Disclaimer: All the characters in this story are property of WB and DC Comics. I own nothing, nor am I using this for personal profit. Just fun. :D


Several things occurred to Batman as he strained against the cargo door fruitlessly, teeth bared and palms flat against the cool steel that kept him locked inside the clearly bugged unit. One: the door had been shut behind him from a person he hadn't seen, despite his thorough casing of both the Larimarand the dock in question for nearly a week. Two: the door had also been re-locked, even though he had melted the latches away with sulfuric acid mere moments before. Three: the crate was located in plain sight, with an emblem that anyone with serviceable underworld knowledge would immediately recognize.

Ra's was right. He had gotten sloppy.

"Your physical strength is quite formidable, but your efforts are wasted."

He raised a finger to his ear. He would try another tactic, then. "Batman to Watchtower."

"Unfortunately, you will not find your League communicator of much use here," the disembodied voice of Ra's Al Ghul interjected in the cramped space, "as the radio transmitter that is currently feeding my signal to you is also jamming all other frequencies."

A few choice phrases ran through his mind, none of them particularly pleasant. "This was a set up," he ground out as he reluctantly straightened his posture, taking a step away from the unmoving door.

"Indeed it was, Detective. Had you not been so preoccupied with your butler's current state of affairs, I'm certain you would have noticed."

His eyes narrowed to slits. He knew. "You've been keeping tabs."

"I like to remain...apprised of my enemies' situations," the cultured voice responded. "Surely, you of all people understand the nature of the beast."

"The beast has nothing on you, Ra's," he growled into the darkness. "What kind of game are you playing?"

"Oh, I assure you, this is no game," Ra's answered. "At this very moment, agents of mine are planting explosives along the hull and deck of the Larimar. In five minutes, this ship, and everything on it, will sink to the bottom of the Gotham River in pieces."

"Thanks for the heads up," he muttered sourly, shining his flashlight along the ceiling, stopping at a small, black object the size of a small light bulb. He frowned up at the bug. "Don't be too disappointed when I get out of this."

"On the contrary, Detective," Ra's leered, "with all the resources I've left for you, I'm fairly counting on it."

Static popped and sizzled in the stale, muggy air before it cut out into silence.

He scowled darkly. "Appreciated."

04.
One Step Forward

Five minutes. Great.

Batman popped open a flare and dropped it at his feet, tinging the enclosed space a dull, oscillating red. He surveyed his surroundings, rifling through wooden crates full of munitions and various weapons – all of which appeared useless for an escape. He carried a decent amount of C-4 on him at all times, but he ran the calculations in his head and surmised that there was simply too little space in the unit to survive the explosion required to blow a hole large enough to escape through. And he doubted that canister of acid would be enough to eat through it in time.

He flicked the flashlight back up to the bug on the ceiling. Hopping onto a rickety box, he more closely examined the contraption, running his fingertips around the edges for any sort of – there. He yanked the small device from its secured resting spot, slipping it into a pouch for later analysis without thought. The remaining socket was embedded into the steel, as if it were originally intended to hold a low-powered light-bulb. He hummed in thought.

The Dark Knight dropped back down to the ground, dragging crates and tearing off their tops, piling them upon of each other to create a mini-bunker. One and a half minutes left. Balancing himself on the edges of the remaining boxes, he jammed the clay-like charge into the socket. He glanced at the contents of the box he stood on; .50 caliber rounds, disassembled pieces of the anti-tank gun that fired them, and a...schematic? "What?"

He pulled the paper from its neatly tucked place in the crate, hastily folding it and stuffing it into his utility belt. He would deal with that later. Forty-five seconds. He slid behind the makeshift barricade as he gripped an explosive Batarang. He flicked his wrist back, huddling further under the wooden bulwark, and hoped it would be enough. He took a deep breath.

The Batarang flew.

The resulting explosion shredded the roof, the barricade, and his cape.

Batman hacked as the acrid smoke and ash clogged the too-small space of the storage unit, unsteadily vaulting to his feet. He ascended the searing, blackened pile of Ra's illegal weapons, attempting to squeeze through the jagged hole in the ceiling with a grunt of exertion. His shoulders were too large for the narrow passage the C-4 had created, so he had to resort to pulling his left arm and head out, then twisting painfully to drag the other half of his body through. One of the notched edges tore roughly through the thick Kevlar-Nomex weave of his cape and suit; his skin gave no such resistance. Balancing on his arms, he swung his legs onto the roof lithely, using his coiled position to spring to his feet and leap off the edge of his temporary prison.

