Chapter 7 – Chasing Butterflies

'Well, I would never have imagined it. Nope. Not him. Of all the hopeless, dead end loser dregs in this school, I never imagined Matt McGinnis being the one to actually make an effort towards being a real human being. The twip has been nothing but a pain in the rear for years. Always with an excuse or long face about doing anything remotely physical. Hell, you would have thought that I had told him to run to Metropolis when the class does laps. And the mini-death glare! Hell, I received worse from blind budgies! I had him pegged on the hopeless case list last year, after that embarrassing tag football game but now….

Who would have thought?

Matt McGinnis, actually, honest to God, climbing a rope – willingly. Heck, he even asked me for tips. And I swear I saw him doing push-ups yesterday – pansy half assed ones, but I counted at least 5, which was more than the usual one he gives me.

Go figure.

And someone, and I struggle to believe its him, has been using the boxing simulator after hours. I thought it was Georgie trying to relive some of his glory days, but the scores are too low. And the simulator's kung fu and karate programmes had been run too – also with dismal results… it's probably not McGinnis, but why do I feel like there's a secret training programme being run ineptly in my gym.

Oh, saints preserve us! The twip kid made to the top of the rope and figured the best way down is a swan dive! He's damn lucky I had my mats laid out at the bottom of the ropes. Those mats sure save on the amount of whinging klutzs and faked injuries… well, he's picked himself up and … is climbing again?

Sheesh, don't tell me my nice bell curve is going to be screwed with McGinnis actually earning something more than his usual D!

Maybe I should run a random drug screening – maybe the kid is high and thinks he's Superman or … maybe he's doing it for a bet or … maybe … did he just land on Diego – on purpose?

I should never have quit teaching English.'

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'Ahhh, man alive, I needed that. If Joel made a quadruple espresso, I'd down two of those, but three triples… perfect. And he still gives cops a discount. Guess us making his little java place a compulsory patrol stop is good for business. Most Jokerz aren't stupid enough to bother cops on their coffee breaks – caffeine depravation is a scary thing. Maybe I should call my book that – 'Crimes prevented by Coffee' or 'Java Cops' or …'

Greg Fisher took another sip of his triple triple espresso and smacked his lips together in appreciation. 'So good, so good.'

He was sitting in the passenger side of his patrol car, waiting for his partner to finish 'fishing'. She thought it was hilarious that Officer Fisher had the best network of snitches in Gotham and that his 'fishing' expeditions usually landed something slightly larger than a bass. The story of the bust at the fish packing plant had become precinct legend. One of Fisher's fishes had tipped him off about slice being smuggled in snapper and when the SWAT guys busted down the door, two of them had slipped in a pile of fish guts and ended up knocking over several barrels worth of waste. Every single officer on that bust had walked away smelly very 'fishy' and so, the legend of Fisher was born. Even the puns had began to smell after awhile.

So naturally, Officer Delaney referred to her own 'info' gathering efforts as 'fishing', much to Fisher's begrudging delight. Besides, Fisher had more than enough on Delaney to make her squirm if she got too cheeky. His little 'fishies' told him some very interesting stories. He had hinted a few times at what he knew and judging by her red face at the smallest inference, he knew he was onto something.

And now, here he sat, waiting for her. She was only a few feet away, talking to someone in a darkened alley. Whoever her 'fish' was, Officer Fisher couldn't see but Delaney was far enough away from the shadows that he didn't fear the guy trying to jump her or something.

She seemed relaxed, and scanned the surrounding area often but otherwise all seemed fine. She suddenly nodded and began walking back to the squad car. Sitting up straighter and placing his coffee in the cupholder near him, Fisher idly noted the Elevated B Line hurtling overhead. Checking the time on the chrono, he shook his head. 'Late again.'

It was then, with the lights of the train overhead spilling down on the dim streets and buildings below that Greg saw him. There was a flash of red wings, two points of light and briefly a silhouette on the roof that was gone by the time the next window flashed by.

Batman.

An evil grin broke across Greg's face and he tried to smother it as Delaney approached the car. She was busy fiddling with her radio and wasn't looking at him, so by the time she climbed into the driver's seat, Greg had his poker face on. And he was a very good poker player.

"Anything interesting?"

Delaney smiled as she pressed the ignition and nodded, "Yeah."

Greg waited. "And?"

Delaney checked her mirrors, and slowly pulled the car out into the road and said over her shoulder, "Call despatch, Fish."

