"If you love me let me go

If you love me let me go

'Cause these words are knives and often leave scars

The fear of falling apart

And truth be told, I never was yours

The fear, the fear of falling apart"

-Panic at the Disco, "This is Gospel"

When Abigail came to, her hands were painfully behind her back, her wrists in strange handcuffs that she didn't recognize as being police-issue or crude zipties. A blindfold had been tied over her eyes too tight, and the aching reminded her of high ponytails bound with rubber bands. Her body felt like it did after the only concert she'd ever been to, where she could feel the music pound in her bones; it felt like every nerve was throbbing within her, only this time, it was with panic, not euphoria. The only comfort she could take was that she was still in Jason's clothes, which smelled like leather, menthol cigarette smoke, and citrus body wash. Her hands hurt, the metal splints squeezing the ends of her fingers hard where they were already sore from biting her fingernails.

"Don't move," A male voice to her left cautioned; he sounded young, with the deepness of someone who's used to whispering. She'd heard it when she was abducted right out of Jason's firehouse windows, telling her to be quiet or she won't be hurt. But that wasn't the only place she had heard that voice.

She also heard breathing closer to her righthand side, someone who was in the room and hadn't spoken yet.

"I'm not going anywhere," If she was right about her guess, she figured, she was safe. Nothing to worry about. There was still a nervousness about her voice, because there was always the chance she was wrong. "Who are you?"

"That's not really the important question here," He said, and the hair on the back of her neck stuck to her skin with sweat. "Who are you, really?"

"Bait, probably. Right?" She said flatly, testing her bindings and wincing when the material cut into her wrists. She was so tired of this, "You want the Red Hood. You think taking me from him is a good idea. Which is only half-right...you should be worrying about how to keep him from gutting you once he's here."

He didn't sound afraid. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Well…" She let out a small laugh, more to release tension than anything. "You're safer, then. Not safe. Safer."

A different voice spoke then, and though it reverberated like he was older than the first voice, it was lighter. Like he didn't have a care in the world, or wanted it to seem that way. It was most likely the person she heard breathing earlier. "We're actually friends of Jason's, believe it or not."

"Really?" She shook her head; she knew Jason was part of something bigger. A brotherhood that nobody else could really understand from the outside. That's the only explanation as to how they know his name. "Me too...or at least, I like to think we're friends. One question, though: why did you kidnap me? What's your play?" She put her cards on the table. "You don't really think I'm that stupid, do you? The reason why nobody else knows who you guys are is because nobody really cares. They're just glad somebody's doing the work the GCPD can't...or at least, that used to be the reason."

"You know who we are?" The first voice asked, a little concern in his tone. "So, you're an ex-criminal."

"Oh sweetheart," There was a dangerously soft edge to her steady voice, and her blindfolded gaze focused on the direction of the first man who spoke, "Robin, can I call you Robin? Let me give you some advice. Do yourself a favor: don't play deduction games with me. You'll lose."

Breaking the short silence that followed was the loud banging of double doors being kicked open, a struggle and a sudden whoosh of Jason's scent coming to Abigail's nose. He was here. She fought against her restraints harder, grinding her teeth at the pain. She had to get loose. There was a struggle, the smack of someone hitting the floor, grunts and a short shout.

"Where is she?!" It was him, Jason. Abigail's heart leapt to her throat. He didn't see her. How could he not see her? How far was he? All these questions swam in her head.

"Jason, stand down!" The second voice, the cooler one. There was a choking sound, but she knew better.

She gathered air in herself, let it fill her up to say three words she hoped would snap him out of his anger, "Jason, stop it!"

I froze, almost dropping Tim on his ass from where I held him by his throat. Dick dropped his arms on me. I slowly lowered him to his feet, turning to see a spotlight shining a small circle on the warehouse floor. A chair was placed there, and on the chair was Abigail, her hands cuffed behind her back. A black blindfold was over her eyes, probably because my brothers were in street clothes and maskless. The secret identity thing.

I immediately abandoned all intention of maiming Tim to check her over murderously for any signs that he'd hurt her. Her wrists were raw...I gritted my teeth. I found nothing beyond what'd been there before she came to the firehouse. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," She said, and I heard the sound of wheels, unable to believe that the source would be in on this. Gail twitched her head around, unable to see past the blindfold and on edge with every little noise. Like Tim's footsteps, and Oracle's wheelchair.

"She didn't fight," Barbara said, as if that was supposed to make me forgive them, "Once we told her why this needed to happen, and who we were, she came willingly."

"Then why is she cuffed to a chair?" I demanded, hands on my hips.

She had changed, into a pair of shorts and a royal purple tank top, but her hair was still over her shoulders as it'd been for the charity event, and her glasses were gone.

