Issue #35
Exploiting Uncomfortable Situations
Siwah, Egypt
The old woman had come to know the power of the African sun as soon as she had spent her first day on the dunes. It was a source of life and death so bright and so high in the sky that it appeared as if light was raining down from the heavens rather than from some nebulous, yellow sphere several hundred thousand miles away. She found a bizarre appeal within that harsh, pale radiance when she had first made her way across the Atlantic at the age of twenty. Back then the heat that was poured onto her and the sweat pouring down from her body signified the strain of a job well done. Almost 45 years had elapsed since then and now the light seemed to bear down a great deal more than she remembered.
It hadn't taken long at all for her to tidy up her modest sleeping accommodations. She neatly folded the front covers, prepared a light breakfast, and organized a pile of ruffled medical reports that she had pored over while drifting off to sleep. She did these things a bit quicker than most would choose to go about them for her list of duties was never short and she was always certain that there was always one task or another that would slip through the cracks if she wasn't there to catch it.
The few people at the camp who still chose to speak with her kept telling her that she was working too hard, that she should take some time away from the constant stress and strain. She no longer had the heart or the patience to tell them that this work was now no longer all she had, but also all that she deserved. She knew nobody ought to hear something like that.
Cliff was waiting for her in the main tent. He was a typical "Peace Corps" brat who still held on to the same blind ideology that she possessed when she first came to Africa. He was a handsome young man of 25 who just learned how to be an adult but still had a head full of idealistic tripe about saving the world one person at a time. The old woman wondered when the poor boy would be hit by the fact that the world couldn't be saved, just patched up.
"Hey, boss," Cliff said with a crisp smile despite a long night's work. He was technically the woman's boss but everyone who had ever spent more than a day in the camp knew who was really in charge of the proceedings. "You've got a visitor!"
The old woman wanted to return the young man's amiable grin but found that she couldn't work her way up to it. She found it a great deal easier to play the part of the world-weary woman that she had embraced for so many months now. Instead, she turned to her patient; no doubt some fretful young parent agonizing over some small malady that their child had picked up during the long, hot evening. Of course, the old woman found little harm in a parent showing too much concern for their child, particularly within a community where infant mortality had been so high for so long.
But then the old woman turned around and saw a ghost.
The little specter looked to be quite comfortable. Her medium-length blonde hair was neatly tucked into a Gotham Knights ball cap and her pale, blue eyes were bright instead of bloodshot and stained with tears. The brown work shorts she wore revealed the girl's short, muscular legs that were not bleeding from a dozen places and smashed into disrepair and the plain, white t-shirt tied off just above the belly button showcased a healthy body that was not broken or punctured by any number of torture devices. Her small face was not bruised or swollen beyond recognition, her nose was not leaking blood, and her smile was far brighter to the old woman than any light the sun could bring down upon her.
"She said she knew you from Gotham City," Cliff unnecessarily explained to the old woman. "I figured it was too strange of a coincidence for it not to be true." He then turned to the phantom with the cheery grin. "I'm sorry. I never did get your name."
"That's 'cause I never gave it, Doctor," the girl said with such an airy lilt that it dug into the old woman's heart. "Don't worry though; I'm not here to hurt ya!"
The girl turned to her and the old woman saw the smile change ever so slightly. The flirtatious look in her pale, blue eyes had given way to a Cheshire cat grin that bordered right on the edge of being malicious. Still, the young woman was clever enough to fool a little emotional stripling like Cliff into thinking that the two smirks weren't different at all.
"I just dropped by to say hello to the doc and talk to her about a case I came into contact with a while back," the young woman said as she turned back to Cliff. "A young woman was rolled into the ER with a laundry list of broken bones and deep punctures in her abdomen and lower torso. There had been a great deal of blood loss and a definite risk of infection since several arteries had been damaged and there was a fear that blood would start going into the wrong places. Luckily, we managed to use a mixture of coagulants to stem the blood flow and stave away any possible infections but it still led to an unnecessarily long recovery time for the patient. I was just sort of interested in seeing how Miss Thompkins would have handled it."
Leslie Thompkins did not back down from the young woman penetrating glare. If this was how things were going to end then she would do it with her head held high. She had enough to answer for already.