Mock sighing, he informed despatch that they were resuming their patrol and waited as Delaney turned out onto 7th before saying, "AND?"

Keeping her eyes on the road, Delaney smiled again, "Someone has been trying to shake down Tony Nicoletti and isn't being too subtle about it."

Taking another sip of his coffee Greg mused, "Can't be Marconi, Tony is one of his and Jokerz don't shake you down unless they're pretending you're a salt cellar or something. Neski?"

"Maybe. Anyway, the interesting this is - Tony hasn't asked Marconi for protection. He's just hired more muscle."

"That is interesting. Lane is going love this."

Silence fell over the pair as Fisher finished his coffee and Delaney slowly drove up 7th, running a sharp eye on the busy street. Supposedly, Greg watched his side of the street, but kept half an eye on Delaney. She was smiling to herself a little, and when she ran a hand over her smooth hair, which was pulled back in a tight ponytail, Greg smiled too. And when Delaney checked her make up in the rear view mirror for the third time, Greg cleared his throat meaningfully and said, "Hot date tonight?"

Normally she would have laughed and told him to mind his own business, but her face went bright red and her laugh failed to mask the nervous gulp. "Never you mind, Fisher."

Leaning back into the seat, Greg smirked at her, "So, tall, dark and handsome or short, blonde and sweet?"

She looked away, pointedly ignoring him and said, "I heard Tank was hauled over the coals yesterday for moonlighting at Trey's again. You think the Captain will suspend him?"

"Where's mystery man taking you? Dinner? Clubbing? Flying?"

She shot him a look and said, "Personally I think the Captain should have fired Tank last year, the guy's a musclehead and has probably fried whatever brain cells he had years ago."

Greg laughed and shook his head, "Personally, I think Tall Dark should take you spelunking. I hear it's a great way to meet women."

"Is that where you met your last date, cos' you were really scraping the barrel there, Fish. Definitely a cave dweller."

'Ah, got you now.'

Greg smiled innocently and said, "Well, at least she doesn't dress up like a rodent and take swan dives off sky-scrapers."

Delaney's jaw dropped and she stammered, "Wha.. I… no.. huh?"

"Ah, come of it, Delaney. I saw him. He flapped off on those big bat wings after you had a nice long chat in the alley. And now you're all doe-eyed and preening…"

"NO! I … I … I do not preen!" She glared at him and aimed a backhand swat at him. Greg laughed and nudged her hand back to the steering wheel. "Bat-obsessed eyes on the road, please."

Correcting the car's drift, Delaney spluttered indignantly at him. "I am not obsessed with Batman! I.. he's.."

"Right, and the Captain hates the Red Sox. You've had a thing for Ratman ever since he pulled you out of that burning building and don't try to tell me that you two don't occasionally 'meet' on a moonlight rooftop and …"

"No! What… where'd you hear that … garbage? I never.. we.. " She paused for a moment and said sternly, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Tapping the side of his nose, Fisher smiled knowingly, "Ah, you are forgetting the great Fish Network, better known as the Fishnet Stocking, of course. I see all, I hear all, I know all."

Delaney snorted but Greg continued regardless, "Rumour on the street is that a young policewoman has the hots for Gotham's clumsiest vigilante and has been seen snogging him on Bellreve Tower."

"WHAT!" Delaney's voice jumped a few octaves but Greg had lost the momentary surprise and rather than splutter, she glared at him and said with gritted teeth, "First off, snogging? You've been watching Monty Python again, obviously and it's not funny! Second, Bellreve Tower? Its 50 slagging stories high! Who in the hell could see anything going on up there! And third, I have not kissed, snogged, gropped or otherwise exchanged bodily fluids with Batman!"

"Right. But I bet you wish you had, right?"

The backhand swat clipped him this time but Delaney refused to answer and glared at the road instead. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and Greg just chuckled to himself, rubbing his head. They turned right onto Beecham and Fisher began to hum softly under his breath.

The bright neon lights from various shops and restaurants cast an array of colour over the car and as Delaney ignored her partner, her face alternately became red, green, yellow and blue. Greg's humming slowly grew in volume and Delaney's face got redder and redder underneath the false light. As Greg reached the dramatic climax of 'Batman the Musical's' theme song, he burst into song and warbled extremely off key, "Terror of the Night. Dark and Myster-i-ous!. Batman! Don't let his shadow falllll ovvveerrr you!"

"Knock it off!"

Greg laughed and suddenly had to grab the dashboard in front of him as Delaney took a corner very sharply. Her face was grim and if she clenched her jaw any tighter, Greg figured he'd have to pry her mouth open with a crowbar.

