Fear of Falling

Fear of Falling

Slade: “Hmph. You sure know how t’ keep a guy waiting, Birdy.”

Slade Wilson. Assassin. Mercenary. Professional Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-You-Pay-Him-To-Do. Also certified bad ass of extremely epic proportions. Last seen taking on the entirety of the League of Assassin -and- the Penguin’s goon squad at the Iceberg Lounge. Now waiting all too impatiently at the top of the one Dinah Lance’s place of residence and Bar.

Not known for his manners, most of the time. Nor is he usually the type of guy that waits for a Lady to be ready. All of these things tie in together to truly explain what it means that Slade is here in the first place. He didn’t come to Dinah with his hat in hand, he came with something that he knew would entice her. Furthermore he’d come willing to help her, before she helped him. Every little clue tying back to one simple fact: Deathstroke was actually going to be doing something that he needed help with.

“While you’ve been playing patty cake with Bat v.2 over your young stud v.2, I was getting some intel together from my source in Star Cityyyyyyyyyyyy……………”

Superman: Superman. Superhero. Photographer. Doesn’t-know-or-care-how-scrary-Deathstr oke-is-or-should-be. Just threw Slade Wilson 15 miles due north, in to the Gotham Harbor. Doesn’t seem to really blink much over the thought that a normal human body probably can’t handle that sort of fall. Also a badass, doesn’t have a problem reminding people. Frequently. When the opportunity calls for it.

“You live the worst neighborhood, with terrible neighbors.”

There are entrances and then there are entrances. My predecessor would have made with polite chatter and asked Slade to excuse them for a private chat. Or hung there in the air like some monolithic God, waiting for the two Super-Ninja to have their tete-a-tete. Luckily I’m not that ass-clown. My arrival goes from my simply not being there, to Slade simply not being there. Fluttery cape not withstanding.

Once I’ve landed, I simply give her a long look. With absolutely anyone else that looks like Dinah. I’d be looking right through her clothing. With Dinah, I’m intentionally looking at what she is wearing instead. “Star City. What is it is with you and terrible choices? That place is a car fire, stacked on a dumpster fire, being juggled by a clown that’s also on fire. Being chased by a flaming, pink, Bat-like-Vigilante. That’s also on fire.”

Canary: “In the words of far, far too many of my current companions: ‘uh, duh.’ You do pointy blades assassin, I do blunt objects tease. If we all just stick to our roles, everything be fine.”

It’s not as if I’m the old lady of the Gotham Gang. That job falls squarely to Dick, who is probably scowling somewhere about now. But with the teaching role I’d fallen/been asked into, I’m once again stuck with badgering/beating the younger generation. Five-ish years is a vigilante generation? Actually, that sounds sadly about right. But no one told him he had to skulk up here, I would have preferred if he hadn’t. Despite it not exactly being any sort of secret that the place is mine, and frankly at this point my identity is more courtesy than fact to the majority of the supercrew, it’s not the best for business or my healthy sense of paranoia. My demeanor says ‘bored’ more than ‘bothered’ though, as I shake blonde hair back out of my face, and roll blue eyes at the old man’s talk of patty cake, and next I expect to hear about some philandering, so I distract myself with making sure my jacket’s how I want it. I am still listening about the source, however.

Until there’s a very unDeathstroke yelp, a whoosh and when I look up in wide eyed surprise, body already shifting on its own into the defensive posture I should probably have had around Slade in the first place, if I hadn’t already figured out he needed me for all of this. That’s as close to ‘phased’ as I get by what has just happened, I spend a moment looking for whatever trajectory Deathstroke had been sent on, momentarily concerned that something permanent might have just happened.

“We can’t all have penthouses in Metropolis. Then they wouldn’t be fancy. They’d just be normal, and I don’t think you could handle that.”

It’s apparently costume night, at Pretty Bird’s Bar & Bistro, though the last part no one actually uses, and I’m fairly sure half the ‘neighbors’ wouldn’t know what one was, anyway. Higher education and culture wasted on this place. The fact that Superman’s in his is of course much more interesting to me than the fact that I am also in mine, the fishnets, the boots, the not exactly just a corset anymore suit that Tim’s been pathologically incapable of not messing with and beefing up the construction of. None of it’s really what it looks like anymore, though. The fishnets don’tn exactly need constant replacing anymore, on account of how they could probably stop a knife. He’s not here in plainclothes, like the times before, and that makes me just a tad wary/curious all at the same time.

“You’re being awfully judgemental tonight, Supes. Must be Tuesday. I just don’t do nice places, apparently. Or I muck them up when I’m there. A pink one, now? I clearly have been away too long.”

My tone’s got a sing song lilt to it, the Canary persona out to play, just without the edge that takes it from joking and having fun to you’re half a second from my fingers in your Adam’s Apple.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but…”

Superman: “…but why am I here, in Gotham, in plain sight, wearing this?”

Frankly, this is comfortable. More comfortable of late than my actual costume, Conner Luthor. Everything has gone sideways or backwards or some other way than how I want them of late. Yet being Superman? Has gone strangely right. To a very surprising, waiting for the other shoe to drop sort of way. Do I say all of this? Hell, no. What Dinah gets is no less the truth, but not exactly the whole truth.

“I’m starting to learn that there are times people listen to me a lot more seriously when I’m wearing this.” A flick of my finger against the metallic S-shield makes a very audible tink. “People who otherwise might not always listen to a guy that ordinarily looks sixteen, going on seventeen.”

“Kind of like the way your pupils dilated when you saw it. Your heartbeat picked up noticeably, after you saw it. It didn’t pick up because of the potential danger, either. It was a good six one hundredths of a second -after- you took a defensive stance. Fear doesn’t move you, Dinah. I’ve known that since we first met. It’s one of the many, many reasons, I’m particularly fond of you.”

“You know if I’m here wearing this, I’m here for something serious. And I am. Part courtesy, I wanted you to hear it from me. One of your people has been arrested. He fashioned himself as a sort of Red Hood, of late. When I heard, I decided to get involved. Personally. He’ll be working in Kahndaq and if he assists with that, I’ll see to it that he is released back to Gotham. Back to you. I’ve arranged for all charges to be dropped and for things to go back to the way they were. Your people police Gotham. We stay out. My predecessor had that arrangement with your predecessor, I’d like to think we can come to a similar agreement.”

“That’s the first part of why I’m here. Dressed like this.”

Black Canary: “All those muscles. The good looks. The money. The ability to pull off that kind out getup and you’re a mind reader, too? Tch. Talk about uneven distribution of luck and talents.”

I know he’s not really. God, I hope he’s not really. The last thing the world needs is a telepathic teenager who can also hear and see everything the regular way from hundreds of miles away. And I say this as someone that actually likes this kid. Again, generations. I get to call him kid. Hell, we’ve practically got two generations between us. More if you go off his chronological age. I feel old, all of the sudden. Not the point though. Banter aside, he’s probably right. Conner Luthor doesn’t scare people who don’t know what he actually is. No one’s going to actually listen to him. Everyone listens to Big Blue. Everyone pays attention. Symbols do that.

Now. I actually have demonstrated that I will listen. Which is telling, because he’s turned up like this regardless. Now. It could just be that it’s what he was already wearing, he’s been all over the news doing Superman Things in Khandaq, so that’s reasonable. But it’d probably take him just as much time to change into plainclothes as it did to do whatever it was he actually did with Slade Wilson. My money’s on ‘it’s on purpose.’ And since he’s here talking to me, instead of wearing his ‘listen to me, jerks’ suit over in the direction of a Bat?

“Awww, you like me. You really like me.”

He’s not wrong, fear is something to ignore and deal with later because reacting to fear, in the face of whatever caused it, probably gets you dead. My new and improved suit might be a lot more resistant to a lot more things, but I don’t rely on that to protect me. That’s also how you get dead. So, I listen for the ‘why’ that he’s here. The courtesy. And as he goes on to tell me, there’s a distinct twitch to my right eye. Damien. Apparently can’t stop himself from getting into it with the flying caped crowd, and that might be more than slightly problematic.

“Mmmn. And the second part is where you tell me what you want me to do for you, because otherwise you’d be talking to BigBat about this and not me.”

Oh, I’m not offended, or miffed, or hurt. No ‘but I thought we were friends!’ whining. Conner’s already done me a favor by warning me about Oliver Queen before now. I also ruptured his eardrums. Even if I wanted to ignore what he’s doing for Damien, though that’s mostly in Damien’s court, I owe him.

Superman: “No, the mind reader is actually a snotty cheerleading shapeshifter. She’s the first real person that I ever met, actually. While I was in the virtual reality simulator, she would use her telepathy to enter my mind and present me with problems. So that the scientists could test my reactions to stimuli.”

See this? This isn’t something just anyone is told. I only talk this openly when it’s with someone that I believe can handle the truth in a very unfiltered way. Conner Luthor is the filter, the mask, the human side of this world that needs boiled down and made pretty before being spoken about. Ironic then, that everyone thinks of him as the crude asshole in this little sideshow.

“She’s also why I’m still alive. Once the scientists realized that my natural reaction to annoyances was to kill the offender, they were planning to abort my project. Megan saved me. She’d realized at some point that my senses were so acute, I could actually hear the real world -through- the fake one of the Virtual Reality. They thought I was some sort of psychopath. Megan realized I was treating the VR like a video game. Resetting the game any time I got a result that I didn’t like.”

“So. When I broke out the V.R. she’s the only one I didn’t murder for real when I leveled the place. Martians don’t like heat vision, you should put that in the old Bat Computer.”

By the time she’s gotten to nudging me about the second part, I’ve floated closer to her. Only letting boots crunch upon the gravel of the roof once I’m within arms reach of her. Those perfectly sculpted features soften quickly once I’m close to her. She’s still defensive. I really do appreciate that. As if she could do anything, should I really choose to be an attacker. I don’t see that at foolish, I love the fact that she is exactly what I said. Not fearless, but not controlled by it. Dinah is able to look past what I could do and I think she really does see what I want to do.

Which is quite simply: Be worthy of Cassie Sandsmark.

That requires something much different than what I’ve been talking about though, doesn’t it. “Buzzzzzz. Wrong. That would suggest that I’m only doing what is right, because I’m motivated by what it gets me in return. I’m helping your friend, because he and your whole group have the wrong idea about Nowhere. At least, part of Nowhere. But talking to you or any one of you about it? Is just going to get me … no where.. fast, pun not intended.”

“The only way I’m ever going to convince any of you, is if we stop talking and start doing the right things.”

“So, no. Part two is not about what you can do for me. Let’s stop making this a habit, could we? People find out that I’ve turned you down twice and it’s going to ruin one of our reputations. Probably your’s.” There’s the charm, the grin that threatens to be a smirk. Teasing the teaser is not exactly something I get to do often and fewer people do it to Canary. “The second part, is also about you.”

“I told you, before. You’re much more than you know. I can’t always be around to protect you. It’s time you started to learn how to use…” fingertip up and pointing at her face, lips, down her throat. “… for something other than being a smart ass.”

“… ahem… not that I’m one to talk, really, but… it’s kind of shitty that the only type of friendship you know is the sort that only does something for you, if they think you’ll owe them something. The way I understand it, friendship starts with trust.” Transitioning from the joking gesture to a very simply, elegant even, open hand offered to a lady, like a proper gentleman. “And ends with it too.”

“Have you ever looked at the drum set on stage while your band is playing? Or the speakers when the bass rolls through them. If you put a quarter on top of them when it’s happening, it’ll bounce. If you direct the bass. Control it.” The grin isn’t just charming, it’s downright obscene. “Before I could fly, I started by leaping over small buildings. I didn’t have someone to help me and make sure I wouldn’t fall.”

Canary: Now that sounds like an even bigger problem for humanity, for many different reasons, and the cynic in me would like to point out to Conner that a shapeshifter, in the employ of NOWHERE, is probably not someone who should be counted on in order to be a ‘real person.’ But it didn’t take long to figure out he’s not half as dumb as he pretends to be, and he might actually be even more suspicious than I am about some things, so I suppose I have to go with his version of what happened to him. I have a whole lot of questions about the wisdom of subjecting a developing mind to that sort of situation, and that’s probably the least of what they were doing. I don’t know if it’s to my credit, or a mark against me, that I don’t even flinch when he offhandedly drops the fact that he killed who knows how many people at a scientific research facility. But. We are talking about the same sort of people that took a teenage meta, put a chip in her brain, and sent her into Arkham with Deathstroke and a pack of others, and then made her forget about it so…

“Now, I didn’t say that. In those exact words. But there’s a whole lot of leeway in being amenable to doing a thing, and seeing the benefit in what people might maybe do in return if you do.”

So. It sounds like someone has actually been listening at least a little, and is even trying, because he’s right. It does start with trust. Not the least of the reasons that I’d prodded Tim about being honest with his supposed friend. If I were actually leery of the man. Boy. In front of me, this conversation would probably be going differently. There’s fear of a thing, or a person, and then there’s healthy respect. Which is what I actually have of our current Superman, because I’m fully aware he could eyelaser me with no warning, and no amount of training I’ve done can stop that, or protect me from it. We’re very, very lucky that he currently has a reason to want to be better. But underneath all of that, he’s still a person. So I interact with him for who and what he is. I do actually have friendships that are built on that, though. Trust.

Not many, mind you, but it takes a lot for me to let someone in that close and allow for that vulnerability. When I do? They become the M word. Mine. And whatever he may be saying about us having the wrong idea, his people currently have one of mine. Well. Two. Apparently.

“You wound me, Blue. Make a girl think she’s going to have to actually try harder, and that’s about where I lose interest.”

The dubious look on my face as he gestures towards it is one part ‘you think you’re going to what?’ with a side of ‘you do realize I’ve taken your advice and pushed my lung capacity up another few notches, right?’ But it ends with a shift to surprise and amusement, as I take the extended hand.

“…somehow I doubt falling is all that problematic for you, except maybe in the ego department. Are you actually proposing to teach me to fly or is this a metaphor?”

Superman: A lot of the people that I associate with think that I don’t listen to them. They couldn’t be more wrong. I listen to everything and more importantly everyone. On a very world wide scale, I’m listening a lot more than anyone would ever be comfortable with knowing. Sure, a lot of that time it’s nothing but garbled, overlayed, background noise, but as I’ve gotten more and more used to focusing on the sounds I want to hear? I truly do listen to far more than I ever should. The secret, I found, is that once I know the voice? I’m able to listen for that specific voice or a tone or even a heart beat’s specific rhythm.

Just because I’m hearing what people say, does not always mean that I’m taking it to heart. Psychologists say that you can never really change the foundation that your personality is built upon and if that’s true, then I’m always going to be the little boy that was raised mid-western parents, with wholesome values at first. Then learned very early in life that consequences for people like me are far and few between. Nothing I’ve learned outside of the Virtual Reality has changed that understanding. If I killed Dinah right this second, what would happen to me? Nothing. I’d fly away from Gotham and the people here would investigate it. While the people at Nowhere would be very happy that I’d removed someone like her from the game board. The two sides would cancel themselves out and life would essentially go on just as it always had.

The true consequence, which I really have learned, wouldn’t come for weeks or months. When Cassie found out, I’d have a lot of explaining to do. With the inherent risk associated with that, in that I’d need to either tell her the truth and risk her unhappiness becoming nuclear or I’d need to lie convincingly enough that she’d believe me. With all my super powers, apparently I have a genetic incapability of lying very well. I’m fine with that, though, because lying to Cassie is one of the few things in life that actually does feel wrong to me.

