One dead cop, two dead security guards, and a catatonic nurse left in his wake, Joker sauntered into his latest hideout. Armed, of course; he'd looted every kill, and was ready for whatever reception he might get. The boys might be glad to see him, or they might have decided to grow half a brain cell and try running things on their own.
The beauty of it was, whichever option turned out to be true didn't matter, because his men didn't matter. They were all just bit players on the grand stage of life, and no matter how many he lost or killed, there were always more to take the place of the fallen. Joker only kept a handful of really important help, the kind he'd actually hesitate to throw in front of an oncoming car. Even those were expendable under the right circumstances.
He banged the door open on his way in, calling out, "Honey, I'm home!" in his most cheerful voice. Never mind that his right side was still a little slower and weaker than his left, or that his gait still dragged slightly. He was on the road to recovery, he'd be fine, especially with more opportunity for physical therapy out in the real world again. Rapid healing was part of the deal, as was perfect recovery.
Honestly, he would've guessed that most of his guys had fled. So it was slightly a surprise to hear chairs scraping back, and hurried footsteps coming his way. Joker didn't rush to meet them, making a show of checking his reflection in a cracked mirror hung up in the foyer.
That gave the men time to decide on their approach. They hesitated in the hall, shuffling and muttering, and Joker sighed as he raked his hair back into something like order. He watched their reflections without appearing to notice them, and when none made a move, he turned sharply toward them. "Hello, boys!" Joker called out, loud enough to make them flinch. "Did you miss me?"
"No," one man said, and Joker wished he could remember the guy's name. Or anything about him, anything that would make this spark of defiance feel personal or meaningful. Because the man was about to die, and he might as well have some kind of victory before he shuffled out of existence. Too bad, the guy was just another walk-on role, and he tried to square up now with false bravado. "You're done, Joker. You've been slipping since the Red Hood showed back up, and now you let Harley kick your ass? You should've stayed in the hospital."
Joker sighed, tilting his head back, and spoke as if to the ceiling. "Philistines. Is there no one left who appreciates a three-act structure? The inevitable reduction in circumstances before the protagonist makes his triumph return? Even something so basic as dramatic timing?" He took an easy step forward, looking right at the fool who challenged him, and smiled as only he could. "What would be the fun if I could win every round? Harley gets her moment to shine … and she pays for it. That's how this story goes."
The guy didn't take the hint. Which was more satisfying, honestly. He doubled down, stepping forward. "You make everyone think you're some kind of … next-level crazy genius, like you've blasted past all of society's rules into some kind of clarity only madmen see. You're just another nut. And getting trashed by Harley Quinn? Just proves you never had it in the first place, Joker. You just got lucky."
Joker shook his head slowly, tsking in disappointment. "No, no, you don't understand. Harley can't make a move against me. I own her. I made her. She cannot exist separate from my fundamental will. Did not God make the angels, and make Lucifer rebellious in the first place? Even that great iconoclast serves his place in his maker's plan."
As usual, the reference went over their heads. Joker didn't mind, really. Religious fervor was out of fashion these days. It was still a really amusing analogy. Instead of considering it, the guy just pulled a gun, aiming it straight at Joker. "You're delusional. It's time you retired. Permanently."
He'd seen this all before. The desperate screwed-together courage, the fierce revolt, the threat. Joker knew what none of them did: threats were theater. If you really meant to kill someone, it was better to just do it.
So he stepped closer, smiling, his eyes alight. "Go on, do it," Joker said, his voice dropping into a chant. "Do it, do it, do it, just pull the trigger, come on and do it…"
The utter lack of fear always gave them pause. Like they still expected him to abide by the conventional wisdom that a gun to one's forehead should be scary. Why should it be? When he stepped into it, when he laughed with a weapon aimed right between his eyes, he became the most frightening thing in the room. Not the gun, or the coward pointing it.
The guy's mouth tightened to a firm, flat line, and he pulled the trigger.
Oh, so not a coward after all. Good to know.
The dry little click of the firing pin hitting the cartridge, and nothing else happening, made all of them look dumbly at the gun. Joker, however, whooped with delight.
He snatched the gun, still laughing so hard it hurt his ribs. "That was fun! Hey, you wanna see a good trick?"