"Precaution," Tim answered, and as I turned around, I saw him painfully adjusting the sling on his arm from where I'd shifted it. He was wearing a tank top, board shorts and sneakers, and it surprised me when I realized that I don't think I've ever seen him out of the uniform. And that should tell you all you need to know about Tim Drake, "She had a gun on her person, and she tried to use it."

"A couple of guys come at you under the cover of darkness," Abigail was irritated, her eyebrows shifting under the cloth and her nose wrinkled, "See if a bullet to the face is the least of it, especially in Gotham."

I glared from person to person, still trying to make sense of this. I had told them that last night wouldn't work, so they do it the next day? I don't know what's screwing with me worse: Tim's impatience to be right, or my general bad luck. Dick seemed the most reluctant participant, seeing the argument Tim and Babs made, but hating the look on my face anyways. Finally, my eyes fell to Gail's apologetically, "They told you why you're here?"

"They want me to talk," She sighed, frowning, but after a moment, she shrugged, "Or at least that's what I've been led to assume."

"Gail, you worked hard to keep this from me and everybody else," I didn't like asking this, my stomach twisted, "I've been under the impression so far that it's for a good reason. Are you comfortable telling us?"

"I've been running from my real identity for a long time, Jason," She said, a sad smile on her face. "It's time I stopped running and confessed my sins. Plus, you're the good guys, right?"

Her sarcasm was amazing, considering the situation.

"We are the good guys," Dick reassured, and I was glad he was here. He looked awful, tired eyes but he never acted like he didn't want to be here. He always wanted a piece of the action. He wanted to play the game, never spectate, and not only that, he wanted to be the best.

"Uncuff her," I said over my shoulder, and for once, Tim didn't argue. He stepped forward and freed her, taking the cuffs with him. I added, moving to Gail's chair,"The blindfold is coming off too."

"No." Tim got between me and her, "We can't trust her yet."

I did my best not to deck him. My fists clenched anyway until my knuckles were white, the aching in my hands weakening the joints. "The blindfold comes off. She had so many opportunities to give me up to the enemy, and she didn't."

"I could have," Gail pointed out, "But if you want a word out of me, it comes off first. Besides...it's giving me a headache."

I bent over, my breath fluttering her hair as I untied her blindfold and gently pulled it from her face. Her eyes fell on me, and I whispered, hoping my smile was convincing, "Hey, sunshine."

"Hi, mystery man." She didn't buy the smile, but returned it anyways.

She rubbed her wrists, pensively staring at her lap. Her finger splints shone brightly in the lights of the warehouse. She lifted her gaze after a moment, the corner of her mouth turning upwards, "You know, I'd always wanted to meet you all...shame it couldn't be under better circumstances." She raised a finger, pointing to Tim, "Robin." To Dick. "Nightwing." To Barbara, she squinted. "You're who I spoke to on the phone when I patched up Jason…"

Babs nodded, and I watched this whole introduction with a bit of relief. Gail took this better to than I'd hoped. Tim bristled at being called 'Robin' for some reason I can only imagine as being related to the fact that Batman was no longer here, and maybe being addressed alone was alien to him. He had a mask on, I noticed, which I found silly until I remembered the . Dick grinned, glancing at me. I backed up until I could lean against the warehouse wall, taking some weight off my bad ankle, which had started a dull, annoying ache.

"Well," She began, sighing. She was preparing herself, I realized. For throwing however many years' worth of hiding down the drain. She stayed sitting.

"Let's start at the beginning…" Abigail Byron took her last breath, and became someone else entirely as she started her confession.

"My name…" She seemed to taste the words, and even as she said them, I knew they didn't feel right in her mouth. Stale with disuse, "My real name is Wednesday...Wednesday Winters. I was born December 21st, on a Wednesday, to Juniper "June" Day-Winters, and Gabriel Winters, editor of the Gotham Gazette."

Gabe. The guy I roughed up at the Gazette when I took Falcone's eye out. He had told me that his daughter hated him... But I only partially registered that connection. I was watching how her face grew gaunt as her eyes came to my own, as if pleading with me to believe her.

"My mother was everything I told you she was, Jason. Kind, honest, tough, and above all, brave," I wanted to tell her I believed her, but I didn't want to interrupt, "Because despite her background, her family, she worked hard to take a tough job in an even tougher city. She became a cop under Gillian Loeb, who didn't care that her brother was a psychotic killer for the Falcone family. To Loeb, she was a way to control him and strengthen ties with the Roman." Tim stiffened, and she nodded grimly, her stormy eyes darker, "Yes. My uncle is the Calendar Man, but I never had any relationship with him because my mother severed all ties when she found out she was pregnant with me."

"You've never spoken with him?" Tim asked her, his heavy brows furrowed.

"Never," She shook her head, her tone bitter. "I've seen him, but there's always glass between us. He knows I exist. I know he does. But he has never come for me...I suspect because there isn't a holiday to give him an excuse to visit his niece."

