"Flass?" Calculator sounded surprised. "Forgive me, Selina, but isn't he a bit beneath your concern?"
Selina rolled her eyes. If he thought that using her first name would intimidate her, then... "I have my reasons,
Noah. Can you find out what I need to know?"
"Of course, of course. But why come to me in the first place? From what I hear, you've, ah, been scouting the competition lately, hmm?"
There was no way that she was going to involve Oracle in this one. Not given the measures she might need to take. "The competition can get a little nosier than I'd like," she said glibly. "And confidentiality isn't always up for sale."
There was a delighted laugh on the other end of the phone. "So, playing with the other team has its drawbacks, does it?" Calculator smirked. "Oh, of course. The redoubtable Mr. Flass has quite the mad-on for your... friend, doesn't he?"
"My
friend can handle himself just fine," Selina shot back. "But we all know that some people have very long, very skinny arms. Arms that can reach out and touch someone, even through prison bars. You aren't the only one who knows about my past relationships. I'm asking you to find out whether Flass has any allies or associates that I need to worry about—"
"Done."
"
And," Selina added, "whether he's made any enemies or bad decisions that could come up to haunt him."
There was a pause. "You understand that, given his history, if such things exist, the ramifications could be rather... extreme."
"That's why I'm calling you, and not my other associates."
"Ah. There will be a cost involved."
"If it's financial, you can name your price. Anything else, tell me before you initiate."
Calculator laughed merrily. "I think we understand one another. I should be in touch with you shortly. Always a pleasure chatting with you, Selina." The call terminated.
Selina set the phone down on the sofa cushion beside her, hoping that she hadn't just made the biggest mistake of her life.
--
Oracle looked up from her computer array with an excited smile. "Congratulations, Eddie," she said warmly. "Looks like your little hunch was right."
Kid Devil was sure that the chinstrap under his helmet was the only thing keeping his jaw from hitting the ground. "Houghton's dirty?"
"In a few senses of the word," Barbara confirmed. "Seems Penguin caught him in a... compromising situation with one of his," she coughed, "hostesses. Ever since then, Houghton's been paying him hush money."
"Wow. So then, why try to nail Penguin? I mean, wouldn't that just make him go public with the information?"
Oracle nodded. "Very likely, though I doubt it'll come to that. See, Eddie, if the police find clear evidence of illegal activity, it puts Houghton in a stronger position. I'm speculating, but it seems to me that if the DA's office has an airtight case, Houghton could easily tell Penguin that there's nothing he can do to help... unless he turns over the photos. The other thing to remember is that appearances to the contrary, Penguin isn't stupid. He doesn't really want to end the blackmail by spilling what he knows. He does that and he derails his gravy train. He just wants to have Houghton on a string. Before he starts flapping his beak about anything, he's going to make very sure that he's squeezed every drop of leverage and every red cent he can out of our illustrious mayor. Houghton knows this. All he's doing is trying to get Penguin over a barrel and break his hold. Given a choice between surrendering the photos or prison time? Penguin's going to play ball."
"I hear you." He thought of something. "Wait. Penguin doesn't own a computer, right? I mean, not one I've seen. Where are you getting this from?"
Barbara hesitated. "Have you covered Watergate yet in history?"
It was hard to shrug in armor. "The basics, sure."
"So, you know that some of the most damning evidence came directly from the White House tapes."
"Yeah." He blinked. "Hold it. You mean,
Houghton's recorded the evidence?"
"He's writing his memoirs in Goggle docs," she said wryly. "Password-protected, but the password's an obvious one. He's being deliberately vague on some of the details, but not the amounts he's paying out. I've found evidence of those exact funds leaving his accounts and going into Penguin's. The timing matches. Yeah, it's recorded. Matter of fact," she smiled, "I've just made a backup copy I can download-in case anything were to happen to the original, you understand."
Eddie gulped theatrically. "Um... Oracle? If I ever did anything to tick you off, you'd tell me, right? Give me a chance to try to apologize?"