"That sounds like an interesting case, Miss Brown. Perhaps we should go to my tent so we won't get in anyone's way," Leslie said.
"Perhaps we should."
Gotham City
"Ah, the glories of Gotham City," Nightwing crowed as he slid to a stop on one of the city's less prominent rooftops. "The city streets are bustling with half-drunk husbands coming home from a hard night at the casino or strip club while their Zoloft addicted wives wait for them to come home so they can argue. The good children have been tucked into their threadbare beds with visions of therapy sessions and juvie hall stints dancing in their heads! And who knows when one of Gotham's poorly dressed, psychotic lunatics will choose to make merriment by endangering innocent lives with fear toxins or trick umbrellas or freeze rays."
The original Robin stepped towards the edge of the rooftop and stretched his arms out as far as he could as if he were trying to give the mostly slumbering metropolis a big hug. "Oh, sweet Gotham. How I have missed thee. . ."
Arrowette didn't have the slightest reservations toward laughing at the histrionic display taking place only a few feet away from her. "Come on, Nightwing. I've seen better acting coming out of my high school's drama club."
"Really?" Nightwing asked just before throwing himself into a flawless back somersault that brought him to Cecilia's side. "I would have thought a high-end institution like Elias would make sure they had a fine fine-arts department."
The young archer rolled her eyes as she pulled out her bow from the compartment just in front of her quiver and checked the string. "Yeah, they poured plenty of money into it. Doesn't mean that it still wasn't any good. Picture this: It's a year ago, just right before senior commencement. You've got the best and the brightest in the state of California all sitting in one space: police chiefs, city council officials, even the governor and both of the state's senators all waiting to see their sons and daughters on the big stage. Local television news crews are all along the front row!"
"And?" Nightwing asked with upraised eyebrows.
Arrowette turned to her partner and frowned. "They did Les Miz."
The son of the Batman could not offer a single word. He could only shudder.
"Three dozen spoiled, milquetoast, W.A.S.P.s-in-training strutting around the stage in pantaloons sporting bad French accents. Let's just say that the upper crust of California's therapy community put in their share of man hours in the weeks after." Cecilia ignored Dick's laughter and placed her bow back in its storage space. "You know, I would have thought you'd be in Bludhaven tonight. I've barely seen hide or hair of you even after you came back to Gotham."
"Well, I've been busy," Nightwing said simply. "First, I had to get in touch with Tim and tell him that everything was going okay here and that took about a day or two. After all, I hadn't seen him since Bruce and I went over to San Francisco to help the Titans with Professor Magnus's corrupted Metal Men. And that was what? 'Bout two months ago?"
"Just about," Cissie replied. "I saw him a couple weeks ago. He seems to be doing well."
"Yeah. 'Ittle Howdy Doody is finally finding his niche." There was a definite hint of pride in Dick's tone as he spoke about Tim Drake despite the highly unflattering nickname. "Sort of like Stephanie finding her spot here in Gotham."
"I wish it was that easy for me," Arrowette said with a huff. "I just don't think I'm cut out for this place."
Nightwing looked at Cecilia as if she had gone mad. "A week ago you faced down a psychotic who was just as strong as Superman without a hint of fear and now you're telling me that you don't think you can handle Killer Croc?!"
Cecilia had a sour frown on her lips but the look in her eyes gave her anxiety away. "This is just so different than when I was in Young Justice. We didn't patrol, we just rushed off whenever there was some super bad guy causing trouble. We didn't get to really see, well, the damage."
Nightwing could certainly understand that. He placed a comforting hand upon Cecilia's shoulder. After taking a moment to check the waters, he began to gently rub the young woman's arm from shoulder to her tricep. He knew what the young woman was thinking the moment she had closed her eyes. She was visualizing the "damage" she had witnessed in Gotham, the price of imperfection and never being able to always be in the right place at the right time. It was a lesson that he had learned many years ago and it was still something that he had to cope with.
"I know what you mean. It just reminds me how the Young Justice was so. . . so bush league."
Cissie's eyes snapped open.
"Come on! Superboy in that leather jacket! Bart with those goofy racquetball goggles! You had a teenage Lobo on your team, for God sakes!"