“No argument there. My observation is that most people do things, whether in general or specifically for someone else, to engender a sense of mutual cooperation. Whether they’re after a favor in return or a payoff in the relationship. And maybe you could say that’s my end game too. I might actually like having a certain beautiful kung fu master as a real friend, but for once.. I’ll let you in on a secret; I didn’t actually put that much thought in to the payoff, because seeing your face when I show you this? Is about as far as I got.”

That’s another thing I’ve caught on too in all my ‘listening.’ Dinah Lance does not have a lot of friends. There are people she’s friendly with. Not to mention the whole bat fam that she’s close enough to that they’re part of her inner circle. I’ve not yet found anyone that she’s close enough to that she opens up, trusts them enough to actually open up too. I get a distinct feeling that one of the rare times she’s shared anything of substance with someone, happened when I took her up in to the stratosphere.

“Mhm, yeah-yeah, save the ‘girls don’t like to make an effort’ routine for someone that hasn’t seen you dismantle an entire Russian flop-house. To get that good you tried very hard and you’ll do it again, if you think it’ll help you learn something that would give you an edge.” Flicking my head back over my shoulder in the direction that Slade Wilson went flying. “You’re hob-knobbing with the likes of that clown, so you’ll take an edge you can get and that means… trying harder is just what you do.”

This? Is the rare side of me that few people other than Cassie get to see. I can count on one hand how many people know that I’m not just some meat-head, that says the first crude thing to come to mind. Kyle saw it. Megan knows the inside of my head better than anyone. Cassie sees it when we’re alone. Somehow, though I still struggle with how, Freddy managed to see through my ‘secret identity’ too. Dinah Lance might be the only one of that list that I make any effort with trying to show it to. In a way I feel like she understands me better than any of them. Even Cassie struggles to see why I can’t be like this all of the time. The world that I live and work in wouldn’t allow it.

My Father wouldn’t allow it. And the truth? The downright scary truth is that I’m not sure I want to be this person all of the time. There is just no reward in it.

“The first step here, is going to be learning the right amount of base to use to get off the ground. Since you’re neck isn’t reinforced with super-strength, you’ll want to be careful at first. Until you learn the right amount to use, but there’s a trick to that too.” In one of my hands is her’s, with the other I gently put it at the small of her back. Looking at us from the outside you might think us about to dance. “I generate a tactile field around my whole body. That’s how I was able to keep a small pocket of air for you to breathe when we were up so high. You don’t have that power, but your Grandmother was able to simulate the same thing by creating a envelope of sonics around her entire body. She would hum. Deep, deep down. Simon Cowell calls it singing from your diaphragm.”

“That’s the easy part, the sonics of you voice will reverb through your whole body. It’ll reinforce you, so that when you start to direct your sonics at pushing? It won’t tear your head off. And… you can thank me later, when you take this lesson and realize you can use it to shield yourself in a fight too.”

“You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a third eye,” one brow raises up, but I can’t help it now, I have to smile at her. “I know. You think of your gift as something to break out when natural skills need just a little boost or a surprise, but… there’s more to it, to you, than that. If you learn this and choose never to do it? Cool. But, after our talk about whether you’d be helpless in a fight against someone like me? Knowing what’s going to happen if things keep ramping up between … people like Luthor and people like your friends here in Gotham?”

“I want you to actually have the choice, Dinah.” There is a timber to my voice in this, that isn’t normally there. I’m too young for regrets that would make me sound so old and sad about the past, but Billy Batson didn’t get the chance to learn his powers. Nowhere sent me to bring him down before he was ever able to harness them properly. They punished him, by way of me, for his inability to use his power properly. “Besides, just imagine Big Dick the Batman’s surprise when he realizes you can fly.”

Black Canary: “Krav Maga is actually my style of choice but. You’re not wrong.”

On the exterior, I look a little young to be a master of two martial arts styles, let alone the dozen I can actually boast. I’ve never been a barbie girl, and when you have a cop for a father that had the raising of you for most of your childhood, your interest in a little physical training may start small but it’s only going to bloom. I always liked the physical portion, and maybe a small bit rather guiltily may have liked throttling the boys my age, and older, because I shouldn’t have been been able to. Before I was even at my angriest, I was put into Wildcat’s ring. You can blame him for a lot of my teaching style, too. I may only be in my early twenties, but I’ve been training since I was four. I’ve been at this for longer than half the Batcave’s been alive.

“And believe it or not, I might actually kind of enjoy your company. But I find that all my best relationships are founded in a little casual assault and battery.”

I think the guy needed someone who took him for what he was, proverbial warts and all, and just listened without a lecture, or a pursed and pinched expression and while I can definitely say whether or not Tim did that from experience, I haven’t met the First Hottest Blonde in person. I’m not sure even she does that. Despite the pretext of our first meeting, I’m not interested in Conner Luthor for any of the reasons people usually are. Maybe it’s going to be kind of a weird friendship, all facts and figures considered, but it’s still shaping up to be one just the same.

“Oh, I meant with the flirting. I’ve been trying very hard to be very good at beating people up for a very, very long time. And anytime I can find a new way to do it? Sold. Dinah’s in. The better I am, the easier it is to look out for the people who need it.”

I.E. my friends. See. I do have a heart, and that’s mostly an admission of it. Even if it had been spoken in a much more general sense. Did I have other things I was planning to do tonight? Yeah, but they can wait, and while he’s said, and I believe him, that there’s no real ulterior motive here the tactical part of my brain always analyzes and measures the timing of things. He has other things he’s supposed to be doing on the other side of the world, faster than a speeding bullet be damned, so I’m just going to take the opportunity as presented. My grandmother was actually alive for most of my life. Unlike a lot of metas in the world, not only did I have someone to help me practice with my powers, I also had that same someone who had the same powers as me, and a particular insight in things to do with them. Was this something she’d ever tried to teach me? Instinct is to snort and blow him off because this is my thing, not his. Except he’s got access to information I do not.

And it’s very believable that Grandma may have tried to show me this, but I was much more interested in screaming the walls down in the basement of their shop. I.E. the building that we were standing on. My head’s cocked to one side, a plain look of consideration over what he’s saying, as the cogs spin. I’d honestly never considered using my powers defensively. Not like that. I should have. Especially since my preferred method of fighting is rooted in defense and aggression in the same motion.

“Actually, I’m thinking you better not let anyone know you actually have a pretty sharp brain up there, or they’re going to expect all kinds of things from you and that’s bound to be exhausting. There’s a reason for that logic, though. Beyond not needing to use it, most of the time, I didn’t want to attract a certain kind of attention, and generally I try to avoid kicking off the escalation here myself. Though we might be a little beyond that, now….”

I.E. NOWHERE’s. His. Which I guess makes a glaring testament to the import behind my actually using them on him. In Metropolis. While I was pretending to just be there for a show. Now, the band is another way of practicing that power that I can do out in the open, with a little bit higher stakes. When I was little, I couldn’t scream without using my powers, and for a long time the solution to that was focus. Willpower and personal control. Then as I got older, it was honing the gift so it only functioned when, and if, I wanted it to. The rock band’s made a perfect outlet. So has playing harmonica, but that’s much, much lamer and we don’t talk about that.

There’s actually a lot that could be unpacked from the last bit. From the tone of voice, and I can’t help wanting to dig into it some, but instead I just opt to go along with why he’s here. What he wanted. A half-gloved hand may just be getting laid on his shoulder in a moment of silent reassurance before I do start to hum. A look of concentration because I have never even attempted to do something like this. Direct my powers outwards explosively, or mute them entirely? Yes. Letting the sound build around me, rather than throwing it out and it’s a very, very peculiar feeling. Then I hear his very, very last comment. For a moment, I’m laughing internally over that, because I do owe Dick Grayson one for tasering me, still, but then blue eyes widen and I’m rattling my own teeth, and brain, with the sonics.

“…what…?”

Does he know who’s under the suit? I had the impression that had been kept from NOWHERE, and that transition is recent so if they’re that aware of what’s going on here, we probably have a larger problem than guessed. Or maybe he was just calling him a name, not knowing it’s his actual name. Either way… this isn’t a sensation I particular enjoy. I’m actually normally immune to the force of my powers, which lets me use it in enclosed spaces without fear. So it must be something with the way I was channeling it. The hand that had been on Conner’s shoulder moves to pinch the bridge of my nose as I steady myself with a breath and wait for the world to quit spinning for a second.

“I swear. This never happens.”

Superman: “Batman. The cowl is lined with lead, but the rest of the suit isn’t. Faces are not the only identifying mark people have, Dinah, and honestly I thought you’d be the last person I would need to say that too. Original Batman? Well, hung but old. The one with Wonder Woman and Flash that I met? Eh. The one I met in the ruins of Coast City? Brick shit house. Dude’s jacked and must not do steroids. Me? Genetic perfection, no brag Dinah, I’m designed to be just about as perfectly proportioned as possible. The guy you people have pretending to be Batman right now? His proportions are way off. He doesn’t have to fake that deep voice like the first one I met.”

Head tilting to the side just a bit, so as to show her that I’m being serious and not joking about a word I’m saying. I’m well aware that Timothy Drake was the first Batman that I met, the little jerk told me so after he passed the cowl off to someone else. I’m also well aware that he’s got two older brothers, but -I- am not a detective. Nor do I want to be. In fact after a discussion with Cassie, I’m not entirely sure that I even want to know who’s under that cowl at this point.

The whole thing is a little worrisome, truth be told. Because if Nowhere found out for certain? I’m fairly sure this little truce I’ve negotiated would be a thing of the past. Just as I know they’re working several different angles on finding out the inner workings of the so-called rebellion. Huntress and Miss Martian, are both working in Gotham city currently to that very end. Even as I’m running through all of this, I can’t help but think about how convoluted all of it is. How very close to exploding it all could be.

“Your equilibrium might be thrown off by the act of keeping your sonics internalized. When I first started to learn to use my abilities, I had to learn to focus on the specifics I was looking for or listening for. You wouldn’t believe how shitty it is to walk around seeing everyone’s internal organs and not be able to turn it off. When my hearing first started getting acute, I thought I was going insane. This isn’t going to happen right away. Like I said, leaping small buildings is our first milestone. We’ll get closer to flying by lesson three or four.”

“Here. Let me show you a trick that Megan used on me.”

We were working from a stance that was almost like dancing. The next step is a little different. A hand brushes along her jawline, nudging her to make eye contact with me. “When you’re first learning to dance, that first inclination is to always look down. You want to see where your feet are. But, if you actually want to learn to dance you have to stop looking at your feet and start trusting yourself to move the way you’re supposed too.”

“Follow my lead,” for effect I start us off with a very soft hum of my own, Blue Danube is one of the most famous Waltz renditions of all time and I’m sure that Dinah would know the classics even if she didn’t want the Bat Clan to know she was even an ounce sophisticated. “Doesn’t this make you want to laugh? You’re dancing with Superman on the top of your Family Business, in the middle of Gotham.”

Ah, but if she were to look down she’d realize that I’ve said something slightly untrue. We are no longer on the roof of her building. The solid ‘ground’ beneath her feet is a layer of telekinesis that has expended around her from contact with me. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Dinah. One of the best, cherished, little secret pleasures of my life? Is being equally my father’s biggest success and failure. He loves having his own Superman, but it grinds his gears that Conner Luthor is just another dumb jock to be manipulated to his end goals. He doesn’t even suspect that I’ve been working him, because he thinks I’m just another Dolt in an S-Shield and cape. With no more careful planning than it takes to get my next payoff. Whether that’s a piece of ass or whatever else I can dream up to ask for.”

“To some extent, everyone buys in to Conner Luthor, I think you’re the only person in my whole life that even has a clue.” Clearing my throat finally. “Normally at this point in the song, I’d either kiss you or let you go.”

Canary: “Aaaand we shall file that under ‘more information than I wanted to have, but now do, and can’t un-imagine.”

Especially because I do know who each one, in the progression of Batmen, was. Well hung but old. Christ. That’s going to be a potentially humorous discussion to have at some point. So, boys. It’s not just your facial features you might want to think about covering up, because Superman’s noticed some other identifying features. I’d say it must be a guy thing, but I haven’t bothered with a mask in a long time. There’s other ways than the eyes and cheekbones to identify a person, I rely on makeup to shift and smudge and look just different enough. It’s not as if I’m posing for pictures when I step out in the fishnets. I suppose superheros as a lot have evolved in that respect. Some of them, anyway. I know what the Superman in front of me looks like, what Wonder Woman appears to be, are not what the kids underneath those monikers actually have in the way of features. It’s possible they might eventually but not now. There’s a shrug of one shoulder, as much as I can move without making me shift positions otherwise.

“Literally, I’m sure. I temporarily deafened or knocked out my whole kindergarten class so. No stranger to losing control, I just got a tutor very, very quickly after that. And learned it. I’m not worried.”

I think most of what just happened then was what amounted to a startled sputter, or spraying a drink you’d just taken a sip of, only it just happened to be the Canary Cry’s back-beat I choked on instead when Conner shared his new fun nickname for Batman. Supes also isn’t apparently worried about my controlling it either, because he’s in front of me, still. And he, with all that incredibly amplified hearing, has felt a point blank demonstration before. There’s also a little general level of absurdity going on here, and I hadn’t needed it pointed out to me as we shift stances. If anyone is paying attention, which I’d imagine they have to be because the SupermanInc! Alert has probably already blared.
It always seemed pointless to me, because if he was coming with a head of steam he’d be here faster than it would have a chance to do any good.

I do know the waltz. I know it well, actually, and I do know how to waltz. You want the core conundrum that is me? Clinically unattached, and also a big gooey romantic at heart. I did this with Ollie many times, though the song wasn’t always the same, and the memory makes emotions tug and quirk the corners of my mouth and eyes. Amusement, sadness, tense threats at anger and back again, before I push it all out of my head.

“And I’m actually letting him lead, too. Must be his lucky day.”

I’m not looking down. I don’t need to in order to perform the steps, nor do I need to in order to know we’ve risen off the roof. I take over the instrumental portion of this little scene we’ve set, humming the Strauss piece. It would work without an actual tune, it would also work without me making any sort of audible sound at all, at least not to normal ears, but this is fitting. It’s low, as I shift, and fine tune the vibrations in my throat and out of it, still listening to Conner’s admissions as we go. I have to stop in order to chuckle at him, though.

“Talk about a potentially ominous double meaning. No thank you. On both. Last time you kissed another girl here, I was pretty sure your girlfriend was about to go thermonuclear on the city. But what can I say, you remind me of me. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, right?”

Superman: Ah, but if I wasn’t looking to steal the kiss then why am I smiling so much once more? The point of this wasn’t a kiss, nor was it that Dinah would suddenly manifest independent flight. It was to get her thinking about something else. Distraction. A tactic that she knows all too well. Good conversation and a little music, has her thinking of far more things that the harmonic vibrations that were tossing off her equilibrium and making her head swim. We’re now hovering above the block and she’s no longer commenting on it, nor forced to stop.

Step one achieved.