He sat quietly for a good five minutes and let her cool off. Delaney seemed to relax a little in the silence and he waited five more minutes just in case. Eventually, she sighed and shot a still furious glance at him, but her stranglehold on the steering wheel was easing off. Just as she was about to open her mouth and probably ream him out, Greg asked innocently, "So, does the Batmobile have a backseat?"

There was no room to escape her punch and even as he rubbed his arm, Greg laughed and said, "Nah, probably not, huh? But I bet he knows some 'real' secluded places, right?"

"Ow!"

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"Oh, you guys are not going to believe this!"

Danny and Matt looked up at Chris, her mega-watt smile at near super-nova white. The two boys shared a brief 'look' and said in unison, "What?"

"This is just so schway! Tony Capriski heard from Dozer that Anne's cousin's boyfriend's mother actually saw Superman at the premier of Saw 13 and he left 5 minutes into the film with some blonde floozy!" Chris sat down next Danny and Matt at their regular table in the cafeteria and without really taking a breath continued, "Yeah, and it turns out the blonde floozy is actually a relative or something of the Flash, the old Flash… I think and maybe his daughter and of course, Superman is old enough to be her Grandfather and that …"

Noticing that Chris was talking more to her non-fat, non-sugar, non-dairy yoghurt than to them, Danny leant over the table and hissed, "So, now my Dad is insisting that Megan is home before 8 every night – which is fine and I understand why, and she's schway with it, but he's telling me I have to be home too and well…"

Matt nodded, keeping an eye on Chris, watching for when she'd take a breath and expect an answer from them – about whatever - and whispered to Danny, "I know you get where he's coming from, but 8? That's insane!"

"Yeah! And he even gave me this whole speech about 'boys' not being safe either and just because I'm a guy doesn't mean that some perv dreg isn't going to want me. Ew, the whole conversation just wigged me out! And don't let me get started on my Mom! I swear, if she could, she'd keep both of us locked in our rooms at her house. Like us staying at my Dad's is more dangerous."

Again Matt nodded in sympathy, but said, "Hey, you can't blame them, dude. What happened to Megan could have been so much worse and…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, if it hadn't been for Batman and …" Danny paused and looked up from his burger, a strange grossed out look on his face, "I mean, the Bat is cool and all, but I swear, if I hear Megan gush about how schway he is, how strong his arms are, how cool his costume is, wondering what colour his eyes are – I think I'm going to be sick. That or this burger is just not right…"

Matt smiled, trying not to look too pleased. He knew that Danny was glad, no, over the moon, about his sister being found and now being fussed over, and that his complaints were just the excitement talking, but hearing that Megan had a crush on Batman? Too bad he couldn't capitalise on it. That and she was way too young.

Romance however, inevitably brought someone else to mind and Matt covertly studied Danny who was inspecting his burger with long fingers, peering at the sauce with huge distaste. Should he mention it? Maybe Danny could… give advice? Matt snorted to himself. 'Yeah, right. The last time Danny went on a date, the girl actually went to the bathroom and never came back.'

"Dude, I think this is… like the leftover grease from Miss Gretchen's hair or something… it's just… wrong!"

"Hey, Dan – if a girl liked …"

"And then this tramp on the upper east side says that she's having Batman's baby! Apparently she's got a lawyer and everything to try track the Bat down and make him acknowledge the kid!"

Matt's question died a silent death as he stared at Chris. Danny was gagging on his burger, whether or not from the surprise or the taste, but Matt stammered, "What? What baby?"

"Yeah, I mean, it seems like all these superheros are skanky sluts! Put a mask on, bust some butt and then get laid by your adoring fans! Yuk! Although, Batman does have a great ass, if it's his real ass and not some fake costume thing."

Chris paused, probably contemplating Batman's assets and Danny shook a stunned Matt out of his stupor. "Dude. You ok?"

'She thinks my ass is cute? I am definitely getting a cape!'

"That picture of him tripping over that girl Joker was a great butt-shot."

'A sack. I am going to wear a sack!'

"I wonder what his chest looks like? Bet he's got a six pack and pecs to die for!"

'Nope. Pale, skinny chicken chest.'

"Dude, why are you blushing?"

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Room 218 was silent. Claire had said that if she heard any sort of noise from Mr King's room, she had to call her. Immediately.

