Ancient History: Return
The mag-lev train whispered along, gliding above the rail. The last time he'd ridden the el in this city the ride hadn't been nearly as smooth. The lights strobing by outside the windows were different, too. In fact, since he'd arrived back in town he'd found very little the same. No surprise there, though. It had been a long time.
The car was dimly lit, and he occupied it alone. Still, the collar of his long black coat was upturned to obscure his face, and while he appeared to lean casually against a pole, his entire body was tense.
The vid screen that took up the front wall of the car was showing the ten o'clock news. A vacuous looking female anchor was smiling brightly, emptily, and saying, "In our People Scene tonight, philanthropist Bruce Wayne received the Gotham Civic Association's Humanitarian Award...."
He snorted, one eyebrow raised in an appreciation of irony. If the Gotham Civic Association only knew.
"The reclusive Mr. Wayne was unable to attend the ceremony, but the award was accepted for him by Civic Association chairperson Bunny Vreeland." After a brief soundbite from Ms. Vreeland about all Bruce Wayne had done to benefit the city, the female anchor handed off the script to a vacuous looking male one.
"...Thank you, Gina. And now, to review our top story, there was another appearance by the vigilante known as the Batman today...."
He leaned forward, almost without realizing it, unwillingly transfixed by the images flowing by on the screen. This was a surprise. Although, reconsidering, he didn't know why it should be.
"...Our Action News cameras were there to capture this footage of Batman as he apprehended three men allegedly robbing the First Mercantile Bank of Gotham...."
A flash of a figure in black, moving so swiftly it was hardly identifiable as more than a blur. Then the camera switched angles, and clearly caught the action as the costumed man swooped--no, he flew--down upon the luckless criminals, dodging gunfire. It was all over in seconds. The program cut to footage of squad cars pulling up in front of the bank.
"...Police arrived shortly at the scene." The anchor was back on the screen, the graphic floating above his left shoulder a familiar, yet unfamiliar, stylized bat-shaped logo. "This is the third time this month that Batman has arrived at a crime-in-progress before the Gotham PD. When reached for comment Police Commissioner Gordon had this to say:"
He knitted his brows. Gordon? That was impossible....
A stern faced, gray-haired woman appeared on the screen, identified as "Barbara Gordon, Commissioner of Police." He caught his breath. She looked directly into the camera and pronounced, "No comment." Her voice was... old.
He leaned back on the pole and turned his head to look out the window. The newscasters blathered on in the background. Sports, weather, stock prices. Eventually the train slowed to a stop. His stop. He placed his hands in his pockets and faced the doors. As they slid open he caught himself glancing back at the vid screen one more time. Someone bumped into him, and he started.
"Excuse me," the kid said. He was maybe seventeen, dark hair, brown jacket, carrying a backpack.
"No problem."
The two young men paid little attention to each other as one entered and the other exited the train. As the doors slid closed, the one on the outside walked away without looking back. The boy inside the car watched the lean, dark figure on the platform for a moment as the train pulled away, then shrugged. He sat down, rubbed a sore shoulder, and hoped his mother wouldn't be too mad when he got home.
Terry opened the door to the apartment as quietly as he could. If he was lucky, his mom would already be in bed, and -
"Do you know what time it is?"
Busted.
His mother stood up to face him, her arms folded across her chest.
"I, uh... I forgot my watch?"
"It's almost eleven, Terry," she informed him. "On a school night. You could have called. Or did you forget your phone, too?"
"I'm sorry, Mom, it won't happen again." The promise sounded hollow even to him.
"That's what you said the last time."
"I know. But -"
"You mean it this time?" She looked skeptical. "I'm not going to ground you, but I would appreciate a little consideration. Like not sneaking in."
"I wasn't sneaking in." Which was true. If he'd really wanted to sneak in she wouldn't even know he was here. "I didn't want to wake you up."
She uncrossed her arms, folded the blanket she'd been using, and tossed it over the back of the couch. "I saw on the news that that Batman was out there again tonight," she said, her mouth wrinkling in distaste. "You are being careful on the streets, aren't you?"