“Well, for the record, I’ve been told that I’m an excellent tutor,” you just can’t fake the wolfish grin I’m showing off right now, the tutor thing is apparently far too humorous to be anything but an inside joke she doesn’t get yet. “You should probably make sure that Wonder Woman knows how well I’m doing tutoring you.”

We come to a bit of a stop, such as it is given that we’re airborne. At this point the wind rustling past us is movement of it’s own. Between her hair and my cape there really isn’t a stop. The point is exactly that though. The wind is touching her, no more field from the super boy protecting her from the elements. The chance isn’t something that can hidden, at some point the weight distribution shifted from a sort of second gravity to my arms holding her in the air. What I wanted is for her to feel the actual, sensation of her own sonic field keeping things like the friction of movement, even the breeze, from affecting her too much. Much like the age-old saying that someone must learn to walk, before they can run.

“According to the database, your Grandmother wore a choker necklace that had a harmonic stabilizer in the crest. It did half the work for her, but bringing something like that with me would only make you dubious about where it came from. One of your boyfriends can make you a new one, if you can’t find the old one in that chest of her things you keep in the basement.”

We’ve reached the point in all of this where the casual onlooker that knew me would be waiting for the inevitable moment when I let go. Dropping Dinah would force her to sink or swim and that’s basically my whole M.O. It just never happens. Not with Dinah and it has absolutely nothing to do with fear of the repercussions. Our waltz is nearing it’s end when her boots crunch once more softly upon the insulation of the building we’d just left.

“I’m sure you know this already, but visiting you wasn’t about bringing a gift. It’s about the dance Din-…” In the span of moments between syllables, I turn my head just enough that my eyes aren’t precisely upon her and a blast of heat results in the voice of Slade Wilson letting out a surprised yelp, before the fire escape melts away from the building, depositing him on the ground, in a heap. “..-nah. You’re about to do something dangerous, even silly, but for the right reasons. If something of mine was taken from me, I would do no less. But… isn’t that a little funny? If you really think about it. The reason we met, is because you were sent to distract me from doing exactly what you’re doing?”

“You’re not going to like what you find in Star City, Dinah. You’re going to like what Wilson shows you even less. You’re not in the V.R. but you may as well be. Someone is marionetting you and in my experience that’s more about seeing what you’ll do than caring if you do it.”

Canary: “If I ever talk to her, I’ll be sure to do that. Should I throw in some outrageous winks and an elbow nudge or two?”

Normally, people would probably argue that it’s really unwise to goad someone who can crush your skull without too much effort. Especially when that someone is apparently some degree of a God, and only likely to get more powerful and have a very long time to hold a grudge. I’m not really in for all that, but there’s something that makes her more powerful, just like the alien that crash landed here, or the engineered half-alien in front of me. I do a whole lot of things that conventional wisdom wouldn’t consider all that smart, though, and I make it work. There’s an expression of almost detached fascination as I watch around us. I’m actually not a very big fan of flying like this. I don’t like doing anything that I’m not in absolute control over. This is a little bit different, and it’s not even difficult. Yes, it’s a new power application but that gift is something I’ve been honing just as long as my body. It’s still singing, just a different melody.

“Give me some credit. I ate the cookies without even a stray thought they might be poisoned or drugged. I trust you farther than I can throw you. And I don’t have boyfriends. I have partners. Roommates. Family. And then people I blow off steam with on a very limited and trial basis.”

But I will look through the things in the basement. Something I probably should have already done, but I just hadn’t had the heart at first, and then I didn’t think about it. My grandfather died right before I bailed on Gotham to go to college on the other side of the country, leaving all of it to me. And I do trust Conner Luthor, something very few people would actually say I think, because I trust him to be himself and everything else fits into a narrative around that. When we step down again, combat boots meeting roof, I tilt my head in to give him a shockingly chaste kiss on the cheek. Translation: the thank you that I’m not going to say out loud right now. In part because he’s finally getting to what I was waiting for. The reason for ‘why now?’ in his visit. Because the rest of this could have been done anytime. Any place. And he’d shown up right as I was speaking with Deathstroke. Right as I’m leaving to handle my business.

I don’t care who you are, the eye lasers from that close up? That’ll make anyone flinch, and I don’t even think they’re aimed for me in the first place. My head’s craned over my shoulder, to the slag of my former fire escape and the sound of the least dignified sound I’ve heard Slade make. Something I’ll surely find a time to mock him over. When I face Conner again, my mouth is pulled into a displeased, if determined, little line. Full lips tight and set.

“Your something wasn’t taken against its will while I had you looking at my tits, Conner. But the rest of that… I know you would. I already don’t like everything I know about the situation with Wilson. Hate it, actually. Knowing there’s missing time there makes me more than a little insane. So why did you tell me in the first place? About Ollie?”

Though I’m actually fairly sure I know the answer.

Superman: “Wasn’t it? My life was all about spending the week pretending to need a highschool education, so as to con my girlfriend in to scandalous situations for sex. Now it’s about capes, tights, tactics, and choices people our age haven’t a right to be make. I’m fairly sure our lives were stolen out from under us, while I was looking at your tits. Before that, a child’s innocence was taken away…” This draws me up just short of outlining the whole example, a shake of the head puts me back to the explaining from a different direction. “… the point is that this business, this whole super hero business. Whether it be a vigilante, a cape or even a policeman, it takes and takes.”

“We have to come to terms with that.”

Just before breaking contact with Dinah, I give her shoulders a very serious little squeeze. “Coming to terms with it, doesn’t mean accepting it blindly. It doesn’t mean rolling over and showing them your belly. It means, that when it’s time for righting the scales you don’t just restore balance. You put so much weight on their side, it takes them a lifetime to even restore balance. Much less hurt you again.”

Why did I tell her about Ollie? That’s not such a difficult answer, actually. When the Huntress was being given her time away for her Father’s death, Nowhere was looking at means of destabilizing Gotham. Yes, yes, that’s ironic because Gotham is never stable in the minds of people who live here. To those of us on the outside these people juggle chaos brilliantly at times. The answer to her question, then is actually about as straight forward as possible. But explaining it… doesn’t do much for my desire to get these people thinking we’re the good guys. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can choose not to answer her. Even if I wanted too, I just can’t.

“Okay. Before I answer you, let me give you just a little background. Your Dad was a cop, I know. When the Police thing a group of individuals are bad, but getting credible intelligence on them proves difficult the police send in an under cover unit. Take it a step further, when the FBI finds a terrorist cell, they use infiltration as a means of connecting one cell to the network. You need to accept that the U.S. Government views the Vigilante group here in Gotham on a level beyond that. You’re a terrorist cell that has proven to have connections that aren’t known or even totally understood. You’re insulated from standard action by connections to the GCPD, and through the civilian government. The only way to deal with your group at this point? Is through infiltration, intelligence and disillusionment.”

“While I understand that they have to take this path, as surely as the cops have to use undercover agents, I couldn’t be party to it. I certainly couldn’t condone. I don’t think all of you are the bad guys, but… I don’t think all of us are the bad guys either. So right now, I’m just trying to protect the people I can. While I try to find a way to make this work for all of us.”

“Not exactly the way I wanted to end this Date, Dinah, but I should let you get back to playing with Deathstroke. Remember, be home by eleven. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Actually, on second thought, specifically do nothing. Nothing at all. That I would do. He’s very old, and wrinkly. Things that make you go… eww..”

Canary: “So stop.”

I could debate some semantics with him, because he’s taken the comparison I was making and then shifted it into something else, but like most things in life, I cut straight through to the blunt end. There could have been time spent pointing out that from my understanding, he was the one that kick started that life for his girlfriend. Maybe he didn’t have the exact luxury of making the choice how he wanted to make it, and maybe she could have chosen not to do it again after getting pushed out onto that stage and into the lights of the world’s view. Spotlights definitely don’t bother me, but I sing in them. Not fight. Unless you count that one time with the pit fighting ring.

“Shit. I feel like a broken record lately, because I’ve been saying this to a lot of boys… you’re right. It does take. And take. And it’s impossible, and hard and it’ll kill you or someone you care about if you’re not in it. Really, really in it. Whatever reason it is that you’re in it for. And sometimes, it’ll still manage to do it then anyway. For the people that are really, really in it together? That makes a brotherhood unlike anything else.”

It’s why soldiers are so loyal to their unit. Cops. Vigilantes. Why the death of one, or the betrayal, hits the rest with such personal vengeance. Vengeance won’t keep you in the life if you weren’t already a permanent fixture though. In a way, Batman made sure with one hand that I’d stick with this, while the other was trying to shoo me out the door. Avenging my father would have been an end. I had to have another, better, reason. I’m actually still waiting to see if Tim’s protege is going wash out when her own Dad’s hoisted by his own petard, though there’s still some internal debate on which way I hope that it goes. The smirk on my lips, for the words he’d said after squeezing my shoulder, is much more predatory wolf than a flirtatious one.

“See, now. There you go again. Reading my mind.”

Because I could probably find the black site where they’ve got my. The Ollie. I’ve got resources that are even more resourceful than I am. But breaking in, breaking him out, achieves what? Making NOWHERE right, ruining Ollie’s cover story of a life. Another reason for them to come after us here, despite the fact that I’m the only one that really, technically, falls under their usual purview and I was supposed to be untouchable. I’m going to Star City first to do some recon. To gather some information. Because when I do come for them, I am going to not only make it hurt, I’m going to make damn fucking sure it sticks.

“Infiltration. Interesting.”

There’s a lot of room for debate, again, but on the exterior of all of that, I know it’s not exactly his call despite all that power he has, and he did warn me when he didn’t have to. Another note I’m going to file into the folder labeled ‘Things Tim’s Wrong About,’ and another reason that I do actually like this kid a lot. Whether or not I agree with his analogy for our situation in Gotham, I can see the validity of the comparison. So I don’t argue it. I just tick my head to one side at his word choice. Reaching up a hand, I pat where I’d smooched a minute ago but it’s a fond gesture, not one of condescension.

“I don’t think you’re a bad guy, either. Secret’s safe with me, and if I can help you keep yours safe, you let me know. I won’t even expect anything in return. Friends, and all that.”

Blue eyes roll after that, and his teasing, before I step backwards from Superman and pivot on a bootheel with a jaunty, and sloppy salute.

“You probably broke the old man’s hip, he may not even be any fun anyway.”

Fear of Falling

Baggage

Dick: “So. You’re heading off with Slade Wilson. To track down a part of your History. This is where I’m supposed to ask you if that’s a good idea.”

Things have not exactly gone according to plan for me of late. The investigation in to Bruce’s death has hit a wall at nearly every pass. Given the combine ability of every Bat-family member involved, it is nigh-unto impossible to calculate the odds that we’d all be getting no where fast. Yet, here we are. Made all the more confounding by the ramp-up of Nowhere. Which has now played in to Damien getting himself in trouble with them. A fact that brought them in to Gotham. Damien doesn’t even realize his mistake there, with the Princess from Outer Space. He’s essentially erased a decades long agreement between Black Canary, the original version, with Nowhere to leave Gotham effectively out of their crusade.

Oh and let’s not forget. Hawk-Lady literally flew away, while I was stuck dealing with the after-math of an all out assault on her. Damien’s involvement there was absolutely baffling and with her ‘getting away,’ I’m left back at the basics tracking the Hawk-people and their ‘magic metal’ down. I’m not even sure how Damien got involved with that, but… I do know who to talk to about being in charge while I was gone. I’m looking at her.

Or rather, I’m looking at the person I thought was going to be in charge. She’s apparently got something to do too. “Dinah, do I really have to tell you how preposterous it is that Slade fucking Wilson shows up. With the kind of information he’s throwing to you. At exactly the moment we need you in Gotham most? Much less with his hat in hands and willing to help you with Ollie?”

“…and Tim is letting you just… go off on your own?”

Dinah: “I wouldn’t call it with so much as Deathstroke adjacent. And when is anything we do a technical good idea?”

Because on paper, going to a concrete war with mobsters and psychopaths toting guns and acid while wearing lingerie and boots sounds like an absolutely terrible one. Fighting an army of criminals with minimal, no matter how skilled, backup to call on is essentially in the same boat. We could go on to talk about well armored Halloween costumes and not sleeping while maintaining double lives. The list goes on. And it doesn’t stop a single one of us. So really, the determining characteristic of whether or not an idea is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in these parts seems to come down to whether or not you’re the one doing it.

“And no. You really do not. Why the hell would you even think that I haven’t run all that through the over-thinker a time or six? It boils down to what it always boils down to, and I shouldn’t have to tell you that. It’s about what’s in it, or not in it, for him.”

Clearly he’s been talking to his brother. Or alternately getting into the computer, though I have to assume it’s more of the former. There’s a pause in my unceremonious packing of a duffel bag, aka cramming clothing in a wad into its interior, and a puff of breath to get blonde hair out of my face as I look over my shoulder at Dick. The last time we had a one on one conversation I had the distinct impression that he was trying to get a certain answer out of me, and not listening to the words that I actually had in his quest to get them. I also ended up very annoyed, and so here I am. Debating already if I want to instigate a fight or to not give anyone else a reason to try and interfere in all this. Especially when I’d managed to get out of one round of this with his brother better than I’d expected.

“Y’know. I really can’t decide if I want to coo at you over actually saying out loud that you need me, or go the righteous indignation route for using ‘Tim’ and ‘let’ in a sentence. Tim wasn’t invited, and hopefully will stay busy with his protege and not try to tag along anyway.”

Neither is anyone else, for that matter. But I think he’d gotten the message well enough. Gotham doesn’t need to be involved in this, and no matter how much I might insist that Gotham is as much my home as it is any of theirs, that one little gene makes for a line. A line that also was, up until lately, an unspoken boundary around the city. One that doesn’t need to get any more blurry than it already is. Besides. I’m actually quite good at identifying my personal quirks and foibles, and I know I can’t sit on this particular situation any longer.

“They’re threatening family. So I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. That’s how you get bit. So why are you here, exactly?”

Dick: “We both know, maybe better than any two people have a right to, that there is absolutely no such thing as Deathstroke adjacent. The man utilizes over ninety percent of his brain. Most people never use more than ten percent. Me and you? Forty, tops. He’s next level and he’s got some sort of an angle in this. Engaging him, even adjacently if it were possible, without knowing his angle? Is like hugging a hornet nest with the hope of not being stung.”

By this point in the conversation I’ve switched from hanging out at the doorway, to actually making sure she has to see me by crossing in to her line of vision. I want her to see that I’m not in the Batman’s costume. Nor am I here with that stone cold face of distance. I don’t want her to do this and I’ve come without a mask so that she can read my features and know the truth. First rule of engagement with Dinah, pick your battle wisey. Second rule is to choose the right weapon.

“A lot of research was done on those implants, Dinah. Tim told you everything he could find, but did he tell you that Bruce knew about all of this?”

Clues within a clue. I’m giving away something for free; Tim didn’t go behind Dinah’s back to give me a total debriefing of their discussion. At the same time I’m also laying on the table that I know more about that aspect of it than Tim could have uncovered from notes on one of Bruce’s files. Bait, that’s what a comment like that is and I’m not an idiot, so I know that Dinah knows exactly what I’m doing. Which is why I have to throw something else out there.

“I know my little brothers, Dinah. As good as you are. You couldn’t stop Damien or Tim from being Damien or Tim, without permanent damage. Maybe not even then. So. Yeah, I’m asking if Tim let you go. You’re choosing to take it as my saying he could prevent you, but I mean it as a question of whether he is allowing you to go without a struggle of some sort? No argument? No drones keeping tabs on you?”