"Probably. Unless I was
really ticked off." She chuckled. "You'd best be heading back to the Iceberg, now. Oracle out."
Barbara was still smiling as she closed the channel and wheeled around to greet Dick. The smile died when she saw the expression on his face. "What's happened?" She asked, feeling her good mood drain away
"Selina."
--
As she listened to Dick's story, Barbara gripped the arms of her wheelchair so tightly that she was sure the imprints of her fingers would be permanently indented in the leather padding.
"I knew Selina was upset when she stormed out of here," she said slowly. "But if I'd..." Abruptly, she wheeled away from him and rolled toward the window. After a moment, she heard a light step and knew that he was standing behind her. "I was afraid of this," she whispered.
"You mean, you knew she'd—"
"No." She lifted her hand for Dick to clasp. When he did, she squeezed back. "I meant me. Every time Bruce tries..." she thought for a moment. "Tried? Tries. Every time he tries to push us away, I hate it. I'll join in with the rest of you, rolling my eyes and swearing, and so on. But the thing is, I understand it." She took a deep breath. "After Joker, it took a long time... and a lot of therapy for me to get to... to where I am now. And one thing that made it easier," she exhaled, then breathed in again, "was making my peace with the idea that... that someone like me might have a hard time finding someone who would want to share my life with me." She closed her eyes. "Actually, I made my peace with the idea that I probably wouldn't find that person. And then you came along. And when we were together, sometimes you made me think that I'd been wrong. That I was being silly. And then the doorbell would ring and I'd get a panic attack. Or I'd get a phantom pain—and yes, looking back now, in hindsight, I can guess that it was probably psychosomatic, but when I was going through it, I wasn't exactly thinking along those lines. And then I'd ask myself whether it was fair to ask you to put up with my... issues. And from there, it didn't take much to convince me that the only reason you still hung around was because you didn't fully understand those issues."
"I
don't fully understand them," Dick pointed out. "And unless I'm ever in your place, I probably never will. But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to try."
"I know that... now," Barbara said. "I think I knew it then, too. But I was afraid to take that chance. Because if I had opened up to you then... really opened up... and
then you'd decided it was too much and walked out... I don't know if it would have 'destroyed' me. But it would have come close."
She gripped his hand more tightly. "Sorry. Just thinking about... How's Bruce taking it?"
"Badly," Dick replied simply. "At least, that's what your father told me when I went by the manor earlier. Bruce was holed up in the study. He didn't want to see anyone and I didn't want to push it."
Barbara nodded. "As much as he's been trying to reach out lately, his... default setting is to try to deal with everything on his own. Giving him a little time to do that isn't a bad thing." She exhaled noisily. "I'm sorry. It's just... thinking about... what Selina pulled on Bruce, no matter what her reasoning, is..."
"...What you were dreading someone would pull on you."
She nodded. "And this isn't about me. Not really. It's about Bruce. I know that. But thinking about what you just told me, my mind keeps going back..."
Dick gently unclasped Barbara's fingers with his free hand. Then he crossed in front of her wheelchair, dropped to one knee, and placed both hands on her shoulders.
"It's okay," he said soothingly. "Hey, it's okay. I'm right here. And I love you, Barbara Gordon. Warts and all. Chair and all."
Barbara drew herself up straighter in the chair. "I do
not have warts!" she said with mock indignation.
Dick was able to stifle the first burst of laughter, but not the second. Barbara joined in.
"It's not that funny!" she managed to gasp.
"I know."
"It's not!"
But it
was cathartic, though neither of them said it. When their laughter passed, Barbara took a deep breath. "I'll call on Bruce tomorrow, while you're at work. Maybe I'll be able to get somewhere."
"Are you going to be okay with that?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But it... helps knowing that you'll be here when I get back."
"Ditto."
--
The next morning, when Bruce came downstairs it was to find Barbara seated at the dining room table, chatting with her father.
"Oh, hi, Bruce," she greeted him.
