The Way Back #14

The first thing Batman noticed when he touched down on the roof was how the nauseating odor of burnt plastic mingled with the aroma of roasted meat. Knowing where the cooking smell was coming from made it worse. Not that he was squeamish—he wouldn't have lasted long in his work if he were—but there were some thoughts on which he preferred not to dwell. The area around the signal was marked off by yellow crime scene tape. As he looked on, he saw two figures in CSI jackets wrapping the signal in brown paper, while a third secured the paper with red evidence tape.

Montoya smiled her relief at his arrival. "I didn't think it was you in there," she remarked, gesturing at the floodlight for emphasis, "but it's nice to know for sure. Someone dressed the victim in a cheap Halloween knockoff of your suit—that's why you're smelling plastic—synthetic fibres melted when the signal heated up. As you can see, CSI's still going over the area—photos are done but the sketch artist is still busy." She lowered her voice. "If it's any consolation, I took a close-up look before the experts got busy. In my opinion, the guy was already dead when someone stuffed him inside. Gunshot wound to the head. That's not official, of course. ME hasn't had a chance to examine anything yet."

He nodded. "They're carting the signal down to the morgue, I take it?"

"Easier to extract the body there." Her eyes narrowed. "Dressing the corpse in a bat-suit does seem to be shouting out to you. Any idea who'd do this?"

Batman sighed. "If you're asking whether I have any enemies, Captain..."

"Unless they meant him."

"Not likely," Dick grimaced. "I could be reading too much into it, but," he took a deep breath. "Captain, they killed an impostor in a knockoff costume. Who would you think they're alluding to?" He shrugged. "They're entitled to their opinion." A faint smile flickered on his face. "If it makes them underestimate me, I'm not in that big a hurry to disillusion them." He lowered his voice ominously. "Yet."

Montoya snorted. "Right. And better bat-suits are available off-the-rack and at all fine menswear establishments. How's he doing, anyway?"

"He's good. By the way, you might not be able to keep this thing quiet. Be prepared if the media comes calling." Briefly, he relayed what Oracle had told him.

"iMaldita sea!" She felt, rather than saw, the looks from her fellow officers. While she was just as likely to curse as the next person, outbursts in Spanish were rare for her. Batman didn't seem fazed, though.

"That was my reaction, too," he said. "When we find the shutterbug, you want him? Or her?" he amended.

"Unfortunately, since the creep hasn't done anything illegal, our hands are tied." She smiled crookedly. "Doesn't mean yours are, of course."

Batman pulled out his jump line. "It'll have to wait." He gestured toward the bat-signal, which four investigators were now straining to lift. "There are other priorities."

His cable snagged a fire escape railing and he swung off into the night.

Montoya watched him leave. Then she turned around to watch the CSI crew. "Careful with that!" she warned, as they tried to maneuver through the door. "Take it slow..."

The driver of the unmarked police car cruised slowly around the perimeter of Robinson Park. The two passengers in the back seat were oblivious to the scenery; their focus was on the conversation. "Well," Kowalski smiled, "you're officially off the force pending an investigation. He said to tell you he was sorry if he hit you too hard. "

Lonerghan grinned back. "This mean I can go back to taking my supplements?" At his supervisor's puzzled look, he went on. "Guess you didn't see my medical report. I'm mildly anemic. I've been cutting back on my iron content since I knew what we were cooking up. Figured I'd bruise better."

"That was stupid," Kowalski shot back. "You could do yourself some real damage that way."

"I've been careful. Mild anemia really isn't that big a deal. But getting roughed up enough to fool the Iceberg crowd, while avoiding serious injury? That's a pretty big deal." He smiled. "Hollywood actors beef up and slim down for a shot at an Oscar. All I had to do was stop taking a couple of pills for a few weeks."

He shrugged. "Anyway, I've gone toe-to-toe with Batman, now, and I've got the bruises and scalp cut to prove it. Penguin's bought it. To the point that he warned me not to report back to GCPD because Batman's probably told you all about me by now."

Kowalski's frown-lines eased, but didn't vanish entirely. "Watch yourself. From here on in, you're not going to be able to report back so easily." He leaned forward. "That being said, the minute you have something concrete we can show the DA's office, I want you to get word to us. Someone will be in touch periodically."

Lonerghan frowned. "This 'someone' won't be an officer, will he?"

Kowalski sniffed. "You catch on fast. Might want to get some padding under your shirt. And get back on the supplements, Lonerghan. We can't afford to have you feeling rundown." He held up a hand to stifle the protest he could see forming. "That's an order. Follow it, or I'll have your badge for real."

He raised his voice. "Stop the car. Our passenger's getting out here."

As Lonerghan slammed the door shut, Kowalski whispered, "Good luck, Officer."

Once he was on the Aparo, he had three exits before he got on the Kane Bridge. Three exits—and each time he approached one, he nearly took it. He wasn't looking forward to this—not at all.

And when was the last time you were up in Bristol? When you helped Dick and the others tidy up the manor before the hearing? And then you ran back to 'Frisco the next day to get things in order. That's what you told everyone. Only you know you still weren't so sure you were actually going to take the plunge and move back to Gotham, before Selina contacted you.

