The Way Back #9

Wonder Girl stifled a curse as she lassoed an oversized Venus flytrap, pinning its fronds together. "Explain it to me again, Harrier," she snapped, as her companion continued to hurl "R"-shaped throwing knives in all directions. "Lexcorp Aviation-Luthor's company-is responsible for adding a few metric tonnes of pollutants to the atmosphere... Is that just in Gotham, or overall?"

"What she's trying to ask," Ravager swatted at an intruding Bengal clockvine with her bo staff, "is why the frak are we busting our chops to protect Luthor from Poison Ivy? Hey!" The vine wrapped itself several times around the bo staff and jerked it out of the startled teen's hand. Another length of vegetation writhed toward her and she quickly drew her sword and sliced through the leafy tendril. It recoiled, leaking a trail of green sap.

Harrier planted his own staff, vaulted out of the way of a cloud of needles and delivered a whack to the base of a large sundew. Its flypaper-like leaves receded, twitching and waiting. "First," he said, "it's not Lexcorp anymore, it's Davenport. They bought it out."

"Same difference," Kid Devil shot back. "They're both almost as bad as Ivy. Since when did the Teen Titans start rescuing bad guys from other bad guys?" His eye fell on a nearby barrel of jet-fuel. "Guys... I think I see a way to end this quickly!"

"Second," Harrier continued, "Davenport Aviation employs over 500 people at this facility. They've all got families to support. We're doing it for them." He slashed at the clockvine, severing the tendril that held Ravager's staff. "Here," he kicked it across the ground to her.

"Wait," Miss Martian spoke softly, but her voice carried. "Wouldn't cold neutralize the vegetation?"

Wonder Girl began to smile. "Yes. Yes, it would. Harrier, doesn't Batman have one of Mr. Freeze's guns around here?"

"Batcave Three," Harrier nodded. "It's about a half-mile away. It's also locked down but I can compensate for that," he thought aloud. He glanced at Wonder Girl. "I'm going to need a lift to get there. Can you handle things here, if Miss Martian flies me?" His gaze flickered to M'Gann. "You can do that, right?"

Miss Martian nodded.

So did Wonder Girl. "We'll be fine. Go."

As the two left, Wonder Girl frowned. It was now three Titans against an army of predatory plants. And, she winced, that included Kid Devil, who had recently lost his metagenic abilities. She'd completely forgotten that salient point in the heat of the moment. This worsened their odds. She considered: the building was empty now, save for the Titans. The night staff had long since escaped. And although the plants could definitely destroy the concrete and glassteel construction, they wouldn't be able to do much damage in the twenty minutes or so that it would take for the others to return. She bit her lip. She might have grown up in Georgetown, but her tactical training was pure Themiscyra. The very idea of calling a retreat rankled her. In this case, however, it was the only smart ploy.

"Fall back!" she snapped. "Let's get out of here!" Ravager shot her a look as if to say 'you must be joking'. But she took her bo staff in both hands in a defensive posture and slowly backed up, edging toward Wonder Girl, and the exit.

"Aw!" Kid Devil groaned. "No, I know how to beat them! I just need a lighter."

Ravager glanced at him. "What are...?"

Just then, he spotted a bucket of signal flares. "Never mind. I found something." So saying, he knocked the fuel barrel over.

Ravager's eye bulged. "Eddie! NO!"

But it was too late. Kid Devil had already lit the flare and tossed it into the expanding puddle.

"Zeus!" Wonder Girl swore. "Rose, get out of here. Now!"

"But he'll..."

"DO IT! Damn it! Doesn't anyone listen anymore?" She leaped into the air. Super strength and durability weren't the same thing as invulnerability. While she could survive falls from great heights and take heavy blows without flinching, she had no idea whether she could fly through-it didn't matter. Kid Devil was counting on her.

Kid Devil had barely begun to realize his mistake when Wonder Girl's lariat slipped over his shoulders and arms. The blonde girl yanked it tight and jerked him into the air, above the rising flames.

"Got you!" Wonder Girl exclaimed. "Brace yourself!"

"Wha-?" the youth sputtered as he saw that she was soaring for the ceiling. Instead of slowing down, she forced her way through and up to the second floor. From there, it was an easy matter to knock out a window and reach the outside.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Harrier and Miss Martian returned.