Bruce's lips twitched. "I suppose you came to cheer me up," he said sarcastically.
"Now, when has that
ever worked?" she grinned. "I came to visit my father. Oh, and to challenge you to an escrima match, if you want to hit something."
"
That's subtle."
"I didn't think you'd appreciate 'subtle'," Barbara shot back. "If you're anything like me, you probably find it patronizing." She reached into her bag and tossed him a set of escrima. He caught them.
"Well?"
Bruce considered. "If you're looking for a sparring partner," he said, "maybe I
could use the distraction. But if this is all some ploy to try to get me to talk about her, you can save your breath."
"Better save yours," Barbara retorted. "You're going to need it for the spar."
--
It took a few rounds before Bruce really started to cut loose. Until then, he'd been steeling himself for a well-meaning pep talk. Once he realized that he wasn't getting one, he could afford to concentrate on the task at hand. Either Barbara had improved or Dick was still going easy on him in their training bouts, because it didn't take him long to build up a sweat. Seeing this, Barbara flashed him a broad smile. It wasn't an encouraging one. It was the same amused, slightly cocky grin that he'd first seen on her face when, as Batgirl, she had taken down five armed bank-robbers single-handed. The memory had stayed with him exactly because it had been the first time that she'd actually seemed to be having
fun.
"You're finding something funny in this?" He asked.
"Funny? No. Fun? Definitely."
"Fun." He met her high strike with his left baton and thrust low with his right. Her stick met his with a loud
cla-a-ack.
"You're one of the few people out there who not only
can give me a run for my money with these things, but actually
does it."
"You aren't holding back." He lunged forward, whipping the stick down toward her wrist while flicking it back and forth in a fanning motion.
"Neither are you." She blocked, hooked the shorter end of his stick under his wrist and forced his arm up, trying to disarm him.
The move had to hurt, but Bruce only grunted as he swung his second stick and struck her arm a painful blow.
Barbara winced. "Case... in... point," she gritted through clenched teeth. She thrust the butt of her left stick toward the nerve point on his right arm. He grunted again as the weapon found its target and he felt his hand go numb.
An instant later, the stick flew from his grasp.
"You okay?"
Bruce nodded.
"Sure?"
There it was. An opportunity to unload... or to pretend that she was only asking about the nerve strike. "I can't feel my fingers, at the moment," he admitted. "It'll wear off."
"I got lucky."
He shook his head. "No, you didn't."
Barbara took a deep breath. "Actually, I think I did. Last night, I... spent a lot of time thinking about when I broke up with Dick. Or more to the point, thinking about how he was willing for us to get... back together, afterward."
Bruce gave her a hard look and then turned away. "The two situations are hardly comparable."
"I got scared by a situation, overreacted, lashed out at the wrong person, and came close to ending a relationship with someone I really cared about. Yeah. Not seeing any parallels."
Bruce's shoulders tensed. "All right. Since you brought it up, you were wrong. I'm not convinced that you can say the same thing about Selina."
"Bruce—"
"Helena is a baby. And a couple of nights ago, I nearly left her half-orphaned. In slightly more than six months, I will be facing another hearing. After which I mean to return to the suit, one way or another." It was the first time that he'd said it out loud. "Things will only get more dangerous from there," he continued flatly. "Which means that the smartest course for all concerned is to get her out of my life while she's still young enough to forget me."
"Bull."
Bruce spun back to face her. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She rolled toward him, green eyes gazing unflinchingly ahead. "The Birds crash-landed in the South Pacific, a couple of hours ahead of a hurricane. If Clark hadn't been back in action, the whole team could have been lost. You think maybe she might have been consoling herself with the fact that she'd left Helena in good hands?"
"That's a matter of opinion."
"More like consensus. So she comes back, finds out that you ran into a situation here on the home front—and by the way, thanks for getting Daddy out—and rather than think, 'Stuff happens; at least he had the sense to make sure Helena was safe before he went charging in,' she went to 'If he'd stayed home with her, this never would have happened.' Well, Bruce, if you'd stayed home with her, my father might not be here, right now. And no matter how many precautions you take, and how much you minimize the risks, are you going to tell me that the manor is unassailable?"
