ground. Just a startled grunt and a heavy thud. She leaned down, checking his pulse compulsively. Unconscious, but heart still beating strongly.

"Got him," she announced over the comlink.

"Thank god. Can you get him out of there?"

She snorted. "Stronger than I look."

Barbara actually managed a brittle laugh.

Batgirl cuffed the man, adding the extra measure of tying his hands to his belt so they wouldn't drag when she carried him. Then she bent down to haul him onto her shoulder with a grunt.

"Call GCPD. I take him back to the sewers and around the next block. Watch tunnel."

"Done and done." There was a pause. "We're going to have a bitch of a time making charges stick."

"Making charges at all," Batgirl noted, slogging back into the sewer. "But GCPD take him to hospital at least, maybe print him, find out who he is. Time to seal off this part of network."

"I'm already running his image. Might be worth pulling his prints yourself, so long as you've got him."

"Will do." Batgirl turned the corner. One more block. And then... "I take him topside," she decided. She heard the sound of sirens approaching above.

"I told them the corner of Kedzie and McGovern. They'll be thinking building."

"Good," Batgirl decided, reaching for a steel ladder rung and resettling her burden. She began to climb. "Any word from -?"

It took a second for a response. "J'onn says he's alive. Batman and Robin are searching."

"They'll find him," Batgirl said firmly, balancing carefully, releasing her captive's legs in order to hook an arm over a rung and use the other to push up the manhole cover. The flash of blue and red lights flooded over her, and she blinked against it as she pulled herself up.

"FREEZE!" someone yelled.

Batgirl nonchalantly deposited the man she carried onto the asphault, not bothering to complete her ascent. Ignoring the freeze order, she made a quick gesture to strip her relinquished captive of a glove and press his fingertips to a shatterproof slide from her belt. Not a complete set of prints, but it would do.

"What the hell? Don't fire!" another voice ordered.

Batgirl looked in the direction of the order as she bagged the slide and returned it to her belt. "Scarecrow accomplice," she pronounced simply before disappearing back into the sewer. An instant before she brought the manhole cover back down, she heard one of the cops ask, "Did you know she talked?"

Despite the way the night was going, she couldn't help the smallest of grins as she headed back toward the ruined tunnel access.

(22)

A needle in a haystack. Somewhere in this foul armpit of a city, Nightwing was being held captive by a man who by all accounts would not hesitate to kill him if it suited his interests. And the nature of those interests? Entirely opaque to Robin, and to judge by the conversation over both telepathic link and conventional channels, to the rest of their team as well.

Not that the interests really mattered, Tim reflected, casing yet another derelict warehouse. Right now it was just urgent that they find him before Torque's interests changed.

"Finally!" Barbara announced. "I've got the West Exeter blueprints. And you're right, Batman - external and internal dimensions do show a lot of dead space."

Dead space - for a secret escape route from the penthouse. Laekowan - the penthouse's owner - was as dirty as Cobblepot. Torque's history with the BPD made it likely that he knew that - and knew the ins and outs of the building the man called home.

"Torque probably exited almost as soon as he had Nightwing," Batman determined, "and put the explosive on a timer." He continued aloud, although his voice echoed on the telepathic link. "J'onn, was there a sense of movement when you picked Dick up before?"

*Negative - even subsequent flutters have suggested he is stationary. I just can't get any kind of lock.*

"Guys, I've got a police report coming through. They just pulled two of the firemen off the 14th floor sans coats and helmets." Barbara's tone was grim.

"That's how he got out, then. Oracle, any odd reports of lost victims?"

Robin saw what Batman was getting at. Nightwing could have been carried out as if he were an injured firefighter; the confusion and chaos of the scene even before the explosion was enough that someone could have slipped away with him into the crowd.

"Checking." There was a long pause. "Negative on the report. Although..."

"What is it?" Batman asked sharply.

"Bingo. Fifteen minutes before the explosion. The video feed from the news report shows a glimpse of two firefighters leaving through a side exit carrying someone."

"Two," Batman repeated, and Tim knew his thoughts were echoing Tim's own. The extra hostage must have been an accomplice - which suddenly made Nightwing's capture make sense.

Oracle's voice came back on line. "I'm calculating fifteen minute radius on foot or in a vehicle."

"That rules out downtown," Batman decided, not waiting for Oracle's calculations. "Robin, I'm almost to your location. What's the status?"

Tim landed lightly on the roof of another warehouse, moving toward the grimy rooftop windows. "I'm mid-block of Langley. I've been checking abandoned sites furthest from anyplace with third shift activity. Nothing so far."

"Oracle, anything in Torque's history that would suggest a link to any particular warehouse?"

"More like any shady undertaking he _didn't_ have his fingers in," Barbara replied, frustration evident. "Robin's strategy makes as much sense as any. I show he's swept three and a half blocks - seven warehouses."

"Yeah," Robin confirmed. "And better make that eight." Not a sign of anyone below, or of any recent activity. Infrared turned up no heat signatures. He readied his jumpline to move on.

"I'm coming in from the opposite end," Batman reported. "Oracle-"

*Oracle had to leave for a moment,* J'onn interrupted over the link.

*Situation?* There was an anxious edge to Batman's terse question as he abandoned the com-link. Robin wondered if he had intended a private conference, or if Batman sensed that J'onn was cuing them away from audible conversation.

*We'll handle it,* J'onn returned firmly. Then abruptly, *Robin, stop.*

Tim finished his swing and dropped softly, holding his breath.

*J'onn?*

*Batman, are you on rooftop yet?*

*Just going up now.*

*You wait too.*

*J'onn-*

*Bruce.*

The tense silence felt much longer than it was. Then, *Robin, mentally backtrack your route. Recreate exactly what you just did as best you can remember.*

*I just-*

*Do it, Robin.* The Bat growl, somehow even scarier without the actual voice behind it.

Robin closed his eyes and placed himself back on the last warehouse he had checked. He had scanned toward his next target, already eliminating three possibles as being too close to active work sites. He'd shot off a jump line, swinging two buildings at a diagonal, then deployed a second -

*There. That small boat house.*

*Boat house?* As quickly as he thought it, J'onn projected a replay of his final swing, making his mental eye focus down at the ground rushing by, down at the small building tucked in the shadow between two larger waterfront structures. *He sensed you. Some - gap? - between walls and roof.*

Robin was already moving toward the site as J'onn continued. *You blocked the light for just a split second. He was trying to will you back...*

*Wait for me, Robin,* Batman ordered, his rapid approach clear even over the link. *J'onn, what's Nightwing's status?*

*He's cut out again. Robin, he means it.*

Robin was already in the alleyway. *I've got to-*

*Robin! You may check the site if you can do so unobserved, but you will NOT engage. Am I clear?*

*Batman-*

*I will be there in three minutes. DO NOT ENGAGE.*

Tim scowled, but he knew Batman was right. They needed to have a clear plan, especially if Torque had an accomplice.

Still, he could investigate. Down at ground level, the faint guttering of candlelight was obvious from within the boathouse - unobservable from the heights. How long would it have taken them to find this building without J'onn?

Don't think about it, he ordered himself, pressing his body to the wall of the building and peering through one of the spaces between the wall planking.

He managed not to gasp, although he felt his blood boiling. *He's here,* he ground out.

Dick had been completely stripped, including his mask. His hands were bound and pulled over his head, the binding apparently looped over a boat hook from which they had suspended him. His ankles were chained and weighted down by an outboard motor. His head lolled forward, his mouth covered by a strip of duct tape. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

It was all Tim could do not to rush in to free him, well aware of the impossibility of exhaling adequately when so hung. Had Torque just left him to asphyxiate? He shifted slightly to view more of the one-roomed building. A blond man leaned against one wall, his eyes on the door and a gun in hand.

*Batman, he doesn't have much time,* Robin pleaded, knowing he could take out this lone guard, knowing -

A hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, and he felt cold metal press against his temple, freezing him in place. "Tad," a cruel voice called, "it looks like we caught us a birdie."

(23)

The tiniest corner of J'onn's brain was acutely aware of Bruce's heavy bathrobe still muffling his frame as he pretended to rest in the darkened bedroom of the penthouse. It reminded him to maintain the fiction of being Bruce while the rest of his energy split itself between the tasks of monitoring communication among the Bat team, soothing Bruce's tangled emotions, and scanning desperately for the faintest flutter of consciousness from Dick Grayson.

There had been far too few of them, and the intervals between them were growing longer.

He'd touched the minds of dying men before.

It was a supreme act of will to maintain measured calm, to keep hope alive for the search. Hiding the uneasily familiar tang of Dick's fractured moments of awareness, his own futile efforts to catch those moments before they faded in order to help Bruce's son command his body to keep living - it was one thing to do that for Barbara and Tim.

For Bruce, who knew J'onn's mind so intimately? Who, more than the others, *needed* Dick to be alive in order to keep his head clear enough to actually save him if he could be saved? Hiding the recurrent brush of increasingly oxygen-starved thought processes, the half unconscious steeling of J'onn's psyche against the anticipated wrenching cry of a soul letting go... Hiding those things from Bruce was an agony of its own.

*Oracle,* Batman was asking, *anything in Torque's history that would suggest a link to any particular warehouse?*

There was clear frustration in Barbara's mental tone as she answered, undercut by an anxiety that curled around J'onn's own. He tried to reach out to her and felt her consciousness suddenly distracted.

*Barbara?* he inquired.

*Batgirl's calling,* she sent back, her orders to the other woman to stay in Gotham bleeding back over the link even as Robin's confirmation of her report came in.

*Deal with that,* he directed, attenuating her connection to the Bludhaven conversation. *I'll inform you of anything that develops.*

*Uh huh,* she answered, too distracted for more. The Martian trick of keeping two or three completely different conversations going simultaneously was not something humans handled well. They could hop deftly between situations, but to be speaking three thoughts at once? Or answering them? Better for everyone if Oracle was focused where she was most needed.