Most of them had guns. They were all just too stunned by this turn of events to reach for them. Joker had all the time in the world to pop the magazine, rack the slide, and catch the ejected un-fired round in midair. Then while they all watched as blank-eyed as feedlot cattle, he put the same round back in the magazine, slapped it home, and racked the slide again to cock the gun. On the same bullet that had just misfired.
Some of them probably saw this coming. Joker grabbed the guy who'd tried to shoot him by the shirt, grinned gleefully, and asked, "Do you feel lucky?"
He didn't wait for an answer, pressing the muzzle of the pistol right between the guy's eyes and pulling the trigger.
The gunshot echoed in the small foyer, making everyone's ears ring, and men standing behind the unfortunate would-be shooter got painted with blood and brains. Joker let the body fall, and glared at all of them, his smile so broad it felt like the corners of his mouth might meet behind his head. "Who's next?"
As one creature, the men stepped back. This was not merely fear, Joker knew.
It was awe.
…
Kala had gotten Jay back to the Manor and settled in his bed there with a minimum of fuss. Everyone was on high alert due to Joker's breakout, and it seemed like they all assumed she was bringing Jay over both to keep an eye on him, and to consolidate everyone under one roof. No one needed to know that he'd had a nightmare and a panic attack.
Just like her own panic attacks, Jay was exhausted afterward, and he'd yawned through a shower even with Kala washing his hair for him. At first he'd been reluctant to go back to bed; whatever nightmare he'd woken from had to be a terrible one. Kala could only convince him to lay down by curling herself around him. Jay fell asleep at last with his head pressed against her chest, his arms around her waist, and his legs tangled with hers.
Somewhere back in the darkest recesses of her mind, the Empress wondered how best to find Joker. Jay would eventually forgive her for stealing 'his' kill; it needed to be done.
The rest of her was chilled by those thoughts. And yet, she couldn't disagree with them. Watching Jay – brave, reckless, impossible Jay, who'd been broken and who stitched himself back together with a defiant grin – watching him fall apart in a panic attack left a coal of rage burning in her chest. If she could catch Joker alone somewhere without any witnesses or cameras…
She'd fallen asleep, too. Eventually. Kala held him tight all night long.
The morning sunrise didn't wake her, but she'd been asleep when Babs called and had skipped three hours ahead, so her body clock was completely messed up. At least there was an old alarm clock on the shelf in Jay's room, that she'd been able to set to wake her. The tour was rolling out today, and it was her responsibility to get everyone on the bus in time.
The brisk ringing woke Jay too, and he swatted at the clock grumpily. "Hush, Jay, I'll get it," Kala murmured, pulling it away from his reach and silencing it.
"Kala?" he murmured, then blinked, trying to sit up. "God, K, I had the worst nightmare…"
That brought back the memory of his haunted eyes when she'd first found him last night and Kala's need to find that fucking clown flared to life again. As much as she had hated the madman before, whatever Jay had seen just made the need to end Joker's miserable existence burn stronger. "I know, I came and woke you up from it," she reminded him, kissing his tousled hair. "It's all right, Jay. There haven't been any sightings yet. Everyone's on alert. Everything's fine."
Jay sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist to tug her close. "It's not fine. Joker's out. You told me. He's gotta be real pissed about this with Harley. We'll be lucky if the miserable fuck doesn't burn the whole city down looking for her."
It hurt her heart to see how deeply this was effecting him and she felt so damn helpless like this. "We'll deal with him when we come to that," Kala promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead, wishing her feelings for him could lessen any of this. "And note that I said we."
"Duly noted," Jay told her with a half-sleepy smile. And then he looked up at her, his eyes turning serious. "K … last night."
Talking about what he'd seen might throw him further off-balance and she couldn't bear to see that. Better to remind him he wasn't alone, ever. "It's all right, Jay," she promised him. "I've got your back, always."
"I know. I just … I'm not used to anyone being there for me. Like that." His blue eyes were troubled, his mouth set in a firm line.
Kala settled for the moment, regarding him seriously. "You all right with that?"
"Fuck yeah," he said with a startled laugh. "I just… What the fuck are you doing with me, Kala? I'm only about halfway back from crazy. And Jesus fuck, you're damn near perfect."
She couldn't help laughing at that. "No, Jay, that's the furthest thing from the truth. Don't be naïve. I've got my share of broken parts, too. You led me out of the dark and taught me to get a handle on my deepest shadows. Talking you down from a nightmare is nothing compared to that."