A heart-beat later, the steel crate filled with strangely inert munitions exploded into a fiery plume. The shockwave threw him over the edge of the ship – now also being rocked by various blasts – and into the choppy Gotham waters below. He righted himself in the frigid saltwater, the gash on his right shoulder burning, and paddled to the surface with a startled gasp of breath. Working his way to a nearby ladder, he dragged himself onto the coarse cement, water-logged and exhausted; strangely, all he could think about was how chafed the suit was going to make him in a few minutes. Kevlar wasn't meant to get wet. Maybe he should make the whole suit waterproof, and not just the cape...

He shook his head clear of the cobwebs. He couldn't afford to dawdle – even though the dock was all but deserted at this hour, someone was bound to hear the reverberation of a freighter blowing up. He ran into the shadows, stealing around and over and through buildings as he made his way back to the Batmobile. That whole encounter was off; it was fake, and they both knew it. The last time Ra's tried to fool him, he'd wanted to make him his successor. He was certain this scheme involved no such altruism on his part. He didn't like where any of it was heading.

Batman slipped behind the wheel of his beloved vehicle, and then paused. "'With all the resources I've left for you...'" he repeated distantly. "The schematic – he wanted me to find it." Taking out the now-soaked blueprint from his belt, he unfolded it and poured over the information provided. It appeared to be a highly-sophisticated water-purifier. He made note of the numbers scrawled – now streaking into the paper – in the top left corner:

40:47:21
73:58:56
09:18:09
01:45:00

He rubbed his chin. Clearly, Ra's was trying to lead him by the nose, again. But why would he give him advanced notice if it were a another trap? What was his angle in all of this? He eyed the design again. Industrial purifiers were designed to suck in water from pipelines, force it through several sieves to remove impurities and dangerous toxins, and then release it back into the city's...drinking supply...

He sucked in a breath, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with his sopping wet uniform. He knew what those numbers were. His on-board GPS read:

40:27:18N, 73:43:55W
09/18/09, 1:33 AM

He floored the gas pedal.


Diana felt simultaneously honored and extremely worried. On the one hand, Bruce had left her alone in the Batcave. She hardly knew everything about the man – she actually knew very little of his past – but she was fairly certain that the number of people he would let roam freely in his most sacred of sanctuaries was very small. On the other hand, he actually let someone stay alone in the Batcave when he didn't specifically approve it – and remembering his chilly welcome, she assumed her presence there was anything but approved. That alone set alarms off in her mind. Just what was going on in that man's head, right now?

She strolled through the hall of gadgets and gizmos, all carefully mounted and expertly displayed, and marveled at the museum he'd built for himself over his tenure as Batman. He didn't outwardly seem the type to collect mementos from past fights, but she had always felt there was a sort of hidden sentimentality in him. A hidden humanity. There was a man in there somewhere, beneath the playboy and the crusader, that fought desperately to survive in a world full of darkness and fear. It was that man she was so fiercely protective of, and it was that man she feared she was losing – not to a bullet, or to a disease, but to his own demons.

She stopped and rested her hand reverently on one of the glass cases – a red and green Robin costume. Diana didn't know the circumstances surrounding the commemoration of it, but if it involved one of his adopted children, it was undoubtedly bittersweet at best. She held no pity for Bruce; pity was too trite, too wrong for such a seasoned and venerated warrior. Instead, she felt only a strengthened resolve to find her way to the bleeding, heartbroken man currently drowning in the Bat, and show him that there was more to life than painful memories.

"It's always a pleasant surprise to find oneself in the company of a lovely lady," a refined and familiar British voice stated. "And here I was, beginning to believe that they no longer existed."

She stepped back from the back-lit costume, a smile spreading across her face. "Alfred," she said as he wound down the stairs, "Bruce told me you were resting."

He dismissed the notion with a small, caustic noise that, from anyone else, she would have considered a snort. "Poppycock. You know as well as I, your Highness, that as long as Master Bruce is awake, so am I."

Her grin widened a touch. She was right. "When do you sleep, then?"

He rose an eyebrow. "Who sleeps anymore?" Diana chuckled, glad to see he was in good spirits. Still, the 'conversation' she'd held with Bruce was forefront in her mind, and she could tell that Alfred wasn't quite himself. She had her suspicions, but stopped short of asking directly when the distinguished butler placed the tray in his hands on a small table near the computer console. "Might I inquire as to your visit this evening, madam?"

Her bright smile faltered slightly. She could demand answers from Bruce – from nearly anyone, but intruding in this man's personal life seemed blasphemous. "I just stopped by to see how Bruce was doing."

He nodded sagely, as if her vague comment unraveled a great mystery. "And, I don't suppose, this was at the behest of Mr. Kent?" When her expression became guarded, he continued, "My apologies for being so presumptuous, madam. It's simply that Mr. Kent has been very adamant about trying to speak with Master Bruce of late, and in spite of my efforts to assure him that there is no shame in the help of another – "

"Bruce won't listen," she supplied, hands finding their way to her hips. Stubborn man.