This is the second time I’ve felt the twitch of the detective side of my brain screaming at me over this topic. Unlike last time when I couldn’t put my finger on it, this time … I came a little better armed for the discussion. Pick your battles -and- your weapons, remember? “One of the most frustrating things I’ve dealt with since getting in to this life? Is this whole ‘Family’ idea. Bruce hated it, you know? I mean he thought of all of us as family, don’t get me wrong, but he thought of the whole idea of us being a ‘Family’ as a bad idea. Alfred pushed him in to it. He knew Bruce needed an anchor. Something to keep him from crossing that line. A tether of sorts that would hold the darkness at bay. Originally that ‘Family’ started with me, Dinah.”

“I’ve been the one pushing this family agenda since day one. I’ve fought for it. Pushed it. Kept it alive. Time and time again, Bruce would pony up to the table and tell us all to go away. Or worse, he’d put the weight of the entire family on his shoulders. Lock the rest of us out and go cowboy on some issue to protect us. Time and time again, until I had enough of it. Until I couldn’t take it any more and walked away.”

“Who drug me back? Who made the big speech about doing my part and protecting my family when they needed me most? Spoiler Alert: It was you. Now you are going to go maverick, with Slade Wilson and you think. Wait. Here’s the Clown Prince of Jokes. You actually think that I’m going to let you go off half-cocked when this City… and this Family needs you most?”

“So. I’m asking you. Seriously. Did Robin give you permission to go?”

Dinah: “So if you have to hug that hornet’s nest, you go in with a suit and do it at arm’s length. There’s any number of easy angles, which means that they’re probably not the correct, or only, ones. Whatever it actually is, he’s motivated.”

Information is a good one, and even if they hadn’t started messing with people that I care about and pushed the issue, information would have eventually led me down this path. Knowledge. You can’t brag about knowing yourself, only to then find out that you really don’t, and not have that stick in your craw. I might have been able to hold off a lot longer, go about it in more long game ways and taken time to gather resources that were not homicidal mercenaries, but it was still only a matter of time before I did it nonetheless. That was when it was just about me. But it’s not anymore. It’s about Ollie. It’s about Roy. It’s about that blurred line. Because if they’re targeting non-metas, no matter their reasoning for that targeting, then who’s next? Tim? Lian? Dick and Alfred?

There’s a very high probability that this is a trap. I’m not stupid, I’m not even especially trusting. That’s why I’m still alive. And if it is, their choice of bait has only made me even more certain that I’m going to make them pay for this. And it’s going to hurt. And it’s going to stick and the whole damn world is going to know about it.

“No… but I made an educated guess.”

And I was even butt-hurt about it for a minute or two when I realized it. Those minutes weren’t even when Red Robin was giving me the information that he had in the first place, so much as after my initial discussion with Slade. There wasn’t much that went on here that Bruce hadn’t known about, but knowing him made it absolutely impossible to believe that he would have missed that assault on Arkham. And having not missed it, that he wouldn’t have found out about the participants. Which leads to…

“I’d even bet you five bucks that it’s actually why he brought me in, in the first place. You know. Adjacent to the fact that he couldn’t seem to help himself when it comes to orphans, and not wanting me to really futz up the status quo with my wanting to be heard.”

Because it had never been just to help me. That was an end result of course, giving me that family which he supposedly hated and seemed to instinctively amass just the same. I really can’t fault the reasoning, and maybe were he alive I’d get a little more righteous about him not telling me. But…

There’s no skulking in the shadows of my apartment, or even especially looming which means I can’t really call him Batdad, but it also means that he’s got a reason. Or maybe just knows that trying to get me to not do something by trying to order me around in the cowl is only going to push me in the opposite direction. So I do him the moderate favor of pausing in my preparations, straightening my posture with hands on my hips. It’s a more relaxed posture than one of defiance, mostly because of the inquisitive tilt of my head. Even if I am muttering under my breath.

Drugging doesn’t even work, either… Drones are kind of a given, especially now that he’s sonic proofed them, and he didn’t argue so much as spin out my logic and then not really fight me on it.”

Honestly, he’d fought me on it a lot less than I expected. Because what I’d expected was bribery. Of him withholding his help on the technical aspect that I didn’t have a prayer of figuring out on my own, unless I took him along even though I hadn’t thought Tim was in any shape for much of anything. I’d tried to bench the guy after the Iceberg, and the second I’d turned my back he’d gone out anyway, with someone that really wasn’t good enough to pick up the slack and keep him safe.

“You were half-back on your own, Dick. And even me ranting and scolding couldn’t make you do this if you didn’t have your reasons. So while I appreciate the warm welcome, and have every intention of being here for my family, I’m not exactly the only one with multiple irons in the fire here.”

He’s doing it again. Asking me the same questions over again, when I already gave an answer and Dick’s a lot of things but forgetful and dense aren’t really among them. Barring some sort of cranial injury that has messed up his short term memory that I hadn’t heard about… there’s a clucking sound of annoyance as I suck my teeth at him, arms moving from my sides to folded across my chest.

“We discussed it. He told me to go and that he’d man Fort Gotham until I got back. Why are you harping on this? I don’t need any of your permission.”

Dick: Drones probably are a given. Honestly. That’s beside the point that I’m making here, but I should really look in to the whole drone thing. Oh, hey. Irons in the Fire, by example. Right, so I’m going to need to escalate my plan of action here aren’t I? “Sucker’s bet there, Dinah. I was there, remember? I was always trying to get in his head. He was always trying to let me, too. He wanted me to become him. Oddly, I’m unique in that way. He never wanted this life for Tim. He regretted that Damien was forced in to this life before he even got a choice. You? He wouldn’t have gotten his friend’s Grand-Daughter in to this life. You were already in. He brought you in to protect you.”

“…and to get to the bottom of the whole mystery…”

“Which brings me back to the point. I was there.” Two of us can put our hands on our hips and I just might be the one person she knows who has more shapely ones than herself. “I was there and you haven’t asked me what I know.”

“Wait. Stop. You’re going to launch in to some witty retort. For once, let me talk. Not just because I like the sound of my voice, but because I’m good at this Dinah. I want you to think about what I’m saying and what I’m about to say. Really. Think about it. Walk through it like Bruce taught you. Like your Dad would have. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane. You’re not the side-kick type. So what is Tim? A friend? Little brother-type? I’d buy it. He needs a Batman, you’re his best option. But you care about him. Natural. Makes sense. We have a similar connection, but… if I tried to take you out of the field and make you a trainer you’d kick my ass. Or at least, you normally would.”

“That was actually the first clue. I couldn’t understand it. Barb thought maybe you were crushing on my little brother, but I couldn’t see it. Until I started to look closer. But then you denied it. Hard. I mean like stone cold hard. So I started to re-examine my clues. There were a number of them. I started with your return to Gotham. Then I started to piece oddities together. Your shift from keeping Tim at arms length to letting him slowly open the doors. You two became the new dynamic duo. But I couldn’t get past your denial. You’re self-awareness is keen, even more so than my own. So I started to back-track. When could I pin-point your first shift…”

“Moping around the apartment, when Tim didn’t listen to you.
“Coming to me to protect Tim.
“Not breaking Damien’s arms for murdering people.
“Letting me taser you.
“Taking in Tim’s stray to train…
“Staying in Gotham, to be Robin’s partner in the field.

“Everything. Every little squiggle of this centered around Robin. Robins. So maybe you were just being protective. Momma Bird. Right? As much as I wanted to think that, you’re more of a mock us until we do what we should have done in the first place -or- go do it your damned self type. So.. I just couldn’t let it go. Not after our last talk.”

Gesturing finally for Dinah to follow, I take about three whole steps needed to cross her floor and point to the little eye-in-the-sky drone that most people wouldn’t notice out across the street. “You’re the one who said it yourself. Drones were a given. They have been since he came back to Gotham. So, I took a page out of the book of the guy that’s been hacking the Batcave’s system. I asked Alfred to access them.”

“Fifteen Seconds. One of Tim’s drones tracked you. You were with Jervis Tetch for fifteen seconds according to that drone. Then Robin interrupted him. You told Robin that you had no memory of what was going on for those fifteen seconds. But you’ve been nicer to the three Robins in this City than you’ve ever been before.”

“So. Dinah. I have a hypothesis. Ready? Can you keep packing that bag, if I tell you that Robin is lacing himself with a chemical that is going to drive him insane in order to repair his body. Because -he- can’t stand the fact that you benched him? Listen to me closely. Can you even try you finish packing with the idea of leaving? You know, intelligently, that I’m capable of stopping Timothy. But can you, are you capable of even thinking of leaving without tending to it yourself?”

Dinah: He’s right, I was about to retort and it wasn’t going to be witty in this instance so much as snotty, because no. I don’t remember and that’s the entire problem. It was also before my first introduction in a personal way to anything Bat, or Batlike. That I knew of. So while I might have learned the timeline after the fact, I couldn’t have known for sure if he had been there or not. Now. Maybe if I wasn’t still a little pissy about him tasering me I might have thought to ask but I hadn’t needed to, because I had Tim and he’d been pretty damn happy to have me actually ask for his help on something.

I do actually let him talk. Much to my credit, right? I may like to talk, but I don’t need to in order to make a point. I do that with fists. Though not right now. Right now I employ my expressive face, and some body language so that there’s no missing what I think about any number of his points with quirks of my lips, or what starts to threaten to be blue eyes rolling to one side or the other. So I let him talk. And I wait. And I build up my tirade of a reply one little building block at a time. I’ve got a good memory, after all, which is another reason why the entire situation with the Suicide Squad was so goddamn obnoxious.

“I did not mope, he was going to get himself killed and me telling him so was only going to wreck his confidence and make it happen even more quickly, one of you two ought to muzzle Damien, but mostly we didn’t need our ranks thinned mid-ninja invasion, Stephanie Brown is also going to get herself killed without a whole lot of instruction, and Bruce was my family, too. Just like Gotham is my home, and I’m not staying for the purpose of being anyone’s partner.”

Okay so maybe skipping over the letting him taser me bit was telling, but if I’d protested that I hadn’t let him, then that would be admitting the lack of the ability to anticipate it, or to prevent him. I definitely haven’t forgotten. Oh no. I’m biding my time for a suitable opening on that slight. And as glorious as that imagined revenge has been in my head a time or two, it’s really not what I’m going to dwell on right this moment. Because I’m trying to understand what he’s getting at, without having to insist for what feels like too many times that I don’t have a ‘thing’ for his brother. He’s a little young for me, for the least of the reasons I might want to throw out there.

Gah. The damn drones. I’d gotten good enough at spotting them, that I think i’ve stopped trying to do it, and so…

“Is this a hypothetical situation or is he actually…”

The speed and sharpness with which my eyes have narrowed, and my brows pulled together actually makes my forehead feel a little twitchy, because I find it hard to believe that Tim would do something so stupid, unless he felt he didn’t have a choice, and then I’d like to think he’d invent or devise another one anyway. Or that someone would stop him. My expression stays focused and pensive, and my lips parted mid sentence as my brain… I realize it’s churning through its own hypothetical like it can’t puzzle out a result when it’s a very simple question he’s asked me. Of course I can finish packing. There’s not even much to finish, because I don’t really travel heavy. Don’t require tech and gizmos and gadgets when my weapons are usually just me, myself and I.

“He told me to go.”

Why is that my answer? Whether I was told or not has zero pertinence, because I was going to go anyway. I had just done Red Robin the courtesy of warning him. Mostly because I wanted to make sure Spoiler was getting training from someone who wasn’t me. I’d been so frustrated and in need of a pressure release after the phone call I’d gotten from Fake Oliver that I’d taken a sparring session far, far too . Well . Far. If I hadn’t told him, and he realized I’d gone, it would have only made it that much more likely that he’d follow me, and we couldn’t all be gone.

Dick: “Mm. Do you know how many times Barbara told me to go when she stuck in that wheelchair? I lost count. She meant it too. It was actually more painful for her to know that I was witnessing what she was going through, than it was to actually go through it. Babs wanted to be out there. Doing what we do. It got taken away from her, when she wasn’t even in uniform. She just opened the wrong door and bang…”

We’re not normally the close knit types. Oh, family might be what we say but it’s not always what we are. Our sort of little family talks usually involve teasing one another until the other submits. Or beat the crap out of each other in a spar/fight or video game. We don’t have heart to heart talks like this. So why are we having this one?

“Tim got put out of the game, when he wasn’t even in uniform. Doing something he’s done a thousand times. He took a fall the wrong way, because he couldn’t give away that he knew how to take a fall. He was protecting us. All of us, but mostly you at the time. He probably needs surgery. We all know it. You know it, you’re the one that pulled his wings. Why did he tell you to go, Dinah? Do you think he wants you to see him like that? Not a chance. He wants you to believe in him, Dinah. His time as Batman was singularly fueled by your belief in him…”

“And he’s going to do whatever it takes to make himself good enough to be that partner. Including the use of experimental Wayne Corp nano-probes that are fixing his shoulder. Lucius Fox reported it missing from the lab, during Tim’s overnight disappearing act while you grounded him. He went ‘shopping’ while he was out on the town. Lucius’ report to Alfred says that all the trials have resulted in ‘aberrant behavior’ in the test subjects, prompting the tests to be black listed.”

One thing I -do- know right now, based simply upon the look she’s got on her face, I’m not going to be able to break through what Tim said to her. I’ve got to do this a little bit different. “Back to my hypothesis. The Dinah that I know would never leave Tim to something so dangerous. Even if her mission was important, it’s been laying dormant for years so it’s not time sensitive. That means you don’t have to go. Unless you have to obey Timothy. He did tell you to go, like you said.”

“That Dinah. Always obedient. Sounds just like her. That’s what they say.”

Dinah: I could continue to argue this with him, but it feels much like our last conversation. Only this time he’s not in a cowl and interrupting my movie. I’m going to answer his questions, that I don’t actually have to answer. He’s going to ask them either in a different way, or more irritatingly the exact same one, over again. It’ll turn into a cycle that will continue to ramp until one of us gets irritated enough to cut our losses and bring it to an end. Tim and Barbara aren’t the same people. No matter the similarities he’s drawing between these two particular events. I’m clearly not the only one concerned about him, and if his actual family isn’t moving to put a swift stop to his behavior then why do they expect me to do it?

“Well. My personal guess is that he knew full well that I’d be going anyway whether he said it or not, and it was a way of taking on what I’m foisting back onto him without saying as much. Or because it’s a way of seeming to acquiesce while having every intention of meddling via tech and drones and whatever else he has at his disposal because medi-nano-whatevers? I’m sure there’s even fancier things in those vaults.”

I make a show of snagging the trailing sleeve of a dark sweater that I’d actually discarded from my planned packing, wadding it up and cramming it into my bag. See? I can pack just fine, thank you very much, even though I know he couldn’t have meant the physical aspect of it, so much as the mental follow through. But the act is.. actually more difficult than it should be. Not physically of course. I had no problem taking this course, and nothing Grayson’s actually said is enough to sway me because I don’t intend to be gone that long. His disapproval actually is a non factor. That much I know for sure. The fact that I hadn’t had to argue and cajole his brother to stay in Gotham had been a surprise, and if anything his willingness to stay and keep things safe (ish) in Gotham had been like a giant weight off.