"When I was five, my parents divorced, as my father was never around and my mom was beginning to think he cared more about the Gazette than me," The hands she'd laid on her lap curled, but the metal splints prevented it, and she winced as she struggled, "She was right. He apparently preferred contributing money for child support rather than time into raising me, so that was the arrangement. For some reason, though, he always insisted upon visiting hours."

This was a sore spot for her, and I wanted to turn away, sink into the shadows of the warehouse so she couldn't see in my face just how much I understood having a father that was never around because something else was apparently more important. Before he bit it, mine was in and out of jail most of the time for drug possession, larceny, fraud, assault - you name it. I understood deadbeat dads.

"It was about the same time Gordon became Commissioner that background checks were conducted on every officer," Her gaze moved to Gordon's daughter, who listened with interest disguised as suspicion, "He confronted my mother's peculiarity regarding her clean record despite her connections with a serial killer. My mother told him that she had had no contact with my uncle for years and that her two priorities were the job and me. Gordon sympathized with her, I imagine because of you, Barbara. He had offered help whenever she needed it. He and Harvey Bullock both. For years up until I was thirteen, they sometimes drove me from school in the squad car."

"He...never told me about that," Barb said slowly, her hands fiddling with a strand of her red hair absentmindedly.

Gail managed a half-smile. "He told me all about you. Hardly shut up about you. It's a shame we never met as kids. You sounded brilliant." She folded her hands under her thighs and sat on them - I knew - to keep them from shaking as she asked, "I'm not sure if this is why he kept us separate but I'm fairly sure it's because of the connection. My family and the Falcones, Calendar Man. Didn't want you getting entangled with that."

Barb and I shared a knowing glance. If only you knew what she got up to in her younger years, sunshine. She said to Gail, "Trust me, there wasn't much he could've done to stop me getting entangled."

"Go on, Wednesday," Tim insisted, but her eyes snapped to him fast at the mention of her birth name.

"Robin," She was staring him down, "I'm going to ask this once. Don't call me that. It's Abigail."

He paused for a beat, "Fine. Continue."

She broke the stare, rattling her head. Her hair bounced and grew shaggier. I knew the hard part of her story started here, "When I was eleven, I lost my mother...she had started investigating a body dropped into Gotham Bay maybe three months earlier that she believed was a mob killing. I didn't learn until I was sixteen that the body was Louis Mendez, her first partner who stopped coming by when I turned ten."

I remembered her talking about that guy. She went on, "I learned quickly that what she was investigating was something you just didn't do in Gotham. She was trying to catch Carmine Falcone in the act, something a handful of rookie detectives had died doing. Many people tried to deter her, Gordon even ordered her to take a leave of absence to cool her head, and she used the time off to continue the investigation on her own."

"She disobeyed orders," Dick didn't sound like he was condemning June Winters, just clarifying.

Gail picked up on that. "Wouldn't have been the first time she'd solved a case she wasn't exactly supposed to be investigating. Gordon assigned Bullock to keep an eye on her and me both. She was too close to the case." She sighed. "Later, I found out that Falcone had her brother under his payroll and was using his homicidal tendencies to exterminate his political opponents, along with anyone who opposed him or tried to expose him. She was trying to free Julian from the hold Falcone had on him."

That tied in with what Gordon said days ago about Calendar Man and Zsasz having handlers...

"She did it for her family," Tim said, "Even if it would come at some cost, she didn't want Falcone exploiting Julian."

Gail nodded. "He was supposed to remain in Arkham. Not sure I buy it, but I'd heard he was making actual progress when Carmine broke him out."

"Now, I'm sure you've noticed that I've been telling you a lot of information that I only learned after the fact…" She inhaled a jagged breath, and a crease formed between her eyebrows. "If I'd known at the time, if I'd had just paid attention when I had the chance - I could've taken steps to prevent everything…"

"You were eleven, there wasn't anything you could've done," Tim said, frowning.

The look she gave him worried me. She peered up at him, the whites of her eyes making the dark circles under them more pronounced. Like she was saying, You have no idea what I could've done.

And then she started to explain it, "I'd started sneaking into my mom's squad car at the time. I had been homeschooled most of my life, so she was used to me riding around in there anyways. But she didn't like me tagging along when she went on patrol." I could hear her holding back tears in her voice because it deepened, dropping an octave as it did. "She felt like it'd make me want to be a cop. She'd made me promise, you see, after Louis was killed, not to be one. Ever. A ten year old's promise."

"She wanted to protect you," Barbara said softly, her baby blues full of empathy.

I remembered that Gordon had made her promise the same thing. That's why she became Batgirl in the first place. Because he forbid her to be a cop. Maybe that why Gail studied ethics and political philosophy. To help the world in a different way than her mom. By giving it ways to understand it. Alternatives to going through life with questions. Just like cops gave people a safe-ish society to live in.