Tim winced. Catwoman had done him a bigger favor by asking him to come back than he'd done her by replacing her on patrol. And thanking her would be too awkward for both of them. The truth was...

The truth was he'd been scared. When Bruce had been arrested, when he'd shut himself down before Arkham's doors had closed behind him, Tim had been scared. Because the last time he'd seen Bruce anywhere near that shattered had been right after Bane had broken him. The man had never been perfect—not as Bruce and not as Batman—but Tim had never seen him beaten before. He'd never wanted to again.

After Bane, Bruce had been—at least mentally—on the road to recovery within 48 hours. All he'd needed, it seemed, had been a good night's sleep, a pep talk, and a crisis. Mostly, Tim reflected without bitterness, the crisis. Bruce hadn't even had the courtesy to let Tim know face-to-face that he was leaving to track down the people who'd kidnapped his father.

Would I have wanted to go off who-knows-where with a wet-behind-the-ears thirteen-year-old tagging along? Especially one who had every reason to go running off half-cocked despite his... my training? It wasn't that much earlier that he flew off the handle when I did something... I can't even remember what, now. But he over-reacted because it was reckless and, Dick told me later, it was something Jason might have done. Tim frowned. Heck. Forget Jason. Look at what happened two months ago, when I was checking out the Lasky kidnapping with Dodge looking over my shoulder. Sure, he's a lot more impulsive than I ever was—but if it were my Dad... His thoughts flew back to the past, once more. When it was my Dad, let's not forget that he was barely out of the hospital and still needed an oxygen mask half the time. If Bruce had told me everything before he left, I would have freaked. Not only because it was my Dad. One of the first things I learned when Bruce started training me was that even Batman couldn't win them all. If Jason wasn't lesson enough for me, the Obeah Man was.

He realized that his hands were sweating. That was... uncharacteristic. He scoffed inwardly. The only thing 'uncharacteristic' about it was that his bio-control techniques usually kept him from displaying such obvious emotional tells in public. Then again, he was in the privacy of his own car, so this didn't really count as 'public'... did it?

If he had any smarts, he'd turn the car around. He hadn't seen Bruce in almost three months. Not since the hearing. Yes, he should have stopped by as soon as he'd gotten back to Gotham. Except that Cass and Dick had insisted he rest first. He'd given in, planning just to lie down for an hour or so—but he'd fallen asleep. He'd had every intention of stopping by the manor the next day, but then, he'd realized that if he were to patrol that night, he needed to head downtown on reconnaissance—to find out whether his usual patrol routes had been compromised. There was always some new construction going on in Gotham. Or destruction. Old buildings were godsends, with their cornices, parapets, and blind-arcading affording easy purchase for grapnels. The newer edifices, sleek glass-steel constructs, were more challenging. And all he needed was to be trying to make a quick getaway on a rooftop and find out that the building he'd been meaning to latch on to had suffered a chance encounter with the business end of a wrecking ball. No, he'd needed to note any changes in the Gotham skyline before going out that night. It was exactly what Bruce would have expected of him. He'd decided to wait one more day.

And one day had become two, then three, then... Then the whole business with Dodge, and the belt, and the conflict diamonds had broken, and the Titans had come to town and... It had now been more almost three months. Tim wouldn't blame Bruce for slamming the manor door in his face.

You got hurt. You got scared. You blamed him for a lot of it, fairly or unfairly. So, you hurt him back. Sure, you made up with him, but then, now, you've been ignoring him for weeks. You really think it's fair to jerk him around like that?

No, it wasn't fair. But the longer he delayed this, the harder it was going to be, and the less-likely that Bruce would want to see him. Maybe it was already too late, but he still had to try. He took the turnoff for Crest Hill. He was coming to Knebworth Boulevard. After that would come San Rafael Drive, Webb Avenue, and then a left on Glen Cove Way that would take him practically to the Manor gates at 1007 Mountain Drive. The closer he got, the more he had to fight the urge to turn around. His hands seemed to be locked on the wheel, though, steering with a mind of their own.

He should have taken the back road and gone in through the cave access. But then, he'd have to look around the cave and notice how much had changed. At least, topside, he could keep his illusions. Maybe.

He rolled down his window to punch in the access code for the gate. Bruce knew he was here, now—if he hadn't before. The driveway suddenly didn't seem long enough. He sat in the car for a minute to steady his thoughts. Then, he got out, walked up the steps, and rang the bell. He waited a moment. Then two. Maybe Bruce was out. But then, the door opened. And a familiar voice said, "Tim?"

He took a deep breath and walked forward.

Alex smiled as he looked up from the report. "This looks good," he said, turning first to one man and then to the other. "I think we're ready to move on. Effective immediately, I'm increasing the intervals between checks to thirty minutes, and," he added, as Jim clapped Bruce on the shoulder, "your hours of supervision will be between eight A.M. and nine P.M." His smile widened. "Congratulations. Let's see if we can't make it once an hour by December."

Bruce nodded brusquely, trying to conceal his elation, but it was no use. He met Alex's grin with one of his own.