Harley stared at her cell door. She was still in Arkham's standard intake hold – and she'd earned some extra time for having the temerity to question the meds she'd been prescribed. Really, the fresh-faced young clinician could've used some pointers. Histrionic personality disorder? Lame. They always went for that, because the first damn symptom the lecturers at Gotham U liked to mention was 'excessively sexualized clothing'. Harley scoffed; she wore tight clothes because one, she liked the way she looked in them, and two, it was easier to knock a guy out if he was busy staring at her cleavage when he should've been fighting.
Mistah J liked the look on her, too, which was a nice added bonus. But not her primary motivation.
The DSM 5 considered histrionic personality disorder an obsolete diagnosis, but those dried-up old sticks still taught it like psychology wasn't an evolving field. Most of 'em wouldn't know original research, or how to think outside the box, if it bit them in the ass.
Someone was teaching out of more modern texts, though, because the clinician assigned to her had included hybristophilia in her diagnosis. That was an interesting one, though Harley disagreed with its application to her. The bad things Mistah J did weren't what turned her on, although breaking all the world's rules was definitely fun. It was the good stuff, that only she got to see, that got her revved up. He could be so incredibly romantic … until she inevitably screwed up. When he got frustrated with her, Harley could empathize – most people couldn't keep up with his genius. It wasn't his fault. She just had to get better. She had to be good enough for him, then everything would be fine.
Anyway, even if she had agreed with the boneheaded diagnosis, the treatment plan was stupid. Harley had recognized the pills brought to her, and scoffed aloud. "Trilafon? Ugh, no, that's for schizophrenia, what're you thinking? Besides, all the phenothiazines make me itch. Try Loxitane if you have to go for typical antipsychotics, I haven't had that one yet."
The orderly wouldn't listen, didn't care, and her refusal to take the pills got her locked into the restraint chair and dosed up with Haldol and Thorazine. Once she came down from that, they switched her onto Seroquel, which made the days in solitary float by. Harley hated the way that one ruined her concentration, but while she was on it she couldn't stay focused on being mad about it. It wasn't doing any good, so they weaned her off that onto something not even she had heard of. Which meant someone was doing clinical trials in a facility designed for the criminally insane – wasn't that a joke?
Harley wasn't completely certain, but it felt like a week since she'd been hauled back to Arkham. Hard to tell, with no clock or calendar or window, only meals and medication to judge by – and were the pills being administered twice a day, or four times a day? She'd scratched faint lines into her forearm with a fingernail at each drugging, never enough to get herself on a 1:1 suicide watch, just enough to judge the passing of time by how it healed. Still, she'd lost a couple days to the Vitamin H cocktail that left her zoned out.
If her estimation was right, they'd be moving her to a regular cell in another few days. Not with Mistah J, she'd never get that lucky, but crowding was always an issue at Arkham so she expected she'd have to share space. Harley knew most of the regular players in Gotham, and knew she could get along with or intimidate most of them. The only thing she worried about was being transferred. That damn Waller sure liked having her on the Suicide Squad, and if she sent for Harley, it'd be that much harder to get out … and get Joker out, too.
That was the goal, of course. Get herself and her Puddin' out of this miserable old heap before the Wall – or anyone worse – realized they were here.
…
Jay woke up the next morning intending to head over to the Clock Tower and read Babs the riot act. She'd known about this with Kala and General Zod in Nevada, and she'd kept it from him. He expected that from Bruce, but Babs? Babs was supposed to be all friendly and inviting, the good big sister doing all the nice stuff like sending him cookies and a comm unit. And it turned out – as was typical – that the whole time she was holding something back. Now she owed him this Nevada Protocol, and he intended to collect.
When he checked his phone, though, he realized that Babs evidently felt the same, because she'd sent him a message that simply read, Check your email from the downstairs computer. Of course, whatever was in the Nevada Protocol was highly sensitive information, she wouldn't send it to an unsecured phone or laptop.
He headed down, grabbing a late breakfast that Alfred had thoughtfully kept warm, and when Dick turned questioning eyes his way Jay only said, "Need to use the Bat computer."
"What for?" Dick asked, his brow furrowing.
Because Tim was in the hallway with him, and they both looked suspicious, Jay replied, "Porn."