Fortunately all was quiet. Nurse Rachel Woods made a few notations on the medical chart in front of her and continued to wait. Nurse Claire von Stahl was due to arrive for her shift any minute and usually she was extremely prompt, if not early.

By the time Nurse Woods checked her chrono again, Nurse von Stahl was 10 minutes late. Concerned, but needing to do her rounds, Rachel stood, and with clipboard in hand quickly moved towards her patient's rooms. She checked on Room 218 last.

The room was dark, and the light from the open doorway was just sufficient to illuminate the still figure strapped to the bed. Claire had said not to check on Mr King but since she was late …. Nurse Woods flipped the light switch on and screamed.

Claire von Stahl, Senior Nurse at Santa Anna Clinic was lying on the bed, unconscious and tied securely down by high tech soft restraints. Dropping her clipboard and running to the bed, Rachel urgently called out, "Claire, Claire! Are you ok?"

A rough gag had been shoved into her mouth and there was a growing bruise on her neck, but other than that her vitals were steady. Pulling out the gag and removing the monitoring equipment seemed to revive Claire and she moaned groggily.

"Claire! Claire!" Rachel gently tapped her face and all too soon the intensity returned to Claire's face and she snapped, "Stop it! Get me out of this, now!"

Futilely, she pulled against the restraints and Rachel hurried to deactivate them. "What happened, Claire? How did…?"

"I don't slagging know how the dreg did it, but he surprised me and was choking the life out of me… would you damn well open these slagging things!"

"I'm trying!" Rachel futilely keyed the open sequence to the restraint, but nothing happened. She leant over Claire and tried the other side, but also to no avail. "They're not working! I don't…"

"The bastard must have done something to them. Call Security, tell them a patient is loose," and when Rachel fumbled for a moment more with the restraint, von Stahl yelled, "NOW!"

Terry stood on the roof of the clinic and smiled. An offshore breeze from the Pacific Ocean leant the air a pleasant coolness and the sun felt warm against his pale skin and he lifted his face up to the sky, eyes closed and enjoyed the feeling of freedom.

After the extremely satisfying encounter with Voice and leaving her trussed up to his bed, Terry had quietly made his way to the pharmaceutical store. It had taken all of his skills to sneak past the Nurses' station and into the store. Fortunately, there had been very few nurses and no doctors around, despite it being the middle of the day shift. Inside the storeroom, with the door locked behind him, Terry had quickly searched for what he needed.

He had found the first two ingredients almost immediately but the third and most vital had eluded him and he had nearly had to abandon his search when he heard footsteps approaching. He had hidden himself awkwardly behind a shelving unit but luckily the footsteps passed the storeroom and when he looked up to thank his lucky stars, he spotted the missing drug.

Bruce Wayne had a thousand and one tricks up his sleeve – as one would expect of the Dark Knight – and Terry slowly assembled one of them. A superhero, without actual superpowers, needed to be able to act even in the most dire of circumstances, including his own injuries. Steadily, trying to recall the exact proportions, Terry prepared a drug that deadened pain from injuries and stimulated his nervous system enough to get him moving. There were two serious drawbacks though – the drug deadened the nerves so much that any new injuries incurred would not be felt until too late, and it thinned the blood so much that he could bleed to death without realising his danger. The drug also put tremendous amount of strain on the heart and could only be used for short periods of time.

The benefits, however, outweighed the risks and after fumbling for a syringe and trying to will his hands to stop shaking long enough to inject himself, Terry 'shot up' with what he desperately hoped was the right mixture. It took a few minutes for the drug to work and as the pain fell away, Terry felt new strength surge through him. Well aware that it was a false sense of security and that his time was limited, Terry pocketed the remainder of the drug and quietly left the storeroom. He found the roof exit shortly afterwards and as he climbed the stairs, felt certain that when he opened the door to the roof, he would find himself in Gotham.

The sight of the Golden Gate Bridge and a bright blue San Francisco Bay was unexpected, to say the least. Stunned, he stared out across the scenic vista, his mind momentarily numb. He really was in San Francisco? It wasn't some huge and elaborate hoax?

His feeling of shock soon turned into relief as he felt the wind pick up and stir his messy hair – it felt good to be outside. Terry slowly made his way to the roof edge and looked down. He was only 3 stories up, and when you're used to skyscrapers and 100s of stories, three would prove no challenge.

The fire escape door suddenly burst open behind him and Terry spun around to see the two male nurses from the other day. The over-muscled pair paused when they saw him, as if they were surprised to him so easily. They shared a look and slowly began to approach Terry.