Batman was describing his game plan, now trying to address Oracle...

*Oracle had to leave for a moment,* J'onn cut in smoothly

He could feel Bruce almost freeze, his mind playing dozens of scenarios of new disaster in Gotham. *Situation?* Batman asked.

*We'll handle it,* J'onn stated, reminding Bruce that he had a competent team, that his attention belonged on the task at hand.

The message was half delivered when a sudden flare of mental activity stabbed at him, recognizable as Dick's only because J'onn had been so attuned to the young man's patterns. A desperate longing for...

He saw him, J'onn realized, barking out, *Robin, stop.*

He felt Tim's obedience as the scrap of consciousness faded, again defying his efforts to catch at Nightwing's fleetingly focused mind.

But he had him. If he could just- *J'onn?* Batman, uncertain, suppressing his urgency.

Who had Dick thought he'd seen? Process of elimination. *Batman, are you on rooftop yet?*

*Just going up now.*

Okay, so it wasn't Batman's shadow that had briefly eclipsed the stars.

*You wait too.*

*J'onn-* Almost pleading, distracting J'onn with a desire to ease the frayed nerves. Now was not the time.

*Bruce,* he reproached, isolating the exact way Dick's thought had conveyed itself.

He needed more input. *Robin,* he ordered, *mentally backtrack your route. Recreate exactly what you just did as best you can remember.*

Tim sounded uncertain. *I just-*

*Do it, Robin.* No Bruce in that tone - he was utterly retreating into the Bat.

And Robin obeyed, somehow finding enough mental discipline to allow himself to lose himself in the memory of two short jumpline swings, letting his mind's eye remember what he had noted but not consciously remarked. J'onn set his own memory of Dick's fuzzily conscious moment against Tim's flight, triangulating where their observations would be overlapping snapshots of the same moment from different angles.

*There,* he identified, allowing his sense of relief to color his mental tone. *That small boat house.*

*Boat house?* Tim seemed confused, and J'onn carefully caught hold of his memory, directing him to look, to see what he had seen before but not registered.

The shock of Robin's recognition was followed instantly by motion, and J'onn could feel that Batman, also, was on the move, undoubtedly following Robin's tracking signal. J'onn lost himself for a moment in offering explanations, in exercising a bit of mental coercion to get Robin to listen to Batman, in forcing them all to proceed carefully.

*J'onn?* Barbara suddenly intruded over the link, just as Alfred's voice came accompanied a soft knock at the door. "Master Bruce?"

*We're finding him,* he offered to Barbara, feeling her back respectfully from his obvious focus. A quick report that they had caught Scarecrow's accomplice filtered through to him as he sat up in the bed.

"Yes, Alfred?"

The gentleman's gentleman entered, leaving the door slightly ajar. A flash from Robin's mind revealed Nightwing's situation - unconscious, hanging from the ceiling. J'onn almost felt guilty for not keeping Alfred in the loop for the last 20 minutes, but what would be gained by giving him one more worry about which he could do nothing? "Master Bruce, the police believe they have apprehended the villain behind these attacks."

The attacks on Bruce Wayne, J'onn reminded himself, as he answered in Brucie tones. "Thank god. I've been wracking my brain to figure out what crazy-"

"They say it is the Mad Hatter," Alfred explained as if this were genuinely news.

"The Mad Hatter?" J'onn forced himself to continue as he _felt_ the cold press of steel against Robin's temple.

*I've got them in sight,* Batman was saying, just as J'onn reached out to scan the mind of the holder of the gun.

"Isn't he in Arkham? And why would he want to get me?" The words left his mouth as his mind prompted Batman to wait just a second longer and a chilling knowledge conveyed itself from the man who called himself Torque. He knew Nightwing was Dick Grayson.

"I don't have all the details," Alfred was saying, "but they are certain that he is behind this. They want to keep a pair of officers here in case-"

Torque was calling out to his associate, unaware by doing so he was bringing a new mind into J'onn's sphere. "Must they? If they've really caught him-"

An almost martyr-like delight screamed from Torque's accomplice, someone who thought of himself as 'Nite-wing.' The certainty that Robin had come to cut Nightwing down, would have, if not caught by Torque, set off the booby-trap...

"They say he works by mind control, that he might still have agents at large," Alfred was explaining patiently. "They are exercising understandable caution."

*J'onn.* Batman was practically begging to be allowed to swoop down on Torque, fighting against the fear that at any moment he would pull the trigger.

"I don't like feeling like a prisoner," J'onn complained, trying to pull the details of Torque and Nite-wing's plans from their thoughts of ransom and explosions, nudging Torque to think of Robin as hostage rather than victim, asking Batman to allow him a moment more.

"I could ask them to station themselves outside the penthouse," Alfred was suggesting, his eyes anxiously scanning J'onn's face.

"I guess that would be okay," J'onn replied, but his mind was projecting something different. *I have to go. I'll maintain the illusion that Bruce is sleeping here, but they need me.*

Deep worry creased Alfred's face, but he kept his tone even and reassuring. "I will tell them that. You rest."

*Go,* J'onn signaled Batman, conveying in lump the details of the booby-trap he had gleaned from Nite-wing's mind, along with the urgency of freeing Dick before his failing lungs gave up altogether.

"Okay, Alfred," J'onn agreed, lying back down. He didn't even wait until Alfred was out the door to phase invisibly through the penthouse walls, speeding toward Bludhaven.

(24)

Batgirl squinted in concentration, her cowl down her back, carefully inputting the keystrokes that Oracle ordered through the hands-free she'd switched over to. She could hear the strained patience in Barbara's voice - too much going on, no time for error - and Cassandra's still infant literacy making a simple programming task into a chore.

The effort of connecting sound to symbol, the importance of not making a mistake was giving Cassandra a headache. The sewer smell still clinging to her was not helping, but they needed to secure the cave network before anything else

"Done," Batgirl reported, clicking in a final back slash.

"Okay," Barbara replied. "Now hit 'enter' and we should-"

Batgirl tapped the requested key, and a smooth hiss sounded through the tunnel behind her.

"Score one for the girl squad," Barbara cheered, and the screen in front of Batgirl flashed the word SECURED in comforting red block letters.

"I check," Batgirl decided, flying out of the detested computer chair to inspect the access port.

"My cameras show it closed-" Barbara was objecting, but it was more a sound of relief than a genuine complaint at Batgirl's desire to make certain.

"Visual confirms," Batgirl sent back. "Any word on others?"

"GCPD is tracking down everyone who stopped at Arkham in the past two weeks - Hatter's nanites were in the coffee supply." Barbara snorted. "You'd think after the last time they'd have realized that."

Not mentioning Nightwing, Cassandra noted. Better follow her lead. "Why Bruce Wayne?"

"They're still trying to figure that one out. Hatter's been raving about discontinued circuitry."

Batgirl narrowed her eyes, considering this as she walked back to the Bowery complex. "He with Scarecrow?"

"It's looking less likely. We've got an ID on our electronic whiz - Konstantin du Bois. Pseudonym, since my searches are showing the ID as part of a clever hack four years ago. Still working on his real identity. But he worked janitorial and food service in Arkham."

"Might have seen Hatter set up patch box."

"That's my thought. And as slick as he is, he probably recognized what it did pretty quickly."

Batgirl nodded, stripping off her uniform. "Good. Means Bruce identity not known."

"We hope," Barbara cautioned. "I'll feel better when I piece together everything from tonight."

"Yes." Cassandra tossed her soiled costume into a bin that sealed into the wall. It would be unpleasant for whoever had to open it up again, but it was better than having to keep breathing the odor. She rummaged for another Batgirl suit. "Need me more?" she asked.

"I hope not," Barbara replied. "I've got Canary on tap if anything new comes up."

No costume, Batgirl realized, although there was a good assortment of Robin tights. "What about Bludhaven?" she asked cautiously, trying another storage space.

A brief pause. "J'onn sent a message that they found him, and I track Batman and Robin at the docks."

But they hadn't called again, Cassandra understood, shrugging into a too-large t-shirt. Dick's, from the lingering scent of the laundry detergent. And a pair of Tim's jeans, she decided. She'd have to cuff them, but it would be more comfortable than swimming in a pair of Dick's - or worse, Bruce's - sweats. "It will be okay," she said decisively.

"I know." It was more hopeful than confident.

"I need to find clean costume," Cassandra informed her, changing the subject.

That brought a sympathetic chuckle. "Think we should burn the old one?"

"Probably," Cassandra replied dryly, her eyes spying a pair of yellow boots at least two sizes too small for any of the male members of their team. With heels. She picked them up reverently, wondering why they were there and almost regretting that they were the most reasonable footwear she would find.

"You in civvies?"

"Yeah." Cassandra found a pair of short socks to wad into the toe of each boot.

"Why don't you go to Leslie's? Someone should check the cover, and you should warm up."

"Not cold," Cassandra grunted, pulling on one of the boots.

"You will be when you sit down long enough to think about it." A more familiar mothering tone was creeping into Barbara's voice, so much better than the tension that had been flowing over the comlink.

"Okay," Cassandra acquiesced, pulling on the second boot and standing to test her balance. She would have to make sure she stocked the various hidey holes in the City with her own clothes in the future, but this would do for now. She grabbed a worn flannel-lined jacket with the name "Alvin" stitched onto it and headed back down the tunnel to retrieve the bike. "Anything else?"

"Just call me from Leslie's," Barbara directed.

"Got it." Cassandra tucked the sat phone into the chest pocket of the "Alvin" jacket, opting to keep the headset on. Then she rolled her sleeves and righted the bike. It started readily despite her earlier abuse of it, and she was quickly on her way to the clinic.

Leslie was waiting for her.

For a moment, Cassandra's chest tightened, then she realized Leslie was smiling, her body language relaxed. It shouldn't have taken that long to recognize, she chastised herself, realizing the night was getting to her, too.