"I know," She forced a smile onto her lips, "It wasn't long before something happened that molded that promise into the center stone of my life. My mom came home the night before she died crying. I asked her what was wrong, brought her tissues, everything...being a good daughter. She said she wasn't sad, she was happy. Trying to reassure me, of course. She hugged me tight, and didn't let me go for a while. She told me to be a good girl because soon, I could go to public school and make friends…"

Oh sunshine...My heart was in my throat. She'd never had friends growing up either. Real friends. Because school was too dangerous in Gotham. Running the risk of drug dealers selling, criminals taking hostages off the playgrounds, assemblies becoming shooting galleries…When we were kids, I was in Crime Alley stealing car parts and she was in a house all by herself. I needed a home and she needed a friend. And now...it's reversed.

"Of course, all of crime in Gotham doesn't stop because Don Carmine Falcone dies. Doesn't make the schools any safer," She shrugged, "But it didn't stop me from being excited. She said tomorrow she was gonna make everything good for us. So tomorrow came, and I snuck into my mom's squad car, wanting to see it for myself. I kept quiet under the blankets she kept in the passenger side's foot-well for stake-outs. I remember smelling sea salt, knowing we were by the docks. She caught me poking my head out of the blankets and freaked out on me, shouting that I couldn't be there. That she'd expressly said not to sneak into the car anymore. But she calmed down and I told her I wanted to see what she'd told me about. She got out of the car, came around and told me that she had a job for me to do."

She bit her lip, her back hunched over a bit like she needed to vomit, but I knew she was attempting to cough up painful memories. "She had to think quickly, so she gave me her phone and helped me up on top of a metal storage container. She told me to stay quiet, no matter what happened...don't cry, no matter what happened." She was desperate not to cry, tears brimming, her cheeks reddening, "'Don't you make a sound, baby. You be brave just like I taught you, and everything will be okay.' But even then, I knew it wouldn't be. I just knew."

Gail gasped a breath, shutting her eyes tight. "A minute passed and Carmine Falcone, along with two other men showed up to the dock. I had seen him a few times, enough to put a name to a face...My mom said she would expose him. Told him that unless he lets Julian Day go back to Arkham, he'll spend the rest of his life behind bars for drug trafficking, multiple counts of murder in the first, third and fourth degrees…" She ran her tongue over her lower lip, which had red patches from biting it. "Blackmail…"

Her eyes opened again, but it was like she wasn't really seeing. Like she wasn't even aware of any of us, she was reliving that day when she was eleven and was telling us what she saw. "He said didn't appreciate being threatened. He didn't appreciate being blackmailed. He was walking closer to her, like he wanted to break her in half over his knee…" Her chest shuddered with her inhale. "He was twice her size, and no matter how much judo she knew, when he grabbed her throat in one hand, there wasn't anything she could do. I watched..." She glanced up at the ceiling, the shining streaks of tears that were going down her cheeks made me come away from the wall like a reflex. "God help me, I watched as he threw her by her neck at the squad car. She had the wind knocked out of her, but still tried to get to her gun. But…He shot her...in the stomach before she c-could. I-I'm sorry."

She crumpled, her knees coming up and her hands covering her face. She tightened on herself, trying not to make a sound. Like she had then. When she lowered her hands, her teeth were bared and her freckles disappeared as her face grew redder. A sob came from between her teeth. I wanted to run to her, take her up in my arms and run with her. Someplace where she would never have to look like that again. She would never hurt like that again...Oh Gail. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

I ignored the others as I put on foot in front of the other, until I dropped to one knee in front of her. I timidly placed a hand on her knee. She flinched at the touch, but once she saw it was me, she patted my hand, sniffing. I raised a hand to wipe her cheeks, feeling the eyes on my back as I did. She pushed my hands away, shaking her head.

I whispered to her, not loud enough for the others to hear. "You don't need to reassure me...I know you're a strong person...do you want to continue?"

We stared at each other for a moment. I could hear Tim and Dick talking quietly behind us, but I was only paying attention to her. She murmured back, dragging the back of her hand over her cheek. "I have to...for my mom…" Another tear squeezed out from the corner of her eye. "Jay...I miss her…"

"I know, sunshine…" I understood how she felt; I did. I missed mine too. I caught the runaway tear with my pinky finger. "I know."

She caught her breath, and I kept tabs on how her asthma while she continued, moving back to my previous position against the wall. She spoke with a dead-ness to her voice, probably removing her emotional attachment to what she was saying so she wouldn't cry again. I knew the technique.