Terry smiled broadly and resisted the urge to take up a fighting stance. They obviously thought he was too weak to offer a challenge and he'd rather keep his drug enhanced strength an unpleasant surprise.

The nearest nurse, who Terry promptly named 'Big' said in what he obviously thought was smoothing voice, "Now, now, Mr King, we're not going to hurt you."

Terry let fly a hard right that connected right under Big's eye and sent the nurse staggering. "It's McGinnis, dregs!"

Nurse Two, or 'Tall' tried to catch Terry off guard by charging at him with a roar, but McGinnis spun away and then swept Tall's feet from under him with a low kick and then stepped forward and slammed two consecutive jabs into Big's face again, following through with a wicked uppercut. Big staggered back again, clutching his jaw and as Tall tried to stand, Terry kicked him in the ribs twice before landing a third squarely between his legs when he tried to roll over to protect himself. Tall's howl of anguish seemed to spur Big back into action and he charged at Terry swinging wildly. Terry nimbly dodged the blows and ducked to land one of his own on Big's kidneys. Terry spun away and felt his wounded leg spasm. Glancing down, he saw that he was bleeding and knew he had to finish Big off quickly.

Big ran at him, and Terry let him get close, so that when Big threw a meaty fist at his head, he neatly sidestepped, grabbed the offending arm with one hand and slammed his open palm into Big's elbow. There was unpleasant crunch and before Big had time to scream, Terry had twisted his arm behind his back and had the hefty nurse in a painful hold. As Big fell to his knees, Terry reached over and found the pressure point between his collarbone and shoulder and dug his thumb in. With one arm immobilised behind him, and a searing pain shooting through his other side, Big moaned loudly, "Stop!"

"Who's paying Nurse Ratchet to keep me here?"

Big shook his head, and stammered in reply, "No idea. She… she runs the place… I…"

His arm was suddenly released and the pain in his shoulder was gone and as Big fell forward, cradling his arm, he looked around, trying to spot Terry through tear-blurred eyes.

Tall was still hunched over, rocking steadily in the way only a man can when nursing that particular hurt. The rest of the roof of empty. Big shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but it was soon abundantly clear.

Terry was gone.

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The window was open, a stiff night breeze toying with pale curtains and scattering random papers through out the apartment. A GCPD Detective badge lay on the glass coffee table, while silent images from an expensive vidscreen flashed across white leather couches. A top of the range sound system lay silent, with only the flashing red message signal on the vidphone visible.

Another vidscreen, this one attached to the oak kitchen counter was scrolling endlessly through a newspaper article. The headline "Gordon Escapes Near Death" was followed by a rapid account of how Ms Angelique Samuels, Assistant to Commissioner Gordon, was found dead in her office. Both her and Commissioner Gordon's office had been trashed, but sources reported it seemed to have occurred after Ms Samuels death. None of the security cameras showed the assailant. Static filled all of the screens during the time of the murder and when the cameras came back online, the bloodied body of Ms Samuels, still seated at her desk, could be seen. There was no sign of forced entry and no trace of the assassin. Although the coroner had yet to confirm it, Ms Samuels had been stabbed multiple times. Sources within the GCPD noted that if Commissioner Gordon had not been attending a late meeting with the Mayor, she may well have been killed too. Barbara Gordon had declined to comment.

The newspaper article continued to repeat itself, the words on the screen providing enough light to illuminate a stack of creds on the counter. The creds were brand new and reflected high denominations. A small, red drop of blood lay on the top cred, glistening wetly.

The owner of said blood lay beneath the counter where he had tried to hide, to escape. A growing pool of blood stained the deep pile cream carpet beneath him, its quality fibres soaked to capacity.

It no longer mattered that the murdered man was a crooked cop and that the stack of creds would have sealed IA's ongoing investigation into his affairs. Ryan Sheehan no longer cared about anything at all. Not his Captain's anger about the escalating number of murders, not Marconi's fear about the cool assassin who sliced his way through all defences and certainly not about O'Malley being found in 'literally' hundreds of pieces.

It is said that the last thing a man sees before he dies is imprinted on his eyes for any with the skill to see. Whether this is true or not, if a person were to recall the last image that flashed before Sheehan's stunned gaze, they would have seen a sword. A sword swinging straight towards them.

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'I know what darkness means
The isolation stings
The echoes in my brain
You took my everything!'

Mary McGinnis sighed as she opened the front door. Matt's music was blasting through the apartment at a decibel usually reserved for concerts. The large vidscreen was playing to itself, and a pile of dirty dishes lay unwashed in the kitchen sink.