“Are you really accusing me of being obedient over something I decided to do, marched into the Nest and told him I was doing…” Okay not really in those exact words… “And am now trying to get onto doing, even with you standing here griping at me about it? It stopped being dormant, and something to be backburnered Dick, when people’s real names started getting named. When me being here is going to bring them here again, and I assume you know they really don’t need much of a reason at this point.”

Superman’s already been and gone a few times. Wonder Woman turned up. The alien that crash landed. I made myself a little too interesting and tipped the balance of my grandmother’s agreement.

“Do you want to maybe just tell me in simple terms what it is you’re actually wanting me to say right now? I really don’t actually have to explain any of his to you, but hey. I might also point out that the ‘Dinah you know’ has bailed on Gotham before without actually having intentions to be back. So unless you have advance knowledge of the League coming back for round two, or some other immediate looming threat that is something you want to tell me you cannot handle…?”

Dick: “You’re not wrong. There is a lot worse in those vaults,” it almost seems to be an after-thought, the topic of the vault. “Or rather, there was. It would seem that Timothy took somewhat took care of that issue. As a means of preventing whomever has been attacking the Bat Cave from finding that sort of weaponry.”

Her point is actually a really good one. Timothy is my brother. Just as Damien is. I -should- be there for him, physically in person, but that’s the strange truth of Bruce’s philosophy. Doing that would take me away from what is actually going on out there, beyond Gotham City. A point that I think Dinah herself was espousing to Tim and I not so long ago. Her own argument about this Slade-business is that exact point of view; She could back burner it until it began to impact more than just herself.

“You’re going to have a hard time swallowing this right now, but I can’t. I’m pursuing a lead that might flesh out the entire situation in Khandaq. I only even became aware of the situation in Gotham, because Damien showed up at a location that I was investigating. Apparently your Kryptonian boy-pal decided to give him a choice between being useful in Khandaq or being put in jail for the entire Alien debacle there in Gotham.”

“Dinah,” starting over after a brief pause to pivot my approach to something a little more palatable to her. “I want you to say that you’ll tend to this Timothy matter, but I don’t think you can. Tim told you to go, so I don’t think you’re actually capable of doing anything but exactly what he said.”

Dinah: “And the situation in Khandaq is your problem why?”

I don’t actually need him to answer that question, though. Because he’s following through, once again, with something that Tim started. Tim, as the Batman, ventured out of Gotham and publicly worked with this Wonder Woman. With the new Flash. Why settle for one Pandora’s box being thrown open when you can manage a baker’s dozen? I know Bruce had his fingers in all the pies, but he’s not Bruce. He doesn’t have to be. That was where Tim was going wrong, even as I think he was also going right in other things.

“That does sound like my Superfriend. But let me get this straight. You had enough time to watch drone footage, do some other research, and drop in to badger me about this, and yet not enough time to go have a bro-talk with him yourself?”

The set of my mouth is expectant, if not exactly patient as he tries to swap tacks again. This feels like bait, like he’s trying to provoke me into a certain reaction only I cannot for the life of me fathom what it is. No, that’s not true. I just don’t know the purpose. Is Dick trying some reverse psychology bullshit to steer my actions? There’s a low, soft growl in my throat as I yank the zipper on the duffel closed, and push a hand through loose blonde hair to try to calm my irritability a little.

“Jesus Christ, Dick, do you hear yourself? You can’t say I’m someone’s puppet for doing exactly what I was already doing before they were even aware or involved. I. Will. Handle. Tim. If Tim is something that still needs handling when I get back, even though it shouldn’t be me that needs to do it, and with the track record of him not listening to me last time. Do you want to also tell me that I’m going to watch my ass around Wilson only because someone else told me to be careful? Or maybe breathing only became a good idea after some stray ‘deep breaths’ comment??

I don’t need to be half the good read of people that I actually am to know that Red Robin wouldn’t be at all pleased if I were to suddenly and abruptly reverse course to hang around and mother, and scold and nag and hover over him.

Dick: The snort that makes it past my otherwise unemotional veneer is simply because, “Wait. You don’t get to ask that. Not when you talked me in to taking the mantel over when I thought he was doing a good job. Making the Bat a symbol for hope again. It’s the only reason I agreed to do it in the first place.”

One thing that people easily mistake about Dinah, she’s as good with her mouth as she is with her firsts. Equal opportunity weaponry. She’s using the former as a means of trying to knock me off the path of attack. All deflection without actually answering my accusation. That part, I at least understand. Because she’s right about a lot of things. We three brothers haven’t exactly been playing the part very well. Who would have thought that Bruce was the glue binding the three of us together. These days we work independent of one another to such a large extent that none of us even know what the other is doing most of the time. Unless you account for the spying on one another. Which is mostly Alfred doing it, then sicking one brother on the other to keep them in line.

I’m not rising to that particular bait though. Not this time at least. “Despite what a couple of my ex-girlfriends might think, I actually can’t walk on water. Compliment noted however. Chicken or the Egg question, by the way. I’m not going to follow you down that rabbit hole Alice, beyond pointing out that if you had made up your mind to go? Your normal m.o. would have been to blown town before a loved one could try to stop you. Taking your own argument for example, you went against your own nature by going to Tim for permission.”

“But,” a hand finally comes up to make a very soft gesture to the packed bag. “The truth is, I really don’t have time to go have a bro-talk with him. Nor do I have time to keep trying to get through to you. So I’m going to make this easy Dinah. You might not even need to go with Slade, because we have the case files from Bruce. If you’d have come to me, I’d have shared them with you originally. Take care of Tim, Alfred will bring you the case files.”

“Here is where you lash out again. Bark at me some more about your mind being made up. Here is where you argue with me, when presented with an opportunity to have actionable intel, in order to do as you were told.” With this comes a resolved shake of the head and a soft sigh that brings a hanging of my head with it and the rummaging of a hand in to the vest pocket for a thumb drive. “Alright. Well, if you’re going at least take the intel from Bruce’s case files…”

Dinah: “He was doing a good job. He was also trying way too hard to be an ideal, and wasn’t playing to the strengths that would have kept him alive while doing it.”

still can’t believe he was trying to do the job without his ‘signature’ weaponry. Maybe there would have been the crook out there who would have picked up on the fact that he was fighting differently than Batman used to, but chances are that crook is also one that likely already had noticed that something was up in the vigilante corner of the ring. Or maybe Gotham would more correctly be a Thunderdome. I might not often use my meta-powers, but I’ve had every bit as much practice, maybe even more, in using fists and feet and the rest of the my body.

“And you and I both know how that would have gone, Dick. I didn’t want him following me when he realized I was gone. Or saw me heading towards the city limits with a drone. Not when I already don’t think he should be anywhere but resting that shoulder, and here there’s at least other distractions. So, sure. I made a tactical choice.”

Tim doesn’t want to hear from me that I don’t want him slowing me down. That’s not something you say to a partner. Not if you want to maintain that relationship at any point in the future. And that’s what we’ve been working as. And we were before my run in with Tetch. I let the guy crash at my place before that, too. We’d been unable to figure out what exactly, if anything, the Mad Hatter had been able to talk me into during that time I don’t have memories for but it’s completely ludicrous to believe that it would have been to obey one of the Bats. Or all of them. I think my interactions ought to be proof enough that it’s definitely not the latter.

“You’re busy. Remember?”

Okay, so that isn’t fair entirely and while I’m not going to apologize for making it sound like I’m faulting him for being occupied in doing something that I actually do think is important, and good, the cluck of my tongue and the momentary wince is at myself and not Dick.

“No, I’m not going to, even though I’m pretty sure you’re actually trying to bait me into screaming you out that window over there. Barking at you is working as well as cajoling did on Tim. I’d worry that I was losing my touch if it were another week than this one.”

And I am going. So I hold my hand out, palm up, expectantly. It isn’t just about intel though. There’s a lot of this I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain or justify, and maybe he’s just caught up in this nonsense. To go from accusing me of having a thing for a teenage boy, to deciding that it must be mind control. There’s some things you can’t get just from information, like sussing out what Wilson’s part in this is. That? I need to be there for. I also need feet on the ground to make someone hurt for hurting Ollie. And past all of that? It’s just the way I work.

“So if you were there, why didn’t you bring it up before now? I know why Bruce didn’t. Because he’s… was… you know what, never mind. Apparently ain’t no one got time right now.”

Dick: “Originally I never brought any of this up with you because Bruce would have never allowed it. Not to mention, I actually sort of agreed with him. We didn’t really know all we know now about Nowhere, so all we knew was that some very highly placed government officials sanctioned a squad of suicidal super-people to do something in Arkham. We didn’t even know what at the time. Faced with the very real possibility that a headstrong Girl with a bad attitude might get herself killed trying to find answers? Bruce did what Bruce does and kept it all internal.”

“And for some real full disclosure, Dinah, I really hate the fact that once again Bruce is right. A decade later, he’s still right.” One more sigh for the road, but this time it comes without the hung head as I put the thumb drive in to her hand. “In more recent times, I didn’t bring it up because… because the real truth is that we, collectively, have a lot of things pulling at us. You wanted me to step in to the mantel, Dinah, right? You knew what that meant and frankly, I think you’re being a little silly about not at least giving me a little benefit of the doubt here. Being the Batman can be about inspiring Hope, it can be about solving crimes and cleaning up the City… yada yada yada… but it’s also at the very core? About being the Leader. Hell, you make fun all the time with your Bat-Dad jokes.”

“I made the choice to prioritize the problems, the cases, we’re all dealing with. Starting with ‘the potential end of the world as we know it’ crisis in Khandaq. Does that mean I love my little brother(s) any less or that I don’t want to help you with all of this?”

Has this discussion spiraled a little too far abroad of the reason I came here to begin with? I don’t like what I’m becoming reasonably sure is the situation before me, but I really do have to prioritize. I can’t drop every single thing I’m dealing with to try to convince Dinah that something is wrong. Just like I can’t stop pursuing these Hawk people just to stage an intervention for one of my little Brothers. I’m realizing all too quickly what made Bruce in to the man we all love/hate. These decisions eat at you, you can’t stop that.

So you just have to make the decisions be something you can live with. Right? “One thing. Just to be clear. You never asked for my help. Not once. Not even a hint at it. Yet, I’ve found the time twice now to be here trying to offer it. How do you even know that I haven’t tried to do the same with Tim or Damien?”

“When you’re ready to ask for help, I’ll be there. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel,” pointing the finger-gun at her duffel bag on my way through the door of her apartment. “For someone that isn’t hung up on someone, you may have just packed Tim’s underwear in your overnight bag.”

A few seconds later, from just beyond the door of her apartment. “Hah! Made you look.”

Dinah:

“And my inner cynic can’t <i>not</i> chime in with ‘and not at all because it would make for juicy just in case leverage to use later against one of the only operating metas in the city.'”

Cynical sentiment or not, I can’t even really fault it. One of the many reasons besides his not being here any longer to be mad at that I’m not. Mad. Now, Dick would make a better target for it, but with my not remembering it could also have just been a matter of why bring it up if I don’t need to? There’s any number of reasons to not share something like that, and while I would have preferred to not have been caught flat footed when Slade Wilson showed up wanting to be chummy old pals it is what it is.

“The moment I stop making fun of you is when you can bet I have <i>actually</i> been mind controlled. Or whatever this is you think is supposedly going on. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I get it. I can juggle plates, too. Ollie and Roy and Diggle are <i>my</I> family, too.”

And frankly I trust the Batcrew in residence a whole lot further than I do the Arrows at this particular moment in time, to be able to keep their shit together long enough for me to deal with something else. How do I know he hasn’t tried to bash some sense into his brothers already? I don’t. Though if it’d come to actual blows I think I would probably have noticed the marks on someone, especially as much time as I spend around the youngest of them.

The only ‘looking’ that goes on with his jab is an exaggerated eye-roll towards the ceiling, as he’s on the way out. Psh. Please. Has he not seen that Red Robin suit? Even if there were underwear under that thing, Tim is far too OCD to leave any laying around. That’s <i>my</i> shtick, not his. Once I’m alone, I steal the luxury of wasting a few moments rubbing my face with the heels of my hands. Letting my brain tumble at a less aggressive responsed pace to the suggestions/accusations that he’d just made. Yeah, no, still sounds just as crazy as it had at first blush.

Maybe I should just go have a nice, quiet chat with Tetch on my way out to settle this once and for all.

Not So Simple Favors

Not So Simple Favors

Tim: It has been a whirlwind of a last couple weeks. Months, even. Starting with the Death of Bruce Wayne the city of Gotham had gone crazy. Culminating in the invasion of a clan of killers, known as the League of Assassins. We’ve been on a merry-go-round of insanity through it all. Discovering more new questions than uncovering answers. We still don’t know who killed Bruce, but now it is worse than that because some of us aren’t sure he’s dead. Or, rather, I’m not sure. Since I don’t know that the others believe me. Just like no one seems to buy in to Stephanie’s suspicions about her Father.

Not that I blame them in either case, to be honest. I mean the whole idea of Bruce still being alive is insanity on it’s own. If you can’t accept that, then why would you even even think of Cluemaster upping his game to real player status? Rhetorical. You wouldn’t. The evidence at hand for both of those ideals is murky, with the line of thinking on Bruce forcing you to consider that he also was behind the hacking of the Bat-Cave computers. That perhaps Bruce felt the only way to control the evil of this city was to become the the truest version of a Dark Knight. Thus making Stephanie’s dilema even more of a curious offering, because it would be a tale of two father’s changing their acts entirely.

These are the thoughts that plague a certain teenage genius in the middle of the night, while he toils away in the lowest levels of the Nest. Yet another puzzle really, if you consider that the Nest itself is build beneath the city of Gotham. In one of the many station dumps for Batman’s original network of railway cars that allowed him to traverse Gotham City so quickly. A supply depot that was by it’s very nature already deep beneath Gotham’s sewer and rail system, that boasts an impressive four levels. The upper most appears to be a run-down gymnasium, bearing the face of a certain Cat-themed Boxer of Black Canary’s past. The second is a true basement, which is mostly a security level people have to pass through in order to begin a search for the levels below. Then there’s the upper level of the nest beneath those, which boasts an impressive computer system on par with the Bat-Cave. It also has housing elements which once served as a certain Boy Wonder’s home away from home. Then there’s the training and equipment rooms.

Below that? Is the room where no one else ever bothers to go. Call it the Garage if you must because this is where that aforementioned boy wonder comes when he wants to work on various items. Tonight’s project is more a retooling than a rebuilding. With a new face being put on the bike of old, if the sparks flying in all directions is any indication. In spite of the welding mask he’s wearing and the sweat that trickles down his arms and chin. Not to mention the strange garble of nearly unintelligible music that blares from the speakers. Somehow there is still a glance in the direction of the stairs just as the silhouette of a visitor appears.

“Sorry, I disabled the elevator,” calling out above the din of the music. “Most people who come to the Nest are too lazy to take the stairs.”

DInah: “We both know that’s not true. The sorry part. Not the rest.”