"It's not nothing," he told her, his voice turning solemn. "How many people you think could even get close to me when I'm like that? I learned real young, the best defense is a good offense. Anyone but you or maybe Alfred would've gotten stabbed last night."
She carded her fingers through his hair, knowing the nightmare had to have been terrible to still haunt him like this. His eyes were almost bruised-looking, something lost and hurt flickering in their depths. "Well, I'm lucky you knew it was me. And I know it was just a dream, but I'd like to beat the shit outta whatever was in your nightmare."
For some reason, Jay laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Nah, wouldn't work. It's fine. I'll be fine. Thanks to you."
"You had it, Jaybird, you would've been fine anyway. I just helped you get there faster," Kala replied.
"Good, because panic attacks fucking suck." He scowled as he said it, and Kala kissed his forehead. Jay leaned into it, and then sighed. "You gotta get back to the tour. I know that. I don't like it, but I know it."
Kala groaned, leaning against him. "I don't want to." In that moment, she really didn't. All she wanted was to be with Jay. He wouldn't appreciate her getting clingy, or overprotective, but she hated the idea of leaving his side.
Jay leaned back, looking at her seriously. "K, you gotta go. The label's hanging all this shit on you. You gotta be the manager."
"The boys know that. They'll have it together. I just have to be back in time to shower and dress and get on the bus." The protest sounded weak to Kala's own ears; she knew it was more involved than that.
He shook his head, and smacked her butt. "Yeah, right. You talk about those guys enough, I'll be surprised if they're not running fifteen minutes late. Go on, Supergirl. It's only a few more shows, then you can come crash here for Christmas."
Smiling, Kala said, "Someone clued you in?"
"Yup. You're invited. Frankly, I need you around for sanity. Dick's gonna lose his goddamn mind and try to make me wear a fuckin' Christmas sweater or some shit." Jay managed a smile at that thought.
Kala couldn't help remembering her own comment to Jason. "Are you okay with that? Not the sweater, me. I know better than the sweater."
"Yeah, Kala, I'm fine with you being here. You can toast marshmallows with your eyes and stuff. Alfred'll love that. Shit, I might even smile about the stupid fucking sweaters, if you're wearing one – and nothing else." His hand on her hip gave a suggestive squeeze.
She rolled her eyes, but the suggestive remark at least signaled a return to normal operations in Jay's mind. "If you're lucky, I might make that happen," Kala told him, grinning. "You've seen the Halloween novelty panties. I've got Christmas ones, too."
Jay laughed, and pushed at her. "Come on. Snowflakes? Candy cane stripes? Prancing reindeer across your butt? This I gotta see – but not right now."
A little something to look forward to couldn't hurt. "I have one pair that says 'Sleighin' It' across the back. And another that just says 'Naughty'."
"Terrible puns. You know the Robin in me likes that," Jay replied, a teasing glint in his eye.
Kala leaned forward, and kissed him again, whispering against his mouth, "I also have a pair with no words. Just a bunch of mistletoe – on the front."
Jay's hands tightened on her hips, and he kissed her harder before pulling back to growl, "Get the hell outta here, you tease, before I make you late." He was grinning as he said it though, and that was worth being distracted as she left. Kala kissed him one last time, and then used super-speed to get out the window. It felt really weird flying by day in her pajamas, now that she wasn't breaking records in her urgency to get to Jay.
Kala flew back in her window, closing and locking it behind her, then checked her phone. Just social media alerts, no messages or calls she had to worry about, and she hurried to get showered. It would only take her seconds to pack, with her speed, but she wanted time for breakfast since she hadn't eaten at the Manor.
Eating wasn't the only thing she'd wanted to do this morning at the Manor, and Kala paused while getting dressed, feeling reckless. She told herself it was a good way to make Jay feel better, and not just a thrill to chase away her own worries from last night. Whatever the reason, Kala snapped a quick selfie in just her bra and panties – nothing too scandalous, all the important bits were covered, and she kept her face out of frame so it'd never be identifiable – and sent it to Jay. Sorry they're not Christmas-themed, she typed.
The phone chirped just as she tugged a t-shirt over her head, and she opened it to see a similar shot of Jay, shirtless, every muscle defined, his boxers tugged low enough for Kala's imagination to wander. He was just as sensitive to the potential for identity-revealing photos as she was, so he'd kept his face out of the shot – except for his wicked smile. Still lifted my spirits. Among other things. Get to work, K.
With that view, who could focus on work? Smiling, Kala reached for her boots.