The archer growled as she angrily shoved Dick's hand off her shoulder.
"Aww!" Nightwing teased. "Did I hurt 'ittle Cissie's feewings? You're so cute when you're angry!"
He cooed as he tried to pinch the girl's cheek and winced as she slapped it away.
"You know, I liked you better when I didn't know that you were an asshole! I can't believe that I'm probably going to be stuck working with you!"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I figure that's the reason old man Bats dragged me to Gotham. He's already got a Robin and Lord knows Kara and Lloyd can handle anything that Gotham can throw at them. The only logical conclusion is that he's training me so I can work with you in Bludhaven."
"Maybe you're right," Nightwing said casually. "Still, we don't have a Batgirl anymore. Maybe he's training you to be Batgirl?"
Now it was Cecilia's turn to shudder. "Hell, no. I don't want to be another Batbaby. Besides, I can't stand wearing black spandex. I don't mind working withBatman but I draw the line at dressing like him. Only an emotionally fractured loser would have so little self-esteem that they would willingly choose to dress like their teacher or, even worse, like their father."
Arrowette gave Nightwing a deliciously evil smirk.
"You're so subtle with your work, Arrowette," Nightwing pointed out.
"It worked, didn't it?"
"And I'm not wearing all black!" Dick pointed out. He traced his fingers over the stripes on his torso. "See? Blue! This is blue! And the rest of it isn't black! It's charcoal!"
Arrowette shook her head and fired her grappling gun so she could swing down to the streets below. "All that denial just bottled up in that hot body of yours, Dickie. Looks like Jean Valijean isn't the only guy who could use some quality time on the therapist's couch."
Leslie ignored the young woman casually walking behind her as she all but stomped her way back to her home. She swiped open the tent flap and made her way straight for the gallon containers of water that were piled up next to the kitchen cabinet. She remained silent as she pulled an old coffee cup from a nearby drawer, dumped some of the water inside of it, and gunned the cool liquid down in a single, desperate gulp. The liquid soothed her throat and her nerves but she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret over leaving that bottle of Montrechet back in her clinic even though she hadn't had a drink of alcohol in decades. Alfred and Bruce had always teased her about it but she would always reply that she was merely saving it for a special occasion.
Unfortunately, this seemed to qualify.
"Do you think this is supposed to be funny?" she asked the smirking little girl, the girl that reminded her so much of Dick when he was that age. . . of Jason when he was that young.
Stephanie shook her head. "Naw. It's not really funny. Kinda sad maybe, but not really funny. No. On third thought, it's really just kind of pathetic."
The old woman slung the coffee cup at the grinning apparition with all the force her weary muscles could provide her. The startle she felt when she saw Stephanie catch the cup was far deeper than anything she thought she still had the capacity to feel. Her heart and spirit had been slipping ever since that day when Bruce had caught up with her so many months ago, the day when the man she had looked after for so many years told her that he would have her arrested if she ever practiced medicine again.
"Oh, thanks. I could use a drink of water. I don't know if you've noticed this but it's fuckin' hot out here." Stephanie pointed out as she raised the cup to her lips. Seeing that there was nothing to drink in the cup, she pouted a bit before casually tossing the cup to the ground.
"I don't need anyone else to judge me, young lady," Leslie said bitterly. "I can do that perfectly well on my own."
The cheery look on Stephanie's face was gone in an instant. "Lady, you killed me. If anybody has the right to judge you, it is sooooo me."
"And what makes you think I should believe that you're Stephanie Brown? Her identity became public knowledge on the day of her funeral. I was there when you were buried."
"Trust me. That coffin no longer has any occupants. I dared Dick and Lloyd to come with me and help dig it up. Yeah, we got ourselves some shovels, went down to the liquor store, picked up a 12-pack of Guinness and a 12-pack of Sam Adams, and we kept digging till we hit mahogany. Of course, by the time we finally got down there Dick and I were at least two sheets to the wind. We were trying to figure out whose grave we were going to dig up next but then the cops showed up. . ."
"I performed your autopsy!"