Being heard over the music, no matter how loud and awful it might be, is about as much of a problem for me as descending the stairs had been in the first place. I’ve always been loud in basically every sense of the word, the trick for me had been in learning how not to be when I wanted. Volume, without the sonic projection that used to go along with it every time, was impossible when I was younger. I was okay with that back then, because I was angry and blunt force trauma, volume cranked to eleven suited my wants. I may have had skill starting very early, but age has brought finesse. Or at least the years and years of practice that goes along with it has.

Maybe the second part is partially untrue as well, but in general? It still fits. Either reading the disabled elevator, in the midst of the techno-marvel of the obsessive Tim Drake as what it really is: deterrent. Or maybe not having a good enough reason to bother. Often when I’m here, my attire is decidedly non-formal. At least for visiting the ‘lair’ of a typically masked vigilante. Hell, yoga pants and workout gear are non-formal anywhere you go, I just happen to be someone that gets away with wearing whatever I want. It’d be more concealing than what I’ve got on now, the latest iteration of the Canary suit. Everyone that comes here knows who I am at this point, so I don’t feel the need to hide it from anyone.

Which means I was probably ‘working’ before I came over here. Or en route, as it were. It’s not exactly hard to find places to blow off that kind of steam in Gotham City in the best of times, and I wouldn’t call now that. Maybe that’s why I felt the need, if I’m being honest with myself. Having things that I need to do elsewhere, with the timing of it? Frustrating. But Tim looks like he’s been working harder than I did. Maybe it’s just the power tools involved in what he’s doing though. Which. I’m fairly sure he shouldn’t be doing with his shoulder. My judgement, for the moment, rests only in the set of my mouth though.

“Please tell me you’re just reinventing your color scheme and that you didn’t somehow wreck that thing…”

Tim: “It kind of depends on how you phrase the question. Was I involved in a car wreck with it? No, but I did sort of wreck it first in order to rebuilt it…”

The original iteration of the Cycle was this sort of wicked little crotch rocket. The kind you might find on the roads anywhere. A little suped up by Wayne R&D to be a gulch runner and cliff jumper. The project had been abandoned when Wayne Corp decided not to pursue that particular government contract. I then inherited the blue prints. One night, I added rockets. A couple weeks later, I needed a security system. Then a rebreather for underwater submersion. Some rockets, just in case…. eventually a third wheel was needed to hold the balance. Then the Bike was more of a Trike. Which in reality was more or less a tank on three wheels.

And now? Now it’s undergone some more changes. The bright reds and yellows have been replaced with blood-red and black. The weight has kicked it up another couple notches, what with the added armor I’ve been welding on as Canary sauntered down the steps. I may have replaced the blunt rockets with sophisticated anti-aircraft missiles. And maybe there’s an outfitting for a railgun (or two), but it’s mostly the same bike. Er. Trike. If you look closely enough.

“No no, I’m genuinely sorry. It’s not untrue. I truly did think I locked the stairwell doors too,” she can’t see the smile beneath that mask, but I know she’ll hear it in the banter. That’s what we do, after all. “Nice pick up though, it’s a little more invasive than a color change.”

Putting down the soldering tool with one hand and lifting up the mask with the other, gives way to both laying eyes on the canary -and- wiping the swear from my brow at the same time. Those gloves are next, because they’re big and bulky. Good for keeping you from being burnt by the work, but not really good for anything else. Especially conversation, if thats what Dinah is hear for. Another long look at her tells me a little more to it than that. She’s in uniform. That makes this either an official visit or she’s playing the ‘more distracting than usual’ card. Hell, it may even be a both scenario in which case I need hands free and mind focused.

“Plus, I wanted to test out the microbes,” there’s a momentary hitch, then a sigh, before explaining a little more. “Bruce’s oldest friend, Lucius Fox, had been working on an experimental microbe. Once injected in to your system, it repairs damaged tissue. Speeds up the process. His microbes are rebuilding my shoulder. Much more efficient than being sidelined.”

Dinah: “I guess I’ll take it. Plus, this way you’re busy with a machine that’s not mine.”

There’d been some death threats involved the last time I thought he was about to get to chasing that wild hare. Part banter, every conversation I have ever had with Tim Drake has been at least 50% that, part very, very serious. I guess that’s how you know when I really mean it. The sliding scale of sass to whatever else is mixed in with the conversation. I’m the only one of this family, extended weird cousins or otherwise, that isn’t all in for making use of his many, many upgrades. I like my bike as she is, much like most of the rest of my gear. And no amount of gratitude would really offset my healthy, or maybe paranoid, dislike of advanced technology. It’s mutual. We just don’t get along. Anything involving insides that are more electronic than good ol’ fashioned mechanical is exponentially more likely to implode in my presence. Invasive. His word for what he’s doing to his trike makes me smirk because… that’s about what I think of it, too. He’s just into this kind of stuff. He really can’t help it.

“Just a sorry, not sorry situation. Well. Then I’m sorry, too. Lost opportunity to test out me versus your door.”

I would have, after all, just seen it as a challenge or an admission that he was doing something he shouldn’t be down here and therefor I needed to pry. The latter isn’t necessarily out yet, but I was headed this way regardless. His explanation? Necessary, as one eyebrow lifts, the other squinching downwards in accusation because that just sounds like he’s testing… well. No. Maybe it’s exactly what it sounds like.

How experimental, Tim?”

Going back to the not trusting tech bit… it’s not even just that, though. He’s only barely been taking it easy since his injury, despite my getting bossy about it, but I know putting him down in any real way is going to involve me doing more damage to him in order to offset… everything that makes up Tim. Still. Are these ‘microbes’ of theirs good enough to repair tissue even as he continues to maybe injure it?

“Because I gotta tell you. Trying new things in Gotham lately doesn’t seem to be working out well for anyone. One of the gangs out there tonight was showing both a shocking amount of subtlety and ineptitude at the same time tonight. Don’t be like the gang bangers, Drake.”

Tim: “For the record, the next time I upgrade your bike? I’m going to be so subtle about it, you’ll never know. Just to prove how subtle I can be.”

See? Two of us can play the game of words. Because in a single swoop I’ve all but promised to test her boundaries, just as she did about the door. And I’ve made it clear that I already did. Not to mention set up a challenge of her even discovering if I had or will do so in the future. It’s a good thing I took off that soldering mask, because it lets her see the sheer amount of smirk involved with this bit of gaming with her. This feels a lot better than being told to sit on the sidelines.

I may or may not hate being told what to do. Especially by someone that doesn’t heed their own advise. That doesn’t mean I lost the ability to see their rational truth of their worry. Nor that I’m unaware or unappreciative of the concern that drives it. Maybe that’s also why I answer her next question. “Experimental enough that Lucius was making a Locutus of Borg joke in my ear when you tripped the alarms by entering the stairwell.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, said only the stupidest people ever. Which is why we hard coded a kill command. Lucius can terminate the microbes with a single word. I’m an evil genius, Dinah, but I’m not stupid. The government wanted the OMAC project to create repairable super-soldiers. Wayne Corp dead-ended the project when they tried to strong arm Lucius in to not putting a kill-switch in. With it, even the government knew it was more or less harmless. No evil robots. I promise.”

“Nothing to worry about. My arm will be as good as new by tomorrow. Better than new.” Waggling my brows. “Let’s stop talking about my arm and talk about the real best application of these babies. Let’s just say no one is ever going to need the blue pill again…care to give it a test drive?”

Dinah: That judgmental, displeased set of my mouth? Yeah, it’s back. If only for a very brief moment. I let him see that, more than let him get the reaction out of me because he may just be trying to get a rise out of me, and if that’s the case I don’t really want to give him the satisfaction. We’ll just let him think I might believe him. Mostly because I don’t doubt that he may try. It’s easy enough to let that look be wiped away by one of blank incomprehension though, like I do not get the reference he just made.

Because I don’t get the reference he just made.

“Well. That sounds like something only you special supernerds would understand soooo…”

But government projects and why they’re not great things to want to facilitate for us? That’s right up my alley. In fact, it’s part of why I’m here right now in the first place. Making sure he’s not doing what I already suspected he was probably doing? That was happening anyway. I already knew he’d been going out. Maybe not throwing himself down any stairs to save the ladies this time, but there’s still the threat anytime you go outside. Or. Live in Gotham. I know that. But I also know heknows that, which is why I didn’t break his knees for him to keep Tim ‘safe’ and at home. Do I think his current ‘partner’ for these excursions is fully able to look out for him? Well. No. I don’t. But I also don’t think she’s so inept anymore as to be an actual threat to Tim out there. Which is the other reason I’m actually here.

“That sounds like something an evil robot would say.” Pause. Coupled with an overly dramatic roll of blue eyes as I park my half-covered ass on top of a crate, emblazoned with the WayneTech logo that I can only assume had something in it that is now inside his ride. Or is going to be later. “And that sounds like something a teenage boy would say. Who should have no reason to know what a blue pill is even for. Maybe you should see a doctor…”

And no. I don’t mean Dr. Drake, with his half dozen phds, if he hasn’t increased that number in the last month while we’ve all been distracted, self-diagnosing in the mirror. But I know he’s not going to, if he hasn’t already, and so it’s a tease. Accompanied by the grin that’s every bit as shit-eating as the one he was aiming at me.

“Tempting as that offer might be to someone else… not why I’m here. I need you to take over with your Spoiler for a little bit. Teach her a weapon. I don’t really care which one, though I wouldn’t really recommend anything pointy because… well. You’ve met her.”

Tim: “Oh, come on. Do you really expect me to believe you’ve never seen the single greatest storyline in American television History? When Captain Picard becomes the bad guy, it’s the most riveting moment… oy, this is what they mean about knowing the customer you’re selling too. Gotcha. Not a Star Trek fan. You’re more a 90210 kinda girl.”

The whole point I was trying to make, was in fact that I do not need to see a Doctor. I’ll take the happy side-effect that she’s at least moderately playing along with the blue pill commentary, that means we’re not about to fight. At least, not a fight that she’s going to start. I can feel the room spinning, so to speak, as she gets to the point. One of the points.

“Take over with my Spoiler? You said a whole lot of things in those five words. First, she might actually punch you right on the nose for saying she’s my anything. Second, taking over with her means you’re going somewhere that won’t allow you to keep doing it. Starting her on a weapon, means you think she’s ready for the next step. Just not a big pointy step.”

“..and this is where I should start by telling you that you shouldn’t go. Or that you should let me go with you. Except that you didn’t let with where or what you’re going. So while you’re ready to accept that I won’t be sidelined, you’re still not ready to accept that I’m ready to be back entirely. Which means that you either don’t think I’m ready to be back enough to help you, which would be insulting and lead to our fighting about it. Or, perhaps more likely, you’re using it as an excuse to not let me put myself in more danger.”

“Or. You’ve thought this through and have decided on a proper allocation of resources,” it’s the free hand that gestures to her at this last bit. “Which would also mean you’ve finally decided to take an active, even decision making, role. Which is what I’m choosing to believe, whether or not it’s true. Because… I really don’t want to fight tonight. Not with you at least.”

Giving her this half-incline of the head, that says I’ll struggle no more with that decision of her’s. Whether or not any of my ‘deductive reasoning’ was sound or just an elaborate mental construct that allows me to compartmentalize her not taking me with her. I realize, this is what I used to do with Bruce too. When he was the partner that didn’t want me along for the ride.

“So. Ollie or Slade? Because I’ve got the information on those tags you wanted me to look at.”

Dinah: “Uh. Yes. I do, in fact, and I’m not even going to get into arguing about using Star Trek and ‘greatest American anything’ in the same sentence with you, either.”

See, he’s baiting me again and while I definitely know what 90210 is, both iterations in fact, they’re not exactly my jam. The guy’s been rooming with me, or at least sleeper sofa surfing in a long-term kind of way. Which should really be the first of the questionable choices he’s opted to make we talk about, but at the time it was having a skulking ex-Robin hanging around my place, or just keeping him where I could see him. Since then, well. I actually don’t mind the company, also there’s perks. Poor boy’s OCD takes care of my usual mess, and keeps the fridge stocked. I happen to like Tim, and when I don’t think he’s too injured to be in the field, I like working with him, too. See? Far cry from my outlook a half-dozen years ago when I treated him like the annoying kid brother. To be fair, that was kind of how Dick looked at me when he was around so… vicious circle I suppose.

“She could try. Does that pretty regularly. She’s just hasn’t managed to succeed.”

Then I find myself letting him… go. I mean I partly want to interrupt because he’s getting going about like ‘his’ Spoiler does. In the you’re probably not going to get in a word, and she’s not actually going to notice if you try because something’s either gotten her so excited or riled that she just can’t. The truth is, I’d only assigned ownership in that he brought her in, in the first place. His problem, that he made my problem because.. well. He’d asked, and I don’t want anyone getting dead out there anymore than he does.

Watching and listening to Tim’s mind spin out all the potentials and angles to be read into a ‘simple’ request from me might be even more funny, if I wasn’t fairly sure this was like a duck floating on water. Relative ‘calm’ on the surface, and paddling like crazy underneath. I’m sure that for as many points as he’s verbalizing there’s twelve more he’s gone through, discarded, and reworked. It’s what I do with a fight, and my angles there. I’m pretty it’s what he does with everything. Evil robot genius and all.

I didn’t lead with where I’m going because… I really don’t need to. I’m not going to sneak and hide, because even I’m not good enough to escape all his eyes in the sky, and… maybe he did mess with my bike so he’d figure it out anyway. As for all the rest… typically I don’t feel I owe anyone an explanation ever, and it’s not why I answer his rumination.

“Believe it or not, this time it has nothing to do with the fact that I might kind of like to punish you for not listening to me lately. You wouldn’t be coming even if you were 110%, because it’s not in anyone’s best interests. Mine. Yours. Gotham’s. Take your pick.”

This isn’t just some fight. Which is probably why I’m so cagey over the whole thing. ‘Just a fight’ I could handle in my sleep. Most of us could. They had to go and make it bigger than that. And so the way I need help from Tim isn’t in the backup category so much as those tags I’d given him, which Slade had given to me. Which apparently he’s already handled.

“Unless I want to teach Spoiler a different fighting form, which I don’t because I think it’d be counter-productive right now, she just needs repetition and practice as far as hand to hand goes. But something else she can use out there as a tool if she needs to…”

It’d also seemed something that might be a suitable distraction for him to occupy time with. I hadn’t known he was down here reinventing the Big Wheel so to speak. If the two of them were in the Nest, working on a ‘project’ then that meant they weren’t out there, one of them lacking a functional arm and the other half-trained. If he picked up on that, at least he didn’t say it out loud, and I guess I further soften the potential with an… admission made as I fold my arms and have a moment of almost sheepish expression cross my face.

“I also may have taken it a little… too hard on her yesterday. For once, not even because she deserved it. So she could probably use a little change of pace from Dinah’s School of Hard Knocks, and I realized it was kind of telling that Ineed to go handle this.”

Reactionary, despite how I might act, isn’t really me. I provoke and make others react. Not running off after that voicemail, and subsequent throttling of someone who I wasn’t actually angry at, took some self-control though. Buttons clearly have been pushed.

“Little of column A, little of column B, but mostly A. If they weren’t basically the same problem, anyway. So I’ll happily take what you’ve got. And maybe even say thank you.”

Tim: “Alright,” now my head is cocked to the side and looking more than a little unhappy at several of the things Dinah has said. “So. Now I’m settling upon ‘She’s already realized that while she could kick my ass ten ways to Sunday, as much better she is at fighting I’m that much better at following people who don’t want to be followed.’ Which means… that you’re taking a different route to waylaying me.”