"He...Falcone, he stuffed my mom into her car, and I was too scared to make a noise or do something...but I had my mom's phone. And I knew that I could take pictures. I knew what pictures could do. So I took as many as I could, and he never saw me. I was just a kid...But I knew that if they found me, bad things would happen to me. And they'd make my mom watch in the time she had left." The dead detachment bittered into a gritty hatred I didn't expect, and her jaw set as she spoke. "He and the two big guys he brought with him got behind the car, pushed it into the harbor. The three of them were huge, muscular...no problem for them. And I got them on camera. They left as soon as the car hit the water. I called Bullock, only one I knew that would believe me that I got lost and couldn't find my mom...There was a search, and divers found her. Pronounced dead within twenty-four hours, and it went down as a cop-killing when they found the lead in her. As to who killed her? Case stayed open-ended."

She tried to curl her hands into fists against the splints. Her eyelashes twitched with the pain, the corners of her eyes crinkling and her torso cringing. "My mom's death broke me...Broke Harvey too. Didn't take a genius to figure out that he loved her."

That tone in Bullock's voice that night, when I talked about her mom. I'd figured that it was just a respect and friendship thing. Huh.

"But me, I...I didn't speak for a long time afterwards," She sounded ashamed. "I kept the pictures...refused to let her phone out of my sight. But when my dad took me in, took me away from the neighborhood where my mom and I had lived, I never let him know I even had it...because maybe a month after I moved in, he started getting regular visits from...from him. Falcone."

"Gabriel Winters and Falcone…" Barbara said thoughtfully, "I can't even imagine...losing your mom like that and seeing her killer at your dad's house."

"Every month for maybe an hour, he'd come by and just...check on us," Her nose wrinkled on one side. "Part of me was always terrified that perhaps he'd seen me that day, and wanted to be sure I was still too traumatized to talk...Well, he was right...I didn't talk again until I was thirteen."

"Selective mutism," Tim said, and Gail nodded.

"That's what the child psychologist figured," Her voice sounded cynical, like she'd thought the shrink was full of it. Maybe they were. "Brought on by the traumatic death of a loved one. Of course, the doctor didn't know I'd seen it myself. Nobody did."

"Why did you keep it to yourself?" Dick asked, and I remembered that he'd watched his parents die too. Right in front of him. You'd never know that talking to him though. It's hard to believe sometimes that someone so upbeat and good would've been that low once. Then again, I didn't expect all this from Gail either.

"I wanted to be ready," She answered, "It was idiotic and stupid of me to think I could do it myself, but I wanted to confront Falcone. Nobody else. To atone for my failure to save the one person I loved more than anything."

Tim shot me a sideways glance. Like he couldn't believe it. I could. I trained an army to destroy Gotham last time I'd tried to "make things right." I understood her. And the way Dick's body language read, he did too.

I remembered what she'd said after I confessed. I'd rather be at the mercy of murderers than my conscience.

"So, when I was old enough to buy a gun, I set my trap," She seemed to get nervous as she went on, switching between the four of us. "I knew where he lived, my father had driven me over there enough times. I sent him an anonymous package with a copy of one of the photos inside, along with an address and an order to come alone or I'd take everything to Vicki Vale and Jim Gordon...he did as I asked." She bit her lip, "But I didn't expect him to play fair. So I took my gun, and went to the address. It was the house my mom and I'd lived in. Nobody had been in it since us…"

She trailed off, and Tim coaxed diplomatically, "Please, continue."

"I want you all to promise me that for the next part of my story," She said, "You won't say anything until the end."

I had a gut feeling as she said that. And I really, really hoped I was wrong. I prayed I was wrong.

I saw the others nod from the corner of my eye, and I gave a vague one myself.

"Okay," She started, biting her lip again. She talked around her teeth, "I knew the house like the back of my hand… the front door opened into the kitchen, and when the lights were off, the only light that would come into the room would be from the window over the sink...He came into the dark, and I stood so that I blocked out the light...I had a kitchen knife in one hand, and I held the point to the back of his head, told him to drop every weapon he had onto the floor." The corner of her mouth twitched, "He did, but I patted him down just in case. Once he was completely defenseless, I turned the lights back on and had him turn around slowly…"

She released her lip and kept her eyes glued to her feet. I could feel the nerves in the room. Tim and Babs and Dick, they didn't understand this. Dick probably did a little bit, but not fully. But I did.

"He laughed at first. Didn't expect someone so tiny to get him like that, helpless." Gail said, "He only said that to make me think he was. I was the one with the gun on him, I had the power...But I'm not stupid...you see, being a mute for a number of years means you do a hell of a lot of watching." She raised her gaze level with Tim. "You can read people. You can tell whether someone's lying. You can tell whether someone's stalling or wanting to kill you for kicks...and that's what he was doing. Stalling. He said he had no idea why Gabe's 'Wendy' would be doing this," She gave a noise of annoyance. "I hate being called 'Wendy'."