"It's safe to say you did a lot more than that to me," Stephanie replied. "But if proof is what you're looking for. . . The real reason I kicked the bucket is because I thought it was a bright idea to try and impress Batman by enacting one of his war plans that he had designed in order to spearhead organized crime in Gotham if it ever got out of control. Unfortunately, I didn't know all there was to know about it and by the time I figured that out I was halfway to being killed by the Black Mask. Still, even after my colossal fuckup, Batman still chose to rush me to your clinic so you could patch me up just like you've helped out every other good guy and gal in a cape and cowl. However, you decided to put it upon yourself to teach Batman a lesson. You decided to make an example of me in order to punish B for allowing 'children' to fight for something they believe in."
"And if that's not enough proof for you," Stephanie went on as she yanked on her bottom lip. "Shee thish schcar?" she asked as she used the pointer finger on her unencumbered hand to indicate a white line about an inch long. "I got that during my first fight. I was six years old and Jason Seville was telling everybody that I didn't have a daddy. He was about six inches taller than I was so I smacked him with my lunchbox to bring him down and then I kept punching him 'till I broke his jaw. He got me pretty good though. It wasn't until I was about ten years old when I learned how to stop talking with a lisp."
Stephanie slumped herself down on Leslie's cot and laid down upon it, her legs sprawled over the edge. "You got a real kick out of it when I told you that I lied to my mother and said that I busted my lip when I was skateboarding. You told me I had a lot of potential."
Robin momentarily seemed content to leave her explanation at that but then she suddenly sat back up again. "Oh, and Batman is Bruce Wayne, Nightwing is Dick Grayson, Alfred's favorite dish is roasted duck sprinkled with a bit of Sherry and orange sauce, and there's a little crevice in the far southwestern end of the Batcave where Bruce keeps a bunch of memorabilia about some old cartoon called The Grey Ghost along with copies of The White Album and Down the Old Plank Road autographed respectively by Paul McCartney and Paddy Moloney."
"So then why are you here?" Leslie asked hoarsely. "Because if you're here to kill me then you may as well go ahead and do it. You've haunted me enough already."
"Rest your varicose veins, old lady." Stephanie advised the old woman as she sat back down in the cot once again. "It took me months to get back into Batsie's good graces. I'm not gonna ruin that by offing somebody who essentially just did me a favor."
By now Leslie had already gone through about a third of the gallon of water. "You've got an interesting way of showing your appreciation."
"Well, you did kill me and all," Stephanie pointed out. "And don't worry! If I went around killing everybody that tried to kill me then I'd never get anything done. Besides, if you hadn't have killed me then I wouldn't have become the first-rate ass-kicker that stands before you today. As far as I'm concerned, you and I are cool."
"So why are you here, Stephanie?" Leslie asked sternly.
Stephanie grinned and held up two fingers. "I've got two reasons. One, I just knew that I'd get a big kick out of surprising you like this. I mean, come on! Where would you be able to experience something like this except outside of watching The Twilight Zone?"
The old doctor gave out an irritated groan. "And the second?"
Stephanie sat up and crossed her legs over by the ankles while digging the points of her elbows into her quadriceps and cupping her chin with her fists.
"I'm a Robin on a mission, Doc Thompkins. I'm here to bring you back to Gotham."
The Batcave
Alfred Pennyworth walked briskly down the steps towards the low-lit passageway that led to the heart of The Misfits' base of operations. A man on a mission, the butler carried a tray in his left hand that sported a steaming pot of rich, Irish coffee and an array of after-dinner snacks that he personally prepared during a lazy afternoon within the Wayne Manor kitchen. He placed the tray at one corner of the large worktable while making certain not to disturb either the many piles of paper clustered about or the two men who bustled around them.
"Master Bruce. Mister Kuttler. How goes the search for the source of the mysterious Kryptonian markings? Has the data that you so justly liberated from that cybernetic popinjay offered any illumination upon the matter?"
Noah sighed as he pulled himself up from his hunched position. "So far it's only helped us in crossing another potential suspect off the list."
"Whatever Brainiac and Zod had in mind, it wasn't connected with these sigils," Batman explained without even looking up from the file he was scanning. "The fact that Black Dog and I were able to trace the Kryptonian lettering back to Superman's old Fortress of Solitude was either happenstance or the set up for some kind of smokescreen set up by the real culprit. Keeping us. . ." he slammed the file back down onto the worktable, "from finding out just what they're trying to do."
