The Way Back #36

"Batman's always had his enemies," Paxton began. "Many of them haven't let the old grudges die just because the old bat stepped down."

Vansickle blinked. "You're crazy."

Arnold raised and lowered her eyeglasses. "Sorry, Les, but I have to concur. You don't seriously mean to go to the likes of the Scarecrow or the Joker for help. I mean... let's pretend for one moment that we somehow managed to arrange a hearing and get one of them released. What's to stop them from killing us after they're done with Wayne?" She took a breath. "Or before, for that matter? You're walking into a powder room with a lighted match and kicking over a jar of kerosene."

Paxton chuckled. "Relax, Sonja. You too, Mike. No, I'm not talking about criminals. I don't know if you remember all the details about what was going on in Gotham just before Wayne was arrested, but if you were following the hearing last summer, then I think you'll recall that there was a little excitement right before the judge announced his decision."

Chester blinked. "You're talking about Sharon Ryerson."

"You've got a good memory, Ron," Paxton nodded. "Yes, exactly. Cop's widow, lost her husband in the gang war after Wayne commandeered the police force and got a lot of good men killed. We get her an invitation to the gala. I don't care how. Tell her we pulled her name out of a hat and that's her prize. Or Hendricks, you're single, ask her to be your da—"

"I'm practically engaged!"

"Practicality is overrated. Chat her up, ask her out. I don't care, who, how, or what you need to do it, just someone figure out a way to get her to the benefit. Wayne's coming out to show that he's recovered and getting ready to take back the reins. I want the press remembering how many people died on his watch, which means we want the poster-girl... lady... for vigilante disasters there to confront him."

Vansickle smiled slowly. "The press will eat it up. Then they'll eat Wayne alive."

Arnold nodded. "Whether one or the other actually causes a scene, or whether they just see each other in passing, it's going to be reported."

"Hero cop's widow confronts husband's killer at PMWE gala," Korning crowed.

"It sends a message," Paxton nodded. His voice hardened. "It makes sure that Wayne knows that some things aren't going to be forgotten and left to slide. He's looking to the gala to demonstrate that he's ready to face whatever comes his way. We're going to test that." He smiled. "The company has managed just fine without him for going on three years." The smile twisted into a smirk. "Longer, when you consider how few hours he actually logged in the CEO's chair, even when he was officially involved. We don't need him back. We don't want him back. And I think that's something we'll need to make very clear, if we're to maintain the status quo. Right, Ross?"

Hendricks nodded reluctantly. "You win, Les. I'll..." He shook his head as though he couldn't believe what he was saying. "I'll do some homework tonight... see if I can come up with a contest angle that won't look rigged or phony or whatever. Barring that, I'll see whether I can turn up any data on her interests. Maybe we have something in common."

"It's not like you have to marry her, Ross."

"I know." Although if Paxton thought that proposing to Sharon Ryerson would accomplish his goals, Ross suspected that Les would pop the question himself.

--

Batman watched as Kid Devil and Ms. Martian squared off. The alien girl morphed into a gelatinous mass which threatened to engulf her teammate. Kid Devil countered by rolling out of her direct path and firing off a flurry of bubbles.

When they began to explode, Ms. Martian quickly shifted to some sort of extra-terrestrial animal form and leapt high. Suction pads on her feet helped her to adhere fly-like to the ceiling. She crawled until she was directly over Kid Devil's head. Then, suddenly, she dropped. As she did, her form condensed, becoming smaller and denser, picking up momentum. For a moment, Kid Devil watched, fascinated. Then training took over and he jumped left, just as Ms. Martian expanded into a large green blanket.

Had he still been in his original position, she would have engulfed him. Instead her edge half-draped over his shoulders. Kid Devil tried to shrug her off, but tiny hooks embedded themselves into his armor.

Kid Devil kept one hand free and touched a control on his gauntlet. A low surge of electricity emanated from the suit.

Ms. Martian cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and let go... only to morph into a cage and surround him.