Alfred sighed, and like someone had lifted a veil from her eyes, the perennially prim and proper gentleman became an old and frail man. Her heart became a rock, sharp and heavy, in her chest. She reached out and gently laid a hand over the aged butler's wrist as he poured tea. "You should be resting."

The corner of his thin lips curled up faintly. "You sound like Master Bruce."

She searched his face for clues. His expression was unflappable as always. "What's happening, Alfred?"

He straightened, just a little, and it occurred to her that it may have been painful for him to do so. "There are few things quite so insidious, your Highness, as the passage of time." That quirky little smirk returned. "Master Bruce is approaching this...situation with his trademark stubbornness."

She arched an eyebrow. He was certainly taking his immanent death in stride. "What does he expect to do about it?"

He matched her expression. "I believe that he expects to defeat Death itself."

Her hand tightened over his reflexively, having only now remembered that it was still there. She had only met him a handful of times, but she simply could not reconcile the thought of a world without him in it. She could only imagine how badly Bruce was taking this. "Alfred, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Is there anything you can do, madam? Of course." He placed his other hand on top of hers, his dark eyes boring into hers with an unusual intensity. "Don't give up on him. Even when he gives up on himself."

She reached for his shoulder and squeezed it gently, wishing she could infuse some of her strength into him – make her life a little less immortal – if only to keep this wise and noble man alive for that much longer. Man's World could only suffer from his passing. It was, at the heart of it, a selfish thought, though – if anyone, Alfred Pennyworth earned his rest in the Elysian Fields. She would never deprive him of that. "I won't."

A warm and kind smile lit the old man's face. She couldn't imagine how he looked when he was in his prime, but the glimmer in his eyes was enough to sate her curiosity. "Thank you, madam." He paused briefly, contemplative. "I do have one more request, though, if you would..."

A smile played at her rose lips, happy to oblige him. "What is it?"

He removed his hands from hers, lifting the porcelain tea pot in his fingers. "Would you be so kind as to have a cup of tea with me?"

She nodded, reaching for a cup – and heard a pebble skitter across the Cave floor.

Her hand stayed his with a warning glance. Someone was here. "You should be resting."

"Ah. A rain-check, then." Message received.

She calmly took hold of her golden lasso while Alfred busied himself with returning to the Manor grounds. Her knee-length red boots clacked against the stone ground loudly as she strode forward into the unfamiliar, dank shadows of the Batcave. "You may as well show yourself," she commanded. "I already know you're here."

Men poured from the clinging shadows of the Cave – dozens of them, clad in all black, and equipped with night-vision goggles and automatic rifles. She frowned in chagrin; how could have so many of them have infiltrated this place without tripping an alarm? "This is not your fight, woman," one spoke in a foul, malevolent hiss. "Leave, and you may let live to tell this story to your children."

Her dark blue eyes sharpened. The chauvinistic cretin didn't watch the news, evidently. Their identities didn't matter, at the moment – whoever was foolish enough to dare enter Batman's private sanctum would quickly learn the error of their ways. Wonder Woman would make sure of it.

Bruce probably wouldn't mind.

"Pass," she stated blandly, unfurling her lasso and lunging into the crowd.


In a world beyond worlds, two figures stood and calmly observed.

"The situation is escalating."

The other nodded in agreement.

"Our presence may be warranted soon."

A scoff. "Your presence is not required..."

"And yours is?"

"My involvement is yet to be determined..." A pause. "Humanity's reckoning is at hand."

"Humanity's reckoning is being forced upon itself by one individual."

"That is how such things often begin... But rarely how they end."

A tilt of the head. "I would think that you would want to bring vengeance upon him, for all the injustice he has wrought in his time."

"His time is coming... And when it arrives, I will mete out his punishment without hesitation." He glanced at his companion's blank white eyes. "But, as you well know, Phantom Stranger, there are forces at play that neither of us can control... Human beings, even Ra's Al Ghul, are little more than pawns."

Phantom Stranger tipped his head in consideration. "If we cannot save the pawns from their fate, then perhaps we should warn them to save themselves."

"What would warning them achieve?" the Spectre questioned harshly. "Countless times over history, humanity has disregarded the warnings of its predecessors... Our voices would fall on deaf ears."

"Not if we speak to the ones willing to listen," the Stranger responded. "Their Justice League has several powerful magi in their employ. There is also Batman."

"Batman is bound to make the connection on his own..." Spectre's lifeless eyes twinkled ominously. "Provided he survives that long."

"It is not Batman's time," the Stranger stated.

"Perhaps not..." A cruel smile twisted his cold, dead lips. "But then, that depends on Batman, doesn't it...?"

To be continued...