Cassandra eased the bike the final feet into the underground lair and parked it.

"Alfred would have things to say about that get up," Leslie remarked.

Cassandra shrugged and dismounted. "Needed clothes."

"Better than being naked," Leslie conceded, holding out a bundle in her arms. A Batgirl suit.

Cassandra accepted the costume gratefully, sitting down to change her boots. The rest could wait.

"I've got water started for tea," Leslie continued, her eyes on Cassandra's footwear.

"The cover?" Cassandra asked, returning to her feet and tucking her uniform under her arm.

"Sleeping now - albeit restlessly." Leslie picked up one of the yellow boots. "These were in one of the caves?"

Cassandra nodded, collecting the other boot. "I'll put them back."

Leslie nodded and tucked the boot into the saddle bag of the bike with a sad sort of smile. "I don't know what to do with that boy," she remarked half to herself. Cassandra followed her lead, not needing to ask who she meant.

"Well, let's get you warmed up," Leslie said briskly, leading Cassandra to the elevator.

The clinic was darkened and quiet when they emerged, the low whistle of a tea kettle just below the boiling point serving to counterpoint the distant beeps from other rooms. Leslie hustled ahead of Cassandra to attend the kettle, busying herself with making tea as Cassandra settled into a chair near the tidy office desk.

"The news says you caught Scarecrow and his accomplice," Leslie began conversationally.

Cassandra nodded. "And Hatter."

"Crazy night," Leslie remarked. "Or morning," she amended, gesturing toward the clock radio glowing 4:28 am on a file cabinet. She set a plate of crackers and cheese on the desk beside Cassandra.

Cassandra sandwiched a bit of cheese between two crackers, aware suddenly of being very hungry.

Leslie nodded approvingly. "None of you ever eat enough. Or sleep enough."

"That's what daytime for," Cassandra replied, accepting the mug of tea Leslie offered.

Leslie blinked at her, then began to laugh. "Yes, I suppose it would be. For all of us, tomorrow at least." She settled at her desk with a sigh. "I've never gotten used to the waiting."

Cassandra nodded, understanding. The waiting. The not-knowing if the friends out in the dark night were okay, would return to fight another day. She thought back to the yellow boots in the bike below.

The sudden jarring ring of the phone startled both of them. Leslie sat up swiftly, setting down her tea and lifting the receiver before it could ring again. "This is Dr. Thompkins," she answered professionally.

As she listened to the caller in silence, Cassandra watched tension sing along her body, the slight hastening of her breathing. "I'll be there as quickly as possible," she finally said, hanging up the phone and reaching for her medical bag in almost the same gesture.

"They need me at the Manor," she explained, crossing to grab her coat from the coattree inside her office door.

Cassandra reached out a hand, touching the doctor's sleeve. "Want me to drive?"

For a second, the anxiety on Leslie's face gave way to relief as she wordlessly handed Cassandra her keys.

(25)

The wind was slowing him down. He knew it was an illusion bred of his anxiety to reach the boat house, to see Dick safely home, but the idea obstinately remained in his mind. He listened anxiously over the telepathic link as J'onn deftly reinforced Batman's order to Robin not
to engage. This night was desperately wearing on Batman's ability to maintain cold rationality, and he could feel the baleful, betrayed gaze of the eight year old sheltered beneath the Bat. Love is loss, his former self seemed to say, and you promised...

He shook his head forcefully, hoping against hope that J'onn was too focused on finding Dick to pick up the half-formed thought.

Tim's voice came over the link, his young mind not yet schooled to hide the worry he felt as he could when he was actually speaking. *Batman, he doesn't have much time.*

A note of caution from J'onn, a reminder to approach unseen, prompted Batman to drop his weight and roll across the warehouse roof. He came up in a half-crouch, well shy of the roof's edge, but close enough to hear the voice below: "Tad, it looks like we caught us a birdie."

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to move cautiously, stay in the shadows, find out what was happening before acting. Tad and Torque - Torque outside for sure; Tad likely inside from the volume of Torque's voice. He peered past the roof edge.

*I've got them in sight,* he announced to J'onn, fighting the tightening of his gut.

There was Torque, one arm tight across Robin's shoulders, the light glinting off the gun in his hand. Again his voice pitched to carry: "How far behind is your mentor, Birdie-boy?"

*Hold on, Batman,* J'onn ordered, the message reinforcing the hold of the Bat on Bruce Wayne's churning fear. Tactical clarity resolved itself; from here he could definitely get Robin out of harm's way, but what of Dick, undoubtedly still under guard in the boat house?

Unacceptable choice.

He gauged his options. The walls of the boat house appeared shoddily constructed, thin lumber, shrunken by weather to create wide spaces between the planking.

*Robin,* he projected coolly, *how thin are the walls?*

*Siding, not solid.* Not even a waver in the response, just raw trust. Batman staved off the self-accusation - no time for recrimination now. Just listen as Robin continued. *Smells of wood
rot.*

*Dick's location?*

A soft touch of reassurance from J'onn; he had a lock on Torque's thoughts, some minimal ability to control his trigger finger. It offered a counter-weight to the image that Robin projected of the inside of the boat house, Dick stretched out, naked, unconscious...

*Hold on,* J'onn prompted again.

Batman began moving carefully toward the far corner of the roof. A swing from there would carry him through the wall, far enough from Dick's position to minimize the risk that flying wood would strike him. He pulled a batarang from his belt.

*Robin, on my signal,* he growled and felt a terse sense of acknowledgment. Right along side it came a pressure to wait just a moment more.

*J'onn.* Not quite a protest, although every muscle screamed readiness as he settled into position, jumpline in one hand, batarang in the other. He took the moment to project his location and intention to Robin.

"You don't mean to say the big bad Bat is going to let me cap both his little disciples," Torque was saying. "Tad, be-"

*Go,* J'onn snapped, and faster than thought Batman was moving.

Jumpline deployed, his weight on it almost before it caught.

A moment of freefall as Torque suddenly pivoted, putting Robin between them as he lifted his gun.

The jerk of the decel snapping taut.

Batarang flying as Robin turned his arms palm out, breaking Torque's hold enough to duck his head.

The sharp report of the gun, then a clash of metal and a clatter into the darkness.

A surprised shout, and out of the corner of his eye as he flashed by, Batman saw Robin twisting, dropping his weight, lifting Torque over his hip...

CRASH!

Wood splintering under his feet as he pulled his cape protectively over his face.

An outraged howl, cut off with a grunt as Batman's decelerating roll caught legs, tumbling a heavy body over his shoulder and then behind him.

He rolled up into a fighting crouch, turning just in time to catch the coiled spring of an enraged fighter.

Instincts overrode irritation - he gave with the attack, turning to use Tad's momentum against him, flipping him effortlessly into the back wall.

His eyes scanned quickly for Dick. He was stirring faintly, struggling to pull up for air against dislocated shoulders and the heavy weight at his ankles.

Batman went for a batarang, but J'onn was instantly freezing his motion. He felt his mouth go dry at the intelligence suddenly dumped into his brain - the booby trap.

A flash of motion out of the corner of his eye - Tad just wouldn't stay down. He dropped down, letting him sail over him.

His hand dropped to a compartment of his belt, rarely used. *Ace,* he commanded, concentrating his instructions specifically.

Tad was staggering to his feet. One more moment-

Tad began to charge, and Batman let the little zo'ok fly, ready to turn.

It was like Tad hit a brick wall.

He dropped, blood spouting from his nose.

*J'onn-*

The air shimmered and the blue of J'onn's cape blocked his view of Tad. Past them, he saw Robin picking his way through the hole he had smashed through the wall, Torque over his shoulder.

"Take care of his chains," J'onn directed, pulling Tad into a sitting position.

Dick.

Batman spun and dashed to his son's side, putting his hands under the motor that dragged down Dick's body.

Not too heavy - he could create enough slack to unwrap the chain...

From here, looking up, he could see the sticks of dynamite in the rafters. *Ace,* he projected again, feeling the creature's progress through the wires.

One more loop of chain and the motor came free. A part of his mind registered Robin, dropping his burden beside Tad and J'onn, but the larger part was aware of the slow lowering of Dick's body, Ace stretching thin to ease the fall...

He wrapped his arms around Dick's waist, taking his weight with a silent command to Ace. The zo'ok dropped to the ground and scuttled back to its compartment as he dropped to his knees. Batman ripped the duct tape from Dick's mouth, letting him gulp for air.

Dick slumped against him, shivering. "B-Batman," he stuttered through grey lips.

"Shhh," Batman murmured, supporting him with one arm as he unclasped his cape to wrap around the younger man.

"B-bat - they -"

Dick hesitated, his eyes darting toward J'onn and Robin, tying Torque and Tad together. "Oh," he breathed.

Batman followed his gaze, but J'onn was straightening and coming toward them, Robin half a step behind. What had Dick seen?

J'onn rested a hand on Batman's shoulder as he knelt on the other side of Dick, exerting a calming pressure on Bruce's mind. Dick smiled crookedly at him, his face beginning to redden where the tape had been, the dead grey of his lips diminishing. "C-c-cavalry," he remarked, prompting a chuckle from the Martian.

J'onn ran a hand over Dick's hair, and Batman realized that he was inspecting the injury Dick had suffered. "Stay awake, Dick," he admonished gently. Then to Batman, "Call Leslie. The Manor."

Reluctantly, Batman stepped back, letting J'onn take over at Dick's side. One hand had snaked under the cape draped over Dick's form to Dick's shoulder. "Get some deep breaths," he instructed, "then we'll get these shoulders popped back."

Dick nodded, his eyes fixed on J'onn's as he followed orders. Batman snapped open his comlink. "Oracle, get me Leslie."

Barbara answered without hesitation. "Right away, boss." J'onn must have alerted her that they had Dick, he realized, as the sound of a phone ringing replaced her voice. Robin's voice penetrated his consciousness - calling the police. He almost objected, but then Leslie's voice came on.