"Well," Kid Devil said weakly, "on the plus side we stopped the plants."

Harrier didn't answer. Instead, he shot his teammate a hard look, readied the cold gun and raced to assist the Gotham City fire department in containing the blaze.

Wonder Girl, however, spun about, her eyes flashing. "Yes, and destroyed the building, too!" she flung back. "Exactly what we didn't want!" She spun around as if to go, then pivoted back. "Congratulations, Eddie. You just finished Ivy's work for her." With that, she turned her back. "Harrier!" she shouted, as she took once more to the air. "Need another hand?"

Miss Martian gave him a sympathetic look. "I know you didn't want things to happen like that," she said. "It was an accident."

Kid Devil was not consoled. "Yeah, but I should've seen it coming."

The young alien placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but she didn't protest his words.

"Well," Ravager quipped bitterly, "looks like our first night in Gotham's going to be in the news for awhile."

The others winced.

"You want me to what?"

Dick raised his eyebrows. "What? You used to teach."

"I was a TA."

"You tutored Jason."

"For half a year, and I have no idea how effective I was, because every time I asked to see his homework, his reply was, and I quote, 'the cave-bats ate it!'"

Dick burst out laughing.

"It's not funny." Barbara's lips twitched. "Okay, it's a little funny." She giggled. "Alright, pretty darned funny," she gave in. A moment later, she sobered. "Still... that was all academic. You're asking me to train a Titan for active duty. I'm not sure I'm up for that."

"You may have a point," Dick admitted. "I mean, you've only tried coaching Cass and Helena to my Danny, Tad and Catali-"

"That's enough," Barbara cut him short. "With Cass, I was trying to teach her more about technology... well, reading. Helena was..." Rehabilitation? She winced. That was harsh. "My point is, you're asking me to teach him how to hold his own on a team. Are you really going to stand there and tell me you don't see a bit of a contradiction? Look. Even when I was Batgirl, it was just as often a solo gig. Since then, my team involvement has been leading from behind the scenes. Is that what Eddie needs?

"It isn't," Dick said flatly. "As far as teamwork goes, that's something the Titans need to grow into together." He held out a hand to her. "Do you really think I'd ask you to work one-on-one with somebody on teamwork?"

Barbara blinked. "Then...?"

"Until now, from what Tim's told me, Eddie has pretty much defined himself by his affiliation with Blue Devil, by his powers, and by his membership on the Titans. Cripes, he literally sold his soul to become a meta. And then, over the course of a year, he lost his mentor, he lost his powers, and the only chance he has of staying with the Titans is if he stops dwelling on what he's lost and starts looking at what he still has, and how he can use that going forward, regardless of whether he decides to put on a costume again. And Babs, if there is one person I know who can relate to having most of what she thought made her her taken away in one fell swoop and went on to redefine herself and her talents in ways she'd probably never considered before..." He broke off.

Barbara sat rigidly before him, her hands tightly gripping the armrests of her wheelchair. Her mouth was slightly open, and her cheeks were flushed a dark pink. Her eyes were glistening.

Dick swiftly bent down and kissed her. "That's you, Babs," he finished softly. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather have helping him. Please?"

She nodded slowly. Then, with a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, she pulled him in for another kiss.

Bruce hadn't felt this helpless since he'd been forced to watch congress sign the edict that had turned Gotham City into No Man's Land. "I can't believe that," he was saying into the receiver. "You're telling me that there is nothing I can do?"

He heard familiar footsteps coming down the hall, but he was so engrossed in his conversation that he didn't quite register whose steps they were. "That is not an option!" Without turning around, he waved at the doorway, hoping that Jim would take the hint and leave, now that he'd confirmed that Bruce had managed to go another fifteen minutes without endangering himself. For a horrifying instant, he actually did wish he were back in Arkham so that he could scream his frustrations out where nobody would care. Then he realized what he was thinking and checked himself. "Rae," he forced a measure of control back into his voice, "there has to be another way." He felt his face grow warm as he heard the pleading note in his tone." That's why I hired you. To find ways." Then, sharply, "That's not what I want to hear!"