Alfred decided to busy himself by pouring two cups of coffee. "Well, there isn't any need to become overly discouraged. This is merely another mystery." He placed a small dollop of steamed milk into Bruce's cup. "There is little doubt in my mind that you will find the answers you seek." He gave the contents of the cup a gentle stirring before handing it to his charge. "It is only a matter of time."
The Batman had quite the dubious look on his face as he took the cup and took a generous sip in hopes of staving off his butler's bizarre paternal gestures. "Let's just hope that Mao knows more about this than what we've been able to gather by going down all these dead ends," he suggested in a gravelly tone.
Noah waited for a moment in the vain hope that Alfred would administer the same dosage of dotage for his own cup of coffee. However, he soon gave in to the inevitable and applied his preferred amount of steamed milk and sugar. "Kara and Lloyd just reported in. They've just touched down in Hong Kong and they will meet Mister Tenryu first thing in the morning as scheduled. Until then, I believe that Kara was fully intent on dragging Lloyd out to one of his favorite restaurants and having him show her the sights."
"So the two of them are goofing around and Stephanie decided to take the day off." Batman grumbled. "Why is everyone so intent on taking a day's vacation at my expense? I thought I trained these people to watch over Gotham."
"Come now, Master Bruce. There is nothing wrong with providing your compatriots with some time away. You know as well as I that Master Dick and Miss Cecilia are more than capable of performing the necessary patrols and that Master Lloyd and Miss Kara are but a phone call away. Speaking of which, perhaps it would be wise of you to use that phone and contact Commissioner Gordon. I imagine that the both of you have a great deal to discuss and that now would be quite the opportune time to do so."
Batman growled again and hastily picked up another loose file from the worktable. "I told you that I would take care of that myself."
"Yes, well, you'll forgive me if my memory has grown lax in my growing years but I seem to recall you saying something along those lines several days ago just after you returned from your year-long sabbatical. However, as I have just stated, I may very well be mistaken and, if so, you have my sincerest apologies if I am."
"Give the man a break, Alfred," Noah said in a placating manner. "It is not as if any of us were unoccupied. Besides, I have asked Jim Gordon to speak with me on several occasions and he has blatantly turned down each and every one of my requests. It's only fair that Bruce be allowed to avoid such a man if he so chooses."
"With all due respect, Master Kuttler, Master Bruce is not a wanted felon."
Noah's cheeks flushed. "Only because I've been covering his tracks!"
"Now, now, Master Kuttler. Many times over have I compliment you for your inspired efforts in the fields of fraud and government sabotage. There is no need for you to behave so indignantly."
Noah was halfway towards engaging in what would surely be a vain attempt to oust Alfred Pennyworth as the undisputed Wayne Manor King of Sarcasm when his train of thought was interrupted by the familiar buzzing of his communications relay. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm actually eager to take this. Come in, Nightwing."
"Well, I love you too, Calculator," Nightwing said jovially. "I'd continue to wax poetically about my affection but we may have a bit of trouble on our hands."
Noah rushed towards his work terminal and fired up the satellite surveillance relay that allowed him to locate the position of each of the Misfits at a moment's notice. "All right, I have you and Arrowette at the Shropstein Ballroom on the corner of Fifth and Winchester. Are either one of you in need of medical attention?"
"Well, Arrowette's puking up her dinner but it's safe to say that it's not because of something she needs to see a doctor for."
The three older men unconsciously waited for Cecilia to fire back an angry reply or for Dick to laugh or squawk in response to some half-hearted attempt by the young archer to punish Nightwing for making such a vulgar comment. It wasn't until the silence started to loom that they started to feel truly worried.
"Nightwing, what's happened?" Batman asked over the relay, his tone all-business.
"I don't suppose that any of you remember that the Shropstein was holding a big-time charity banquet to benefit local autism centers?" Nightwing asked.
"I seem to recall mailing a rather generous donation along with a note saying that a certain Bruce Wayne would be unable to attend the proceedings," Alfred replied.