"This is Doctor Thompkins."

"Leslie. Dick needs treatment at the Manor. Head injury, possible hypothermia, dislocated shoulders, maybe internal injury," he catalogued Dick's hurts with dread calm, the Bat firmly in control. Had to be in control as a *pop* sounded and Dick let out a gasp and a weak chuckle.

"G-good thing I d-do this all the t-t-" he chattered, his voice fading slightly.

"Dick." J'onn's voice was calm but firm. "No passing out."

In his ear, Leslie's voice came back. "I'll be there as quickly as possible."

Robin was stepping forward. "BPD is on the way. We've got maybe three minutes." He met Batman's eyes and then looked down at Dick. "Hey, bro," he greeted.

J'onn shifted around, moving to get leverage on Dick's other shoulder, and Dick craned his neck slightly to keep Batman and Robin in view. "W-what k-kept y-you?" he joked.

"Oh, you know," Robin answered, a strain in his off-handedness, "saving the world and all that jazz."

Dick hissed and blinked rapidly. "Ouch."

"Well, that one went easier," J'onn remarked briskly, adding his own cape to Batman's around Dick's body. "Now just get you home and warmed up." He looked up at Batman. "I'll fly him," he said.

"J'onn-" Why was he here? Batman had told him-

"We'll see you when you get back to the Cave. Robin?"

A look of consternation crossed the teen's face. "I gotta get home," he stated reluctantly. "I promised Dad I'd do the morning run around the park with him."

A distant wail of sirens sounded.

J'onn stood, effortlessly lifting Dick and wrapping protectively around him. "At least you don't have to do that in the morning," he pointed out to his passenger, prompting Dick's eyelids to snap open.

"I d-dunno," Dick answered. "B-bruce c-could use the w-workout."

Batman reached out a hand, resting it briefly against Dick's forehead. "You'd wear me out," he said softly. "I'll see you at home."

Dick nodded slightly and leaned his head against J'onn's chest as the Martian floated up slightly. *He'll be okay,* J'onn whispered in Bruce's thoughts as he drifted out the shattered wall and took off into the night.

The sirens were nearer now. "Ride to the Redbird?" Batman asked.

Robin nodded. "Yeah," he accepted, following J'onn's route out of the boat house. He let Batman lead the way, neither of them speaking. And if he noticed the tremble of Batman's hands as he settled in the Batmobile, he didn't say a word.

(26)

Barbara barely glanced up from her swift typing as Dinah set a cup of coffee at her elbow. "Thanks," she said distractedly.

"You're welcome," Dinah replied, taking her own mug to the chair she had dragged into Barbara's workroom. Around her, detail maps of the Bludhaven docks and Crime Alley floated below smaller city-wide maps. She'd been watching the tracking dots, noting when the yellow of Robin's dot had slowed and observing the grey dot rushing toward it. Barbara had mentioned that they thought they had found Nightwing. She hoped that were true, that they were in time.

In Gotham, a blinking red dot had replaced Batgirl's steady orange - the sat phone tracker, Barbara had explained. The blinking was now pulling in at Leslie's clinic. Barbara had switched off Canary's own purple dot, wryly remarking she might forget in all the hubbub that Canary was sitting right there. Not remotely true, but the attempt at humor had been welcome.

Dinah sipped at her coffee, faintly lulled by the constant typing, occasionally punctuated by a forceful strike of the return key. She idly wished she could type so fast, but such a skill would have involved more time at a desk than Dinah had ever been interested in. Action was better, although she rather hoped she wouldn't be called on again tonight. Not because she was unwilling, but because that would mean the night had managed to get even worse. She regretted her earlier jocularity about crummy Valentine's Days - that ambulance ride with Dick and J'onn seemed to belong to another decade instead of a scant three plus hours ago.

It was the worst part of this business, she decided - that way in which every moment could be the last one you saw someone alive...

She banished the thought, glancing guiltily at Barbara. Not that she could read minds, but still, no sense even entertaining such an idea.

The monitor in front of Barbara was filling with words, a digest of the information Oracle had gathered through the night. Dinah's sharp eyes noted that Barbara had moved on to the Hatter case, was summarizing his rantings on possible motives...

"Didn't New Concept Industries just reconfigure their electronic line?" she asked.

Barbara paused. "What?"

"New Concept Industries - you were talking about it the other night. They developed some thing-a-bobber that made one of their components obsolete and-"

"Of course!" Barbara exclaimed, and the screen in front of her winked over to another position as she opened another file. "Because of the Wayne merger. They discovered that one of WayneTech's circuitry designs could be fitted more efficiently... Dinah, you're a genius!"

"I keep telling you," Dinah replied with a grin.

Yet another screen flashed on, this time running a rapid set of comparisions. "He totally was using the New Concept circuitry design in his control equipment. Oh, J'onn's going to be annoyed at that."

"J'onn? Why should he-"

Barbara glanced at her. "His company," she explained.

Dinah blinked. "J'onn owns New Concept? The company out of Japan?"

Barbara shrugged. "J'onn has lots of weird holdings. I thought I had most of them before all this with Bruce, but turns out he's good at sneaking under my radar. I doubt-"

"Hold on," Dinah interrupted suspiciously. "What thing with Bruce?"

Now Barbara turned her chair, a near laughing smile on her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then froze.

"Barbara? What is it?"

"Oh, thank God," Barbara breathed, raising a trembling hand to her face. "Thank God."

"Barbara? Is it Dick? Did they find him?"

She nodded. "He's okay. Beat up, but he's going to be okay. J'onn's got him." There were tears at the corners of her eyes.

A sudden ping sounded, and she spun her chair to open the comlink. "Oracle," Batman's voice echoed in the quiet workroom, "get me Leslie."

"Right away, boss," Barbara replied, forwarding the call. Then she slumped back in her chair, her eyes shining and a faint smile on her face.

"And the Bat crew does it again," Dinah marveled.

"I could just kill him, making me worry like that," Barbara stated.

Dinah chuckled. "I'd let him recover a bit first. You know where they're taking him?"

"J'onn said they're going to the Cave - Batman will catch up with them there." She shook her head with a kind of wondering disbelief. "It looked so bad..."

"Well, all's well that ends well," Dinah stated firmly. "How soon can you wrap up here so we can go see him?"

Barbara shot Dinah a grateful look, then glanced reluctantly at her screens. "All these notes-"

"And none of them can wait until morning - I mean, later morning? Everyone's in custody, right?"

"Well, I'm showing BPD closing in on the docks..."

"Come on," Dinah urged. "Surely Batman's got a computer you can borrow if you REALLY need to get something done."

Barbara considered, responsibility and longing warring on her face. She glanced at the maps - Batgirl's blinking dot was already en route to Bristol, and Batman and Robin were on the move. "We should keep an eye on Gotham-"

"Please," Dinah contradicted. "I think its time for the Batcrew to catch a break. If you're that worried about it, I'm sure Plasticman or whoever's up at the Watchtower could -"

"Oh, that'd be great. Plas, defender of Gotham. Bruce would flip."

"Why? He apparently has softened on his visitor stance," Dinah remarked cagily.

Barbara gave her a blank look, then, "You mean J'onn?"

"Girlfriend, I know you've been holding back on the gossip."

Barbara laughed and turned back to her keyboard, typing in a few more swift notes.

"Come on, Barbara," Dinah wheedled.

"I just can't believe that your keen instincts haven't figured it out yet," Barbara mocked. "Didn't you even begin to wonder why J'onn and Bruce were out together on _Valentine's_ Day?"

Dinah felt her jaw drop. "You are shitting me."

Barbara turned enough so Dinah could see her grin.

"You are," Dinah insisted.

Around Dinah, screens began to close down as Barbara began exiting programs, humming softly to herself. Could it be? She thought back over the night, over J'onn's cryptic explanations, Dick's surprising knowledge of Martians, J'onn's sudden appearance to coordinate their pursuit of Scarecrow and the rescue of the cover, his apparent presence in Bludhaven now. Of course, teammates often worked together on things - it didn't mean -

She snorted to herself. This was Batman she was thinking about. What else could it mean?

"How long?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, since that White Martian thing." The steady whir of cooling fans diminished slightly as Barbara powered down her system.

Dinah felt her jaw drop. "That was four months ago!" she protested.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Barbara agreed easily. She looked ready to giggle, heady with relief. "You coming to the Cave with me?"

"You knew about this for FOUR MONTHS and you didn't tell me?" Dinah objected, walking in the direction of the elevator.

Barbara pressed the call button on the elevator, prompting the doors to slide open. "It wasn't need to know," she replied slyly. "Are you coming, are you going to sit there spluttering all night?"

Dinah shook her head and stepped into the elevator. Just when she thought she had the world figured out...

(27)

Leslie gave a start in the passenger seat as Cassandra pulled off the main road, prompting Cassandra to glance over at her.

"I'm sorry," the older woman apologized. "We're going straight to the Cave?"

"Don't want to risk press at gates."

"Of course," Leslie mused, "after the attacks tonight." She sighed. "Vultures."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Doing job," she contradicted mildly. "Keeps us sharp."

Leslie gave her a curious look.

"Evade press, can evade bad guys," Cassandra explained.

"Heaven help me, but I understand that logic," Leslie remarked.

Cassandra grinned. She liked Leslie and her matter-of-fact style - even appreciated her ambivalence toward Batman's mission. And healing - that was a needful skill, one Cassandra sometimes wished her hands had been trained to.

Leslie lapsed back into silence, watching the trees flash by, and Cassandra slipped her hand into the pocket of the Alvin jacket to press a button on the sat phone. She frowned slightly as it began to ring a second time, then her expression eased as a warm baritone answered.

"Hello, Cassandra."

"Cheated," she accused, a faint smile on her face.