And stopped, realizing what she couldn't hear from the rooms beside her and across the hall. The showers weren't running in the boys' rooms, she didn't hear rustling fabric as clothes were put on or packed up, and she didn't hear any conversation either. For just one moment, Kala allowed herself to hope that they'd all gotten up early like responsible adults and gone down to breakfast without her.
Then she heard the snoring.
Barefoot – because she had to wake them up before she could finish getting herself ready – Kala stormed out of her room. Ned and Morgan were next door, and she slipped her room key into their reader, barely waiting for it to light up green before she shoved the door open. She always put the extra locks on at night, but the guys often forgot, and today was no exception. The TV was on low, there were pizza boxes sitting out on the table, and both of the room's beds had a snoring shape under the covers. Kala glared, then picked up the remote and flipped through the TV channels until she found an infomercial that looked loud.
Then she cranked the sound as high as it would go, and suddenly a man's voice boomed out of the screen, trying to sell something for three payments of $19.99.
Morgan gave a high-pitched scream and tried to leap up, tangling in the blankets and falling out of the bed. Ned bellowed "Fuck!" and sat straight up, flailing at his own pillow. Both of them looked utterly shocked to see Kala standing in their room even as the infomercial guy shouted about the lifetime warranty.
She pushed the mute button almost hard enough to break it, and glared at both of them. "¡Àndale, motherfuckers! We have to be on the bus in an hour, get up, get dressed, get packed! I am not gonna get sued by our corporate overlords because no one else in this goddamn band knows how to set a fucking alarm!"
Morgan stared at her, his hair sticking up wildly. Ned, however, glared right back at her. "Good morning to you, too, Derek."
"Fuck you," Kala shot back, the words ripped out of her mouth with no consideration, no joking tone to soften them. She was angry, she'd spent the last night worrying about the goddamn Joker, and these assholes couldn't even do their jobs? And then wanted to give her some sarcastic bullshit like that? Fine, if Ned could dish it out, let him take it, too. "Derek was all up in our faces because he was a fuckin' Border Collie in a previous life. I just want you to get on the goddamn bus before we're all in breach of contract. It's my ass on the line, Ned. I will fucking drag you down there and load you in with the luggage, so help me. You know I can do it."
"Jesus, Kala, it's all of our asses on the line," Morgan cut in. "When you threw down with the label, we backed you up!"
"So fucking act like it!" she shouted, and turned the volume back on, throwing the remote at the sofa.
With that, she stormed out of the room and across the hall. Robb's room didn't have the chain on, either, and Kala walked right in, already angry enough to yell, "Rise and shine, Robb! We're gonna be late if you don't get your ass in gear right now!"
The yelp that answered was suspiciously high, even more so than Morgan's, but Kala didn't care. She picked up one of the sofa cushions and threw it against the form huddled under the duvet. "I said get up! We should've been up half an hour ago, you are not making us late!"
"Kala, wait!" Robb yipped, but she'd already grabbed the duvet and snatched it off the bed in one swift jerk.
Which meant she saw a lot more than she'd expected. Apparently Jennifer had stayed over last night; the blonde grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to cover herself, blushing furiously, as Robb tried to do the same. Kala rolled her eyes. "Ugh, dammit, both of you move. We've got to go."
"I'm so sorry," Jennifer tried to say, and Kala cut her off.
"I don't care!" Kala told her, frustrated, and saw her face fall. This wasn't her fault, she wasn't the one breaching contract, so Kala softened. A little. "No, wait, I do care, and I'm happy for you. But I don't care because we need to fucking leave. C'mon, Jennifer, yours are not the first breasts I've seen. Let's get rolling!"
"Kala!" Robb hissed at her, scandalized.
"Robb. If you make me late, I'll kick your ass the entire way to the venue. Get dressed. And you damn well better; set an alarm and schedule a wake-up call next time. Fuck, I hate being the grownup." With that she stomped back to her room to finish dressing and put on her makeup.
They all stumbled downstairs, dragging their luggage and looking like they'd gotten dressed in a hurry, just in time to board the tour bus. Kala was waiting for them, sitting up front in what had been Derek's usual seat, and she ignored Ned's glower and Robb's wince. Morgan, though, stopped beside her. "All right, I'll say it. We're on time – but we wouldn't have been if you hadn't woken us up, Kala."