Tim sneered and Dick rolled his eyes, so Jay shrugged. "I need the big screen to see all the action. Don't worry, I'll wipe up when I'm done."
"You are disgusting," Tim said flatly.
"I know," Jay retorted, leering theatrically at the kid. "And you're sick, if you've never watched porn."
"Not my style," was all Tim replied.
Dick cut in before they could get snarking in earnest. "I know it's not porn, Jay. C'mon, dish? Pretty please?"
And damn if he didn't work those baby blues when he asked. Jay let out an aggravated sigh through his nose. "Babs wants me to read something on a secure line, okay? Who am I to thwart the will of Big Sister?"
Dick just nodded, looking somber, and Jay figured he could guess what it was. He continued down the stairs, the scrambled eggs and pancakes looking less appetizing.
Only when he was in front of the Bat computer did he realize he didn't want to log into his email from here. So he sent Babs a text. I'm here. Not leaving my login around. Send.
The screen lit up – nicely confirming that she could remote in to the big computer – and he saw Kala's file pop up. There was the Nevada Protocol, and he clicked on it, his mouth dry. It asked for identity verification, and to Jay's surprise he actually had to scan his thumbprint and retina to read the damn thing. What the hell was so juicy…?
He swallowed, flung head-first into an account of Kala's kidnapping. At age sixteen. This was a dry, technical retelling, noting that Luthor had placed spies around her family and manipulated her into running away from home. She'd been gone less than a day when Luthor picked her up, immediately drugged and transported halfway across the country.
Her family had been frantic, unraveling what they thought was a runaway and finding a kidnapping by their worst enemy. Jay read the side note that attempts had been made on her father's life, her stepmother, her stepsister, her brother, her mother, her stepfather … Jesus fuck, Luthor was one cold sonofabitch.
And that was just the background.
Jay's chest got tight as he read that Kala had been held for almost a week, her arm broken on the first day, and that Luthor had let his employees threaten her to try and gain her compliance faster. Some 'smartest man alive', that was the worst thing he could've done. A girl like Kala would fight to the death rather than be intimidated. Luthor had wanted her to decipher some Kryptonian crystals. He needed Kala because his other Kryptonian code-cracker, General Zod, wasn't getting results.
Kala had allied herself with Zod against Luthor. For which Jay could only be thankful, despite how much it chilled him. Zod was the Supers' own version of … well, Ra's al Ghul, he supposed. Scary powerful, scary knowledgeable, scary genocidal megalomaniac, in the world-ending type of crazy way. As dangerous as it got, and Kala had taken his side. And still, that was better than helping Luthor get his hands on Kryptonian weapons.
Everything had gone to hell for Luthor, though. He'd only almost killed Lois Lane; the intrepid reporter was still alive and kicking ass and taking names to this day. And rather than be distracted by yet another attack on her, Superman and Superboy had gone straight to Luthor's lair to save Kala.
There was a note there, linking to another document, something that mentioned Empress. Jay left that alone, instead reading how it had all ended, how Zod and Superman had been fighting each other when Luthor moved to kill them all, and how Kala had beaten Luthor to the kryptonite gun.
She'd killed General Zod with it. Luthor had run for it, setting the facility to self-destruct. Kala had barely escaped with her life. Jay shivered; it was too close. Luthor had rigged the whole place to blow, just like Joker had with him.
He clicked over to the Empress document, and the real chills started.
…
In the dressing room, Kala went over her last-minute checks. Her makeup was fine, the first of four outfits was correct, her boots were laced. She took a deep breath, checking the corset – it still let her breathe, but it was tight enough not to slip. The last thing she needed was a wardrobe malfunction; there was such a thing as too much exposure, at least when it came to skin.
The stylists and sound techs had been buzzing around her, but for a few brief moments she was alone, able to breathe and get her mind right. Kala hummed scales, warming up her voice, and listened to the stage.
The opening band was local, and pretty good. They had the crowd warmed up nicely, and Kala could feel the tension rising out there. It was the right kind of tension, an energetic connection that spun up and up and up, until the moment when she and the band stepped onto the stage. From the moment the spotlights hit them, the show was on, and they lived for the rush.
