Justice Questioned
Chapter 4

Authors note:-
For those readers that think I've abandoned this story; have a little patience! This isn't the only thing I have going on at the moment. I have made it my mission this year to finish four ongoing stories, this is the third and I promise it will be done!
Thomas

Clark knocked on the door to Lois's room but there was no answer. At the last second he didn't use his X-ray vision and listened. Quickly filtering out the background noise of televisions, radios and someone's iPod two floors down he focused in on the room on the other side. 'Quit crying, you baby.' Lois scolded.

'I'm not crying.' Oliver protested, much to Clark's shock. 'Just pull it out!'

'Do it yourself then.' She ordered. Clark didn't know what was going on, but was going to find out.

Knocking again, this time a lot louder he had to restrain himself from putting his fist through the door 'Lois! Are you in there!' he called out.

There was a startled silence and the door opened a crack. 'Clark, is anyone else out there?' Lois hissed.

Clark made a show of looking around. 'No.' He was able to answer before his partner grabbed his tie and pulled him inside. Even with his Kryptonian speed and strength he was caught off guard as she slammed the door behind him. 'Lois what's…' He trailed off. Lois was in an old football jersey and not much else, her hair was all over the place and if he didn't know any better Clark would have sworn she had just woken up.

Knowing Lois though, being before ten was early for her. 'Everything alright?' Clark asked trying not to look for Oliver, but having a hard time looking her in the eye.

'No, Robin Hood here woke me up.' She scowled at the side of her bed as he climbed around from the other side.

'Oliver, what happened?' If Lois was disheveled Oliver had been dragged sideways through a hedge, while the hedge was being pulled through a wood-chipper.

His costume was torn, scuffed and covered in dirt. His sunglasses were cracked and that wasn't all. One arm hung limply by his side and the other had a short shaft of metal in it. 'I met Gotham's costumed wonder,' He said by way of explanation. 'I didn't do that well.'

'You're telling me.' Lois scoffed, 'He was looking for you, can't think why. He's got concussion, a busted nose, dislocated arm and that.' She pointed at the metal thing. 'I can't get it out.' She admitted

Oliver sat down on the corner of the bed. 'Most of it's from trying to get here.' he admitted, 'He took me apart like a kid's science project. The concussion and the arms were all him. Most of the rest I did to myself. It's hard to use a grappling gun with one hand.'

Clark wasn't a medic, but he'd picked up a smattering of first aid helping out across Metropolis. 'Lois, call room service. Get some ice, a pot of hot water and some lemon.' He asked her. 'This is going to hurt.' He warned Oliver and with a sharp tug pulled the blade out.

Lois turned her back deliberately as she picked up the phone. With a nod and a raised eyebrow Oliver agreed to Clark's unsaid plan. It was a deep cut and with Oliver forced to use his arm, despite the injury, the muscle was tense. That was why Lois couldn't get it out on her own. With a quick, controlled burst of heat vision Clark cauterised the wound and quickly wrapped it up

Oliver was used to pain, and clenched his teeth through it. 'They said they'd be right up.' Lois told them and winced. 'How is it?'

'Not bad.' Clark lied casually, 'Must have got caught on the leather.' He moved on to the other arm. You didn't need x-ray vision to see it was out of joint, but you did need it to know how badly. For all Clark knew there could be a fracture or more damage.

Either Oliver was lucky or this Batman was very good. There was no brakes or fractures. In theory it should have been as simple as putting a car into gear. 'Lois hold his good hand, you know what I mean.'

'This will hurt. Clark warned and jerked Oliver's dead arm to one side. Fast, sharp and smooth all at the she time. Snapping out of Lois's grip Oliver clutched his arm and keeled over in to the bed. His face pale and eyes screwed shut.

After a couple of painful gasps Oliver straighter himself. 'Don't… Don't do that again. Please.' Carefully the Green Arrow flexed his fingers and made a fist. 'I hope I don't lose my manly cool if I say ow.'

Clark resisted the urge to tap his friend on the shoulder. 'What were you doing, going after that lunatic?'

'The Batman?' Oliver asked. 'I just wanted to say hi.'

'Hi in your case being an arrow.'

"At least I came back with a souvenir.' Oliver nodded to the weapon on the floor.

Lois picked it up and it was the first time Clark had a good look too. It was a flat piece, no more than four inches long with sharp metal spikes on most of the edges. As Lois turned it around in her hand Clark could see it was supposed to be a stylised bat. 'Nasty, what is it?' she asked.

'It's a throwing star, ninja assassins often made them for themselves. Kind of like a gunman casting his own bullets.' Oliver told them.

'A ninja? You're joking.'

Only he wasn't, the slow shake of his head sent a shiver up Clark's spine. 'He's had training. Some of the best. He caught my arrow at nearly point blank range and broke my bowstring with that toy of his in half a second.'