"Not at all," came the reply. "I deduced. Just as I deduce that you are driving the car coming up the access road and want me to disable security for you to come in."

"Yes," Cassandra acknowledged, "but how you know not Batgirl?"

This earned a warm chuckle. "Okay, I cheated."

Cassandra offered a smile in answer to Leslie's sideways glance and asked, "How's Dick?"

The voice on the phone sobered slightly. "He'll recover. I trust you're bringing the good doctor with you?"

She snorted, easing off the accelerator slightly as they approached the Cave entrance. "Already know," she pointed out.

She heard Dick's laugh in the background, and J'onn's smile was almost palpable over the line. "I will see you both shortly, then."

The phone cut out, and Cassandra smiled again at Leslie. "They wait for us."

Leslie nodded. "I hate this road," she commented, as Cassandra navigated the switchbacks leading to the nerve center of the Cave.

Cassandra shrugged. "I drive blindfolded."

A horrified expression crossed Leslie's face.

"I _could_," Cassandra clarified, pulling the car onto the turntable. "Batman not let me."

"Thank heaven for that measure of sense."

The car stopped, and Leslie got out quickly, her otherwise well-hidden anxiety evident in the haste with which she moved to the medbay.

Cassandra followed a few steps behind. She should move the car - Batman and likely Barbara would be coming - but...

She had to admit she felt her own sense of relief when she saw Dick sitting upright on the examination table, well muffled in blankets save for one bare foot that J'onn was examining. Livid bruises circled Dick's swollen ankle, and tension in his frame betrayed the pain J'onn's careful manipulations were causing him. Still, he was almost jocular.

"Hi, Leslie!" he greeted.

The doctor walked briskly to the table and set down her medical bag. "Dick Grayson, what trouble did you run yourself into now?" she asked, already studying his face and reaching a hand to a purpling bruise at the edge of his hair line.

J'onn had stepped back, giving her room. "It does not seem so serious a head injury as it could be," he offered, "although I thought it wise to keep him awake and talking."

Dick flinched away from Leslie's touch. "Made me - ow - tell bad Titans' stories." His gaze seemed to become unfocused for an instant, and he blinked rapidly a few times.

"Good idea," Leslie approved, reaching into her bag for a small light.

"So warm now," Dick murmured, snuggling deeper into the blankets. "Feels nice." His eyelids were drooping.

"Dick," Leslie admonished. "Let me look at those baby blues."

Dick laughed slightly and made a show of opening his eyes wide.

"Can I be of more assistance, Dr. Thompkins?" J'onn asked.

Leslie snapped off her pen light, and Cassandra could see relief in her shoulders. "J'onn," Leslie chided, "I already told you you can call me Leslie."

The faint expression of surprise on J'onn's face made Cassandra smile. "I thought -"

"Please," Leslie waved him off as she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. "You thought I didn't see right through your disguise?"

Dick laughed again. "Poor J'onn. There's no hiding with the Bat."

J'onn sighed resignedly and reached a hand out to Dick's shoulder to steady him as Leslie resumed her inspection of his wound. Dick hissed as her fingers probed the area above his left ear, his body stiffening.

"Well, this could probably use a stitch or two," Leslie commented, returning to her bag for alcohol swabs and other supplies. "You're responsive enough I don't think we have much to worry about - although you can forget about sleeping for a few hours."

"Aww - ow!" Dick complained, and Cassandra watched as J'onn's fingers tightened on his shoulder. She wondered if he were drawing off some of Dick's pain, or if the heaviness she was now witnessing in him was the Martian's own hurt and weariness.

"Maybe a little pain will remind you to be more careful about walking into traps," Leslie lectured, keeping her eyes on her work.

Dick winced. "Please, Leslie. 'sbad enough I gotta hear it - ow - from Babs-"

"And Bruce," J'onn reminded him, providing a moment's distraction as Leslie's needle again brought together the edges of the ragged cut.

"Heh," Dick chuckled weakly, "who do you s'pose he'll be more angry at - me or you?"

Thoughtless, Cassandra flinched, seeing as Dick could not the flicker of doubt crossing J'onn's face. Forgivable, but still thoughtless. She stepped forward. "Me, if I not move the car."

J'onn flashed her a grateful look.

"Hey, Cassandra. Didn't see you." Dick was starting to sound groggy, and Leslie finished tying her knot.

"Done," she announced, bringing her face in front of Dick's glassy stare. "How about you start telling me some of those bad Titans' stories while I inspect the rest of the damage?"

Cassandra nodded to herself and returned to the car, activating the turntable before she got into the driver's side. They needed Alfred here, she thought to herself. J'onn was too tired, and the post-mission let down was already beginning. It would take careful managing to keep the lingering tension and relieved anxiety from giving way to shouting matches.

She pulled off the cave road into the garage complex, almost surprised to see Barbara's humvee rolling in from the alternate Cave entrance. She let Barbara park first, then pulled Leslie's car in beside her.

"Good time," she remarked as she got out of the car.

Dinah grinned in response. "Courtesy of pedal to the medal Gordon, here. She keeps denying any links to the auto-racing world, but I'm disinclined to believe her."

Barbara snorted as the lift brought her down to ground level. "Please, like those boys could keep up with me. Leslie with Dick?"

She kept the question casual, although there was a forced note to it.

Cassandra nodded. "Making him tell bad Titans' stories."

"Ugh," Barbara complained, wheeling forward quickly enough to make the other women jog slightly to keep up. "There's enough material there to keep him going for hours."

Dinah grinned as she stepped into the elevator behind Barbara. "This should be sweet. Hurry up - I don't want to miss any good Roy bits."

Cassandra tapped the elevator button. "They're all good, right?" she remarked, drawing surprised laughter from her companions that quieted as they reached the medbay level. "He really okay," Cassandra reassured as the door opened.

Barbara didn't answer, wheeling quickly out to join the little tableau of Dick and J'onn and Leslie. Dinah gave Cassandra a sympathetic smile. "She's just really worried."

Cassandra nodded and followed Barbara, making a beeline for the figure pushed to one side by Barbara's arrival. "J'onn, help me make sandwiches," she ordered.

His gaze dropped to meet hers, eyes tired and surprised. "I-"

She grabbed his hand and began leading him toward the stairs to the Manor. "Everyone hungry. Come on." Not as smooth as Alfred, but someone needed to take the situation in hand. Dinah and Leslie could keep Dick and Barbara on even keel, but Batman would return soon.

She maintained her grip on J'onn's fingers as he followed without resistance, sensing his relief at being not-in-charge. She didn't release him until they were in the kitchen. "Cassandra-" he began.

"You sit," she commanded, disappearing for a moment into the pantry. When she returned with a loaf of bread, he was still standing. "I said sit," she repeated.

"Should I -?"

"Sit!" She gave him a little shove, and he resignedly took a seat.

"I thought you wanted -"

She gave him an impatient look. "Want you to rest."

"Cassandra-"

She glared him to silence, then stepped forward to put her hand pointedly on a vivid patch of new-green on his torso. "Not so healed. Bruce worries."

"I'm-"

Cassandra cut him off with a scowl. "Fine. Like Batman always fine. I send him up here, too, when he gets back."

J'onn stared at her for a moment, then began to laugh. "Fine," he agreed, rising to his feet. He set a hand on her shoulder. "Alfred would be proud." Then he turned and obediently headed further into the Manor.

Cassandra smiled and began making sandwiches.

(28)

Alfred smoothly guided the car over the bridge. The GCPD had been very accomodating when the illusion of Bruce Wayne insisted he wanted to go home. Ready to break their protective custody anyway, they had even decoyed the press by taking charge of the limo and driving it around to the front entrance of the building. While the lingering reporters and cameramen buzzed and jostled, hoping for a glimpse of the harried billionaire, Alfred Pennyworth had made his untroubled way to the garage level and quietly driven off in the Town Car.

It wasn't his favorite car to drive, but it was unobtrusive enough for the drive to Leslie's clinic and then on to the Manor. It was also on hand, and making use of it freed J'onn from the chore of projecting the image of a cranky Bruce Wayne into the minds of everyone in the vicinity of the penthouse. The Martian hadn't complained - really hadn't even hinted that the effort even qualified as an inconvenience - but in the past few months, Alfred had noted that J'onn's capacity for stoicism made Batman seem expressive.

He passed a trundling newspaper van - early morning traffic was already making the city streets relatively active. Thankfully, traffic wasn't dense enough yet to bottleneck at the construction throughout the Bowery and Crime Alley, but in another hour or so? Four million Gothamites would begin their days, oblivious to the horrors they had been spared in the night.

Alfred sighed, turning up the street that led to Leslie's clinic. He'd had worse nights - he truly had. There had been the night that Bane had broken Bruce's back, when it seemed so possible that it would all end there. Before that, the night Jason had died, and the night Barbara had been shot. The quake - that seemed more like one long nightmare.

They'd survived it all, and they'd survived tonight.

He pulled the Town Car up to the curb, just past the freshly repainted yellow of the ambulance unloading zone. The luxury car wouldn't raise so many eyebrows here as it might have before No Man's Land - the neighborhood was changing. A good thing, he supposed, although it wouldn't be long - five years, perhaps? - before the upwardly mobile residents would begin to look askance at the free clinic bringing undesirables into their neighborhood. Resentful eyes would begin to notice that the clinic blurred the line between clinic and hospital, would press officials to look closer, open the blind eye, and challenge the legality of Leslie's operation. Or they would work more subtly through politicians, re-zoning the area so that Leslie would have to close up and move elsewhere.

But not yet.

Now, the clinic was a needful thing, the only place where many still in the neighborhood and the surrounding area could come for healthcare.

He walked up to the front door of the clinic and pressed the night bell.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually the door did open.

"Mr. Pennyworth! Doc Leslie said you might stop by."

