Eerie silence is what makes the nightwalker somewhat nervous. Having just come out of a poker game that didn't go as he hoped, he tries finding his way back home; but downing more than his share of whisky to drown the misery of losing so much money has him wobbling and reaching for anything within arms length to keep him from toppling over. At least he had enough sense to leave before using his wife as payment. Inebriated, nervous, and regretful, the lanky, balding man accidentally stumbles into a dark alley between two buildings, thinking it would lead him to his street. He never notices the shadow following him since he left the game. The dark figure has been gracefully moving from one building to the next before stopping over the alley he walked into. With eyes glued on him, she silently drops to the ground and makes sure the shadows completely conceal her from being found out too soon.
Her white eyes are the only hints of her presence as they fixate on the unstable man who finally realizes his mistake. As Max Hemming turns to leave, he suddenly becomes aware of the eyes, and his body stiffens with both fear and surprise. Before he can even twitch, an arm shoots forward grabbing him by the collar, and his feet leave the ground as Batgirl takes to the air. When they reach the roof of an adjacent building, she tosses the man to the floor and crouches on the ledge, the darkness of the night mixed with the glare of her eyes adds a degree of intimidation to her presence.
"Andrew Douglas was killed seventeen years ago. Who was responsible?" She asks, getting straight to the paint.
"W-what?" Max stammers too afraid to even stand. Impatient and unsympathetic to his state, she grabs him by the collar of his shirt, pulls him up and spins to dangle him over the edge.
"Talk," she orders.
"Oh God!" He gasps with fear, not believing how dangerous his night turned out to be. "I-I-I don't know who-"
Angry at the fact this dreg doesn't even recognize the name of the man he helped kill, Batgirl begins loosening her grip. Realizing he's about to fall, a yelp of fear escapes his throat as he grabs onto her extended arm.
"Remember now?" She asks, having grown beyond irritated.
"W-world Chemistry, r-right?" He stutters, his eyes switching between her face and the twenty-story drop. "Uh, God jeez – uh," he desperately searches his memory bank for the name that will save his life. "Jimmy! J-Jimmy Falon," he finally remembers with relief. "P-p-please, let me go."
The name, however, forces her eyes to narrow with recognition: James Falon is Thorn's real name.
"Thorn?" She asks to confirm the realization.
"Y-yeah, that's him," he replies.
"Son of a bitch," she growls under her breath. A few days ago, Thorn had managed to get himself out of police custody, no doubt by help from powerful and potential employers. "Where is he?"
"I-I don't know! I swear! We haven't talked since the job was done and I got my cut."
"Your cut?" She hisses, her jaw clenching with rage.
Her father's life was just a paycheck to him, one he probably lost in a matter of hours at a casino; she's tempted to toss him just for that sleazy comment, but she has more questions that need to be answered.
Feeling his body start to shake with fright, she asks the next one. "How was it planned?"
"He- he drove the truck after cutting the brake lines; I called f-from a pay phone to let him know when t-to cross the intersection and called the boss when the job was done! Please, I'm afraid of heights!" He pleads before daring to look down again.
Batgirl knows there's more information to fish out, but before she could further interrogate him, Batman suddenly intervenes.
"Put him down, now," he orders as he approaches her, glad he got there in time.
"Thank God! I've never been so happy to see you, Batman!" Max cries out with relief.
Batgirl, however, barely acknowledges him. She gives him an indifferent look from the corner of her eye before turning back to glare at the man still dangling from her arm.
Batman takes another step, getting close enough to whisper in her ear, "Jazz, don't do anything stupid."
Ignoring his warning, she unexpectedly lets go of Max, sending him screaming as he careens to the ground. Horrified, Batman is about to jump after him, but Batgirl stops him with an extended arm, blocking his path. That's when he notices the end of a grapple snagged to Max's pants and tied to the escape ladder, stopping him with a grunt two stories above the ground that would have flattened him.
"OK! OK!" Max yells, "We were hired by someone working for World Chemistry! I never met him, but Jimmy did once! That's all I know! I swear!" Filled with fear and whiskey, Max vomits the contents in his stomach and spits out the lingering taste.
"Name?" Batgirl demands.
"Jimmy never told me!"
"Right," she says more to herself before turning away from the ledge.
"Hey! Aren't you going to let me down?" He calls when she disappears from his view.
She fires a batarang to cut the line, causing him fall the last two stories. They hear a sickening snap before a cry of pain, but Batgirl doesn't care to check on him. With the way he spoke of her father, she believes he deserves the injury. Batman on the other hand, roughly grabs her by the arm stopping her from leaving as he checks on Max curled up in pain. He turns to glare at his partner, clearly furious about what has just happened.
"Cave, now," he hisses before she shakes away his grip and silently walks away from him. He glides down to help the injured man.
"You broke my leg, you bitch!" Max yells up.
"I suggest you keep your mouth shut before you end up in a neck brace," Batman warns as he helps Max to his feet.
Batgirl's bike comes to a stop with a sharp skid before she jumps off and storms toward the medical station. As she rips off her gloves and mask, Batman lands the Batmobile and hops out before following her, equally fumed. Jazz opens a cabinet to grab sheets of gauze and medical tape. She undresses the top half of her suit and tosses it on the table before she starts undoing the old bandages wrapped around her shoulder.
"You better have a damn good reason for pulling off that shit tonight!" Terry yells, obviously furious over what just happened.
"Who are you to say that?" She shoots back. "How else would you have handled it?"
"By not throwing him over the fucking edge! What you did was uncalled for; you could have killed him!"
"But I didn't, so you can stop huffing and puffing," she replies as she grabs the bottle of antiseptic.