'Come on, you can't catch an arrow!'

'You can Lois, with the right training.'

'What else can he do, with the right training?' Clark asked.

Oliver sighed. 'If this is as bad as I think it is, we're talking League of Assassins. They have their own goals, objectives and ideas. Rumour has it it was these guys that burnt Rome.'

'Rumour?' Lois asked

'That's all these people are. No paperwork, no footprints, no evidence. They want you dead you better get your affaires in order.'

'So who hires, or should I say hired, them.' Lois had a dangerous glint in her eye. Clark knew that all to well, she'd smelt something and was going in for the kill.

'No one. Like I said they have their own agenda, you can't contact, contract or bribe them.'

There was a knock on the door and everyone jumped 'Room service.'

Clark's patch job on Oliver's arms was holding out. He sneaked out after Clark cleaned the wound and made his way back to his own hotel. He didn't want to admit it but his was a lot more expensive.

An hour later, showered, clean shaven, a new field dressing that didn't involve a bath towel and two aspirin later Oliver picked up his phone. 'Watchtower, you online?'

'God yes! I've been trying to reach you!' Chloe gasped. 'Where are you?'

'My hotel room. Batman broke my headset when he was tossing me around like a rag doll.'

'I'll get another one to you. What happened last night?'

Oliver told her the whole story including how he accidentally found Lois's room rather than Clark's and had to survive her ranting at him for five minutes before Clark turned up.

'This shuriken, you still have it?' She asked when he got to that part. 'Maybe I can identify…'

Oliver shook his head before remembering she couldn't see him. 'No, it was home made, almost untraceable.'

'I was going to say trace the metal it was made from.' Chloe finished.

Oliver blinked. 'You can do that?'

'Metallurgical analysis can. It's composition, purity, weight. Just because this guy made it in some back street workshop doesn't mean I can't help.' Sometimes Chloe's skills amazed him, and he was sure Clark felt the same way.

'I'd love to get it there, but Lois took it.'

Chloe hummed in thought 'I'll talk to Clark about grabbing it for me. Don't you have another appointment?'

Oliver swore as he glanced at the clock, he was running late for his meeting with Wayne.

Bruce kept his face passive, keeping the look of a rich man wondering how much longer he had to stick around while his mind raced. It was Queen, the archer. Hardly surprising, but still it put another set of wrinkles into an already dangerous situation.

He'd been surprised and not a little suspicious when within a few days of Mayor Hill calling for The Metropolis Blur Queen answered a fourteen month old correspondence. In this sort of business if you couldn't move faster than that you didn't move, you died. So it was obvious that Queen was looking for an excuse.

Which was why he sent his two reporter friends off on a wild goose chase. Then last night he'd ran in to the Archer. Fast and good aim, that meant he wasn't in it for the thrills. He was an expert and that meant he had good reasons to dress in green leather of all things and go after the perceived villain.

As soon as Queen walked in that morning Bruce had known it was him. As Batman he knew all the signs of half healed injuries and how hard they were to hide. He shook Bruce's hand with the wrong arm, the one he hadn't dislocated and had the unfocussed look of someone recovering from a concussion.

It could have been a coincidence but Bruce knew from painful experience that ignoring coincidence was the first sign fate was stacked against you.

Was he working with the Blur, which meant a super-powered vigilante was on the way as well as an Kevin Costner want-to-be? Was he a friendly rival that wanted to catch the glory himself? Or were they bitter enemies and Bruce's own cape was just a score card to them. Three options, non of them good.

When he recognised Lois Lane as the Blur's personal PR agent he knew that he'd have to deal with him. A do good-er barging into something he doesn't understand. That he had no hope of understanding. How could he, often Bruce didn't know how he'd gotten into this position.

When he stated it was so simple, inspire fear in the criminals. The same fear they had the rest of Gotham in. Show the people that the criminals were human to, spark the fire that should have been in their hearts. Instead they'd clung to him, and to Harvey, like men clutching at a life raft in the ocean.

He had to cut himself off from them, had to let them find their own strength. Even if that meant becoming the villain even if that meant loosing himself. Gotham as a whole had to win.

That meant the Blur and Oliver Queen had to lose and lose badly. That was if anyone found out.

Keeping his almost bored expression as Fox carried on the hard sell Bruce had to force himself to keep from blinking. He had a plan.

Lois looked back at the faceless glass building of the town hall and up at the mayor's office. She hated politicians, really hated them, but Mayor Hill was one of the worst she'd met.

Snakes would shiver away from him and she had gotten an uncomfortable feeling between her shoulders just talking to him. He struck her as the sort of man that would stab someone in the back if he thought there was a ounce of public support for it.

'What did you think?' Clark asked pulling uncomfortably on his tie. The big farm boy was never comfortable in a suit, probably because most were too small for his freakishly large chest.