A large black man stepped clear of the door, inviting him in. "Good morning, Giorgio," Alfred greeted, giving the man a heartfelt smile. Giorgio had been with Leslie during No Man's Land, had stayed with her when Gotham reopened. He was one of four doctors and nurses who had Leslie's unquestioned trust - even with issues of the Bat. They didn't know who wore the masks they sometimes treated, and they remained confidently incurious, bound by a code that had developed into a steely hardness under the pressures of practicing medicine cut off from supplies and support.

"Here for Sasha, is it? She's up and about. We were just playing gin rummy." Giorgio led Alfred into the staff lounge as he talked. "You want some coffee?"

Alfred shook his head. "I'm supposed to return home directly," he explained, his eyes catching sight of Sasha.

She looked blearily at him, dark circles under her eyes. "Hi, Alfred." She sounded subdued.

"Good morning, Ms. Bordeaux," he replied, inspecting her worn jeans and baggy sweater - clearly salvaged from Leslie's collection of donated clothes. It was likely that Giorgio had not seen her as the cover, knew only that Bruce Wayne's bodyguard had managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not that it mattered - he wasn't going to talk about it.

"Time to go home?" Sasha asked.

Alfred nodded. "Do you have a coat?"

"I'll get her one," Giorgio offered, disappearing down the hall.

Sasha stood and walked listlessly toward Alfred, not meeting his eyes. "The news said he got them," she noted dully.

"Yes," Alfred confirmed, unwilling to share the details until they returned to the car. Still, his mind flashed back over the story J'onn had mentally shared with him of all that had happened, the twists and turns of independent plots that might well have been unstoppable had the players been acting in concert.

"Here you go," Giorgio announced, holding a coat for Sasha to shrug into.

She offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Giorgio."

"Hey, you made the shift go faster," he averred, returning her smile. He patted her arm. "Take care of yourself," he advised. "Maybe take a few days off. That Scarecrow toxin doesn't let go easily."

"I will," she promised. "Ready, Alfred?"

"After you, Ms. Bordeaux. And thank you, Giorgio."

"All in a night's work," he replied, watching them go.

Out at the car, Sasha ignored the back door Alfred opened and let herself into the passenger seat in front. She sank down into the seat, pulling on her seatbelt and slumping under it.

Alfred did not comment, merely closed the back door and took his place behind the wheel.

Neither spoke as he pulled away from the curb and began driving toward the expressway.

Sasha finally broke the silence. "So what happened? Were they all working together?"

"No," Alfred reassured. "Just coincidence. Hatter's technology compromised the Arkham grid, and the man who worked for Crane noticed it. Batgirl and Oracle nailed Hatter a little after Batman got Scarecrow."

"And Crane's student?"

"Batgirl caught him - he's in police custody, although there is not going to be enough evidence to hold him."

Sasha cursed under her breath. Then, "Batgirl got him - not Batman?"

"Batman was called away to Bludhaven."

A gasp came from Sasha. "Is Dick okay?" The raw fear in her voice was almost startling - she had never seemed so concerned with Dick before.

"He's a bit battered, but he is home and recovering. Torque and his accomplice are also in police custody." With their memories carefully wiped of a dangerous piece of intelligence, Alfred didn't add. J'onn had shared that detail cautiously, making it clear he hadn't told
Bruce yet - that only Dick had reason to even suspect and would have his own reasons not to discuss it.

Sasha sighed and looked down at her hands. "Thank god," she breathed, then returned to her silence. Alfred wondered what visions had haunted her under Scarecrow's drugs, suspecting he knew and wishing he could take that pain from her. But wishing wouldn't help, he knew from long experience.

They were crossing the Robert Kane Bridge when she spoke again. "Alfred, I'm going to leave Bruce's employ." Her voice was choked.

He kept his face carefully neutral. "It has been a long night, Ms. Bordeaux. The situation may look different in a day or two."

She shook her head and turned to look out the window. "No," she disagreed. "It's like I'm seeing the situation for the first time. I don't belong out there."

Alfred stayed silent, letting her talk.

"I risked the mission tonight. I thought I was out there to protect him, to do my job." She sighed heavily. "And I really can't see just protecting Bruce - I'll still know _he's_ out there, even if I know I shouldn't be hindering him. That he's MY bodyguard on the rooftops." She let out a short, bitter laugh. "I just can't do it."

"You should talk to Mr. Wayne about this before you make a decision," Alfred encouraged.

"Already made," she contradicted. "But there'll have to be terms, I know. Given what I know."

Alfred turned the Town Car onto the winding driveway up to the Manor, lips pressing together thinly at evidence of a news crew waiting at the gate. They'd need to believe that Bruce was with him. "Ms. Bordeaux, if you will be kind enough to climb to the back seat, pull on the stocking cap and wrap up in the blanket you will find back there, and pretend to be sleeping across the seat?"

She glanced forward, realizing the source of his request, and swiftly obeyed as Alfred slowed the car to buy her time. When she was bundled sufficiently to be easily mistaken for anyone in the dark, Alfred sped up again and made his way to the gates. He had a curt exchange with the reporter who pounced upon him when he rolled down his window to enter his security code. A camera flash went off, and Alfred lifted his cell phone as if to make good his threat of calling the police.

The reporters backed off - obviously tired and happy enough to have even this little scoop, and Alfred drove through the Manor gates, watching sharply to make sure no one snuck through them before they closed. When they were well clear of the gates, he said, "It's okay, you can sit up."

Sasha did so, pale and trembling, her face haunted. Alfred kept his wince internal - she undoubtedly had flashed back to her capture. Perhaps she was right - it would be best for her to move on.

But that was not for him to say. He only needed to deliver her safely home and return to his duties. At least she felt she had the choice to walk away.

(29)

The seat harness locked against his body with the quickness of the stop, giving Batman an impatient moment as he wrestled free of the Batmobile.

"Easy on the brakes, Batman," Dinah called lightly from the landing above.

He didn't bother to respond as he rushed past her to the medbay.

And stopped, a full breath entering his lungs for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

On the examining table, Dick gave him a cheery wave, his other hand wrapped around a mug. Barbara sat at his knee, daintily eating a quarter of a sandwich. Leslie was repacking her medical bag, pausing mid-sentence at his entrance to say, "Good morning, Batman."

He nodded in reply, forcing himself to remember manners as his eyes sought out the rest of his team. There was Cassandra, perched beside a tray of sandwiches, feet dangling and oversized clothes making her look half her age. Dinah brushed by him to claim a bottle of water, her attitude and Barbara's barely caught smile suggesting she had made some mocking face as she passed. He ignored that.

Where was-?

*Here.* The softest of thoughts, reassuring him.

He moved forward finally. "Thank you for coming, Leslie," he stated formally. "How are you feeling, Dick?"

"Pretty good for being pistol-whipped, blown up and hung from the rafters," Dick replied, taking a swig from whatever was in his mug.

"Don't. Joke." The Voice froze the room for a split second, and something flared dangerously in Dick's eyes.

"Alfred getting Sasha," Cassandra broke the silence. "I made sandwiches."

Batman kept his eyes on Dick.

"Bruce." That was Leslie, coming beside him to put her hand on his arm.

He stiffened, then turned to look at her.

"It's been a long night," she began, her eyes defying him to interrupt what she had to say. "Dick's going to be fine, even if he's got about four more hours of Titans' stories to tell us."

Dick groaned, snapping Batman's glare back to him. He held up a hand. "I know, I know - head injury 101. Can't we talk hockey or something instead?"

Barbara rested a hand on his knee. "We can always fall back on embarrassing childhood stories," she suggested, her eyes twinkling.

"Dinah, save me," Dick whimpered.

"Oh, no, that sounds TOO juicy," Dinah decided, picking up a bit of sandwich.

"Bruce," Leslie said again. "We've got this under control." Her eyes held a silent order.

"I have data to enter," he grunted, wheeling away from her.

Except -

Cassandra stood in his path, there faster than he could track. "Oracle keep on top of it. I run report later."

"Batgirl," he growled.

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "_I_ not hit with Scarecrow gas, _I_ not have to rescue half my team, _I_ not see my lover shot. _I_ stay up. _You_ sleep."

He could hear every held breath behind him.

And- *Bruce.*

He turned on heel and stalked back to the locker room, ignoring the grin Dinah flashed toward Cassandra and the relief on Dick and Barbara's faces.

Only when he was out of sight of all of them, standing in front of a locker, did he press his forehead against the open locker door and let out a shuddering sigh.

*Bruce.*

He could feel the trembling reaction taking hold. He'd almost lost them.

He swallowed hard and straightened, going mechanically through the motions of removing his uniform, wrapping himself in a bathrobe. He was suddenly too tired to shower, too tired to do more than find his way to the back elevator to the Manor, usually reserved for Barbara's use. He didn't want to pass back through the gathered members of his family, only wanted-

J'onn.

He was sitting on the big bed in the master bedroom, alertly watching the door as Bruce entered. He said nothing, only watched as Bruce numbly removed his robe and stripped to his shorts. Said nothing, just watched, face open and sympathetic, waiting an invitation to reach out, miraculously whole and well and suddenly Bruce was afraid to even touch him. He couldn't even meet J'onn's eyes as he crossed to the far side of the bed and curled under the covers.

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying to forget how close it had been, how they would not have found Dick without J'onn's help, how fear of losing J'onn had prompted him to leave the cover...

There was a click of the bedside lamp turning off and a shift on the mattress as J'onn lay down beside him, not touching him, not demanding anything he couldn't give.

His heart ached in his chest, hoping J'onn could forgive him, no longer fighting the exhaustion of his body, feeling sleep stealing over him...

...sensing...

... the bullet ... almost seen before it was intercepted... tearing flesh that was not its target ...

*Shh, Bruce. Wake up.*

Bruce was shaking, the image still burning into his eyes.

*It's over,* the soothing voice reminded him.

He curled away from the offered comfort, retreating into himself. No one else hurt. Not for him.

*I won't let you.* The voice emerged from the tight coil of himself, somehow insinuated into his deepest mind.