Kid Devil launched himself at one wall of bars. Ms. Martian waited until he was committed to his course before she retracted that side of the cage. Kid Devil hurtled forward, his eyes widening as he realized that he was about to crash full-tilt into a stone wall. He braced for pain, which never came. Instead, he landed against a large fluffy pillow... which had him wrapped up like a sausage roll before he realized what was happening.

"Give up?" Ms. Martian asked cheerfully.

Kid Devil tried to trigger the electric surge again, but his teammate had his arms pinned too closely to his side. He struggled, but the armor wasn't nearly as flexible as cloth would have been. "Yeah," he muttered disgustedly. "I give. Again."

Ms. Martian released him and helped him rise. Batman advanced a few steps in his direction. Kid Devil sighed. "Go on and say it," he said, steeling himself.

Batman clapped him on the shoulder. "I think this is the longest you've held your own against her," he grinned.

"Yeah, but I still lost."

"Yeah, but you were fighting a meta. The odds are always going to be skewed in her favor. Look... I've seen Batm... Bru... Batman," he said firmly, "take down Superman with careful planning, preparation, and the advantage of surprise. The thing is, if he can't win in the first five seconds or so, chances are that he's not going to. That's when he's at the top of his form, after years of experience, as a fighter, as a strategist, as..."

"You mean you can't beat her either?"

Batman hesitated. "Well, let's just say it would be a challenge. However, M'Gann... if you're willing?"

The green-skinned girl frowned. "I don't mind... but, how should I put this? Doesn't making a seasoned instructor look like a novice violate some sort of cultural taboo?"

"Oh, now you're asking for it," Batman said with a menacing smile. "Take the mat, M'orzz. You're going down."

She recognized the teasing note in his voice. "If I do, it'll be because I'm pinning you," she retorted.

"We'll see."

It took him twenty seconds to drop her the first time. She rallied and fought back harder, first changing her shape, then shifting back to humanoid form to body-check him, then retreating, only to leap forward once more. Batman countered her every move using a combination of acrobatics, martial arts, and various weapons contained in the pouches of his utility belt, or elsewhere on his person. Ninety seconds later, she was face down on the mat, completely encased in quick-hardening chemical foam.

"I'll take surrender by telepathy," Batman said calmly. He looked to the sidelines. "Raven, did she hear that? Can you... oh, never mind. I just got a response. Okay, M'Gann, hold still. Uh... no, actually, I guess you don't have a choice," he said with some amusement as he extracted something that looked like a tuning fork from his belt. "I'm just going to vibrate that shell off you. It might be uncomfortable for a moment, but my other option would be a blowtorch so... yeah, I thought you'd prefer sonics."

There was a faint ululating tone which seemed to go on for several seconds. Then the foam disintegrated and a smiling M'Gann arose.

"Next time," she said, "I want a rematch."

"You'll get one. By the way," he grinned, "did either of you see today's headlines?"

The two teens looked at each other and shook their heads.

Batman smiled. "It seems our old friend, Lonerghan's been busy. The mayor resigned today amid allegations of corruption. So far nobody's giving official details, but word is he was in deep with Penguin. Here."

"Really?" Kid Devil took the paper and he and Ms. Martian scanned the article avidly.

"Um... Batman?"

Batman turned. "Hi, Dodge. How's it going?"

The boy gulped. "I'm okay. I... I'm sorry I didn't... I mean... look, next time, maybe I should take a pad and pen with me so I can write down what I want to say."

"Sure. You'll always find the time to do that in the middle of a monkey fight." Batman sighed. "Look, bottom line? I had to guess at what you were trying to tell me in the lab and I guessed wrong. It might have been better if you'd been able to explain yourself using standardized signing, like in ASL." He smiled. "There's an idea: the Gotham School for the Deaf holds ASL classes during the year. That's how I learned." His eyes opened wider. "Come to think of it, BSL and FSL might be good choices too, if you can find an instructor." At Dodge's confused look, he clarified. "Almost every country has its own sign language. ASL is derived from FSL—French Sign Language. Most sign languages in use today started out as variations of that one or BSL—British Sign Language. Learning ASL would definitely help to avoid our earlier miscommunication, but its biggest advantage is also its biggest disadvantage." He paused for a beat. "Because it's also the most commonly used sign language in this country, there's a better chance that someone else could understand what you're saying. Security cameras usually have zoom lenses. Besides, it's not like the Titans don't get to go on international missions. You never know when another language will come in handy."