"Thank you," she said, unable to keep the frost from her voice. It had been a long, stressful night, and this morning hadn't made anything better. At least, not the part of the morning since she left Gotham.
She turned to look at them – her boys, her band, and her heart clenched with love and frustration. Shit, if this is what it's like, maybe I should pass on the whole wanting-kids thing. Still, Kala sighed and said, "Look in the cupboard."
Robb was closest, so he peeked in, and his face lit up. "You raided the breakfast bar!"
"I tipped a hundred bucks to clean it out," she said. "All the muffins and bagels and cereal you can imagine. Can't have you all starving to death."
"Okay, I can forgive you for waking me up with the gator wrench guy," Ned said, offering her a smile.
That was enough rapprochement for Kala, and as the bus swung out of the parking lot, she murmured thanks to their driver and stood up, heading back. "Good. Nice to know, Ned. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm taking a nap."
She'd barely managed to roll herself into the bunk when she heard Morgan whisper, "She never naps this early. Wonder if she's okay."
"Remember, she wasn't in her room last night when Jennifer first came over and we all decided to watch a movie together," Robb whispered back.
"The boyfriend must be following the tour," Ned said sourly.
In her bunk, Kala laughed to herself, covering her mouth to keep it silent. If they had any clue about the night she'd actually had…
"Well, he's doing better than us," Robb said. "He got her back here in time."
…
Probabilities. Possibilities. And wild-ass guesses. Babs had gone through all of them, and ended up here, with her headset in her ear and a dozen sensitive recording devices and signal trackers set up to start the moment she press the Send button.
Gotham wasn't safe. For her, or for anyone else. Joker had been out less than twenty-four hours and had already robbed a bank, setting fire to a nearby library as a distraction. The bombs that went off inside once it was fully involved were even more distraction, and had caused severe injury to first responders. It was pure luck that no one had died.
He got away from the robbery clean, and there were deaths there, two tellers and the manager shot in the head. At least it was quick. Babs had reviewed the news, and recognized the library with a chill; she'd worked there, right after graduation.
Just coincidence, she tried to tell herself, but there was no room in their line of work for coincidence. Better to treat something as intentional, and maybe Joker was trying to point something out to Harley, remind her why it was dangerous to cross him. Maybe…
Who knew, with Joker? He'd never been predictable. He thrived on chaos.
Which left Babs trying to manage two dangerous operations at once. Gotham was about to get a lot hotter, this winter. At least Steph and Cass were in a purely observational role. Sad when a country recently embroiled in civil war felt safer than one's hometown, but then, when your home was Gotham, you learned to scoff at the notion of 'safe'.
No one was ever truly safe. Not anywhere in the world.
Which left Babs with a decision to make. She was the premier information broker in the world, supplying various heroes and vigilantes and doing contract work for Amanda Waller's Task Force X, too. She'd been the quiet, calm voice in a lot of people's ears, coaxing and guiding and always listening, always analyzing. She had plans for how to talk down nearly any of Gotham's rogues who ever crossed her path. Information was power, after all, and she knew everything that the Arkham staff or Waller's heavily-encrypted files had on all of them.
Some people were harder to pin down, more skilled at not leaving traces. Interpol had a file on the League of Shadows, as did the CIA and FBI, but the information in it was frustratingly thin. Babs had never really gotten an agent inside the organization, either. Hadn't really tried, to be honest. Bruce could outguess them, most of the time.
And she'd damn near lost Dinah to that fabled al Ghul charisma. She wouldn't risk another agent like that. Not that Dinah crossing paths with them had been Babs' idea – she'd tried to warn her away.
This was potentially more dangerous than many of her prior exploits. But Babs didn't waste resources … and she needed someone to cover her girls. The worst case scenario, if all her theories were wrong, would put them in more danger, though. The question was, how much greater was the potential reward than the potential risk, and if it did turn sour, how would she keep the girls safe?
Babs felt a cold smile curve her mouth. By any means necessary, of course, no matter how underhanded. Bruce was her ace in the hole, in this one, even if he'd taken her aside and told her quietly, "Don't make that call."
Which was ironic, in its way, because him realizing that she was considering doing this and telling her not to had pushed her to consider it seriously. There were many ways in which she tried to emulate Bruce, and a few key ones in which she tried to do the opposite of what he would. When it came to trusting people and sharing information, Babs went the latter route.