"And why should he, right?" She leaned over, rested her forearms on her thighs. Gail said her next words like she'd heard it a thousand times. "I'm just some stupid kid too self-righteous to know when I'm beaten...so I told him that I knew he killed my mother. Showed him a folder, said the photos were inside. Which they were. But I had copies on top of copies...my mom always made sure that when I created an argument, my facts better be damned straight."

"He was laughing still, just couldn't believe that I'd gone to all this trouble - waited this long to get him," She paused, rubbing her mouth with her thumb. "I ask myself that all the time...He asked me if I've ever held a gun before, trying to force my young mind to reconsider. I told him the truth. I'd been to a range before then, shot plenty of targets, but I'd never pointed it at someone before...And I promise you, on the soul of my mother," She was looking at me, her eyes watering again, "I didn't want to kill him. I had a recorder in my back pocket, I never had any intention of killing him…"

I knew the others knew what she was saying. They heard it in her voice without the words. So I did the math. My tone wasn't resentful or even glad she did, just stating a fact. "But you did kill him."

That was it. That part of her that never quite fit her right, the part that I had no clue about. This was it. She'd gotten her revenge. I hadn't even gotten that. She...she did it. She was doing my work before I was.

"It was an accident," There was the confession, though I was surprised at the last word, and how her voice broke when she said it, "He rushed me, and on pure reflex, I pulled the trigger again and again until I heard clicks."

"Do you regret it?" Tim asked flatly, like he expected her to say no. I noticed him tapping the edge of his mask, and I squinted at him.

Anger flared up in her form as the question floated in the air. She contained it, though, only half-succeeding. "I'm sure it would make sense if I didn't. My mother's killer, right? Just a good-for-nothing criminal, right?...Wrong," A tear rolled down her cheek, "The only thing I regret in my life is that I never brought him to justice. I couldn't use any of the photos I'd had safe, I couldn't avenge my mother, none of it. Yeah, I agree with him," She jerked her chin at me, but had her eyes on Robin, "But it's not for me to do. It's one thing to kill because it's what should happen to twisted, psychotic people that live for it like Joker. That's where Jason comes in. It's another thing to kill because it's revenge. Revenge and avenging someone aren't the same thing. Killing a bad person to make me feel better...Even Falcone had family. If I'd gone on, killed more...I would've been exactly like my uncle. Killing, not because I wanted to or because I felt good, but because I just couldn't stop."

She and Tim stared at each other for a long time. Him a statue of regret and maybe repulsion. Her a figure of anger and righteousness. He didn't have to understand. He had to accept. She didn't have to beg forgiveness. She had to move on.

"After I killed Falcone, I didn't know what to do. I broke down, and I couldn't take my eyes off him as he died, choking on his blood...I called the one guy who'd understand," She said, "Bullock. He covered it up for me. He knew it was an accident before the words were out of my mouth. He knew I didn't mean it. So he arranged to have everything erased. Gordon never knew. He was busy with Batman and you," Her eyes darted to mine again. "I changed my name. My grandmother's middle name was Abigail, and my favorite poet is still Lord Byron…" She sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She stood, at last. "That's it. That's everything. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Yes," Dick said; he was always polite with anyone he interrogated, thought it was a courtesy underappreciated in our line of work. But right now, I suppose I could rack it up to her being my friend and him treating her as such. "There's a bathroom over there," He pointed to the corner of the warehouse, where a few large crates were stacked and a door was visible. "If you wanted to clean up, be alone for a bit."

"Oh," Abigail stretched her arms above her head, raising up on her tiptoes before she started towards the door, "Thanks."

We waited until the door shut after her. Then, the four of us just kinda looked at each other, either astonished by just how much she told us, or wondering what she might've left out. Shattering the silence was a shrill ringing noise, and Barbara jolted alert, digging through her shorts pocket for her phone. Her eyebrows shot up, "It's Dad…"

"Take it," Tim said softly, and Babs nodded, rolling her wheelchair a few feet away from us before answering it.

After a moment, I just exhaled a, "Damn."

"Yeah…" Dick scratched his neck, "Did you even know half of all that?"

"Parts, like her mom and that she wasn't a stranger to guns," I rubbed my stubble, limping over to the chair she'd been in, settling into it to relieve my bad ankle, "The rest? No...but I don't know, something always told me that there was some piece of her that had done something she wasn't proud of...something she'd go to great lengths to run from. And I guess we found it."

"You know what I don't get?" Tim said, walking over to us, "If she killed Falcone, how is he here now? Something doesn't add up...but I had detective vision on during that part of her story, her heartbeat didn't change nor did her eyes move around. She wasn't lying."

"Wait, didn't Clark say that the old man thought that the League of Assassins had something to do with the Joker attacks?" I was asking Dick, but Replacement answered me.