Dodge nodded, wide-eyed. "I didn't realize there was more than one sign language," he murmured. He blinked. "Oh! I meant to give this to you earlier," he said, passing Batman a lumpy sealed envelope. "I thought it might be an improvement for the hazmat suits."

Batman accepted the packet with a quizzical expression.

"Hey!" Kid Devil looked up. "There's no mention of Lonerghan in the article."

"No," Batman smiled, "but word is he's been undercover at City Hall ever since the Iceberg fiasco."

Ms. Martian grinned. "And of course, your word—I mean that word—is reliable."

Batman winked. "You could say so." He turned back to Dodge, only to discover that the youngster had disappeared. He shrugged, opened the envelope, and pulled out the contents. He was holding a small pile of rectangular stickers, perhaps four inches by six. Stencilled neatly on each one was the legend, 'Hi, my name is' followed by a bat-insignia.

Dick laughed aloud.

--

Bruce was puzzling over another cold case in the Cave, while Helena banged blocks together in a fenced-off corner. After the first fifteen minutes, he'd discovered that he could work through the noise. Periodically, he looked to the enclosure. Then, reassured of his daughter's safety and well-being, he went back to his work.

"Hey." Selina called from the entrance way. "Can we talk for a few minutes?"

Bruce laid aside the file with a sigh. "I cleaned that area thoroughly," he said. "I've laid flooring. There are no sharp corners, or choking hazards. I..."

"I know," Selina smiled and held up a hand to stave off any further protests. "That's not why I came down here. But I did want to talk about us," she met his gaze squarely. "All of us. I think we need to be clear on a few things. First, once this whole thing is over, hopefully in July, are you planning to go back to the cowl?" Before Bruce could answer, her expression hardened. "And Bruce, you know what I'm asking. Please don't tell me 'no,' when what you really mean is that you intend to change the costume."

Bruce nodded. "No, it's a fair question. And it's fair to say that it's something I've been considering. Sometimes, I'm sure I'll be able to just slip back into the suit and pick up where I left off—after a reasonable transition period, you understand." His face fell. "And sometimes, I remind myself that I've been out of commission for more than two years. By the time the hearing comes around, it'll be more than three. I've been away for long periods before, but never this long. Physically, I may be fit... but I'm not getting any younger. I just don't know."

Selina sat down. "Okay. Then we really do need to have this conversation, and sooner rather than later." She took a deep breath. "I tried to retire after she was born. Suddenly the risks I was taking weren't worth it. I didn't want to give her up, and I didn't want her to grow up with a mother who was in and out of prison." She sighed. "And then one night, I looked out my window and realized that I was living next door to Scarecrow's latest hideout and Robin and Huntress had just stumbled into a trap. And I... couldn't turn away." She winced. "Oh, I told myself it was only for that one time, because there wasn't anyone else in the area, but I loved being out there again! And..." She stopped and smiled self-consciously, "Well, you know... When Dick came to ask if I could help out on a more regular basis, he was ready to drop the whole idea when he saw Helena. I'm the one who convinced him." Her expression hardened. "And if something had happened to me on one of those patrols..." She took a deep breath. "I know what the night meant to you once, and maybe it still does, or will. I couldn't stay away from it myself, and I guess you probably won't either, but the risks aren't going to go away."

Bruce shook his head. "So," he said heavily. "Are you asking me to choose between...?"

She gave him a weary smile. "No. I'm looking to see how we can make this whole thing less risky. I don't mean the night work exactly. You're not reckless, you don't take stupid chances. Neither do I... much." She shook her head. "And there's the thing. If I'm doing the same stuff you are, I really don't have the right to ask you to give anything up. But I don't want Helena to grow up an orphan, either. And, when she gets older and starts asking questions about how we can call ourselves the 'good guys' when the police sometimes have orders to arrest us on sight..."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Don't think I haven't thought about all of that too."