So she dialed, and waited, headset in her ear. The phone rang six times, then cut off with a beep for voicemail, not even a message. Babs ended the call and redialed immediately. This time, it was answered, and in the beat of silence before either of them spoke, Babs closed her eyes and brought all of her intellect to bear on one goal: keeping Steph and Cass safe.
A faint scoffing noise was the first sound she heard. "When I learn who has been giving out this number, I'm going to have a serious and possibly fatal conversation with that person."
Babs kept her voice neutral. She left the digital voice scrambler off, for this one. If the call was intercepted, she was already in massive trouble. "Hello, Talia. This is Oracle."
"Oracle? How fascinating. Well then, to what circumstance do I owe this call?" She sounded guarded, careful, probing ahead for ulterior motives.
She sounded exactly like Babs felt. Now, how to proceed? Mind racing, Babs decided to try something that might be very novel for Talia. She'd responded to novelty before with Selina, playing along with the rules of this 'prank war' they had going on. So Babs simply told her the truth. "I have reason to believe you're in Libya. We might be able to help each other, in that regard."
"Are you volunteering to assist the League of Shadows? I knew you'd provided support to the tastelessly-named Suicide Squad, but this is unprecedented." Still, Talia sounded curious. She wasn't using a digitizer, either, they were both hearing one another's voices only altered by the relative quality of cell networks.
"I have reasons for wanting the Libya situation contained without any collateral damage. Whatever material support I can offer, short of crossing ethical lines, I'll give you." Babs was careful about phrasing that. There were some thing she simply couldn't do. And pulling Dinah out of Gotham just when things with Joker were heating up was better than crossing any of those lines.
"You have assets in Libya," Talia said, and Babs didn't make a sound, didn't even take a sharp breath, that might hint to her that her guess was correct. "I have significantly more experience and personnel in this region. Pull your people out, Oracle. They don't need to be here. And you have trouble enough at home."
So she knew about Joker. And she sounded awfully certain about personnel. Steph thought she might've seen Talia… Time to gamble. "I wouldn't have guessed you'd let yourself be spotted as easily as you were. Betrayed by a sweet tooth? My operative made you at the pastry shop."
"Your operatives are a pair of teenage girls, and I made them a month ago," Talia retorted. "The only reason I hadn't called to tell you to pull them both out is because you wouldn't listen."
There was something for Babs to catch onto, and she grabbed it with both hands. "You told Batman to stay out of the Guyot-Perrin deal, and he doubled down. He was wrong, wasn't he? Everything we've found shows they're involved in legitimate research. Luthor tried to undermine them, and you made sure they had the samples they needed. Batman should've just trusted you." It was certainly an overly simplified reading of the situation, but she needed Talia to believe that Babs was considering trusting her. How she reacted to that trust would be telling.
Soft laughter was her only answer, at first. "You are all so very tiresome. Was it really so hard to believe that I might actually care about developing clean energy solutions? Has that not been a concern of ours for longer than you or the Detective even knew we existed?"
"We're a very suspicious group of people," Babs said, sounding conciliatory. One thing she felt certain of, dealing with so many dangerous people, was that appeals to the ego were almost universally attractive. Another was that Talia was just that arrogant.
"That you are," Talia said. "What exactly are you asking me to do, Oracle?"
Now was the moment she had to choose. Try to play this like every other serial killer she'd ever manipulated into doing good? Or go in an unexpected direction, and see what came of it? Barbara Gordon knew that she wasn't good at trusting people – she'd known Dinah over a year before she ever met her face to face, or gave her a name.
Cass and Steph were at risk. She couldn't take chances with them; she wasn't Bruce. So Babs took a deep breath, and said, "Look after my girls. Make sure they're safe."
Absolute silence on the line, for a full ten seconds. Long enough that Babs checked her instruments to make sure the connection hadn't gone dead. Finally, Talia said, "I beg your pardon?"
"You said it. They're teenage girls, and you've never harmed a child or a noncombatant." That was a big risk, and Babs knew it. Steph and Cass were both vigilantes with more training than most military personnel, but if she could get Talia to think of them as kids, she might be careful of them.
"I don't fight children," Talia said flatly. "Batgirl is no mere child, by anyone's definition."
"She's not even old enough to drink," Babs replied. "No matter what her abilities are, I don't want her in the middle of this. But I can't make Batgirl leave when Shiva's involved, and Spoiler won't leave her side. I can't send anyone to look after them – I don't have the personnel, and they would resent it, and I don't have anyone capable of forcing Batgirl to do anything she doesn't want to do. Right now they're just observing the situation, but if it all spills over, I've got no one who can keep an eye on them."