He twisted away, spiralling deeper into the heat of lead and the smell of cordite and the flash of muzzle...

And a taste of determination?

"GO AWAY!" he yelled, only aware that it was not a dream cry when he felt the grunt of flesh giving under the assault of fists.

*Never.* An external embrace to match the internal assurance.

He struggled, feet connecting with shins, a knee rising up to more sensitive flesh, elbows finding just enough leverage to dig into ribs. The embrace neither tightened nor released him, there was merely a mute acceptance of his blows until his breathing came in ragged gasps and exhaustion prompted him to stop and lie spent, quietly enfolded in his lover's arms.

A soft kiss pressed against his forehead, and J'onn's embrace loosened to allow hands to stroke his back soothingly. "Oh, J'onn-" he croaked, pressing his face against J'onn's chest.

A tap came at the door. "Master Bruce?"

J'onn answered without moving. "It's okay, Alfred. I've got him."

Bruce could imagine Alfred moving reluctantly away, wondered when the older man had returned to the Manor. How long had he slept?

J'onn's fingers tangled through his sweaty hair. *Not long.* He dropped a kiss on the top of Bruce's head, maintaining the comforting circle of his arms around Bruce.

It felt... safe, but Bruce hadn't earned safety. He had let his team down, had failed to-

*Stop,* J'onn ordered. Bruce felt J'onn's fingers reach to hook his chin, to urge his face up to meet J'onn's eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither blinking.

Then J'onn's hands came up to frame Bruce's face, his fingers tracing the contours of cheekbones and brow, his eyes studying Bruce's dry-eyed expression. The broad green face leaned in, hesitant, uncertain.

Fearful of being rejected.

No, Bruce corrected himself. Fearful of already having been rejected, his face burning as he remembered how many blows he had rained on the accepting body in front of him.

But there was no accusation in J'onn's expression. Only quiet concern as he angled his face to press a soft kiss to Bruce's lips...

Bruce shuddered at the contact, aware only as he relaxed that he had been holding himself rigid in J'onn's arms. His eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed as J'onn pulled back to gently stroke Bruce's face and chest. The tender gestures made Bruce feel boneless, brought him back toward the precipice of sleep.

He struggled against a perceived telepathic suggestion, not wanting to return to his dreams. He felt J'onn stretch to cocoon around him, still quietly stroking his body.

He felt himself getting angry at allowing himself to become so dependent, then felt lips on the frown line between his eyes. *Bruce.*

Bruce began to draw his legs up, curling defensively, a convulsive sob wracking his body. "Everything I love..." he whispered, huddling against J'onn.

Another soft kiss. "We're all still here," J'onn murmured. "Dick's telling his stories, Sasha is sleeping peacefully, and I-" A hand found its way around Bruce's clenched fist, gently encouraging fingers to open as it pressed Bruce's hand against J'onn's chest. "I'm right here."

He kissed Bruce's forehead again. *And I'm not going anywhere.*

The dam broke - tears held in by a younger self, jealously guarding them, sprang to his eyes, pouring hotly down his cheeks to be accepted into the green flesh wrapped protectively around him. For the first time in many years, Bruce Wayne cried himself to sleep.

(30)

Sasha looked around the room, deciding if there was anything else she needed to pack. Alfred had generously offered to take care of packing and shipping the bulk of her things once she figured out where she was going to settle. She'd accepted gratefully; as much as she didn't want to remain at all dependent on the Wayne household, things were hectic enough.

She stared emptily at the room that had been her home for over a year, cheerfully lit in the late afternoon sun. Just the end of an assignment, she reminded herself forcefully, returning her attention to her suitcase.

Rafael had been surprised to hear from her, but he hadn't asked any questions. He'd seen the news. She could tell from the sympathy in his tone as he offered to let her stay as long as she needed, maybe set up a meeting with Walker for her on Monday. Was she ready to go back to government work? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything at the moment, just that she needed to leave here.

Voices drifted in through her open door as they had all afternoon - happy, bantering voices. Sounds of a family. She remembered how Bruce had once told her that things had been different in the Manor, not so empty and lonely. True, they'd been less empty of late, but it took until she saw them all gathered, playing some silly board game Alana had brought over a few weeks before...

She'd resented the idea that she might be one of "his people." She hadn't realized then that when he said "his people" what he meant was "his family." But when she'd walked into that gathering earlier, looking for Bruce, that's when it hit her. They were there: Dick, Tim, Cassandra, Dinah - or Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl and Black Canary. A room full of Batman's "people," all save the redhead in the wheelchair and Alfred. Yet even those two seemed at ease, happy - a family.

She wasn't part of it.

She didn't want to be.

She didn't.

She closed the suitcase.

A light tap on her door drew her attention, and she turned.

Bruce offered her an unreadable smile. "Hi, Sasha."

"Is Alfred waiting for me?"

He shook his head. "He'll wait until you're ready to go."

"Well, I'm ready." No sense making this harder than it had to be. They'd already had as much discussion as she cared to, enough to make it clear that he had no intention of stopping her or changing her mind.

"I thought -" He held out an envelope.

She took it from him. "What's this?"

"A list of people who might want hire you. And a letter of introduction. You're good at what you do, Sasha."

She tucked the envelope into her jacket pocket. "Thanks."

He shifted, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't want you to feel you're unwelcome here," he stated. "If you want to come back..."

She shook her head. "I think we both realize that would be a bad idea."

He didn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"No. I think I just need some time."

He nodded. "I understand that." Another awkward pause reigned. "Have you considered the DEO?"

Sasha started. "Wouldn't that-?"

"I know you won't compromise me," he pointed out. A sly sort of look came across his features. "And it never hurts to have someone on the inside."

A smirk twisted her lips. "Always the tactician."

He shrugged, neither affirming nor denying. After all this time, she still couldn't read him, still wondered what was going on in his head.

Not her problem anymore, she decided, reaching for her suitcase. Bruce stepped back from the door, letting her pass in silence. She didn't bother to say goodbye to the others, just went to the front door where Alfred joined her.

"Ready, Ms. Bordeaux?"

"Yes."

"You still want to-?"

"Yes."

"Very good, then," the butler answered smoothly, taking her case before she could protest and leading her down to the waiting car. While he put her luggage into the trunk, she went around the car and slid into the front passenger seat. One last thing to do, and then she could go to the airport and catch her flight to DC and try to make the last 24 hours disappear like a bad dream.

Alfred got into the car beside her, wordlessly starting it up and putting it into gear. There were no more reporters at the gate - Bruce had issued some statement earlier in the day about villains wrecking holidays and his gratitude to the GCPD, making it clear he would have nothing else to say. The press vans had headed back to the city, recognizing a story that had become yesterday's news and seeking fresher excitement.

All the better. They'd undoubtedly catch wind of Sasha's departure eventually, and she would rather not have to answer their suspicious and intrusive questions today.

She didn't want to deal with her _own_ suspicious and intrusive questions. Instead, she stared blankly out the window, trying not to think, blankly registering the familiar landscape of Bristol. Mansion, mansion, golf course, mansion, mansion, riding club, mansion...

She wasn't entirely sure where she was when Alfred finally pulled the car into a long driveway to a secluded, faintly institutional looking building.

"This the place?" she asked.

Alfred nodded. "Would you prefer me to wait here?"

Sasha considered. It had been clear in recent months that Alana had become Alfred's favorite to win Bruce's heart - he genuinely liked the young woman with the shy smile and bright eyes. But this was going to be hard enough as it was. "Do you mind?"

"I have already visited her once today with Master Bruce," he pointed out. "And I shall undoubtedly see her again this evening."

Sasha nodded. "I don't think I'll be too long."

Alfred didn't answer, and she exited the car with a vague sense of dread. Alana. The woman she'd failed to protect, alive not because of anything Sasha had done, but by a freak chance of a bullet's trajectory. The nurse at the front desk seemed unsurprised to see Sasha, led her unquestioningly to Alana's room. Sasha's bodyguard instincts wanted to scream - shouldn't they check her ID, do something to protect the girl who took a bullet for Bruce Wayne?

A more rational part of her mind reminded her who Bruce Wayne was. He'd probably phoned ahead and sent a photo of Sasha.

"Here we are," the nurse announced cheerfully, opening Alana's door. Then she frowned.

"Alana Jones, didn't I tell you that you should be avoiding this kind of excitement?" She crossed the room to turn off the television, and Sasha caught a glimpse of a basketball game before the tube went dark.

Alana, propped up in the bed, gave a mischievous smile. "It wasn't exciting, honest," she offered ingenuously. "Gotham was getting stomped 68 - 21."

The nurse hmphed and offered her charge a half-hearted scowl. "Well, don't watch anyway. Besides, you have a visitor."

Alana gave a careful laugh, prompting Sasha to wince. She could hear how it hurt. "Tell Bruce he's brought enough flowers," Alana remarked, gesturing toward the various arrangements covering nearly every available surface.

Sasha steeled herself and stepped forward. "It's not Bruce," she corrected.

"Sasha!" Alana exclaimed, sounding genuinely delighted. "I was worried something had happened to you. Bruce let slip that you were recovering this morning. Are you okay?"

Sasha glanced pointedly at the nurse, who took her cue and left the room, closing the door behind her. "I'm fine," she reassured Alana. "The real question is how are you?"

"The doctor says I only have to stay here a couple days so long as I take it real easy and let my body heal. And Bruce is coming by tonight with a nice dinner - or as nice as the docs will let me have." She giggled a little self-consciously. "I think I'm getting a little spoiled."

Sasha smiled a little, suspecting she'd get more evasions if she pressed the question. Instead, she reached into her jacket behind the envelope Bruce had given her and pulled out a card. "I brought you this," she said.

"Oh, Sasha, you didn't need to do that!" Alana protested, accepting the card with shining eyes. She opened it and read it, a faint smile staying on her features. Then she laid the card down on the blankets. "Thank you."