"And?"

"There are solutions. They aren't perfect, but they are acceptable. And... realistic, I suppose." He closed his eyes. "The first aspect does involve a bit of sacrifice on both of our parts, but I think we can live with it." He winced. "Most of it."

"Okay..."

Bruce sighed. "Obviously, this is operating on the assumption that I am able to return to the cowl one day, and that I choose to do so. If we accept that we both have a dangerous vocation, and that we aren't likely to give that up, we can, at least, ensure that both of us aren't working at the same time."

"Dick's 'two-nights-on, one-night-off' rule?"

Bruce nodded. "Or a variation. And I don't see any reason why the one of us staying home can't be reviewing data, or some such. However, we don't deliberately put ourselves in danger on the same night."

"Have you thought about hiring bodyguards?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'd end up protecting them more than they would me, and we both know it."

"Point taken. Actually, though, I meant for Helena. In a few years, when she's ready to start school."

Bruce nodded slowly. "You're right. I... it wouldn't be fair to keep her confined to the estate grounds. In time, she would come to resent it."

"Not to mention that children need to be socialized," Selina reminded him.

"There is that." He nodded a third time. "At any rate, we can save that point for a future discussion. Getting back to the topic at hand, if we're agreed to a patrol rotation, it would mean an end to our rooftop... meetings."

"And now, the truth comes out," Selina grinned. "You did get off on the chase."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Of course. But we need to stop. I think that might be the easier part."

"I'm not going to like the hard part, am I?"

Bruce let out a long breath. "All I know is I hate it. There's always the likelihood that one of us could be captured, used as bait to catch the other. Unfortunately, even if I ultimately choose to give up the cowl... even if you were to give up your costume... with my identity a matter of record, we need to be aware of the possibility. For that matter, Helena could be a target."

"Which is why I'm suggesting bodyguards."

"I know. But in the situation I'm describing—where one of us is held hostage for the other," he frowned, "if we're clear that we don't want Helena to lose both of us in one night, if that situation should ever arise, we need to agree to call in outside help and stay clear." He closed his eyes. "And no. I don't know if I could actually do it. And if things were to go... wrong in that scenario, either because I stepped in or because I sent in others who... who failed..." He took a deep breath. "I don't think I'd ever forgive myself. But that's what I'll... we'll... have to do."

He sighed. "And from a more practical standpoint, I suppose we should update our wills. Make custody provisions. Dick and Barbara would be my obvious choices. Unless you have others?"

Selina shook her head. "Nobody... secure enough," she admitted, relaxing somewhat.

"I'll call Rae then, and set things in motion. As far as the patrol issue, though, are we agreed?"

Selina nodded slowly. "For now. I don't like it, but I don't have a better plan."

"We're on the same page." He smiled for a moment. "As for the other matter, I think we both need to," his lips twitched, "go legit. To a point, anyway. You should have the easier time," he admitted. "There are companies that pay safecrackers to test their security systems. It's something you might want to consider. As for me," he took a deep breath.

His smile died. "I lost my UN sanction shortly after my arrest. If I rejoined the League, I could probably have it restored, but otherwise I'd need the support of local law enforcement." He took another breath. "Well, that or join the Suicide Squad, but I'll be damned if I'll take orders from the likes of Waller."

"I don't blame you."

This time, Bruce's smile was even more fleeting. "There is a way to get that support... and it might give me a leg to stand on if I need to engage in certain activities even before the hearing." He made a face. "Again, this isn't an ideal decision. However, it will ensure that I'll only have to worry about criminals, and not law enforcement. And for Helena's sake..." he let his voice trail off. "I just... wish it didn't involve gun handling."

Selina's eyes widened. By the time Bruce finished explaining himself, her jaw hung slightly open. "Are you serious?"

Bruce nodded. "It's only short-term," he said. "Just until the hearing. But if I go this route, it's contingent on you going legit as well. It isn't tit-for-tat. If I do this, there are certain activities I won't be able to turn a blind eye to, anymore. Not if I don't want to lose the sanction. You need to understand that from the outset."