They'd come so far now, from playing clubs and opening for other bands, to a couple good tours, and now this, with venues selling out left and right. The first two shows had been in Metropolis, and they'd both sold out, packed houses and plenty of backstage passes, even news coverage. Kala had been in her parents' newspaper, first page in the Arts and Entertainment section, one of the proudest moments of her life.
She looked at her reflection and took another deep breath. Utterly insane to think that a little more than a week ago she'd been waiting in the shadows for a very different kind of cue, the Blur on the hunt with the Bats. Kala shook her head. She was lucky – and probably a little crazy – to have both kinds of adrenaline rush, seizing a crowd with her voice and taking down bad guys with superpowers. She wanted both lives, rockstar and hero, KLK and Kala Kal-El, and from where she stood at the moment, the only way to make it all work seemed to be giving up on ever getting a full night's sleep again.
"So worth it," she murmured, and let the Blur's newfound fierceness blaze in her heavily-lined eyes.
Sebast came in, without knocking as usual, just as keyed up as she was. "C'mon, querida, they're gonna be calling our names in a minute," he said, catching her hand. "You can preen at your reflection later."
"That's you, you vain Goth peacock," Kala laughed, but she ran with him to the green room, where the boys were already waiting.
Just outside that door, Sebast pulled her close, hugging her tight. "Sooner or later you're gonna tell me what the hell is on your mind, mi Kala," he whispered. She looked at him, confused, but there was no time left, and Morgan opened the green room door to pull them both in.
Every band had their own warm-up routine, for the last few minutes before a show. Kala's pack of heathens were practically bouncing in place, itching to get out there and do their thing. She and Sebast walked in on Ned with Robb in a headlock, both of them laughing like loons. Derek, who was in the room with them and would give the countdown to head onstage, just looked at both of them in dismay.
"You see what I put up with?" Morgan laughed, his eyes bright.
"You love it," Sebast chortled, and lunged at him. That broke Robb and Ned apart, and for a moment they all chased Morgan around the room, climbing over furniture in their carousing. Kala took a certain amount of snide pleasure in Derek's horror as she ran across the back of a sturdy couch set against the wall.
Morgan grabbed a water bottle and mimed throwing it at Sebast, who squeaked, "Nooooo, I'm melting, I'm melting," like the Wicked Witch of the West, and all of them burst into laughter.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kala drew the comparison between the summer and tonight. The feeling was the same, linked up with a group of disparate personalities and talents, united by a common goal. They goofed around and teased each other before heading out to do what they did best, because a little levity went a long way to keeping them sane in a business that was by definition kind of crazy.
And when the moment came, when Derek at the door got the nod from the venue manager and told them it was go time, the five of them moved as one, Kala taking point. Here, Sebast was beside her, and it was an amphitheater full of screaming fans instead of a warehouse full of armed goons, but her heart thundered to the challenge just the same.
Even her lingering doubts – Jay's reaction to her dark side, Sebast's unnerving fixation on some change in her since the summer – disappeared as the spotlights hit. The rush was as strong as sunlight, and Kala threw her arms out, basking in it, as thousands of people screamed her name.
Her initials, really, a thundering chant of "KLK! KLK!" seeming to rock the whole enormous building, and oh it was vain to love this, but she couldn't deny it. Kala stepped up to the microphone, and it was still the same dizzying thrill as the very first time in that coffeehouse. She looked out at the packed house and called to them, "Hello, Boston!"
The roar that answered was wordless, but it rang in her blood as Sebast echoed her and did the intro. They swung right into the first song of the set, a duet that showcased both their voices, and she let the song rise up through her, carried on the current the crowd was putting out. This was everything she'd ever wanted…
… the only problem was, she had a completely different costume locked up in a hidden compartment of her suitcase back on the van, and that too was everything she'd ever wanted. But with the music pulsing in her veins and the crowd cheering her name, Kala gave herself over to the part of herself that wanted this dream the most.
…
Jay wondered if Babs had a psych profile like this on him, too. He kind of hoped not, fucked up as he was, but she was too thorough not to have one. If he asked, would she let him read it? Or would that be too much of a head trip? He shoved all of that to the back of his mind and just read the file in front of him.