Not that she thought about such things.

'If that's the sort of guy they have running for office here Harvey Dent could have strangled puppies on the five o'clock news and I'd still have voted for him.' Lois said through her teeth.

Clark looked at her sharply. 'Really, I didn't think he was that bad.'

Lois patted him on the cheek 'Oh so young little grasshopper. Fortunately for you I am still the master. If being a politician was a crime, he'd get a double life sentence.'

'Now that's not fair, he seemed very co-operative.' Then Clark frowned, there seemed to be hope for him yet. 'Alright that whole thing with the desk was a little put on.'

'A little?' Lois laughed. As soon as the two of them had been ushered into the Office he wheeled his oversized and almost dangerous chair out and around on a well worn path. If he really was that informal he never would have to move it back.

The chair itself was another thing, just like the massive faceless glass building they were still in the shadow of. Flashy, expensive and horribly out of place. Inwardly Lois shuddered at the cost, while hospitals and roads were still scraping together the money to rebuild after the Jokers attacks the town hall had a bay full of new cars and it's own security force.

If they weren't corrupt she'd eat her press pass.

'So what now?' Clark asked, pulling out his phone and checking the time.

'Coffee, definitely coffee.' Lois said looking about for a Starbucks that hopefully wasn't run by a crooked gangster or Multi-Billionaire playboy on the side.

'Hum?' Clark was still looking at his phone. Lois just gave him an openly suspicious look. He knew he couldn't hide anything from her, so why did he still try? After a moment he switched off the Phone. 'Sorry about that, one of my… sources. They wanted to see if they could help.'

'You're sources call you?' Lois asked. When she tapped sources it usually involved arm twisting and not a few bribes.

'They owe me.' He shrugged. 'One of their leads didn't pan out some time ago.'

Lois laughed. 'Trust you to find the one contact with morals. What, they send you christmas cards too?' His blush was all she needed to send her into hysterics.

James Gordon did not like the implications of this. Lois Lane, young up and coming reporter for the Daly Planet had been seen in City Hall. Normally he wouldn't have cared less, especially as Gotham was fairly crawling with reporters trying to make a name for themselves since the new Mayor had made his announcement.

He was inundated with calls from everyone trying to get a sound bite, or a quote, about this whole Blur mess. Problem was Miss Lane was his spokes-woman. That could mean she's following up on her own, or she was scouting ahead. Either way that meant that the Blur was taking this damn request seriously.

Then there was last night. Almost reluctantly he looked down at the report he'd had to burry. Green Archer, another costumed lunatic. Again probably out to make his name and again might even be working for The Blur.

Shaking his head James stood up and headed to the coffee machine. It wasn't any wonder that Lobe kept a bottle of scotch in his desk for days like this, but if James was going to have a liver by the time he was sixty he had to restrain himself. Another thing he had to restrain himself from was inventing problems, he already had enough. Imagining problems weren't going to help deal with the ones at had. Suspicion was all well and good, but let it get too far and you had paranoia.

No all he knew for sure was the Archer was in town and that Batman had floored him. Squashing the report should have been enough to keep him out of the lime light. It wasn't the first time a vigilante had gunned for the Dark Knight and it wasn't going to be the last, sweeping it up into the same pile was the quickest and safest option. From the sound of things Batman had been his usual, charming, self and floored his opponent. With any luck the usual result would keep the Archer out of the business for a week.

Taking a swig of coffee James sighed. There was no other choice, he was working in the dark. Usually that was a good thing, but not now. Throwing the rest down the sink James left his tiny office and headed out the door

'You knocking off early Commissioner?' Bullock asked as James passed him in the hall

'No Harvey, just getting some air.'

James had, some time ago given up cigarets. Problem was when he needed an excuse to leave the building smoking was the only one that worked. 'You want me to come with?'

James gave it some thought. 'Only if you want to read the newspaper over my shoulder.'

'What the hell.' The detective shrugged and held up a box of donuts. 'I was off duty half an hour ago. Mind if I take these?'

James pulled his pipe out of his pocket. 'That the only box?' There had been more than one argument about that. Bullock would eat a whole bakery in the time to took most officers to get out of the car. Still he was one of the best damn officers James had, even if police complains wanted his head on a block.

'I got two.' Bullock grunted and the two of them left. Outside James bought a paper from the stand outside police headquarters and crossed the road to the little park there. A long forgotten attempt to green up Gotham, now nothing more than a few hedges and bit of decayed grass, littered with the discarded butts of police department smokers. Lighting up his pipe James used up three matches before the thing caught.

'Why don't you just use a lighter?' Bullock asked around a mouthful of donut.

'Ruins the taste.' James lied, tossing the matches in the bottom of a hedge. the police commissioner didn't know how he did it, didn't want to know, but that was the signal.

They had to meet

End Chapter 4