"You're talking about the way we met," Selina said carefully, "not about things that I might do on patrol, or on one of Oracle's missions."

"Correct."

Selina let out a slow breath. "In that case," she said, "you don't have anything to worry about." She paused for a moment. "Bruce, are you absolutely sure? I mean have you considered the...?"

"The danger? Compared to what I was doing before Arkham?"

"Yeah, in full-body Kevlar. Are bullet-proof vests even standard issue for the GCPD?"

"If they aren't, they will be," Bruce stated. "If I have to buy them for every cop in the city."

"You won't have your usual toys."

"That's not necessarily the case. Perhaps something can be worked out." His expression soured. "I really don't want to carry a gun, much less use it." He shook his head. "No sanction is worth that." He looked over to the play area. "But she is."

Selina followed his gaze. Then slowly, she nodded.

Bruce took a deep breath. "All right," he said heavily. "Then let's initiate the process." He reached behind him for the telephone. "I hope the private number hasn't changed since Jim's days in that office," he muttered. A moment later, he smiled. "Commissioner Sawyer, this is Bruce Wayne. Some time ago, we'd discussed, in general terms, the possibility of my being deputized to act under certain extreme circumstances." He took another breath. "I want to hear the specifics."

--

Alex set down his pen with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he smiled. "I think it could be a good idea," he said. "The potential is there." His smile faded. "If you're sure that's what you want."

Bruce sighed. "It's not entirely what I want, no. But I want to be a part of my daughter's life. I'd like to see her grow up. And I think we both know that I can't just... just retire to some island and play golf all day."

"You know," Alex ventured, "there are options beyond those extremes."

"I realize that," Bruce said with some heat. "Look. I've never done this before... tried to raise a small child. I never... trained for it," his lips twitched, "never had a contingency for it beyond 'if something like this happens, try to settle out of court and without a media spotlight. Should that last part fail, let the scandal sheets have their fun until the next story comes along and never contest the amount of child support.' Do you think I expected to have a toddler in my life? Particularly with someone I," he took a deep breath, "with someone I care for?" He closed his eyes. "Look, I'm no monk. There were women. Not as many as the tabloids made it seem, but there were a few. I took... precautions, but no method is ever failsafe. I knew that, and I wouldn't have tried to evade my responsibilities had it come to that. But I would have..."

"Thrown money at the situation until it went away?"

Bruce let out a longer sigh. "There really isn't a better way to paint that, is there?"

"There are prettier words, I suppose, but the meaning would be the same."

"Being involved with me is dangerous. It would have been dangerous even if I'd never put on the cowl. Probably more so." He took a deep breath. "I wouldn't have wanted a child to come into my life, only to... to likely lose their father at a young age." He sighed. "Realistically, doing what I did, a long life wasn't really in the cards. But there was more." He studied his hands and took another breath. "Look, we both know wearing the suit gave me an outlet for my anger. I think you've seen the statistics on professional sports players who turn abusive when they retire... theoretically because they're accustomed to playing out their aggression on the field and no longer have that as a safety valve. Let's just say that my mission wasn't the only reason I shied away from serious relationships."

Alex nodded. "I can understand that line of thinking. For what it's worth though, like with just about anything else, statistics don't tell the whole story. It's as valid to call all retired athletes likely abusers as it is to paint all underprivileged children as likely criminals."

Bruce's lips twitched. "Please. Do you have any idea how many 'upper crust' politicians I've brought down? And not just for white collar crime?"

"I can guess. My point is, if you were afraid that retirement would cause you to unleash your anger at others, then..."

"I know," Bruce said. "But then something else happened a few months ago. I didn't bring it up at the time, but Helena woke me up and my reflexes kicked in." He saw Alex lean forward. "She pulled on my foot. No, I didn't hurt her. But I panicked because I could have. Like I hurt Jim when he tried to wake me, right before Arkham."

"When you were under the influence of Desoxyn."

"I'm sure that would have been a great comfort to Barbara if I'd injured him more severely. His daughter," Bruce clarified when Alex frowned.

