Disclaimer #1: DC owns the characters. I make reference to certain details culled from the following Trade Paperbacks: Batman: No Man's Land Volume 2, and Nightwing: A Darker Shade of Justice, and recent events from "War Games" and Birds of Prey. There is no intent to infringe on DC's copyright. The lyrics below are from I Just Wanna Be Mad by Kelly Lovelace and Lee Thomas Miller. Recorded by Terri Clark from her CD Pain To Kill copyright 2003 by Universal. Used without permission.

Disclaimer #2: I'm typing this story following the events of Catwoman #35. It may be out of sync with continuity as soon as the next installment of War Games hits the stands. If it is, please consider this as Elseworlds, and enjoy!

A/N: If Babs can use "Curtains 98" as her operating system in DC canon, she can use "Norbert" antivirus in this fic.

Just Want to Be Mad for a While

I'll never leave, I'll never stray
My love for you will never change
But I ain't ready to make up or get around to that
I think I'm right I think you're wrong
I'll probably give in before long
Please don't make me smile
I just want to be mad for awhile

Kelly Lovelace & Lee Thomas Miller

I figured Dick would have told him about the gas regurgitants in the steam tunnel, the seismic alerts, and the laser traps. No big deal. Every time Norbert releases a new software antivirus, I take that as an indicator that it's time to review and upgrade my other defenses. I hate surprises. I hate guests who stop by unannounced—even if they're friends. I especially hate friends who figuratively and unexpectedly stab me in the back while I'm literally talking to them, then blow me off like it's nothing, and then stop by unannounced.

Funny, really. I designed my home security system with him in mind. Just this once, I wish it hadn't worked. It's been a long night, and a longer day. I was irritable enough when my alert system started blaring in my ear at 110 decibels barely an hour after I'd finally tried to grab some shuteye. Back when I was Batgirl, I mastered the art of getting changed quickly. Even now, with a wheelchair, I'm still dressed in under two minutes. With my escrima tucked into the pockets of my cardigan, I haul myself into my work area.

I'd yell at him—except that the sight of him standing immobile, cocooned from shoulders to ankles in reinforced Securus, a disgusted grimace on his face, almost makes me burst out laughing. How do you like that? I actually do have a system even Batman can't breach! Of course, there's the small matter of my computer systems... Remembering that, I don't feel like laughing anymore.

"What do you want?" I ask him. Right now, the synthetic voder that I use to voice my Oracle persona exhibits more warmth. Without giving him a chance to reply, I repeat the last thing I said to him this afternoon, before he severed his link with me. "You stole my system from me, Bruce." Now, reminded of that fact, curiosity gets the better of me. "How did you do it?"

He struggles against the fabric restraints. Good luck. That's the same stuff they make seatbelts out of, augmented to make it more cut-resistant than usual. It'll hold him for a while. Once he figures that out, he turns his head away. "There was an... attachment... to a batch of file backups I sent to you after the No Man's Land ended. Something I had created. Norbert is a subsidiary of Wayne Industries. If their software could detect my program, I would have known first."

G-d, no wonder he's embarrassed. I can't believe this. "You sent me a virus?" At this point, I think I might be able to snap the Securus. "You infected my systems? I lean forward, and feel the tips of my escrima sticks poke gently into my mid-section. Normally I wouldn't dream of laying into a man when he can't defend himself, but this is Bruce we're talking about. If he could defend himself, I'd be an idiot to attack him. Then my eidetic memory recalls something.

"The 'extra attachment', Bruce? Would that, by any chance have been appended to those criminal records you salvaged off of the bat-computer in the period from just before the quake to the point when you went off to Washington? The ones you asked me to route to GCPD and the DA's office after changing the protocols so that they looked like they were coming from more official channels?"

Not answering is also an answer. Before I know it, the sticks are in my hands.

"How could you do this to me?" Bad enough that Brainiac went through my system to possess me, not so long ago. That I can almost take in stride. He's a villain. I'm against him. In general, villains are... well... hostile. Ergo, if they have the capacity to do so, they will indulge in mind-control and manipulation when it suits their purposes. Par for the course, and if I can't take the heat I've got no business in the kitchen. But Bruce... Bruce abused my trust in him to give him the means to take over not only my systems, but also use them as his backdoor into the GCPD's. Much as I'm trying not to draw parallels, they're staring me in the face.

And what scares me, what absolutely terrifies me, is that Bruce's original War Games plan, in a nutshell, was to have all organized crime in this city answering to him. In other words, he would become, for all intents and purposes, an uber-crimelord. And, no matter how much he insists that the scenario was only meant to be implemented as a last resort, how did he plan to take over the mob and stick to his no-killing policy? And did he really think he could stroll through a sewer and come out smelling like a rose?

What he just did to me was worse than what Brainiac did. I raise the sticks and wheel closer. It's worse than what he did during the No Man's Land, when he took on a new Batgirl without telling me. (Helena even told me later, that one of the reasons he fired her was that he'd ordered her to steer all fighting away from the Clocktower. Great move, Bruce. How long did you really think it would be, before I found out? Helena didn't know why—still doesn't, actually. Oh, she's figured out that he didn't want me to see her in costume, but I haven't clued her in yet as to why. I'm still not ready to tell her that seeing her in that getup—in a different getup from the one I wore, yes, but using the name I originated—hurt.) Back then, I called him, he came, and we had it out. Well, actually, I vented, and he just stood there.

Is that why he's here, now? So I can throw another tantrum, and things can go back to the way they were? Nice try. About the only parallel I can see, here, is that in each case, I know I'm right to be furious. But that time with Helena... that time with Helena, the truth is, that if he had contacted me right away, said something like "Barbara, I've found out who was doing the tagging you were wondering about. While I was gone, somebody stepped into the power vacuum. Right now, she's an asset and I can use her, but I thought you should be aware: She's calling herself 'Batgirl'," Yes, I still would have been angry. Yes! It still would have hurt. But I would have understood. I remember that confrontation. And I remember... what he asked of me, next. And what I answered.