"Yeah, but I don't think Falcone has ever had any affiliation with Ra's or Talia," Tim worried at his forehead with his fingers. "And I don't think he just happened to fall into a Lazarus Pit on his own."

I dug around in my head for a moment. Abigail killed Falcone when she was about eighteen. I knew she was a bit older than me, maybe a year older. I would've been Robin then. I don't remember hearing anything about Falcone croaking. You'd think, big crime boss like that - if he had, Gotham would've celebrated. Great news stories, articles, a parade - I don't know. Something. "Was there an obit, anything?"

Tim raised his forearm, pressing a few buttons on his gauntlet before a holographic screen came up. I watched as he flipped through screens of Babs' database. "Here's something.. Nothing about any criminal allegations, just that his businesses were to be left to his children...Not an obituary but it's a mention. And it says he died...exactly when Abigail said he did. Six years ago."

"Maybe the League needed a distraction," Dick said quietly, thinking aloud. "They needed us occupied while Batman was quote-endquote, dead, and enlisted someone with enough leeway in the city to cause a ruckus. Brought him back from the dead, then demanded payment."

"How long can you be dead, necessarily, before the Pit can't work?" I crossed my arms.

Tim turned back to his holographic screen, searching again. "Says here that it was maybe a week before the League found another Lazarus Pit to dip Ra's in after what happened at Arkham City, then again, that's a guess. The closest Pit would've been in Guatemala…"

"Exactly where Bruce is investigating, in the Maya ruins," Dick realized, almost jumping around at his revelation - which I didn't quite get yet, "He needs warned, both him and Alfred. This isn't Nyssa Raatko in command, remember? They're Al Ghul loyalists. It's all connected!"

"Hold it," I made a 'T' with my arms, "Timeout, explain that again."

Tim closed his screen, "Yes, please do."

"The action isn't going to be happening in Latin America," He said, gesturing, "The war that we all feel is coming, it's not going to be fought there. It's coming to Gotham. The Joker attacks are here, and you were shot at a Falcone stronghold with copycat Joker toxin. Carmine Falcone has come back to life thanks to the League of Assassins. Harley is with the League. Your first guess was right all along, Jason. If Joker was coming back, the first thing he'd want…"

"...is Harley," I finished, and the pieces were beginning to fit together in my head. My eyes widened. "Okay...I suppose we need to tell the old man."

"Question is," Tim put his hands on his hips. "Who will go see Bruce?"

"Clark's dealing with President Lex 'I'm not a crook either' Luthor," Dick noted, his black hair jostled as he shook his head. "It has to be one of us."

"You're not in any shape to travel," I told Tim, indicating his broken arm in the sling that hung from his neck. "It's me or Dick…"

Silence stretched out like elastic, threatening to snap at any minute, and the thought of facing Bruce had my mouth souring. Last time I saw him...Jeez. Last time I saw Bruce I'd been shooting off his restraints after listening to him roar that he'd bring death to Gotham and like it. Yeah, it was Joker inside him talking...but after I'd saved him, I hid. For all my talk of doing the right thing and being ballsy enough to kill criminals in Batman's city, I hid like a coward.

My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. I'd been a goddamn coward. Didn't even stop by the cave to see Alfred. Didn't even say goodbye to either of them. Some...son or ex-Robin, whatever, I was. What was I to them? The guy who, at one time, would've died for them, and the next time, would've died trying to kill them. I wanted to go scream at myself. Scream at my younger self.

"I'll do it," Dick said, his gaze on my face. "I'll leave tomorrow."

"Leaving to go where?" Barbara was rolling back over to us, shoving her phone back in her pocket and staring at Dick with a mix of concern and apprehension.

As much as she'd like to disguise her feelings for Dick as nothing more than an old camaraderie when they were Robin and Batgirl together and the friendship that only comes with time, she couldn't fool me. I cast a sideways glance at Tim, who shifted from one foot to the other with anxiety at how Dick and Barbara were looking at each other. I restrained my smugness, and tried to maintain blankness on my face.

Dick and Tim filled her in on what we'd figured out. While they did that, I went to check on Abigail in the bathroom. As much as their issues amused me, they also got annoying after a bit. So to save myself a headache, I checked out and made my way to the far back of the warehouse, past crates of Waynetech gadgets that weren't on the books but always found their way into utility belts.

I tapped lightly on the door, my other hand on the knob, "Gail?"

"Come in," She said from inside, and I did, entering the cramped bathroom behind her as she bent over the little sink, her hair shielding her face from my view. She said, as if she believed it and had spent all this time convincing herself, "I'm okay."

I sidled in beside her, shutting the door. I didn't believe it. I put my hands on her shoulders, and gently turned her. She pushed her hair away and revealed everything I expected: pale skin gleaming, freckles clustered on her nose as she wrinkled it, her eyes a little bloodshot and the skin around them raw. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, my brows knitting. I slid my hands up her neck to hold her head between them.