"Ah, yes. I should have remembered. So when Helena startled you awake...?"

"I'd been dreaming. Nightmare, I think. I don't remember now, but I was tangled up in the blankets. That probably saved me from striking out. I yelled at her, she cried, I comforted her, and later that day, I installed a safety gate in the doorway of her bedroom."

"Sensible," Alex nodded. His expression turned serious. "Do you remember what you yelled?"

"Not word for word. I think I told her to get out of the room. Or maybe not to come near me when I was sleeping..."

"But you didn't call her names, did you? Or curse at her?"

"What?" Bruce half-rose from his chair. "No, of course not! She's a baby. And even if she were older, it wouldn't be an excuse to..."

Alex nodded. "Exactly. So you panicked because she could have been hurt and you reacted in a way—which I'm not condoning, mind you—which I would call extremely... understandable." He chuckled. "I'd say that most parents, if they saw a child—particularly one your daughter's age—about to touch a hot stove, or bolt out into traffic would have behaved in a similar fashion." He waited for Bruce to look up. "Because the typical reaction is to yell 'No!' as forcefully as possible, to make sure the child gets the message. It's almost universal: if a child's safety is at stake, voices get raised, tempers get lost every now and then... and children get scared and cry." He smiled. "Not all yelling is necessarily abusive, Bruce. And children are more resilient than we generally think."

Bruce frowned.

"Look, if you're making a habit of shouting at her, then I'd say there's cause for concern. But under the circumstances you just described? I wouldn't say there's nothing wrong with it, but I would be inclined to excuse it." Alex smiled.

"Getting back to our earlier topic," he continued, "I do think that signing up as a reserve officer has the potential to be a good thing for you. You do realize, however, that you'll need to pass a psych profile. You've made progress with me, but the academy assessment is probably going to be a bit different. Still, that's not likely to be an issue for a few months. You have time." He pulled out a smart-phone and pressed a few buttons. "Now I see that Bryan Krait is due to visit you a week from tomorrow. Did you want me to come along then, or would you prefer I make another appointment?"

Bruce suppressed a sigh. "I suppose you may as well come with him," he said. Best to get it over with. And best not to mention that Sawyer had told him that he might be able to finish the curriculum quite a bit earlier than Alex thought.

--

Dick let out a low whistle. "You're serious? You're actually going to go through the police academy?"

Bruce sighed. "I need the sanction. It's more than five months until the hearing. I need to set things up so that if I need to take the sort of... steps I did when Jim was abducted, I can do what I need to without risking a return to Arkham." He shook his head. "I don't want this, Dick. But it's the lesser evil." He sighed again. "Commissioner Sawyer has sent me a list of the courses and requirements. If I can pass the exams, I don't have to take the courses. And she told me we could arrange the testing dates to our mutual satisfaction, rather than have me wait until the regular testing period."

Dick helped himself to a cookie. "Yours or Selina's?" he asked, holding it aloft.

"Saltridge Farms," Bruce answered. "I'm curious to know your thoughts on the matter."

Dick shrugged. "They make a pretty good double chocolate chip." He laughed at Bruce's annoyed expression. "Okay, okay." His face turned serious. "Passing the exams should be the easy part. Most of them you could probably take blindfolded, with an off-key marching band rehearsing under the testing room window. The hard part comes after—when some hard-case who wasn't on the scene gives you an order you know is dead wrong, and you still have to follow it." He waited for it to sink in. "You really will have to follow it."

"Commissioner Sawyer said that she would give me as much leeway as possible," Bruce began.

"And sometimes that won't be enough." Dick sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I was a cop once, too, remember? I know what it's like out there, and there are some things you're honestly going to hate." He hesitated. "Does she know your thoughts about guns?"

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. "She's aware. Unfortunately, in order to qualify as a reserve officer, I will need to pass every course requirement including gun handling. After that... there's room for discussion."

"Are you okay with that?"

"I..." Bruce shook his head. "Not really. It's something I'll need to work on."