"Thanks a lot, Matty." Exhausted after a long shift, Mary carefully hung up her coat and handbag, before kicking off her shoes and sighing again. She had left a note for Matt, asking him to clean up when he got home but it seemed he was ignoring her notes too.

They had barely spoken in over a week and she knew it was partly because he felt guilty about their last fight. He was probably waiting for the right time to apologise but between her shifts and his new habit of disappearing at all hours, they had not had the chance.

The headache that had begun at work was now growing in intensity and Mary decided that now was as good a time as any to speak to her son, particularly about his choice in music.

'The shadows that you see
Are memories of me
The truth behind your eyes
Your darkest little lie'

She opened the door to his room, and winced as the volume noticeably increased. His computer was running the music programme and the screen was the sole source of light in the room. A figure was buried beneath the bed clothes, apparently fast asleep.

'Oh how on earth can you sleep with this noise?' Mary thought and despite her headache, she stood and stared at her son's sleeping form. Her boys were so different, yet so alike. While not as close as she would have wished them to be, she had counted herself luckily that Matt hadn't followed in Terry's footsteps and got involved in gangs. If anything, Matt was determined to be the complete opposite to Terry.

The animosity between the two brothers, and especially Matt's attitude to Terry, was disheartening and she hoped that it was something they would outgrow. Matt needed a father figure and when Terry started working for Mr Wayne, any chance that he might have had to provide that was gone. Instead, Matt resented Terry and Terry couldn't understand why. Up until a month ago, Matt had been a model son compared to Terry at that age – albeit both boys brought home the same number of notes from school. Terry for fighting, Matt for attitude and sleeping.

But now, Matt had suddenly changed. Gone was the sulking teenager and Mary found herself dealing with an angry young man – who kept disappearing. Just like Terry.

Initially afraid that Matt was involved in something illegal, Mary had wanted to ask Terry to keep an eye on him. But Terry was still in London and according to his last email, would remain there for sometime. A quick call to Commissioner Gordon had reassured Mary that Matt wasn't involved in a gang, but her concerns remained. Where was he going?

Reluctant to wake her son, but determined to get some answers, Mary made her way to the bed, stepping over books, shoes and piles of clothes.

"Matt?"

She reached out to shake him awake, but as her hand touched the sheets, she knew something was wrong. She pulled aside the old Batman bedspread and saw the pile of pillows beneath. "Oh, Matt!"

Angry, she tossed the sheet aside and said aloud, "What the hell are you doing, Matt?"

'I wont back down
I will not drown
And I cant forget things you did
I've come to bring you hell.'

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Matt slowly peeled off Batman's cowl and wiped a weary hand over his face. A sullen, sick feeling had settled in his stomach and he had a sneaking feeling that he wouldn't be sleeping tonight, despite how tired he felt.

"Rough night?"

Matt turned slightly and saw Bruce Wayne standing at the foot of the stairs leading down from the Manor. The old guy was dressed in an expensive tux and had his usual expressionless mask on. Holding his gaze for a heartbeat, Matt shrugged, "Like you care."

Wayne's eyes hardened and his usual gruff voice grated out hoarsely, "I care about my property being damaged and you taking out half of Gotham in the process."

Matt shook his head and wondered aloud, "So what happened to protecting the innocent, stopping the bad guys. I thought you were all vengeance, hellfire and retribution. Hell, I'm surprised you're not still obsessively lurking in the Cave, perving over Gotham like a senile peeping tom."

A flash of anger crossed Wayne's face and his grip on his cane tightened. He growled, "You got a big mouth for someone who wasn't even an itch in his father's pants when I started kicking ass in this town, so watch your mouth!"

A surprised snort of laughter from Matt, made Wayne look even grimer and as Matt replied, the old guy took an angry step forward. "Hell, old man – I think you've been watching too many mob vids! Eat some clothe and you'll have Brando down."

Matt shook his head at the angry old man and continued, "Look, you wanted Batman in Gotham, and I'm doing it. Since you stopped 'riding' along with me, things are better. So, just stay away and things will be fine."

The two stared at eachother and when a bat flew over their heads, a silent flutter of motion in the still darkness, Matt continued, "When … when Terry gets back, you two can go back to whatever weird boss/lackey thing you've got going but leave me the hell out of it. I'm fine doing this solo."

Wayne paused, his eyes searching Matt. He seemed to relax and an almost smug smile curled his mouth. "Fine? You're fine? So, when you kill someone – either by accident or on purpose – you'll be just 'fine'?"