Codename Empress
AKA Kala Kal-El
Background: The Blur displays a form of complex post-traumatic stress disorder that manifests in a dissociated personality state. (NOTE: Comparisons to purely human psychology must be made carefully, as she is half Kryptonian and their psychology is unknown, though comparable to human. Her psychiatrist, from whose notes this protocol was drawn, was unaware he was treating a hybrid and classed her under purely human terms.) Probable cause of her C-PTSD is related to trauma, captivity, and mental manipulation by General Zod. Result is the Empress, an alternate personality who defends herself ruthlessly, and will use lethal measures. This ego state may have begun with her imprisonment on Luthor's kryptonite island, and being thrown into the open ocean by same, at the age of six. It did not fully manifest until her captivity at sixteen, and was actively encouraged and shaped by Zod.
Blur is the dominant personality, in control most of the time and in all normal civilian interactions. Her alternate ego state is mostly submerged, surfacing only in times of great danger and stress, typically when Blur's life is threatened.
They are fundamentally the same person, unlike typical dissociative identity disorder. They are the same age, display mostly the same personality. They share a sense of self but their behavior and reactions are distinct. Empress is more aggressive, more reactive, more imperious, and more disdainful. Blur is aware of this personality and remembers what she has done as the Empress. The Empress is equally aware of her and what Blur has done. Blur views Empress as a monster to keep subjugated; Empress views Blur as a child who must be protected.
Manifestation: Blur reports that she 'hears' the Empress in her mind occasionally when under stress. This is not a symptom of schizophrenia, she is aware that the voice is internal and illusory. Internal voices are often reported with PTSD and DID, and given that the Empress is her 'survivor' personality state, this internal voice is not a particularly worrisome symptom. (Note: Most neurotypical asymptomatic people do report internal voices to some degree, often of conscience, as the common reports of 'my better instincts told me' or 'the angel on my shoulder says'. Other people report internal voices related to survival which are typically attributed to a 'guardian angel', for example a voice saying 'don't go down that alley' and learning later that someone was killed there that night.) Vocal manifestation of the Empress should be of minimal concern, and Blur likely will not self-report unless an observer notes a 'listening' expression on her face.
Any situation in which Blur's life is seriously threatened could wake the Empress personality and cause her to take control. Particularly in response to green kryptonite radiation, which she has suffered before and which almost killed her during her last exposure.
Attempting to directly address the Empress does not elicit a manifestation; this makes Blur extremely uncomfortable, however, because she actively suppresses that ego state. However, given the history of hypnosis used to elicit and explore DID alters, where that therapy seems to increase the strength and number of alter egos, hypnosis of any kind is counter-indicated for Blur. Let sleeping dogs lie.
Behavioral notes: Empress always uses formal phrasing in English, and prefers Kryptonese. Her posture and body language are much more rigid and 'correct'. She takes offense to the use of her given name and insists on being addressed as Kala Kal-El – which is her proper name under Kryptonian convention. She thinks and behaves more like a pure Kryptonian than the hybrid she is, and in fact has a noticeable Kryptonopolis accent in her Kryptonese. She speaks of her dominant personality as 'the child' or 'the girl'.
When presented with a threat to her life, the Empress will react to neutralize it by whatever means necessary, including lethal force. Given her powers, of which she is very much aware, this can result in an enemy's death before any intervention can reach her. She is extremely aggressive and treats any intervention as a threat to herself. DO NOT ENGAGE.
Repeat, DO NOT ENGAGE. Empress is particularly sensitive to betrayal and will not spare former allies who appear to turn against her.
Strike notes: The Empress personality will fold on confrontation with her father, Superman. Kryptonian society is highly patriarchal, and her human side also has a strong attachment to him. A typical Kryptonian will not betray his or her father even in extreme circumstances, and Empress is no different in that regard. Empress may also collapse back into Blur once the threat is eliminated.
If she remains in control or Superman cannot be summoned, she MUST be brought down. Blue kryptonite and tranquilizers at double the human dosage are the recommended protocol. Green kryptonite will further enrage her, DO NOT USE GREEN KRYPTONITE.
Jay sat back, staring at the screen. After a while, he managed to say out loud, "Jesus fuck," but it had none of his usual venom.