This was the same girl who laid out my secrets like killing tools, but never used them against me...maybe more to show me she could than to spite me. An ordinary person. A civilian caught in my crossfire. This was the same girl who'd risked her life to save mine, twice; who stitched my leg, helped me find a peace in my genesis. She had no clue how much she's done for me, without trying or being aware that was what she was doing. And with any luck, she'll never know.

But I didn't do the same for her...then why am I wasting her time? To make me feel better? No. If I didn't do the same for her, it'd be a pretty shitty way to repay her.

Her eyelids slowly shut. "Six years of running from what I did. More than a decade of running from what I watched."

I understood that more than anything. Her hands, the metal of the splints cold against my skin, came up to curl around my wrists. I asked her, her stormy irises visible again and they appeared brighter in color against the bloodshot whites, "Aren't you tired of running? I know I am."

"Did it feel this awful for you?" She went away from me, only a foot apart but my arms felt empty anyhow. She leant against the wall behind her like it was the only thing holding her up, or together. I got the point she made there; she wanted comfort when she asked for it, not before. Even if all I wanted to do was hold her.

Her voice was steady, but the quiet to it gave her away, "Just unloading like that?"

"All the time," I answered after a second, then turned a question she wouldn't like on her, "Was that the first time you'd told anyone?"

She deflected it with a question of her own. "When you told me what happened to you, was that the first for you?"

Images of that video camera on a tripod flashed in my mind, and I crossed my arms, stiffening all over. I tried to sound blasé, like it didn't matter anymore. "Mmhm."

She wasn't convinced, but let it go. Gail fiddled with her hands then, pointedly fixating her eyes on them. Her voice was shattered glass, crumbling under the weight of what she told me next, "Jason...You know what scared me the most about confessing?"

I could've guessed a number of things. The fact that she didn't know any of the others and had to discuss the biggest trauma of her life anyways. Her anxiety triggering an asthma attack. How they abducted her from my firehouse, which I haven't gotten over yet myself.

She filled it in for me, her gaze averted still. "Do you know what scares me the most, period? That even after seeing so many die...my mom, Falcone, her partner…" I had a feeling the list went on a bit further, "... sometimes all I want to do is join them…"

I stared at her, said nothing. Because that was me, too.

"Philosophy doesn't do much to foster faith that they died for a reason and let me outlive them when I shouldn't have. But I know that if I got my wish," She met my eyes, her own dry, "I'd be leaving so much work undone...work that needs to be done. I mean," She coughed, "I don't have any friends, really-"

"-You've got me," I interjected hotly, "Don't even think for a second you don't got me. And I've got you…" I jerked my chin at the door, "And them? They're paranoid, sure...but they're not half bad." I chuckled, "Hell, if they haven't kicked my teeth in for all the trouble I cause them, you're a breath of fresh air."

That won me a smile, and I returned it. I shook my head, pointing a finger at her, "See that? You keep that and you'll be just fine. We both will be."

"For a mass murderer," She joked, "You give a hell of a 'there's so much to live for' speech."

"Thanks, coach," I quipped back, beckoning her closer with a slender finger, "C'mere, bring it in."

She snorted, rolling her eyes before allowing me to pull her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her as her tiny hands pressed against my back. I wasn't a big hugger, and I could tell she wasn't either...but somehow, this managed to feel good. Warm. How the smell of my shampoo mixed with her own natural scent in her hair. How small she felt.

But the warmth came from conviction, not just comforting a friend. She hadn't wanted any of this, Gail. If I could learn anything about her from her confession, it's that this was the last thing she wanted to happen. She'd hoped that Falcone wouldn't be back to haunt her, but it had.

Gail was tearing herself apart over failing like that.

I looked past her shoulder at the mirror behind her. I watched the Jason Todd in the mirror, with his messy black hair with the one white streak and scarred pale skin, wind one marred arm behind her neck and curl the other around her waist, the 'J' on his cheek visible above the blonde locks of the girl in his arms. I saw how he breathed her in, drank in the image in the mirror and exhaled slowly...maybe even a little content in how she hung onto him, too, her face pressed against the crook of his neck. Her hands together over his chest, as if she wanted to touch his heartbeat.

I couldn't help feeling selfish.

I squeezed her a bit tighter as I made a hard decision. One I'd never like. Once Carmine Falcone was dead, for good this time, I would get her out of Gotham City. I promised myself I would. I would keep this promise. She didn't deserve any of today to happen. She didn't want this. She wanted to do something good for someone who didn't deserve it...

I swore that the day the Falcone threat was gone, she would be safe...and safe meant out of Gotham.

Safe meant as far away from me as possible.