"I'll deal with it! I don't need you, Wayne."

Bruce Wayne shook his head in mock-sorrow. "Have it your way, kid. You do the Batman thing and I'll wait. And when you fail, I'll send your mother my condolences."

He paused, as if waiting for Matt to retort, but the young man remained silent. Wayne shrugged, and slowly turned to leave the Batcave, chuckling under his breath. As he disappeared up the dark stairs, his final jab echoed through the cave. "I'm sure you'll make your brother proud."

Matt waited until he heard the door close upstairs and sighing, he stared at the cowl in his hand. The blank eyes stared back at him and Matt half-imagined they were smiling at him. He looked up at the large computers and giant screen. It hadn't been turned on in weeks, and since he usually just took the suit and car, he had never bothered with the computer.

Until, 10 minutes ago.

His patrol, a wonderfully incident free, no embarrassing moments and actually stopped a crime, patrol had been tarnished by hearing about a fatal accident on the police scanner. Flying to the scene, he had watched the cops and paramedics race to save lives at a four car pile up. A family sedan, with parents and kids inside had crashed into a heavy 18-wheeler truck, with two other sedans ploughing into the truck as it jack-knifed. Feeling worse than useless, he had left the scene and flown back to the cave.

Unable to stop thinking about the crash, he had turned on the computer to try find the police scanner and hopefully get more information. The computer was more difficult to navigate than he initially thought and he had found himself in the security logs of the Batcave.

Not really surprised to find that Wayne had cameras in the cave itself, he had keyed up a random log and suddenly Terry's face was staring at him.

His brother was looking into the computer screen, and he was smiling. Matt had found himself smiling back. Terry looked so … relaxed, so at ease. He had the suit on, without the cowl of course and looked … great. His voice had filled the Cave, chasing away the silence.

'Gotcha! And right in front of the camera too. Twip never even checked.'

Terry had turned to talk to someone out of sight. 'Did you get anything from the Batmobile's computer?'

Matt had watched as Bruce entered the camera's line of vision, carrying a datadisk.

'Yes. Got their registrations and shots of them before they covered their faces.'

'Ah, the joys of the incompetent criminal mind.'

'You would know.'

'Are you implying what I think you are implying?'

''Juvenile record.'

'Selina Kyle.'

'Ten of Spades.'

'Reformed.'

'Good Actress.'

'Cynic.'

'Realist.'

'Delusional!'

'Naïve.'

Matt found himself smiling along with Terry. His brother suddenly stood and pulled on his cowl and said in Batman's deep voice.

'As stimulating as this conversation has been, I've got places to go, people to see, plots to foil…'

'Senior citizens to annoy.'

'You said it, not me.'

Matt had paused the vid and stood for a long while staring up at the screen. Eventually the computer had gone onto stand by and Matt had pulled off the cowl, just before Wayne arrived.

Now, after exchanging pleasantries with Wayne, he stared at the cowl, and then the blank computer and then the dark stairs. Eventually he turned back to the computer screen and pulled up the paused log again. He scrutinised the still, frowning.

'Anyone else got a bad feeling? Just me? Great.'

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Tinny, traditional carnival music was being blasted out of state of the art JHX-101 speakers, located strategically around the big top and side-show tents. In roughly 30 minutes time, the matinee performance of Bertoleni's Big Top Circus would start, and as a result, a crowd of excited kids and stressed parents were making their way through carefully and strategically placed side-shows towards the Big Top. Festive and overly cheerful clowns targeted families with multiple screaming kids, offering sugary delicacies at exorbitant prices in loud voices designed to attract the envy of other sugar-deprived kids. The Great Bertoleni himself was standing outside the Big Top, welcoming his audience in a booming voice, while Tarzana and Jane, stars of the chimp bicycle ride screamed their own welcome while perched on Frederick the Tall's shoulders. The fire-eater was eating fire, the dancing dogs were dancing, and the bearded lady was arguing with the tattooed man, all in perfect cacophonic accompaniment to the loud music.

The circus was definitely in town.

Mike Labuschagne, star of the Romaninski Family Acrobat Troupe, stood on the sidelines beneath the overhang of Misty the Mermaid's tent and watched the chaos. The rest of the 'Troupe' were warming up behind the Big Top but Mike liked to watch the chaos that occurred before a performance and he was smiling at Sammy the Sad's attempt to wrestle a candy apple away from a child whose mother was giving him a full-watt 'you-did-not-just-give-my-diabetic-child-sugar! glare' and unfortunately for the clown, he was rapidly loosing the battle.