Irritated by her dismissal, he grabs her by the elbow, forcing her to turn and face him. Before Terry could argue further, a thin stream of blood rolling from her wounded shoulder catches his attention and silences him. Because of dangling Max over the edge, Jazz's stitches loosened, reopening her cut. Sensing he's about to help her patch it up, she shakes away his grip and moves past him.
"I'm taking care of it," she mumbles.
Groaning with frustration, Terry moves to the console. "You are freaking impossible! There's no winning with you! I don't even know why I bother trying!"
"I never asked for your help."
He turns to glare at her, her reply clearly setting him off. "If you're giving me this lone wolf attitude because I did some snooping behind your back, which mind you, would have been unnecessary if you were just honest with me to begin with, then by all means go right ahead; but I have no regrets." He approaches as he continues, "but if you think that taking matters into your own hands is the only way to get justice, then allow me to call you on that load of bullshit."
"Who do you-?"
"Shut up. Nothing you say is going to sound even remotely rational right now. Here's some advice for you to shove into your head: get off your fucking high horse, accept you're part of a team, and let me help." Neither his sharp glare nor his edgy tone ease as he says, "let it go and trust me, Douglas."
"You don't trust me," Jazz shoots back.
"You really expect me to after tonight?" She looks away, so he gently takes hold of her shoulders. "Look, I get that uncovering all this is painful, but if you want to do right by your dad, you have to accept the fact that you can't do it alone."
She takes a step back loosening the hold he has, but she doesn't regain eye contact. "Okay, fine," she sighs. "I'll do it your way."
"Seriously?" Terry asks, taken aback by her sudden cooperation.
"Yeah," she quietly replies, turning around.
"Hang on; you're not sneaking out again, are you?"
"No, relax. Listen, I'm too tired to figure out where Falon is, so it's up to you. I'm going home. 'Night."
Frowning, he watches her walk towards an alcove wondering why she had such a drastic change in attitude. But he isn't going to make the same mistake he did before; deciding to keep a very close eye on her this time, he waits for her to disappear before attaching a tracking chip from his belt to her bag sitting on the medical table. He makes sure it's hidden in one of the seams before walking back to the console. Jazz emerges fully dressed with arm hanging in her sling, grabs her bag, and takes a last glance at Terry's back.
"Leave the suit," he orders without turning.
She silently complies before exiting the cave. After she makes it to the nearest subway station, she pulls out her phone and gives her close and, right now, only friend a call.
"Hello?" Henry's groggy voice answers.
"You sound tired."
"I was sleeping; it's what people do at three in the morning." He waits for an apology but gets none; with a tired sigh he continues, "so what can't wait till morning?"
"I need you to find someone."
"Who?"
"Jimmy Falon."
"What else do you know about him?"
"He's got a record; he recently dodged the police, so he's got to be on the run."
"Perfect," he groans. "I suppose you need that info in like, what, two hours?"
"As soon as you can," she replies almost ungratefully.
"I'll see what I can do, your highness," he retorts.
"By the way, I need some new stitches."
"What did you do?"
"Moving furniture around."
"At 3 AM? Yeah, okay, sure, I'll believe that," he replies rolling his eyes. With a sigh he sits up in bed. "Come over and bring some coffee, the really expensive stuff."
"See you in twenty minutes." She hangs up and makes a quick stop at a nearby 7/11 before moving on to the subway station.
Jazz knocks a second time on Henry's door and this time it swings open to reveal a very tired and annoyed doctor. His blond hair seems longer now that it's disheveled, and his bloodshot eyes add to the glare he is giving her. His pajama pants covered with pictures of the Grinch's head catches Jazz's attention.
"The Grinch? Really?" She starts with a raised brow.
"Shut up; get in," he orders turning away from her.
He has his medical kit already laid out on the coffee table in the living room except for the pair of hemostats in his gloved hands, which he was sanitizing earlier. He nods to the couch as he lowers himself with a sigh onto the edge of the table.
Jazz places the coffee on a side table before taking off her jacket and shirt. She sits facing him, but he shakes his head at her. "Lie down; easier for me." She does as told and waits for him to start. He turns on the lamp beside her head, removes the bandage, and begins cleaning the wound with peroxide. Examining it, he clucks his tongue with disappointment. "You ripped through three stitches," he explains before turning to his kit.
Henry applies a local anesthetic and quickly but expertly replaces the torn stitches. Wiping down the wound once more, he meticulously wraps it with fresh bandages. Before letting her get up, he checks to see if damage was done to the wound below her ribs. He cuts the old bandages off and is surprised to find that everything is intact and healing nicely.
"I'd say a few more days and those can come off, but you need to take it easy on your shoulder."
"Uhu," she absently replies as she gets up.
"I'm serious. They can't keep opening up like that," he warns as he applies fresh bandages around her stomach.
Quietly thanking him, she gets to her feet. "I'll see you later."
"Woah, hang on. You can stay if you want."
"No, you look tired. I'll just-"
"Jazz, stay," he orders. Staring into his blue eyes, she gives in with a sigh and makes herself comfortable on the couch. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing," is her quiet answer as she puts her shirt back on.
Being his turn to sigh, he sits on the other end of the couch and rubs his eyes with a finger and thumb. They sit in silence for a while before their heads simultaneously turn to face each other, causing a smile to stretch on each set of lips. Scooting closer to him, Jazz rests her head on his shoulder and he in turn rests his head on hers.
Reaching an arm over her and wrapping it around her shoulders, he asks, "you keeping out of trouble?"
"Always," she replies, her heavy lids closing her eyes and accepting the embrace.
"I hope so."
He shifts around so that he's leaning on the armrest and Jazz could lie comfortably on his chest. Before they know it, they both doze off, and Henry wakes up once through the night only to place a throw blanket on top of them.