Another long, thoughtful pause. "So you're asking me to look after your strays?"
Babs' intuition told her now was the time to switch it back, to stop arguing, so she simply said, "Yes."
The sensitive microphone picked up a sound, a faint thunk like some piece of furniture being kicked. "You really are smarter than he is, aren't you? And more ruthless."
"That's still up for debate," Babs said, all but holding her breath.
"Barbara, I can't save them either," Talia said, a new edge to her voice. "I can't challenge Shiva directly, not when she has far too many of my people following her. I've got to find the center of this rot, see what Shiva knows, and turn it all back on her – preferably without trusting the loyalty of the wrong person and getting a literal knife in my back for the trouble. There is one man in all of North Africa I can reasonably assume still works for me, and he's busy at the moment. I have neither the time nor the resources to shepherd your operatives out of harm's way. The best I could do is tranq them both and have them shipped home before the drugs wear off, but we both know that wouldn't hold Cassandra for long."
And wasn't it interesting that she'd immediately assumed what Babs really wanted, and hadn't quite dared to ask? "I know that, Talia. There's no stopping Batgirl when she's determined."
"That's been true of everyone who wore that title," Talia replied. "Have you given any thought to the fact that if you did recall her, she might actually listen? Her concern here is her biological mother, who has never truly been a mother to her. Who do you think meets that description, Barbara?"
"She feels like she has to face Shiva," Babs said. "And I might love her like my daughter – they're both my girls – but that doesn't mean she'll listen. I've gone as far as I dare to, without breaking her trust in me."
Talia clicked her tongue irritably. "I can't make you any promises. Tell them to leave this in my hands; it's my fight, not theirs. And I was trained for this."
Babs rubbed her temples. What did it say about the current situation that the tranq gun and shipping crate was looking like a good solution right about now? "Batgirl won't leave now. If I send Batman…"
She laughed at that. "Send him? You mean you've successfully gotten him to do something he didn't think was his own idea? Oh, do tell me how you managed that."
Her bitter smile was probably in her voice when Babs answered, "Not even I'm that good. But if Batgirl was in imminent danger…"
"Point. Still, with Joker running loose in his city? And Jason so recently returned to him? He might come here to protect Cassandra, but I doubt that. He knows she would resent it. Not to mention, Father would involve himself if the Detective were here. I'd rather not risk that."
Babs sighed. "Then I suppose I'd better help you. The sooner you can deal with Shiva, the sooner my agents can be convinced to come home. Do you know her objective?"
"You're welcome to try, but I understand Shiva conducts much of her business face-to-face and by word of mouth. There simply aren't many electronic traces to follow. As for her goal … she's either making a serious bid for control of the League of Shadows, or there's something specific here that she wants. At this point, I'm hoping it's the former," Talia said.
"What's the thing you're hoping she's not after?" Babs asked.
Talia answered with another question. "Where are your agents staying, Barbara?"
She couldn't help bristling at the question, but forced herself to subdue that instinctive reaction. She saw the point Talia was making. "All right, trust only goes so far."
"I can't promise to protect them for you, Barbara," Talia reminded her. "It's in their best interest, and yours, to convince them to leave this country now."
"I'll try," Babs said, and she was going to do that anyway, even knowing it was likely futile. "Try not to get yourself hurt, either."
Again that long, considering pause. "You do the same. I rather think Libya is safer than Gotham, just now."
"Can I reach you at this number if I find anything useful?" Babs asked.
"I'll keep it active," Talia said. "Leave a voicemail if I can't answer." And with that, she broke the connection.
Babs sat back, pulling the headset off and dropping it aside. She raked a hand through her hair, unsurprised to find it damp with sweat. Stress did that.
There was no time to analyze the nuances of that conversation. At least Talia knew that the Bats knew she was in the region. If she crossed paths with the girls, she might try to protect them. And that was better oversight than anything else Babs could provide just now.
Leaving that conflict simmering, Babs turned back to the one threatening to boil over and ignite in Gotham. Helena and Dinah were both on the street tonight, undercover, trying to unravel the complex web of favors and grudges, alliances and enmities, that wove Gotham's criminal underbelly together. Trying to find Joker, or Harley, before he found her and murdered her in some spectacular fashion.