The crowd outside was beginning to dwindle as the Big Top filled up and noting the time, Mike turned to join his friends in their preparation. As he made his way round the tent towards the living quarters, he spotted a dark haired man in a trenchcoat leaning against the empty tiger cages. The guy's posture was relaxed and nonchalant, but his unkempt appearance and filthy coat raised serious questions. The circus drew all manner of people, including junkies and the homeless, who were usually looking for a quick buck or a promising trash can.

This guy however was a little too close to Bertoleni's large caravan for comfort and after the last robbery, all of the circus folk kept a sharp eye on strangers. Taking a deep breath, Mike casually ambled towards the stranger, confident that his acrobat training would provide enough of an edge if they came to blows. As he drew near, the stranger continued to lean against the cages as if he had every intention of staying there for hours. His hair was beyond messy and dark, unreadable eyes studied Mike as he approached.

"Something I can help you with?" Mike stopped a good few feet away, way out of reach and stood akimbo, his hands planted firmly on his sequin-covered hips.

The stranger met his gaze and despite the dark circles and drawn expression, his gaze was steady and unafraid. "Looking for work." His voice was calm and even and Mike felt himself relaxing.

Being polite, Mike said, "You have circus experience?" and he wasn't able to keep the sceptical doubt out of his voice.

A wry smile brought a flash of white teeth and the stranger chuffed, "Feels like the last few years have been a circus, but no."

Mike smiled in response and asked, "Then aren't you a little old to be running away to join the circus?"

The stranger shrugged, "Maybe it's my inner child. Your posters say you're going to St Paul next, and after that?"

Running a quick eye over the guy, Mike wondered if he was on the run or something and replied with, "Yeah, then Chicago and then Gotham."

"Bi-centennial celebration?"

Frowning, Mike nodded, "Yeah, the Mayor in Gotham has booked us for the next 2 months, as part of Gotham's bi-centennial celebrations. Something about us being part of local history. How did you …"

"Born and bred in Gotham," the stranger paused and looked around the circus as if seeing it for the first time, "The Flying Graysons?"

Mike nodded fiercely, "Yeah, they used to be part of our show. The circus has changed names and owners several times since then, but it is essentially the same one. We haven't been back to Gotham since …"

The stranger nodded in understanding and muttered, "Only in Gotham does 'history' mean psychos and tragedy."

Mike noted the stiff tone and said, "So, why are you trying to go back?"

Another smile and shrug, "Home is home – no matter its history."

The guy seemed ok, and Mike knew that Bertoleni would probably offer him a job. There was always more work than hands in the circus and the ringmaster would routinely hire drifters to help out. It had only ever back fired on him once.

"Look, just so long as you don't want to be a clown, I think Bertoleni will hire you. Can't guarantee that he'll take you all the way to Gotham, but…"

"Its better than nothing, thanks."

The guy seemed genuinely grateful and relieved. "Come on, I'll take you around back were you can wait for him. Once he's opened the show, he'll be free. Hell, he'll probably have you helping out straight away – one of our grips broke a leg yesterday and we're short handed. The name's Mike by the way."

The stranger stood, and Mike noticed that he winced a little in doing so, but he was soon offering his hand to Mike and said, "Terry."

"This way." They started walking towards the performance entrance and when a pair of clowns ran past them laughing hysterically, Mike noticed the stranger tense up until the clowns were out of sight.

"Not a fan of clowns?"

Terry shook his head, "No, it's a Gotham thing."

Confused, Mike said, "huh?"

Smiling wryly, Terry replied, "Clowns in Gotham tend to take 'tickling you to death' literally."

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Nftw: Thanks for the reviews – I love 'em! (and for the chocolate, Lala!)

Yes, I know that Bruce is still a mystery, but don't worry, I have an entire chapter just dedicated to him. It will probably be either chapter 9 or 10.
Chapter 8's name: You Have Got to Be Kidding ME!

Kudos to Wolfdaughter for getting the reference to the Great Escape. The Cooler King was the American prisoner (played by Steve McQueen) who tried repeatedly to escape, and ended up in the Cooler more often that not.

'Won't back down' is by Fuel and from the Daredevil Soundtrack.

I genuinely, seriously, without a doubt want to know what you think. Good? Bad? Hate it? Love it? Too slow? Too fast? Too choppy? Too smooth? Too red? Not enough red?