I lower the sticks, still gripping them. If I need 'em, I've got 'em. "I was wrong," I say in a voice so brittle I barely recognize it as mine.

He looks puzzled at the apparent nonsequitor. Right. He may be able to read body language, but my thoughts are still mine. At least there's one difference between him and Brainiac.

"A long time ago," I explain, "I said to you: 'I've always trusted you, and you know I always will'. I was wrong." I have to keep my voice steady. If I start yelling, he'll assume I'm just upset, and don't mean what I'm saying. I am upset, but I do mean it. If he took what I said then to mean that no matter what he did, I'd still be in his corner, he's about to find out just how wrong he was.

He seems to shrink a bit, although it could be that he's just trying to worm his way out of the restraining bands. "Barbara," he says, and for the first time in hours, the gravel is out of his voice. I close my eyes. No. No, damn it! Do NOT do this to me, now. Don't lower your defenses and get me to empathize with you.

"How could you do this to me?" And this time, the hurt comes through loud and clear. "If this is how you treat your friends, I think I could almost switch sides." Are we even friends at this point?

"You don't mean that."

"You're right. I don't. Because unlike you, I don't see myself as the shadow leader of a troop of organized killers!" Oh, good one Babs. You don't even need the sticks to beat him.

"It... it wasn't supposed to be like that."

"Just what was it supposed to be like? Benevolent dictatorship? The mobsters running Gotham and you running the mobsters?" I'm letting my temper get away from me. Take a breath, Babs. "Didn't you learn anything during No Man's Land? You have to keep your allies in the loop." I'm shouting. "Fighting fire with fire only makes the blaze brighter—get a hose, for crying out loud! Don't ally yourself with people who..." I'm about to say 'should be serving time in Blackgate', but then I remember my current pet-project, Savant, and amend that last to "...people who consider a gun to be a logical and effective answer to most of their petty personal problems."

"Orpheus is dead."

"What?" This is bad. Even furious as I am, I can see that. Orpheus is... was... the lynchpin in this whole scenario.

"I'd sent him a message to meet me on the Hill. Black Mask intercepted it. When I arrived, he and Zeiss were waiting for me."

Only now do I notice that some of the straps around his arms have bloodstains along the edges. It looks like they've staunched the flow, anyway. That's good. It means he's probably not going to bleed to death in my work area. Given the earful I gave Dinah, before turning in, she would be totally within her rights to ask me if I was sure he'd been bleeding before he showed up.

"I thought Black Mask was dead," I say automatically.

"So did I. Apparently, when the mob shootings started, he had himself set up in a position to take the greatest possible advantage."

I'm sorry. Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I can't deal with this right now. I can't lower my defenses—at this point I'm too tired to know whether I mean my security devices, or whatever restraint is keeping me from flailing out hysterically with the escrima—turn on my system, and put in overtime for the boss on an instant's notice as if I were the glorified secretary he's been treating me like since this whole thing started.

I shake my head slowly from side to side. "I can't, Bruce. I'm sorry. Not now. Not after what you did."

He looks at me, bewildered. "I need you."

It's hard to tell if the next sound that comes out of my mouth is a laugh or a sob. "You need my systems, Bruce. But you don't need me. Not really. You proved that, this afternoon. You can handle this whole city all by yourself, isn't that right?" I spin the chair around. "Close the window on your way out." He'll get out of the Securus eventually. He's Batman, after all. And if not, well, maybe I'll invite Selina over for breakfast, and tell her to bring a camera. Ha.

I'm past the living room, and halfway down the hall to my bedroom when he tosses a miniature CD-Rom onto my lap from behind me. I will not let him see how much that startled me, I think, as I wheel around to face him. Not just that he got loose already, but that he snuck up behind me without my noticing.

"Analyze it." He says, quietly. "It will show you how to locate and block my way into your systems." He turns his back on me, shoulders slumping. Poor posture. I've got a mind to tell Alfred on him. "It... will not... happen again."

I'm stunned. That's about as close to a groveling apology as I've ever seen from him. I think back through the years I've known him, the things I've seen him through. Jason. Bane. Cataclysm. No Man's Land. Luthor's attempt to frame him for murder. Athena's attempt to plunge Wayne Enterprises into bankruptcy. His (feeble) attempt to cope with my dad's retirement, for that matter. Does he let himself get sucked into some abyss because he trusts us not to let him rot there? I'm not sure I want that responsibility. But... I've been doing this job for too long. And I know... I know that I can't walk away, not really.

"Go home, Bruce," I say firmly. "Get some sleep. I'll try to do the same." He turns back to me. I hope I'm doing a good job at keeping my face expressionless. "Or don't. Do like you always do and run yourself into the ground. Right now, it really doesn't matter to me." He hesitates for a moment, then nods curtly and starts to sweep off down the hall. "But if you contact me maybe ten hours from now," I project my voice enough so that it carries to him, "I won't terminate the link." Which is more than he deserves after the way he's been acting

He stops for a moment, and half-turns to face me, then turns back toward the living room. Something makes me call after him: "Bruce?" And when he stops, I add quickly, "Just now? I lied. It does matter." And that's the truth.

At the end of the hall, he pauses, just long enough to call back "Good night, Barbara." Then he's gone.

Whoo boy! Part of me still wishes I'd clobbered him with the escrima when I had the chance. Wait a second. Did I just go one on one against Batman... and win? 'Good night, Barbara', he said. Notwithstanding what's going on outside, right now, I actually think I'm having one.