"Arrowette and I were just starting our downtown patrol when we saw a white van screaming out of the parking lot- New York state license tag JN1S940. The ballroom is covered in dead bodies, Batman. One-hundred seventy five, maybe almost 200 total."
"Oh, good heavens," Alfred exclaimed in horror as Noah visibly blanched.
Batman, of course, sounded completely calm. "What have you been able to determine?"
"It was poison, Batman. The fucking monster locked everyone inside the main room and pumped gas in through the vents. Men, women, and children. . . Nobody was able to escape."
"Keep it together, Nightwing," Batman said just a bit too quickly. "I want you to get into the ventilation system and get one of those tanks. I'll need to analyze it in order to start finding out who could be behind this and work on creating some kind of an antidote."
"I already know who's behind it, Batman," Nightwing said with a growl much like his father's.
"Are you certain, Nightwing?" The Calculator asked.
Dick didn't answer Noah's question the moment he heard it. He found that he needed to take a moment to take in the living horror scene in front of him once again. Staring at the desperate scratches on the walls and tempered windows and inhaling the growing stench of decay, he had to swallow the acrid bile that rose up from his stomach as he counted the dozens of bodies toppled on the ground and slumped over tables and seated on the chairs.
They all sported the same dead, horrific smile.
"There's not a doubt in my mind."
Peace Corps Medical Camp- Siwah
"I don't believe you've thought this idea through, Miss Brown," Leslie said as she took a seat across from the bed that Stephanie had sprawled herself upon.
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've had a noticeable lack of foresight," Stephanie replied. "And I'm pretty damn certain that it won't be the last. Be that as it may, I still think I've got a good idea here."
"Batman specifically ordered me out of Gotham. He said that if I ever practiced medicine again that he would have me arrested. That hardly qualifies as rolling out the red carpet."
"Yeah, but he's not the one making the invite, I am. The reason he made that threat is because you killed me. But you didn't kill me! Well, okay, you did kill me! But I got better!"
"I don't recall Batman being quite so forgiving as you appear to be," Leslie said wearily. "In fact, I seem to recall you telling me that he fired you because you refused to follow his orders even though the only reason you disobeyed him was so you could save his life."
"And I did something phenomenally stupid to show him that he was wrong." Stephanie angrily rose up from the bed and faced the old doctor down. "Just like you did something stupid to try and prove him wrong. If I could forgive him for the way he treated me and he can forgive me for what I did then he'll forgive you too! Gotham City needs you!"
"I spent over four decades in Gotham, young lady," the old woman shot back with a trace of the old vim and vinegar that Stephanie had loved about her. "I think I know a bit more about what it needs than you do."
Stephanie's only reply to Leslie's caustic words was a derisive snort. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared the doctor down again. "Well, at least now I know where Bats gets the lion's share of his stubbornness from. I knew he couldn't have gotten it all from Alfred. Oh, and by the way, I can be pretty damn obstinate when I set my mind to it. I say you're going back to Gotham even if I have to drag you back there. You've got work to do."
"Don't you take that tone with me!" Leslie snapped.
Stephanie snorted again. "Lady, I'll take whatever tone I want with you. I mean, what are you gonna do about it? I'm not all shot up to hell and lying in a hospital bed this time."
Leslie turned away from the spirited young woman. "I'm not going to fight with you about this. I'm tired of fighting."
Stephanie stomped over to the tired, old woman and stooped down so she could look Leslie in the eyes again. "Yeah, well that's all dandy and good if the only person you were fighting for is you but that's just not the case. Your clinic gave free medical care to dozens of people who couldn't afford it for over twenty years! Bruce may have been the one footing the bill but when people came in to your clinic it wasn't Bruce Wayne they were looking to see. They looked to you because they knew that you cared and you were strong enough to do anything in your power to help them."
The young woman slammed her knees down onto the dirt floor so she could catch Leslie's evasive eyes. "That clinic was an institution. You were an institution! You reminded so many people that there were good people in this world that you could turn to even in a hellhole like Gotham. What makes you think that you can take that away from so many people? Don't you have any pride in your home?"
Leslie did not back away from Stephanie's determined glare this time. "It's been made rather clear to me that Gotham is Batman's town."