"Barbara..."
"R'as. Talia. David Cain." She grimaced. "Aaron Langstrom. Or maybe just another 'mad scientist' with an earthquake machine. Yes, something
could have happened to Helena. But leaving her at home for what amounted to a quick trip to the store, leaving her in the care of the
leader of the Teen Titans was not a mistake, no matter what Selina told you." She let out a long breath. "And once she calms down, if she hasn't already, she'll see that, too."
Bruce's expression hardened. "And then what? We try to patch things up again for Helena's sake, until the next time someone takes a pot shot at me? Or someone notices that we've been in each other's company for awhile and attacks her to get to me?"
"I..." Barbara stopped. "I don't know," she admitted.
Bruce nodded. "Unfortunately, I do. It's foolish to rely on things that can be taken from you. To depend on people who, demonstrably, aren't there when you need them the most," his voice dropped to a bare whisper, "... borders on the masochistic." He smiled bitterly. "Thanks for the spar, Barbara," he continued in a normal tone of voice, as he bent down to retrieve his fallen stick. "We'll have a rematch some time. Come. I'll show you to the front door."
--
When Barbara got home, Dick was downing a mug of coffee. He was still in his robe and slippers.
"Sleep well?" She asked.
Dick nodded. "How did it go with Bruce?"
"Pretty much like we were expecting," she said, making a face.
Dick set the mug down on the table. "That bad," he stated.
"I beat him at escrima." She shook her head. "That's never happened before. He took it well, at least."
Dick placed his hands gently on her shoulders.
"Really well." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms about his torso. He hugged her back. "I wasn't thinking," she whispered.
"What?"
"After Halley's. After the fire. I..."
"Babs, I keep trying to tell you-it's water under the bridge. Look at me." He waited for her to obey before he continued. "Every single one of us has messed up in a major way at one time or other. Now, if you want to track down Rip Hunter and see if you can get a 'do-over', go for it. Otherwise, we can either spend the rest of our lives beating ourselves up for whatever, or we can go on." He kissed her forehead. "Consider this payback for your getting me past Blockbuster, okay?"
"Bruce doesn't think he can trust her again, you know," she said wearily. "And I can't blame him. But it's like someone's holding a mirror in front of me and saying 'this was you, three years ago.' And..."
"And we've had three years to work on
us. We've had some rough patches, sure, but we're still together. I don't know if the same will be true for Bruce and Selina. And," he admitted, "there's a part of me that hopes it isn't. I don't think he deserved what she did, either. But that has nothing to do with us, okay?"
She nodded. "O-okay."
"
Okay..."
--
She picked up on the first ring. Part of her wanted it to be Bruce. Part of her was relieved when it wasn't. "Hello, Noah. What have you found?"
Calculator was in a good mood. "Well, it seems that little Arnie Flass has had many troubles in his fifty-odd years on this planet," he began. "High debts, gambling woes... the small matter of how he financed that building of his, downtown."
"I'm listening."
"The smartest thing he did on that one was not use his real name," Calculator said. "He befriended a lonely, wealthy woman, got her to invest large sums of money with him, which he then used to buy up that prime piece of real estate and start building. Then, after he'd got as much as he could out of her, he dropped her."
"I see," Selina said. "And the building?"
"Survived Cataclysm. Flass left Gotham before No Man's Land was declared. Went to Chicago, got himself into a bit of trouble, got sentenced to two years for promoting gambling. He got out in one, but by the time he made it back to Gotham, the NML had been over for almost nine months. The redevelopment funds had pretty much been allocated, and Flass found himself with a half-finished eyesore in the downtown core. He tried to sell it, but couldn't get his price."
"So it's still his." Why was Calculator being so cheerful? Flass was scum, but this wasn't exactly a surprise revelation. "That's all? What about his connections?"