"Talk to Gordon," Dick suggested. "He's probably going to be a better coach for you than I will."

"I was planning to. As far as other procedures though," Bruce hesitated, "I think the material might be fresher for you. I'm not concerned about the combat training, of course. There are other aspects of the curriculum, however, which I haven't had occasion to review in quite some time. The laws pertaining to search and seizure, for example."

Dick grinned. "Yeah, I can see how you might be a little rusty there. Tomorrow night sound okay?"

"Seven-thirty. Helena should be in bed by then."

"You got it."

--

Commissioner Sawyer looked up at the knock on the upper pane of her double-hung window. "So, you're Nightwing, tonight?" she asked. Her smile of greeting gave way to a sigh. She'd left the window open for a reason. "I suspected you'd be paying me a visit soon." Her tone was resigned. "Come in. Have a seat."

Dick obeyed the first instruction, slipping easily through the open window. He avoided the padded armchair in front of the desk, however, and chose instead to lean against a book case. "I guess, my first question to you," he asked, unsmiling, "is whether you expect me to enroll in the academy, too."

Sawyer studied him for a moment before she looked at the papers on her desk. "If you want to," she said, unruffled, "although word has it you passed the program long ago. We had a few good officers transfer over after Bludhaven exploded. Most of them have been assets to the force."

Dick blinked. "Good to know," he said. "But let's assume for the moment that I don't. What you're setting up... Don't think I can't see the advantages for you and for Bruce. But what happens when the signal goes up and Batman responds? Are you going to be checking ID?"

Maggie picked up her pen and added some notes to the file she was reading. "I really think that's going to be counter-productive, don't you?" She set down the paper. "I'm not an idiot, Nightwing. I'm trying to clear a path for him, not get in his way." She sighed. "And—as I explained to him when we spoke earlier—I wouldn't recommend that he attempt to go out as Batman. I'm trying to work within the parameters of his release, not countermand them. If he fails to act on that recommendation, depending on the circumstances, I might be willing to stick my neck out for him—but it would be up to a judge to determine whether he could be released until the hearing."

She shook her head. "Bottom line? If I see someone in a GCPD uniform, I assume it's one of my people. If I see someone in a Bat-suit, I'm going to assume it's you. As long as I have no evidence to the contrary, that's where things stand." Her tone hardened. "Don't misunderstand me, Nightwing. I value our working relationship. And Jim Gordon is one of the best cops I've ever had the pleasure to meet. You earned his trust. That gets you farther in my book than any sanction that you or Mr. Wayne might acquire. But I don't like being played for a fool. You have my trust. So does your mentor. Don't abuse it and you won't have to worry."

Nightwing nodded. "That's clear enough. Thank you, Commissioner." He headed for the window. "If you need me, you know how to contact me."

"Stay safe, Nightwing."

--

That night, Bruce dreamed that he was sitting down to breakfast with Sasha when the phone rang.

He picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Wayne, this is Eric from Felker Firearms. I'm just calling to let you know that your gun is ready to be picked up."

Bruce's blood ran cold. He looked across the kitchen to Sasha... only he wasn't seeing Sasha and he wasn't in the kitchen anymore. He was in the foyer after patrol and Vesper's bullet-riddled body lay in an undignified sprawl on the marble floor. Riddled with bullets from his gun.

He tried to run toward her, but the distance between them expanded. And no matter how quickly he tried to bridge that distance, it was as though he was moving through molasses. No matter what he did, he couldn't reach her. But he could reach the gun. It flew toward him, as though on a collision course.

Some instinct made him veer away from it.

All at once, it was in his path again. Was the thing tracking him?

When it was mere inches from his head, the gun turned so that its muzzle was pointed directly at the space between his eyes. The trigger moved, as though manipulated by an invisible hand. He could see the bullet as it emerged from the chamber. At this range, it couldn't possibly miss. It was coming for him in slow motion, and he was powerless to turn aside as...

He woke up in a cold sweat. Dream. That was a dream. The product of an overactive subconscious. It was over. It didn't mean anything.

But it was nearly an hour before he fell back asleep.

To be continued!

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