While not being sure if I should sigh or grin, I do the only thing left to me. Rise. Standing up and stepping around the bike itself. Snatching a towel along the way, from one of the other crates littering the garage-like room. It’s hot, dank and dark here. All the things a Batman would like. As much as I seem at home here, it isn’t until the light is behind me that Dinah can see the bruising along the shoulder is actually gone. I may be playing upon that, to amble closer to her. Piece by piece picking up armor that’s been discarded as I worked in the heat. The wrist mounted computers being the most important, as I need them to put the projected computer image along the walls for her to view.

“Let’s start with the fact that I was able to confirm that the tags were legit. They’re not forged. These are some sort of microchips implants. The were filled with a neurotoxin of some exotic sort. Only trace elements remain, not enough for me to isolate and track. Along with that are lingering traces of DNA, which allowed me to identify who had each implant. Somewhat. A couple sets of DNA belong to people that Bruce had no files on.”

“You and Slade are definitely two of the bearers.”

“The chips track every thing. I mean. Everything. From your heart rate to your serotonin levels. They knew what you were doing, saying, everything. This is next level tech and it’s fifteen years old or more. Thats where it gets a little crazy. I tried to jack some of that information out of them and right away they shorted themselves out. One by one. Each time I got a little more. Until finally, I got a location.”

Pause for effect? Yeah. Also to put myself close enough to Canary that she can see a ripple of movement along my shoulder. Beneath the skin. “I thought I knew everything about you, Dinah. Then I find out you were in Prison? Jail Bird. Tch. If Dick knew he’d have a crush on you. Why were you in Belle Reve Prison? And who is Kurt Lance?”

Dinah: “And I’m also telling you that ass-kicking, and sneaking skills on our parts aside, I don’t think you coming with me. This time. Is the good play. Because that thingthat’s pretending to be Oliver Queen right now is naming names.”

There’s a lot of reasons for Tim to get honest ‘whys’ out of me right now, as much as I might not normally like to operate that way. Biggest of them possibly being that I don’t want him trailing behind me because he thinks I’m excluding him because he’s hurt. Or because he thinks I think he’s not good enough. Which I would just tell most people, but… I guess I’ve got kind of a soft spot. Just not the one that his brother might like to tease/accuse me of.

I’m not into all this tech. I don’t use it. I can’t deny that other people using it that know what they’re doing? Useful. So I’ve uncrossed my arms and leaned in towards the projection, as if that’ll help me see it better than I already can.

“Fairchild. Bronson. Trevor. Waller. I don’t have first names for them, except Amanda could… or might not be… the same Waller, and our good buddy Superman works with a Dr. Fairchild. Again. Could or couldn’t be the same, I don’t know, but frankly when your circles are small, things are pretty rarely coincidences. Which means those are probably ones you do have files on.”

There’s no hiding, or even trying, the mounting annoyance and frustration on my face now. I’m a control freak on occasion, a fact that’s no mystery to Timothy Drake or really… anyone in his family at this point. I hadn’t been able to come up with any possible reason why it would benefit Slade Wilson to make this whole thing up, or come to me with it in the first place, if he wasn’t telling the truth as he knew it. What I’m being told right now erases any small, comforting doubt I might have managed to summon up. He’s also making as many new questions as he is filling in blanks. That’s a lot of information, and price probably paid for tech, for it to have just been that one night in Arkham. Which means more time lost and missing. More unexplained.

When he stops, I’m waiting. Eyebrow lifting again as I pull my eyes from the projections to look at Tim properly again. It’s probably only the seriousness of what we’re talking about now that keeps me from commenting on his shoulder, and the rather unsettling sight of something. Things. Wriggling under his skin. Microbes sound tiny, so I can only assume what I’m watching is muscles and tendons being rewritten and repaired like they were no more than one of his strings of code. I can’t decide if that’s creepy or amazing or both, so I keep Alien references to myself. Can’t quite manage to skip clucking my tongue about his brother though.

“Oooh, Grayson likes the bad girls, huh? It explains so much… if I’d known, I’d have a crush on me too to be fair. I mean. Look at me.”

The blank on drawing, which is clear enough on my face, is legitimate.

“I don’t know, Tim. On any of it. Frankly I’d been hoping Wilson was tripping balls on some bad combination of drinks and ninja blood from the Iceberg. I’ve got no memory of any of the things he said happened. Or of being in any prison for any reason other than the usual here in Gotham for us, or the couple of tours I went on in Star for school. Whatever reason I was there, I assume is the same reason that we were all made to not remember it after.”

Tim: “Actually, that explains the neuro-toxin,” keying a couple touches of the wrist controls the illuminated screens turn upon the tiny pellet-shaped microchip. “See this? It contained two small amounts of toxin. Each of them with a purpose. I think one of them was putting a timer on you. You had X amount of time to finish your assignment and get the antidote. Which was the other. Once triggered, I think it stopped the toxin from killing you by eliminating the poisoned brain cells.”

“Sinister, but effective. Either you died or succeeded with no memory of succeeding.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Soo…” Another set of touches along my wrist and faces start to splash the wall beside Canary. “… so if we extrapolate your timeline, this happened a little more than a decade ago. You were Stephanie’s age. That means the Dr. Fairchild that I know from Conner, would have been eight. Too young, so perhaps this means our Fairchild in question? Is one Alex Fairchild. Caitlyn’s Father. He works, currently, for the project that created Conner.”

“Bronson? There’s a Bronson in Bruce’s files. Part of the overall same project that Alex Fairchild and his daughter work for. That created Conner. According to our intel on that Project, Bronson was some sort of early subject of testing for majestic gene therapy.”

“I don’t need to research Steve Trevor, Captain Trevor. Decorated U.S. Army, Green Beret special forces. Because he happens to be one of the sources of Bruce’s files on the entire project. Somewhere along the line, Captain Trevor discovered the fountain of youth. He’s been alive since the 40s, and he looks like he could still go ten rounds with you. In a ring or bed. Take your pick. Maybe even both. He’s gone silent since Bruce’s passing. I’ve been unable to make contact, but I’ve actually been working on the assumption he just doesn’t know me or trust me. If you could make contact maybe that could be changed….”

“As for Waller…” That’s where I just turn the gauntlet’s projector off. “It doesn’t take a detective to know you’re right about it being Amanda Waller. It makes sense when you connect the other dots. They’re all interlaced. It also solves a mystery that Bruce has never figured out.”

“Your Grand Mother. She made a deal with the Agency, scored her whole family immunity for her service. A little more than decade ago she suddenly quit…. and… not too long after that, you know.”

Arms crossing over my chest, I take a moment to nudge my jaw at the trike and the work I’ve done on it. “No fight this time. Go, I’ll hold down the fort while you and Dick are gone.”

Fear of Falling

Press Conferences and Phone Calls

Oliver Queen: Mr. Queen! Mr. Queen. Can we get a comment on your thoughts of what is happening in Bialya?
“Sure! Sure. I think what’s happening in Bialya is a travesty. Those innocent sand people in Kandyduk. Really. Bialya should be ashamed.”
Kahndaq.
“Kunduk.”
Kawwwwn-dawk.
“Wait. Biayla invaded Canada?”
No. It’s pronounced…
“…it really doesn’t matter, those people down there deserve better, but what could they expect. Propping themselves up with some vigilante lord as their King? This is really the problems with Vigilantes, in any form. You see it starts small. Maybe you’ve got a Batman today, but that Batman gets a Joker. A Penguin. A Black Masque. Eventually your Batman has to become Superman. Then what does Joker become? Well, then you’ve got yellow-ringed freaks and whole cities going missing. Now? Now we have a whole nation under siege.”
So. For clarification, you’re saying that Biayla’s attack on Kahndaq is because of Black Adam?

“I’m sure there are other things at work, but let’s face facts here. Would the attack have gone the way it did if not for Black Adam? If not for his reputation? Absolutely not. You’ve got a guy who claims to be powered by the Gods and for all we can see he just might be telling the truth. How do you protect your own borders from someone like that? Absolute power corrupts, right? I’m just saying. If we let these people. These Unlawful meta-humans run rampant in the world? Eventually they’re going to take it away from us.”

Uh. Okay, Mr. Queen. Anything else?

“If President Luthor had any Balls he would make the Vigilante bill a Federal one. Play that on Sports Center would you?”

Later that same evening.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, Dinah. Listen, I know you’re busy and there’s no telling when you’ll hear this message, but I figure that I owe you at least a heads up. I’m going straight Dinah. I’ve already signed the immunity papers. But I had to give them Names. They’re going to be coming. For Diggle, for Roy. For everyone. Maybe even you, I… I don’t know.”

There’s silence for a brief moment. Then another voice. A familiar voice telling Oliver that it’s time to go.

“I know you’re going to be mad, but listen to me. Actually hear me. Roy’s out there. With a Baby. Trying to be the goddamn Arrow, with a baby counting on him. This world is insane. I can’t take it anymore. We’ve got to stop all of this insanity. It starts with us. When they come… you sign the papers. Don’t fight it. For once in your life, just suck it up and knuckle under like your Grandmother did.”

Click!

Dinah: There’s any number of reasons why I don’t answer my phone. Sometimes I can’t be bothered to explain to someone that didn’t get that I really meant it when I told them ‘so long, thanks for the good time, but I got what I wanted and have a great life.’ That excuse hasn’t been in the rotation much lately, mostly because I’ve had my plate full with a few other things, and random hookups have not been one of them. Sometimes, my cell phone is silenced and I’ve just forgotten that turning the ringer back on is a thing, or it’s fallen under the couch and been forgotten. Occasionally, I just don’t want to talk to whomever is on the other end, even if it is someone regularly in my life. Last but not least, there’s the times when the universe is in line, I have my phone, it’s making noise, and I’m actually busy with something else. Which relegates phone communications to lesser importance in my book.

Right at the moment, that’s beating up a teenage girl. Who’s asked for it, and voluntarily shows up damn near every night for the dubious privilege. And tonight I happen to be a little more dedicated to it than I have been previously. If anyone actually questioned my methods, which they don’t but… God they probably should…I’d tell them it’s because she’s been improving, so I have to scale up the difficulty. Which is actually, shockingly and amazingly true. Spoiler apparently doesn’t have any quit in her, which some nights I think may be her only really endearing quality, and at the same time her most obnoxious. Depends if it’s useful effort or talking that doesn’t stop. Have I mentioned she doesn’t get to do much talking if the training’s hard? It’s turned out to be a pretty good meter stick for when she’s ready for more.

Deep down, I’m also very aware that it’s just a little bit of punishment for facilitating Red Robin’s not resting his shoulder and getting it taken care of like I think he should. But we don’t talk about that. I’m pretty certain, however, that the fourth time that the prone and gasping girl on the mat has pointed out that I have a message it’s because she’s ready for a break and isn’t going to say as much until she passes out.

Look. I can be a bitch. But I’m not a one hundred percent a bitch. And there does hit a point where no more ‘lesson’ is going to be absorbed, and muscles are too fatigued to even make an attempt at making any sort of memory. As I step over a sprawled limb, I feel a moment of what I think might actually be a teensy bit of guilt, and make my way to the flickering led light on the screen of the phone that I barely use for more than you would an old rotary. Sometimes I use the timer, too, though.

The name attached to the missed call is enough to make one side of my mouth draw upwards, though it’s not a smile so much as as an unhappy sneer. Normally I’d like to say I’d feel differently about it, despite my abrupt departure from Star City. That hadn’t been because of Ollie, or anything he’d done, so much as what was going on here in Gotham and the call of ‘family’ I just couldn’t ignore. I am really not sure if I’m glad I missed that call or not, because I’d love to give the person on the other end a piece of my mind. I know it’s not ‘my’ Ollie. That this is some plant of NOWHERE’s. One that I was already intending to deal with, even before the anti-vigilante bill, but I just hadn’t acquired the leverage I felt necessary to make them pay for it, and to make them hurt so the lesson would stick.

Clearly, I have an M.O..

I don’t actually get all the way through the message. Eventually white knuckling it gives way to pivoting on the ball of a bare foot and hurling the thing as hard as I can at the closest wall. Right about the time I’m being told to suck it up and… if there were any question of whether or not I’m in control of myself in the moment, it would be answered by the fact that my enraged shriek doesn’t knock the stunned looking Spoiler caught mid crouch into an insensate pile of deaf blonde on the floor. There’s no concussive force to it, just feelings I don’t know what to do with.

Well. That’s not true entirely.

…seriously what is it with you guys and throwing things at…

“We’re done, Spoiler. Out.”

Like…done like for now or done like…

“For tonight. Out.”

“…is there…something that I can ooookaygoingbye…”

Little Gold Men

Little Gold Men

Booster: [Sploosh!]

“… aww what the hell…?”
::Do not worry, Sir. That’s just the sound Mr. Hunter’s time sphere makes when ejecting unwanted…::
“.. are you saying the time machine flushed us…”
::… like proverbial fec–..::
“…if you finish that statement, I’m going to flush you, Skeets.”
::Ah. Yes. Very good, sir.::

“Well. Where the hell are we?”
::Judging by the diameter of the room. In combination with the amount of discarded bottles of booze. Underlying stench of sweat. Along side of the multi-layers of soot, that is alternatively scrubbed clean and yet building up all over again.::
“You’re making all of this up to sound important, aren’t you?”
::Buying time to correlate date, Sir. I’ve learned from the best. Also. Photo-Identifying the woman behind you. I believe this is the apartment of Dinah Lance aka Black Canary.::
“…the time capsule dropped us in a B-Lister’s apartment? Well. Call it back. We’re going to have to… wait… did you say behind me?”
::Oh, sir. Don’t turn around. It will hurt less this way.::

Dinah : My home isn’t exactly a great secret, nor is it all that hidden. It’s my name on the building’s title, and a riff of of it adorning the neon sign of the Pretty Bird Bar. I may not take part in any of the day to day running of the business, or even do much in the way of oversight at all, but I own it. Another legacy from my grandparents, that I take living expenses out of, and the rest goes to the folks doing the work. For the last few years my apartment over top of it had sat vacant and collecting dust. It’d still probably be doing that, even though I’m living here once more, if I hadn’t acquired an OCD roommate basically the same day I’d come back to Gotham. Who cleaned it for me. And continues to clean it. Whatever floats his little genius boat.

He just hasn’t been doing it this weekend or there wouldn’t be the assorted collection of empty bottles. The sweat comment I might have maybe taken offense to, as I stand barefooted with a beer dangling from my fingers, except that it’s probably coming from downstairs. Along with the soot. I haven’t attempted to cook anything in my kitchen that only actually has foodstuffs in it because someone else bought them, so it’s not me burning anything into vaguely edible state.

Unexpected ‘guests’ popping up in my home? When it’s the bar portion I have to roll with it. When it’s up here? Well, it just doesn’t normally happen. I was happy enough to stay put, silent after my initial moment of confusion and alarm, and let whomever this jackass is continue to feed me information. And his little… robot? Too? Then he called me B-Lister, and started to move, signaling the wait is over. It starts with a heel delivered into the back of one knee, not so much a kick as a step off that’s intended to begin a stumble so that my knee roughly kidney height will finish the toppling momentum.