No wonder Bruce had let him train her. What Kala needed most was a damn good handle on this shit, and who better to poke and prod her into refining her control than the ex-dead Robin? Thank fuck she'd understood that he wasn't beating on her just to be an asshole; Kala would've turned on him if she thought he was really trying to hurt her.
The voice of self-preservation in the back of his mind spoke up then, and asked him if he really wanted to pursue … whatever this was between him and Kala? Considering that she could probably bring his whole apartment building down in the middle of a bad flashback. Hell, at least the worst he'd ever actually done with his demons riding on his shoulders had been killing drug dealers and pimps. Kala could do so much more … a chill ran down Jay's back at the thought.
Problem was, he couldn't decide how much of it was trepidation, and how much was arousal. Yeah, he was one fucked-up puppy all right. He told self-preservation to get lost; Kala hadn't thrown him into the sun or anything yet, and he'd given her plenty of reason. Most likely she wouldn't. And even if she did, it'd at least be a change from getting beaten half to death and blown up.
He picked up his phone and called Babs. "Okay, I'm not mad about the cameras anymore," he told her. "Not that it would've done much good if she decided to toast me."
"She's more like you than you thought," Babs said, sidestepping neatly. "Both of you are so determined not to fail because you were both scared teenagers backed into a corner and forced to survive any way you could. I only agreed to let you train her because I knew you could be professional about it. And I agreed to keep this from you while you trained her because, if you didn't really believe how lethal she can be, you'd try to call it up and play with it. And the less we see of the Empress, the better."
"I might have to argue that," Jay said thoughtfully. "Why Empress, anyway?"
"It's what Kala calls her," Babs told him. "She's regal enough, isn't she?"
"Hot damn yes," Jay replied, and scowled. The eagerness in his own voice was way too telling. "Okay, you're right, if I'd known from the start I would want to play with it. Jesus fuck, Babs, she's the sunniest person I know, barring maybe Steph – and that's a big maybe. And she's got a dark side scarier than mine."
"Your dark side is pretty scary," Babs admitted. "Don't bring this up to her. She's deeply ashamed of it."
"Shit, she's got no reason to be," Jay scoffed.
"Don't be too sure," Babs warned. "She is one of the sunniest people we know. She takes her legacy very seriously. And she wants very badly to be the daughter her father wants her to be – the one he believes her to be. She wants to be good, Jay."
"She is," he protested, and never mind the chill up his neck every time he remembered those wrathful eyes turned toward him. "The blackest part of her crawled up out of its cage and all it wanted was to defend my fucked-up ass. She'd kill the Clown for me, Babs."
"I know. She said as much, when I told her what happened to me. If we're not careful, Bruce is going to be very upset with her." And there was no regret in Babs' voice there, either. "She thinks it's vengeance, but it's protectiveness. She cares about you and me – probably slightly more for you, considering – and she'd crush him like a cockroach to keep him from hurting either of us again."
"Should've let her see the fuckin' drill that Black Mask left on his desk for me and Timmy, she'd flatten him too," Jay grunted.
"Yes, she would," Babs replied patiently. "And where would she stop? Two-Face? Penguin? Riddler? Could she stop? And what would it do to our rogues in Gotham, if all of a sudden they started dropping dead with laser-bored holes in their foreheads and no warning at all? Do you have any idea the scale of retribution we'd face?"
Like Jay didn't know the current game of masks and capes was an ever-escalating arms race. Bruce had rules, the bad guys didn't, so when he dropped them in the hospital, they tried to put his kids in the morgue. If Kala wiped out all of their bad guys, the next round would be much worse.
Babs was still talking. "Not to mention, what would it do to her? When she came out of it and had to face her father with God knows how many deaths on her hands? Don't think it matters to her that they're killers; against her, they'd be almost defenseless. You think you were bad, Jay, her kind can kill so easily that half their training is learning not to kill. She could break necks with a slap. Worse, if she gets angry enough, what happens when someone like Catwoman gets in her way?"
He shivered then, thinking about how close he'd come to killing people who didn't by any stretch of the imagination deserve it. With Lazarus green flaring in the corners of his vision, he'd only wanted to kill and destroy until he silenced all the voices inside and out that doubted and feared him. Jay had never murdered an innocent … and he knew that was partly luck. "Okay, yeah, I'm properly scared," he said.