The blond-haired spitfire screwed up her face. "And you actually believe that bullshit?! Gotham City isn't just a town that can be tagged and claimed, doc! It's something that digs into every single part of you. It's the best and the worst of every part of us and what you get there doesn't go away even after you've left it. The real Leslie Thompkins knows that just as well as I do and the real Leslie Thompkins would never allow some emotionally-stunted, Kevlar-wearing douchebag to force her out of the town that she gave so much of her blood and sweat in order to make a better place."
The look in Leslie's eyes changed in a number of tiny ways as Stephanie's diatribe wore on. It began with outrage, dipped into a hint of pensiveness, flirted with righteous determination before dabbling into shock and bemusement before finally settling upon a warm and wistful gaze.
"You're painting Bruce with an awfully rough brush, Miss Brown."
The look in Stephanie's eyes also began to soften. "Yeah, well, just because I love the old coot doesn't mean that I can just forget that he can be an asshole sometimes."
Leslie chuckled. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's true."
The old woman kept up her muted laughter until Stephanie felt compelled to join her. The both of them kept it up until Leslie leaned in and tenderly touched the young woman's cheek. "Oh, Stephanie. Bruce must be fortunate to have you. How could I ever forgive myself. . ."
Stephanie cut off the awkward subservience in a heartbeat and clasped the hand on her cheek with one of her own. "Now that's enough of that. You can forgive yourself because I forgive you."
"Stephanie, I killed you."
"Then you better be happy about the fact that it didn't take," Stephanie said bluntly. "Also, be happy that you killed this Robin instead of one of the other ones. Trust me, I've seen other Robins come back from the grave and it isn't pretty."
Leslie shook her head with barely concealed wonderment. "What happened to you? What happened to Bruce?"
"I'm not gonna tell you." Stephanie's eyes gave off a hint of a twinkle. "You're going to have to go back to Gotham to find out."
A pensive silence held sway over the makeshift residence that Leslie Thompkins had called home for nearly twenty months. Leslie couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the young woman who had played a nightmarish, starring role in her dreams for so many sleepless nights. There's little doubt that she would have continued to be lost in her clouded thoughts had the sounds of men and women screaming outside of her tent had not snapped her out of it.
"What on Earth. . ."
"Uh-oh."
There was a far-more determined look on Stephanie's face as she raced out of the tent far faster than she had ever seen even Batman move. The velocity served to startle her further but the sound of gunfire smashed all possible distractions aside and caused her to rush out of the tent. Pushing the flap aside, Leslie looked from side to side until she found Stephanie confronting the source of the clamor.
The smoking gun was in the hand of an older gentleman donned in black, blue, and orange battle armor that covered every portion of his body save for his slightly wrinkled but still noble looking face. A young woman stood behind him sporting a grin that was nearly as sharp as the katana she held in her hands. There wasn't a doubt in Leslie's mind that the two of them were father and daughter. They shared the same prominent cheekbones, the same deep, blue eyes, and bizarrely enough, the same iron-gray hair.
"I've been looking to speak with you for quite some time, Miss Brown," said Slade Wilson as he pointed his gun at the young Green Lantern. "After all, I don't consider myself to be someone who allows a debt to go unpaid."
Misfits Confidential
Well, it's been nearly a year since I started doing what I could to bring Stephanie Brown back into the Batverse and look what's happened. Thirty-five issues, 215,000 words, one major rewrite, a nice, heaving helping of reviews (but I could always use more) and I'm still ready for more. Thanks to everybody who was with me from the very first chapter and everybody who came along on the way. I love the universe I've created and the characters in it so I don't see me slowing down anytime soon! And with that, here's the preview for the next issue.
Issue #36 Preview
Okay, so Deathstroke and his lovely daughter are looking to pay Stephanie back and something tells me that they're not talking about the red sweater that Rose got for her daddy last Christmas. On top of that we've got some Clorox-faced nut job running around Gotham that a few of you may have heard of who is looking to play while the cats are away. And speaking of those cats, just what kind of news does The Black Dog's old boss have that would bring Kara and Lloyd to Hong Kong? All this plus the return of Commissioner Gordon and the arrival of everyone's favorite jester/sidekick in the next installment of The Misfits: Clowns, Killers, and Killer Clowns. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!