I haven’t dropped my beer, but still leaves me a hand free to grab a handful of hair and help with face meeting …well… Tim hasn’t been here in a couple days. It’s probably not that clean… floor.

“Different kind of hurt, maybe. Who the hell are you and why the hell are you in my apartment?”

Booster: There comes a series of sounds. They sound a lot like: Urk! Oof! Thud! Pretty much in that order too. Blink, Blink. What the hell was that?! Ooomph.That last one was improvised. Let’s call it my ad-lib for the camera.

::This is the illustrious, peerless hero of the ages. Who’s Tale of Good Deeds is matched only by his endless string mostly successful dates with all twelve calendar girls. If you measure success by the virtue of times he managed not to be…::
“Skeeeeeets! Not helping!”
::Really sir? I thought this one was going quite well. You’ve managed not to tap out …::
“…not helping…”
::Ooooh. Ma’am. Be careful. Rug Burn is very difficult to account for in photo shoots.::
“…S k e e t s…”
::Yes, right. Most sincere apologies Madame. This is Booster Gold. The Greatest Hero of the Modern Age! Circa 2242. Cast in to the past in search of anomalies great and small.::
“…we don’t know why we’re here.. we just got dropped here!”
::Ejected, technically. Prior to crashing. Fear not. It was only statistically Booster’s fault. Could have happened to anyone. You’re certainly not to blame, Sir. Turn that frown upside down, Sir. Think of the photo op we’ve been presented. You took that fall like a champ, sir. I’m certain you will only need marginal dental work.::

Dinah: You know, on a regular evening I might chalk this one up to some sort of prison break in Arkham, because that’s where you get your typical whack jobs with delusions of grandeur. Or sometimes at Wayne Manor but that’s another set of problems. Someone who is… or rather whose robot is claiming they’re from two hundred plus years in the future, probably belongs there on a good, normal night in Gotham City. Except I’m not drunk enough, I’m not drunk at all despite the look of my home, to have imagined that sudden appearance right in front of me, which means…

“Time travel now? Well, that’s just what we need.”

Shifting my weight grinds that knee a little more firmly into the part of his back I’m using for a pinning point, and the other end I’m holding onto isn’t much more kindly treated as I take another swing of my drink, watching this ‘Skeets’ with more wariness than the person I’m sitting on. Well. Kneeling on. Just in case it starts shooting lasers or doing who knows what. I hate technology.

“Mmm. Well. Since you seem to know everything and do the talking for him… Skeets? Is it? I don’t think this one really needs to be able to speak…”

But I haven’t been peppered with any lasers and no one’s actually making any moves to dislodge me from my perch so they’re not reading as terribly hostile. Doesn’t mean I don’t still use a little more force than necessary to leverage myself up, and it’s more kicking him off his stomach than ‘rolling with my foot’. Slim margin of distinction. My hand planted on my hip now, the other around the neck of the bottle as I look down rather critically, not the least bit concerned by my attire or… more like lack thereof. I’d settled ‘in’ for the evening with no intent of leaving again short of an emergency, which means underwear and an old, stretched out sweatshirt that barely covers those and not much else.

“You probably ought to un-eject him right back up to wherever it is you came from then.”

Booster: ::Thank you ma’am! Your kindly praise is accepted, though I assure you that while Booster’s jawline is handsome, it does often get us in to much trouble.::
“…um.. I’m right here…”
::I would, purely for purpose of branding alone, request that you not permanently damage it overly much. I believe the phrase meal-ticket is appropriate.::
“…you do know that hurts right? I think my spleen has been dislocated.”
::Don’t be silly, Sir. Your spleen is perfectly fine. Your L5 vertebra may need an adjustment. Assuming she does not apply roughly three more pounds of pressu– Oh look! Sir, she’s flipping you over. Time to flash that smile to make the girls swoon, Sir.::
“Ungh…ow ow and ow… that time was my spleen for sure. Gentle! Be Gentle.”

Fzzzzt!

:: Oh. Sir. Premature Quantum Fission again? Don’t worry, Sir. I’m sure Miss Lance will hardly notice the carbon scoring on her floor. Hardly any reason to cry yourself to sleep like last time.::
“… that’s never happened before…”
::Miss July. Miss November. ::
“Does your history banks tell you how much I hate you right this second?”
::No sir, but your spandex tells Miss Lance how much you appreciate her state of dress.::
“… could we please go back to the topic of why we’re here?”
::Of course, Sir. We can’t go back Miss Lance. Not until we’ve corrected the timeline. Could you point us in the direction of Theodore Kord?::

Dinah: “Your spleen’s also not necessary. You should be thanking me for not aiming at something you might need later. Or I can just see if I can rupture it from the outside…”

So I’m a little aggressive. But he is in my home, and I’ve never taken kindly to being surprised or caught off balance. Clearly not so off balance that I hadn’t been able to act but then, his back had been turned and this ‘Booster Gold’ had apparently been an incredibly easy target. I don’t know which I want to scoff more over right now. The name, or the hero of the ages part. Either way, my facial expression isn’t reading anywhere near swooning or impressed. And that’s before he apparently has a fission on my floor.

“That story won’t be punching many meal tickets here. A little free advice to go with playing nice. I’d pick a new line, because that one is going to get you committed or impounded.”

And yeah, I totally look, tilted head shifting slightly as Skeets’ helpful commentary continues. My wrinkled nose is more over the fact that I find my drink empty when I go for another swig than the view, though.

Ted Kord? What did he… you know what… I don’t actually want to know. This sounds like a migraine in the making.”

God, but I really still kind of do

“At his house, I’d imagine. Or at Kord Enterprises. Don’t you have the internet in all that….”

There’s a vague hand gesture encompassing the Robot and then Booster and back again.

Booster: ::Which line ma’am?::
“…wait, are we talking about my spleen or my lines?”
::Fear not, Sir, we have your collective best interests at heart in any case.::
“Hey that’s fine with me. We can’t discuss future events with a Civilian anyway.”
::This particular Civilian is currently holding you down with one hand while drinking cheap liquor with the other, Sir. Perhaps we should choose our adjectives with better purpose.::
“…. what is … internet?”
::She is referencing the archaic system of wireless data transfer used in the 20th century. However, it is a potentially viable solution, if madame Canary could direct us to a functional terminal or share her wireless password.::
“She could also. In theory. Take her knee off of my spleen. Unless. She likes what she sees?” Wink. Wink.
::Sir, silence is often the better part of valor.::

Dinah: “Time travel. Hero of the Ages. Both the sort of things that get you all sorts of attention, and probably not the kind you want. Well.”

Pursing my lips considerately as I look down at this Booster Gold again. I’d been paying more attention to the talking robot, because I don’t have a whole lot of worry, or faith, that Gold’s going to manage to dislodge me without effort that I can counter even not watching. Which starts the inevitable spin of questions through my brain. Even the things I don’t want to think about for reasons that start with ‘time travel.’ He knew who I was, or why assign me to a ‘list’ at all, and is he really some sort of hero or does he just think he is?

“Maybe it’s the kind of attention this one would think he wants. I know we just met and all, but I’m definitely getting the going to get himself messily murdered doing something for likes vibe.”

Does she like what she sees? ‘She’ is clearly taking a moment to dubiously assess the man pinned to floor again, before planting the flat end of my now empty beer bottle in the middle of his sternum, and using it to leverage myself into a standing position.

“She’s seen better. She also doesn’t have a computer or know the WIFI password. Best bet in here is going to be my cell phone. Unless that’s also too archaic, then you’re just going to have to wait until the public library opens in the morning. I assume they have one.”

Unless it’s been stolen.

“What do you need with Kord?”

Booster: “Look. We know all about this point in History. You don’t have to lecture us about the worries of your little Nobody fiasco. This point in history is infamous for the insanity you people let loose on society.”
::For once, Sir is correct. I fully briefed Booster before embarking upon our journey to this Century. We are fully prepared to evade the legal authorities and not bring attention to ourselves.::

In the unending circle of dialogue, this is the first time that there’s no immediate response to that. Bring no attention to ourselves? Not exactly something that looks to be high on the Golden Boy’s Agenda. However there’s a shrug to those shoulders as she finally gets off of him. Whether that’s because he’s accepting the pronouncement of Skeets or that he can’t help Dinah’s lack of taste is anyone’s guess.

::It isn’t precisely what we need -from- Theodore Kord. So much as what we need him to not do.::
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about the whole ending the world thing with the Civilians.”
::Dinah Lance is not a Civilian. She is rated extremely high on the circle of trust files from The Creator.::
“Stop flirting with the B-Lister.”
::Er. I was not…::

“So,” climbing off the floor is much easier than it might seem, what with the ability to levitate upright in a very ‘showing off’ sort of way. “Listen. They’re not going to detect us. The reason we were ejected out of our time bubble, was specifically to avoid this time period’s ability to track temporal events.”

“We’re also sporting psi-baffles. So we shouldn’t show up on any of the tepe-radars. All we’ve really got to do is avoid crossing paths with anyone that matters and find Kord. Before he destroys the wor–..”
::SIR! We cannot speak of these events. The butterfly effect sir. Anything you tell her might ripple out and cause additional…::
“You said she’s high on the circle of trust list. She at least knew Kord’s name. And she’s kinda hot. I’m sure she’s harmless.”
::As you wish, Sir. Forgive me for forgetting that we measure potential temporal paradox effects by the size of a lady’s bust.::
“Damn, right we do. By my calculations she’s temporally harmless.”

“So. Put the booze down and let’s save the world with the power of WiFi?”

Dinah: “NOWHERE.”

The simple correction made as I step to the side, though I’m still within easy striking distance. Not because I feel like I might need to, but more because I’m very sure I may just want to. I have a small flock of people to take out my aggression on, in the guise of ‘teaching moments’ but no matter how much I may batter and bruise on occasion to get my point across, I only take my aim to hurt so far. As the two intruders go back and forth with their dialogue, I just stand there with my empty. Blonde head cocked to one side as I mentally run through all the ways I could maim and dismantle. If I wasn’t the good guy, of course.

They seem to be yo-yoing back and forth between not waiting to ‘spoiler’ (ugh) things and give me too much information, and between rambling things that… maybe they don’t think are information but are still ticking off on a list in my head like bullet points.

Just the temporal ones? I’d imagine something like that spits out a fairly large amount of energy though…”

I may loathe nearly all things more technologically advanced than my VCR player and television, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve also gotten a lot more versed lately in exactly what sensors in the area, and out of it, may or may not be able to pick up in preparation to make a move on the aforementioned NOWHERE.

“Boy. You sure seem to know everything.”

See, Oliver Queen and any number of other men could have told you that the simpering sweet tone that just started to come out of my mouth should have also started up a whole series of alarm klaxons. But they’re not here, so there’s really not much warning for me putting down my ‘booze’ in the form of flinging it from the pivot of the long neck, spinning to make contact bottom first with the only other discernible throat in the room. It’s not going to shatter. Too thick. Part of why I like that particular brand of awful beer. Makes a good blunt weapon though.

“Except where to find the linchpin of your plans. Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. I’m just so temporally harmless. I think someone in the neighborhood has an unsecured network. My roommate bitches about it at least twice a week.”

Booster: ::Rip Hunter’s time-sphere internalizes it’s energy combustion. There is no metaphorical tailpipe that might exude stray energy particles to be traced. It’s part of the time-stream-pollution counter-measures.::
“She’s not really as interested as you may think, Skeets. I’ve seen that thousand yard stare more than once in my days.”
::Oh, I’ll bet you have sir.::
“It’s not that I or we know everything, but we know enough. Not only was I briefed but there’s also Skeets. He’s here specifically to fill in any blanks that I may have mi–”
::… sir …::
“–issed. He’s actually quite handy to have arou–… ack…”

::I was going to tell you to activate your force field sir, but… then I remembered the ‘Never Interrupt Booster Protofol.’::

Skeets would probably move to render medical assistance, if it were not for the fact that one hand managed to deflect the bottle from truly impacting with a clear throat-shot. Leaving one incredulous, sputtering, Booster Gold and a very pleasant android who’s hovering closer to Dinah Lance now that Booster has been silenced.

::While you’ve been conversing with the Intrepid Hero of the Age, I’ve been navigating your so-called wireless networks nearby. It would seem that Mr. Kord is actually in Gotham City for a visit. How fortuitous! As if, by some miracle, Rip Hunter deposited us exactly where we were meant to be.::

“…agh.. kak…roffle.. glomp…”

::Booster would like me to communicate to you that, that was a lucky shot. I implore you not to harm Booster further until we’ve completed our mission. All of Space and Time depends upon it.::

“…urgle..mpph?”

::No, sir. That is not how they flirt in this time period. Nor was that a ‘love tap.’::

Dinah: “Well, doesn’t that sound fancy…”

So there’s probably no actual alarms and/or indicators blaring anywhere else, Batcave, NOWHERE lair, or otherwise to bring attention down on my apartment. For a moment of brief, mental amusement I wonder whether or not one Superman could hear me wolf-whistling from here. Booster would probably think it was at him, and be thoroughly startled when a mostly-invited guest turned up as well. My little game of imagination is truly brought to a halt by Skeets’ ‘apology’ for the lack of warning, because I let out a laugh that may seem a little cruelly timed but then.. I suppose no one that knows me would be surprised either. It takes a moment of rubbing the bridge of my nose between two fingers to really bring my amusement to a halt.

I wasn’t trying to hit him that hard, after all. If I were, I would have just used my hand.

“Miracle. Calculated time travel science. Who knows, am I right? And Booster should know that there was nothing lucky about it. For someone who wants to supposedly save the world, he’s not very good at paying attention. Monologue-ing is supposed to be a bad guy thing. And for the record, it had a lot more to do with calculated weight and spin of the bottle than luck.”

I don’t do luck. I do skill, intuition, and instinct. Squinting up one eye, I waggle a hand back and forth in front of Skeets.

“Eh. In the vaguest sense he might be right on that one. I mean. He can still breathe. So. Off to see the Scientist, then?”

Booster: ::Does that mean you’ll be accompanying us?::

There’s a distinct shake of the head, emphatically ‘No’ from the Golden Wonder, but that doesn’t seem to derail Skeets for once. If anything he seems delighted at the momentary break he’s getting from the constant interruptions of his own.

::I calculate a twenty seven percent increase in our changes, with you by our side Miss Lance. It is truly a boon for us that we happened upon your moody brooding here in the Lap of Luxury. At a time when your current partner in crime fighting is unavailable and your former partner is… equally unavailable. Leaving us with prime ‘Team Up’ opportunity!::

Grumbling at the two of them. Mostly because Skeets is actually inviting the B-Lister to come along! Ugh. Just when it was going to be Booster’s opportunity to be the big damned Hero!

::Most fortuitous, Booster. I’ve re-evaluated our chances of success. We now have a twenty nine percent chance of success!::

Ugh.

One last cough, all the while fixing Dinah with a wary look that isn’t half about what she’s wearing as it was before. Now though? The blue hue engulfing Booster is all too telling of that force field Skeets spoke about. “We had best get moving. There’s no telling when he’ll make the decision and once he does it’s.. well… the end of everything.”

Oh and he’s also very shiny now. Bright even. The glow is just about everything wrong with a costume to be worn in Gotham City. And it’s currently heading for the open window of Dinah’s apartment.

::Twenty eight percent.::