Angrily, he banged the receiver down. Then, in one swift motion, he snatched up the telephone and hurled it away, heedless of what lay in its trajectory. It wasn't until he heard the sound of breaking glass that he realized that it had collided with the full-length portrait of his father that stood over the mantel. The canvas now hung unprotected in its wooden frame, while the mantel, and the hearth below, were covered in a carpet of shards. What had he done? He whirled about to find Dick standing in the doorway. How long had he been standing there? How much of that outburst had he seen?

For what seemed like an eternity, the two men faced each other, barely moving. Finally, Dick broke the silence.

"The broom's still in the cupboard under the stairs, isn't it?" His voice was casual, but it lacked the too-calm, too-cheery tones which Bruce had grown all-too-familiar with over the last two years. Without waiting for an answer, Dick continued, "I'll sweep, you dust-pan. I don't think any of it got on the carpet, so it shouldn't be too much work."

Bruce stood nearly immobile, struggling for composure and hating the fact that his breath was coming raggedly. He tensed, but didn't shy away when Dick tentatively stretched out a hand toward him and then laid it gently on his shoulder. He struggled to find something to say that wouldn't make him sound as helpless as he felt. Despite his relief at Dick's presence, and more so with his matter-of-fact reaction to the situation, there was a part of Bruce that reflexively bristled. He was Batman. He didn't need compassion or understanding or a hand on his shoulder. He needed...

He needed to erase the last two years of his life and go back to the way things had been. He needed the old days back, when he could give an order and know that it would be carried out, when he could write a check and irritating people would get out of his hair. And if he was frustrated, a full-workout, whether in the cave or in the field, usually took care of that problem. That was what he needed now-not people bending over backwards to be nice to him!

Except... except he was grateful for the support. And as much as he'd felt himself tense up at the physical contact, he realized that he didn't want Dick to take his hand away. What was wrong with him? He almost laughed. What wasn't wrong with him?"

Dick squeezed his shoulder. "Should I get the broom?" he asked.

Bruce blinked. Then he nodded slowly.

"I'll be right back."

Bruce watched him leave. Then, slowly, he turned back to the fireplace and gazed up at the portrait, thinking. He was standing in the same spot when Dick returned a moment later.

"Here." Dick held out the dustpan. Bruce made no move to take it. "Bruce?"

Without taking his eyes off the picture, Bruce softly asked, "Do you realize that I'm older now than my father was when he posed for this portrait?"

Dick wasn't sure what to say to that. After a moment, Bruce reached for the dustpan. Dick carefully whisked the broken glass off the mantel, and then reached for the larger broom to tackle the floor. When the job was done and the shards properly disposed of, Bruce went back to the portrait.

"Do you want me to look into getting the glass replaced when I'm downtown tomorrow?"

Bruce considered. "All this time," he said slowly, "I've sat here," he gestured behind him at the desk, "looking up at him. If he somehow came out of the picture today, looking now as he did then... I wonder. What would I say to him? Would he have the answers I've always assumed he must have, or would he seem to me young, even inexperienced?"

Dick cleared his throat. "Um... well, being younger doesn't always make you naïve, you know."

"No," Bruce agreed, "but my life has been a good deal less-sheltered than his could have been." He looked harder at the portrait, trying to see for the first time the man behind the image. Thomas Wayne's expression was stern, his mouth faintly disapproving, his bearing imperious, and yet, there was something about the eyes, some hint of insecurity, or uncertainty, as though he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. Or perhaps, Bruce considered, he was seeing his own doubts reflected in the portrait's subject.

Slowly he advanced until he stood just below the mantle, and reached out to touch the canvas. Just for a moment, he felt as though he really was connecting with his father. I hope you don't mind, Dad, he thought, or think that what I'm about to do is intended as some sort of slight to your memory. Although I don't believe that you do, any more than I truly believe that you would have wanted me to let your memories haunt me all this time. He closed his eyes. Could he do this? Did he want to? I'm sorry, Dad, but I think, perhaps, you'll understand why I have to try to take this next step. He realized that both of his hands were sweating and he quickly pulled back from the canvas. He was conscious of Dick hovering near him.

"Are you...?"

"I'm fine, Dick," he said, amazed to discover that it was somehow possible to feel like he had just gone fifteen rounds with Bane and still be fine. "And yes. If you could look into replacing the glass, it would be appreciated." That was all he needed to say, he knew. He didn't need to go on. And yet, he heard his voice saying, "For now, though, help me take it off the wall."