"It should actually be an apology card," Sasha confessed. "I-"

"An apology card!" Alana's face wrinkled in confusion. "Whatever for?"

Sasha swallowed hard. "I wasn't doing my job well enough last night," she said. "I should have-"

"Oh, please," Alana interrupted. "I was the silly fool who spoiled your shot at him."

"You weren't foolish at all-"

"Yes, I was. I always did have to learn lessons the hard way. You can't beat yourself up for that."

Sasha sighed. Alana just didn't understand-

"No sighing," Alana said sternly. "You must promise me that you won't blame yourself."

Sasha met Alana's serious eyes, noticing for the first time that they weren't brown, as she'd always assumed, but a dark shade of green. She also realized the young woman would not be happy unless she thought she had secured the promise. "Okay," she conceded.

"All right, then," Alana settled. "And don't think I won't hold you to that. If I see you moping around the Manor-"

Sasha couldn't help the flinch that crossed her face.

"What? What did I say?" Alana fretted.

"Nothing," Sasha hastened. "It's just - I quit my job today."

"Because of last night? Oh, you can't!"

"Alana," Sasha chastened gently. "I've already left the Manor. I'm flying out to DC tonight."

"But-"

"It's not really about last night. That just clinched the decision. But I wanted to see you before I left. And-" She took a deep breath. This was the hard part, but she'd promised herself she wouldn't leave Gotham without doing it. "I wanted to warn you about Bruce."

"Warn me?" Alana looked shocked.

"Alana, I know he seems like a really nice guy - and he is, in his way. But I've been around him longer than you have. That playboy reputation he has is earned."

"Is this about that model he's been taking out?" Alana asked, her expression softening to amusement.

"You know about that?" That was a surprise.

Alana took Sasha's hand. "That's so sweet that you care enough to tell me, but I do watch the news, you know. I even told Bruce it was a good idea to have such a high profile friend to go out with." She smiled that shy smile. "I don't like the spotlight."

Sasha gave Alana's hand a little squeeze. So naive! She didn't know that Bruce wasn't always leaving Jasmina at her doorstep... But looking at that trusting face, she didn't want to tell her that Bruce and Jasmina were more than just friends. Time for a different tactic.

"Fair enough. But it's not just his playboy style. He's - the man's got a lot of issues, Alana. Secrets."

"He's not involved in anything illegal, is he?"

"Oh, no," Sasha reassured, unless you counted vigilatism, she added to herself. "He's just - you know about his parents?"

Alana nodded, her face taking on a sad expression.

"Thing like that - scars a person. I'm not saying you're not good for him, just - be careful around him, okay?"

Alana studied Sasha's face thoughtfully, then gave her hand a squeeze. "Okay," she promised.

"Good," Sasha concluded, rising to her feet and letting Alana's hand fall away. "I have to go so I don't miss my flight, but you get better quickly, okay?"

"Yes," Alana agreed. "And take care of yourself. Bruce is going to miss you."

Sasha forced a thin smile onto her face, fighting against a part of her mind which wanted to believe that. She turned, then, and headed out of the room, out of the little private hospital, and out to the car.

Alfred waited for her to get in, but he didn't say anything. She didn't know if she could've kept her composure if he had. She just pulled on her seatbelt, and, staring out the windshield, said, "Okay, let's go."

(Epilogue)

Christmas snow. Never mind that it was February - the thick, fluffy flakes drifting serenely down on Gotham City evinced nothing less than the perfect Christmas eve snowfall. It had begun falling around 9 pm, well after the end of the evening rush hour, and by now it had
accumulated into a pleasant white blanket, not yet sullied by too much traffic.

It seemed to muffle everything, and Gotham's residents seemed content enough to stay home and watch it fall.

A quiet night.

A quiet night even for the dark figure which found its customary shadows muted to grey by the city light diffused by the reflected
gleam of billions of snow crystals. Not that it mattered - few enough people would look up into the night, and if they caught a glimpse
through their apartment window? They would assume it was a trick of the light.

His motion was scarcely more noisy than the snowflakes drifting down around him as he cut through the cold but not bitter air. Even the
touch of his boots on a downtown rooftop was little more than a whisper. If anyone had been watching, they would have been awed by
the way the black shape seemed to glide across the snow before disappearing from view.

The darkened penthouse he entered was a more congenial environment for a man of the shadows. He stood for a long time in the nearly
lightless alcove beneath the bolt hole through which he had entered. Even in the silence of shadow in shadow, he realized he might seem
menacing, and a smile tickled one corner of his mouth to think what people would say if they realized he was only trying not to track snow
through the sumptuous living room.

When he believed himself to be sufficiently dry leave no trace of his passage, he made his careful way across the living area to a set of
wide double doors which he knew led into the master bedroom suite. He reached a hand to his mask as he knelt to inspect the pale wood revealed by deep scars in the heavy doors. A gloved hand reached for each mark, a finger dipping into one bullet hole after another. Three of them.

They moved in a descending arc - the first at chest level where he expected, but the second was half a body's length away, lower, where a man's chest would be if he were mid-dive. The third was another half a body length away, just a foot above the floor. His lips pressed together into a grim line.

He felt a tickle at his left hip, and his hand went automatically to a compartment of his belt in a reassuring gesture. Then he froze.

The tickle was being repeated on his right hip.

His voice came out in a low growl. "J'onn."

There was no shift in the shadows, but the tickle changed to the feeling of the palm of a hand stroking upwards to rest on his ribs.
"Bruce."

He didn't turn, but he closed his eyes.

Seconds ticked by, became minutes.

Nothing stirred.

Finally, the man spoke again. "We completely sealed off the Bowery Cave."

"I know. Oracle told me."

"I've assigned Batgirl to track du Bois when the police release him."

"They still don't have enough to hold him?"

Batman shook his head once, a small motion most would miss, but clear enough. No. He felt the pressure of a second hand, moving around his left side to join the first and hold him in a comforting embrace. The weight of a cheek nestled between his shoulder blades.

"Dick plans to return to duty day after tomorrow." This pronouncement dripped with disapproval.

The embrace tightened fleetingly. "He's in the best position to judge if his body is healed enough to work."

This brought a grunt, answered by the brush of lips against his back.

"What happened with Sasha?"

A sigh stirred the air near his right ear. "She warned me about you."

That actually brought a raised eyebrow to the stony face beneath the mask. "Oh?"

The hold on his body shifted, and one of the unseen hands began to rub his back soothingly. "She wanted me to be aware of your playboy nature. And she said you had issues."

Batman relaxed back against the body he knew was behind him, feeling it give to support his weight as the arms once again encircled him. "Oh."

A kiss found the space behind his ear, phasing easily through the cowl. He shivered at the touch.

"I think it was the best choice for her. She would not have been happy had she stayed."

An uncharacteristic bitterness entered Batman's tone. "That's my fault."

"In part," J'onn agreed, gentling his words with a touch to Bruce's cheek. "But also hers. And mine."

Bruce jerked his head up. "No."

"Yes. But nothing will be gained by assigning blame. We live, we learn, we move on. Sasha understood that."

"Still..."

They sat there for a little while in the silence that trailed this protest, then J'onn rose, urging Bruce to his feet.

Bruce obeyed, turning as he stood to watch the air shimmer into a familiar green form. Warm red eyes glowed down at him, expressing a tenderness that he doubted human eyes could convey. Bruce pushed back his cowl to meet those eyes fairly.

J'onn cupped Bruce's chin and trailed a thumb over his cheekbone, then J'onn's form diminished in size and shifted until it was Alana gazing up at Bruce. She tiptoed to reach his lips, persuading the grim set of his lips to soften as she kissed him. Gradually Bruce felt his arms reaching around her, realized he was pulling her closer, that the comfort offered by her kisses was turning to a mutual passion.

She pulled back suddenly, face flushed. "They didn't hit me," she whispered, nodding toward the bullet holes.

Bruce answered by leaning down to reclaim her lips, reaching arms down to lift her against his body. She chuckled low in her throat, the feeling of the laugh resonating through their kiss as she gamely hooked her legs over his hips.

Bruce shifted his hold enough to reach for the doorknob and push open the bedroom door. Alana's legs tightened around his waist as her hands tangled in his hair.

So vibrant, Bruce thought. So alive.

Her fingers unclasped his cape as he carried her to the bed, leaving it sprawled behind them on the floor. The loss of its weight prompted Bruce to tighten his arms around her as he lowered them both onto the expansive bed.

She pushed him back again a little, urging him to prop himself on his arms over her, and she let her fingers play across the black emblem in the middle of his chest. "I don't think I've ever been seduced by the Bat," she remarked throatily, giving him a playfully appraising look.

He answered by running his hands up her stockinged legs, realizing only as he did so that she was wearing last night's dress. It gave him pause, and a frown creased his forehead.

"None of that," she chided, soothing a hand across his brow.

"Alana - J'onn -"

She smiled encouragingly at him. "Just because we never got to dinner doesn't mean we can't skip to dessert." She let her fingers trail down his jaw line, and her eyes carried a curious mix of seduction and pleading. She didn't have to say it for him to understand - let's pretend the last 24 hours didn't happen.

He couldn't. Not quite. Not even for J'onn, not even when he was in this winsome form.

But...

He brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Alana's face, smiling slightly for those worried green eyes. He began to kiss her again, more slowly, more deeply, letting his arousal tap into the depth of his love for this most unlikely of partners. Her fingers traced a path to his waist, then found their way to the clasp that unfastened the groin guard of the Batsuit. And as he broke their kiss to help her remove the impeding armor, he saw in her eyes that she knew she hadn't got precisely what she wanted, but that she understood.

"In time," she whispered. A hope or a promise - he wasn't sure which.

No, he couldn't pretend the last 24 hours had never happened - but he could lose himself in her green eyes and her willing flesh, and for now, that would have to be enough.