"Never mind any of the legal or public relations ramifications of a Super turning killer," Babs continued. "Never mind that if our justice system wasn't fundamentally flawed here in Gotham, we wouldn't have to deal with these people back on the street after a short rest in Arkham. Let's just look at what it means for us. It would break Kala, to kill just one innocent. Just one gray-area. It would stain her soul to kill another villain, but to go that far? It would break her, and Jay … if she breaks, it's either over, or she goes full-time Empress. And then we all have to fight her. Her father could stop her … but could he make himself? Don't get me wrong, he loves his son, those two are cut from the same cloth, but Kala's his brave baby girl. That's the little girl he never imagined and fell head over heels for, the moment he met her. That's the one who reminds him so much of the love of his life."
"Jesus fuck in a sidecar," Jay muttered. "Babs, seriously. I get it. Let's not go all post-apocalyptic and destroy the Supers along the way, okay? It's not gonna be that damn bad."
"Let's not destroy the Bats, either," Babs said, with curious gentleness. "We almost did, losing you. And no one wants to lose you again. No one wants to lose her, either. Symbol or not, she's Gotham's now."
"Well I ain't lettin' her go crazy or anything," Jay said. "Just … if she wants to kill the Clown, I'm helping her, not stopping her. If I can't do it first. I don't give a shit for anybody's philosophy, that fucker as good as killed me. If anybody has the right to revenge, it's me, and I'll put him down without a second thought."
"Did I disagree with you?" Babs asked. "If there's anyone Kala could forgive herself for – anyone her father can forgive her for – it's Joker. Bruce can't, but we both know Bruce is leaning way too far over that abyss."
Jay scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, he can't kill one because he'd never quit. It's true that killing gets easier the more of it you do, too easy. I'd know. But they're not fucking Pringles, once you pop you can stop. Seriously, Babs, I don't see a psych profile about his goddamn PTSD."
"You think he doesn't have it, too?" Babs said. "News flash, Jay, pretty much all of us are textbook C-PTSD cases. Sane people only become superheroes if they're metahuman. Kala and I might be the only ones with an official diagnosis, but that's because we're the only ones who actually went to therapy instead of just sublimating our issues under a layer of other people's blood."
"Ouch," Jay said, hoping she'd take a hint. He was not going to therapy, fuck that.
"While we're on the topic, haven't you noticed that Bruce and the Bat aren't quite the same?" Babs continued. "You're you, in the mask or out of it. Just as sarcastic in uniform, just as defensive in plainclothes. I really, really wonder about Bruce, sometimes. And why he has that ugly Mayan statue in the trophy room."
"It's because it's a bat," Jay scoffed. "A really ugly, really creepy bat. He started the whole Batman thing because he was scared of bats and wanted to be scary, right? So he keeps that creepy shit around to get in the mood. It's ambiance."
She laughed. "You know Bruce delves deeper into symbolism than that. The statue happens to be Camazotz, a Mayan god associated with death and the night. The name literally means 'the death bat'. If Bruce is meditating on anything that gruesome, I have to wonder just how divided he is."
Jay just snorted. "Okay, yeah, he's no better off than me. But we all know that Bruce is just a front. The whole playboy thing is a cover."
"No, sometimes I think Bruce – the real Bruce – is still standing in that alley watching his parents fall," Babs said, softly. "Everything since then has been the Bat, and the Bat pretending to be Bruce."
"This is why you're not a shrink," Jay told her. "All your patients would off themselves. Fucking cheer up, Babs, it doesn't have to be that dramatic. Bruce found a shtick that worked really, really well. And if he has to tell himself he's two people, fine. We all lie to ourselves to get along."
"Really? What lies are you telling yourself, then?" Babs asked curiously.
"That the nosy redhead really has everyone's best interests at heart, and isn't just a major control freak who has to have her fingers in every pie in Gotham?" Jay shot back.
She paused, and he heard faint laughter behind her. "No comments from the peanut gallery, Songbird," Babs scolded, and Jay snorted. "I do have everyone's best interests at heart. If you doubt that, I'll have to send more cookies."
He sneered, but couldn't make a sarcastic reply. The changes in his life over the last six months or so, from running solo and always checking over his shoulder for Bats, to living in the Manor whenever he pleased, working with the people he really did want to trust, were too obvious to ignore. Jay liked his independence, but he didn't feel shackled to Bruce and the gang these days. He was welcome here, and still allowed to do his own thing.