"Dead, in prison, or want nothing to do with him, for the most part." He chuckled. "The guy's not just a dirty cop, he's inept. Most people these days prefer not to admit to knowing him."
"Most?"
"Ah, well," Calculator sighed mockingly. "There's the matter of the jilted heiress. She could probably have suffered the blow to her finances, but her pride, well that's another matter.
She has certain connections. And talents in her own right. All she needs is Flass's real name, and I can pretty much guarantee that he'll be out of your hair—and your
friend's hair, for good. Deal?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to say 'yes'. Bruce would never admit it, but she would be doing him a favor. And she and Helena would be safe.
Safer, anyway—somehow. And it would take so little to set this in motion. But...
Come on, Selina. Get with the program! Flass kidnapped Gordon's kid. You really think he'd balk at trying for yours, if it meant getting to Bruce? One word. All she had to do was tell Calculator...
"No deal."
"What?"
"No deal," she repeated, feeling a great weight roll off of her. "I'm sorry, Noah. I shouldn't have bothered you in the first place. How much do I owe you?"
"Huh? Oh. Don't worry about it. Most of the stuff was public record. Easy to locate, if you know where to look. You sure you don't want to know who the woman was, at least?"
"I'm sure. Thanks again." She ended the call and replaced the phone in its cradle, feeling oddly free.
"Daddy?" Helena piped up.
Selina swept her daughter up into her arms and kissed her. "Not yet, Helena. But maybe soon. We'll see."
--
"Oh, Cass, would you heat the paraffin bath for Mrs. Carling's session? She'll be down in a half hour."
Cass nodded and trotted to the supply closet to obtain a six-pound brick of paraffin wax, which she placed in the heating tank of the bath. She set the temperature control to 125 degrees and waited for the hum that told her that the machine was warming up. She smiled at her supervisor. "Next?"
Erica Beecham smiled back. "You can wipe down the weight machines in 147," she replied. "Don't forget to dry them."
"Won't," Cass nodded. She headed out of the room at a brisk pace, nearly colliding with Doug on his way in. "Sorry," she grinned. "Busy."
"I can see that." He smiled back at her. "Don't let me keep you then. This Sunday, though, are you free for another movie afternoon?"
Cass nodded once more. "Which?" Not that it mattered to her, but the others might ask.
"Lili. Be here at one."
"Okay. Bye." She sped off toward room 147.
Doug watched her go. "She's doing well?" He asked Erica.
"If we had the budget, I'd want her on-staff." Her expression turned thoughtful. "What's her background, anyway?"
He shrugged. "She left that part of the form blank. Same with the section on formal education." He paused. "She's good?"
"Extremely."
"You know," Doug said slowly, "in order to be considered as a PT Aide, she'd need to finish high school, or get a GED. If she did, by the time she did, it's possible that our hiring freeze could be over."
Erica smiled. "And if it isn't, I can't see how having a formal credential could hurt her in any way. Just the opposite, really." She nodded to herself. "Thanks for the suggestion, Doug. I'll sound her out in a bit, and see what she thinks of the idea."
--
Calculator looked at the time. Selina Kyle was one of his preferred clients. For that reason, he had decided that he would allow twenty-four hours for her to change her mind. It was only good business. He didn't want to jeopardize their relationship unnecessarily. On the other hand, his trade was information. And if he located an item for a customer, and the customer subsequently cancelled the order, he was certainly free to look for another buyer. After all, Selina had only asked him how much she owed for his work on her behalf—not how much it would cost for him to sit on the results of his search.
He checked the clock once more. It was now twenty-four hours and three minutes since Selina had cancelled their arrangement. Smiling, he called up the contact number he'd located when he'd first realized the significance of his findings on Flass.
"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Ms Vanessa Devereaux? Ms Devereaux, I believe that I may have some information that might interest you,
viz a viz the whereabouts of a man you once knew rather well..."
To be continued!
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