"Sure." This time, Dick wasn't able to completely stifle the note of surprise. "Where do you want it?"

Not here, but not the attic either. That's still too far. "Alfred's room," he said finally. "Just... just stand it up against the wall."

"You're sure you're okay?"

Yes. And no. But better. Bruce nodded. "I'm sorry you saw," he sighed. "Well. I'm not in the mood to discuss it at the moment, but suffice it to say that my frustrations got the better of me briefly. I don't plan on it happening again."

Dick nodded and took hold of one corner of the picture frame. "Can you get the other side?"

Bruce moved into position. "Mstkwmzshlwrkr," he mumbled.

"Pardon?"

Bruce sighed. "I'm stuck with my social worker," he said. "For at least another two months, at any rate. That's what... before was. I," he coloured slightly, "you know that I rarely used my... influence for personal benefit."

Dick nodded. Bruce had never been averse to using his name when it came to promoting charity events, or his connections if doing so would help Gotham. When the No Man's Land had first been brought up, Bruce had even demonstrated that he wasn't above what amounted to legalized bribery in order to try to keep his city afloat. He would do any and all of that for Gotham and her residents. But, if it came to his own needs, Dick was hard-pressed to come up with a single instance when Bruce had called in a favor or stood on his family name.

"I tried today," Bruce admitted. "It didn't work."

"Oh."

"Well. What can't be cured must be endured. I'll manage."

"I know."

Together, they lifted the heavy frame off the wall. Bruce glanced at him "Dick? Was there a reason you came today?"

"Yeah, kind of," Dick admitted. "Commissioner Sawyer wanted me to ask you about what you'd discussed."

"Ah." Bruce considered. "Tell her that it's premature at the moment. But you can advise Captain Montoya that I would be willing to examine some of her cold case files as I've done in the past."

"Will do." A moment later, Dick asked, "Bruce? If you're going back to that kind of work, do you want me to start disassembling some of the crays in the satellite caves? I can start moving them back here slowly a few components at a time."

Bruce blinked. Then, slowly, tentatively, he smiled. "That would be... yes. Thank you."

Of course as soon as Selina passed the state line into New Jersey, Barbara knew it. By the time her car had crossed the Vincefinkel Bridge onto Gotham's South Island, Oracle had received no fewer than nine alerts. Still, she held off contacting the other woman. She'd made a single phone call to her father that night, in case he thought it advisable to let Bruce know. He'd thanked her, but Barbara didn't yet know whether he'd passed on the intel.

It was four days before Selina called. "Should I be thanking you?" she asked without preamble.

Barbara was about to turn on the Oracle voder when she changed her mind and replied in her own voice, "I've only been able to purge the computer records, thus far. I'm sending Dinah up to Maine next week to deal with the hardcopies."

Selina made a rude noise. "Right. You're sending a bird to do a cat-burglar's work."

"Hey!" Barbara laughed, despite herself. "Dinah's been doing this for years. She's extremely good-"

"And I'm better. Or are you telling me that you wouldn't be slightly miffed if I were to go running to Cyborg the next time I needed a system hacked?"

"Cyborg is..." Babs swallowed, "extremely... good."

"And you're better."

"And you just left Maine."

Selina sighed. "I know. But let's face it: this is my problem. I'll solve it."

Barbara turned on the voder. "No offense, but if you could solve it, why didn't you when you were actually in the state?"

"I had another responsibility," Selina said testily. "And I didn't have anyone I trusted to look after her. Gotham's different."

Barbara debated whether to drag the matter out a bit longer, or whether it was wiser to give in now. She wanted to ask about Bruce, too, but she had a strong feeling that if she did, Selina's response would be to swear and hang up-and likely hightail it back to Maine without assistance. "Alright," she said finally. "We'll do it your way. Come over tonight after dark and I'll give you the details. Just... do me one favor?"

"Which would be?"

"Take Dinah along as backup. If this were any other stealth mission, I would be sending her solo, and I'd like your honest assessment of how she performs in the field."

Selina let out an exasperated breath. "Fine. But she'd better be good. Or I might just have to join your little outfit to teach your operatives how it's done."

As Barbara closed the communications channel, she grinned. "Selina," she said aloud, "I'm counting on it."