Bruce had been willing to let him come home, and completely unable to communicate that. Babs was right about that, Bruce probably was the most mentally fucked-up of all of them. So it had been Babs who made the first move, who offered to include him, no strings attached. He could be pissed about the fact that she'd known he'd eventually get himself tangled up all on his own … or he could just accept that she'd done it because she cared enough about him to do something, for fuck's sake.
Jay sighed. Babs had always cared. He'd only worked with her a couple times, Robin to her Batgirl, but she'd always seemed to see him. Not Dick 2.0, not a soldier, not a failure. She saw Jay, and liked him well enough to tease him a little bit, about his smoking and other safe bullshit. The only other person in his life who'd seen him so clearly had been Alfred.
And now, maybe, Kala. Which Babs had given him a big damn window into who Kala was, with this profile. It was enough to put the hair up on the back of his neck, but also make him clench his fists with wanting to hang on to her. Kala was good, dammit, even with something like this in the back of her mind, she was … something a little too good to be true. Not afraid to get down and fight in the dirtiest of Gotham's gutters, but somehow she always washed off clean again. Some part of her was beyond being touched by the filth in this city.
He'd thought she was too clean, too innocent, to cope. And he'd been wrong. She was made of sunlight, and you could hide light or fracture it, but you couldn't darken it. By definition, light was light, immutable, untarnished. He and Gotham badly needed a little light now and then.
All of that, and she'd trusted him too, fallen asleep on his shoulder in the library. Even after his dear brothers had tried to warn her about getting too close to him, even after he'd beaten the crap out of her in training. Kala trusted him, she liked him, and he could've sworn there was a lot more than friendship in that.
But then, she hadn't called him back. And he hadn't even seen her for the debrief after this with Joker. He couldn't let that go … but he couldn't forget the way she'd stood up for him, either. Despite kryptonite and injury, her reaction to Joker's taunts had been to get between them and demand silence. Willing to back it up with murder.
"I can hear the gears grinding in your head," Babs said softly.
"Is she okay?" Jay asked. "K rode off with your crew, and I haven't heard from her. Well, last night she asked me if I was okay. By text."
"Probably because she got word that her band was coming back early while she was in the middle of talking to me and B," Babs said. "I doubt she had more than a few seconds to text you, even with her speed. As for okay … she was worried that B or I would be mad at her. I'm not; I knew what she was before she came here. And I saw the Empress, at least a flash of her, before you ever started training her."
"If B tried reading her the riot act, I'll kick his teeth in," Jay growled. "Someone needs to tell his high-and-mighty Bat-ass off once in a while."
"Very much agreed," Babs said with a chuckle. "K's benched for now, given the kryptonite exposure. We'll recheck with her when she gets a chance."
Jay sighed noisily. "Fine. I guess I'm benched for a couple days too. This cut isn't as bad as I thought, but the venom still sucks."
"If you have the patience, you could swing by the Tower and see me," Babs said. "I've always wanted to know just how much hacking you learned while you were out there traveling the world."
That got a laugh from him. "Betcha fifty bucks I can get into Daddy Bats' bank account."
Babs chuckled back. "I won't take that. But I've got something better: the servers at Guyot-Perrin. Wayne Enterprises' representative could use the competitive edge."
"Industrial espionage? Thought that was beneath you," Jay shot back. "D'ya really think we should fuck around with something the Demon wants bad enough for Talia to fly to Gotham just to warn Bruce off?"
"I think the fact that they want it so much is an excellent reason to keep them from getting it," Babs replied. "Besides, Guyot-Perrin is adapting Kryptonian solar tech, and that interests me for its own sake. Who knows, it could be fun."
"For being so goddamn serious all the time, you always were," Jay joked back, and was surprised to realize it was true.
"I'll make sure to be as much of a boring librarian as I can be, then, just to annoy you," she replied. "Besides, I need to pick your brain a little for something that's coming up in a few days."
At first he didn't understand. And when he did, Jay groaned. "Oh come on, let's not be like … like lame-ass coworkers about it."
"How about being like family about it?" she asked, and he hung up on her.