He nodded sincerely. "Absolutely, Mom."
Her expression softened as she looked at him. "I worry, Terry. I can't help it. Parents worry." Sighing wearily, she told him, "Go on to your room. It's past both our bedtimes."
"Sure, Mom."
Sitting on his bed, he thought about his mother. In a way he wished she would yell. At least that way he wouldn't feel so guilty. But it was like she was getting used to it. He guessed he should think that was a good thing, but something in him wasn't sure. He didn't want to think about this right now. Right now all he wanted was to get some sleep.
His head had barely hit the pillow when he heard his phone. The Bat-phone, he thought wryly. He answered it, saying, "I thought old men were supposed to go to bed early."
Wayne didn't miss a beat. "I thought teenagers were supposed to stay up all night."
Terry sighed and sat up, pulling his backpack out from under his bed. "Okay, what's up?"
"The computer's detected a break-in at the Wayne-Powers corporate archives building."
"I'm on my way."
The glow of the streetlight spilled into the alley adjoining the archives, but stopped just short of illuminating the door. This gave the would-be intruder some cover, but not enough. Batman perched on the ledge of the building next door, camouflaged, his night vision enabled.
"Got him," he whispered, more to himself than to Wayne, who had insisted on observing this curiously unremarkable encounter from his position in the Batcave.. "Now for a closer look."
He used the camera feature in his mask to zoom in. The figure was crouched in front of the door, working on the lock. While his face was hidden in the shadows, Batman could still see the general outline of his profile. He could also see the long tail of hair hanging down the tresspasser's back, safely tied away from his face. The man paused, then cocked his head in satisfaction as the door began to swing open.
"Time to introduce myself." The batarang sliced through the air, glinting briefly as its arc intersected with the streetlight's beam. Batman timed his jump to land him with a soft thud behind the burglar the moment the batarang embedded itself in the wall inches from his -
Uh oh.
The guy hadn't even flinched. His left hand had merely flickered up and snatched the batarang out of the air. No, it was more like the batarang had flown right into his hand. Batman prepared himself to dodge if it was hurled back at him. Over his audio link he heard Wayne caution, "Careful, McGinnis." The apprehension in the old man's voice set Batman on edge almost as much as the intruder's unexpected competency. He readied himself for a fight.
The man stood, and turned slowly toward Batman, keeping his face slightly downcast. His eyes were hidden behind a mask, and on the chest of his black costume was emblazoned a symbol in red, stylized flames in the image of a bird with wings upraised. He held up the batarang, turned it in his fingers as if testing its weight and form. Very deliberately he raised his head, and regarded his challenger with cool intensity. The corner of his mouth quirked up briefly, and he deadpanned with barely concealed disdain, "Let me guess. Batman, right?"
Batman was about to respond when Wayne shouted into his link, "Don't let him leave!"
Startled by the strained vehemence of the command, he turned his head to the side for no more than a second. "You know this guy?"
"Don't question me! Just keep him there!"
When he turned back, the interloper was gone.
In the Batcave, Bruce Wayne rewound the footage of the night's encounter and replayed it once again. He punched up the audio even more, enhancing the clarity as much as he could.
"Let me guess. Batman, right?"
The phrase echoed off the walls of the cavern; from some far corner the cave's other, winged inhabitants squeaked in protest.
Terry grimaced a little as he heard the smirking voice, and cranked up to full volume, at that. "A little loud, don't you think? Maybe you should look into a hearing aid." He strode up beside Mr. Wayne, pulling off his mask. Open with a joke, maybe he won't chew you out.
"My hearing's as good as your reflexes," Wayne said harshly, freezing the video. "That was very sloppy, McGinnis."
Terry held a breath for a moment, biting back the automatic defensive response. "Granted," he admitted with difficulty. "But I wasn't expecting him to just disappear."
Wayne swiveled his chair to face his young protege. "You have to be prepared for the unexpected. Even if something--or someone--distracts you."
Was that an apology? Nah, couldn't be. He'd been expecting the full lecture. The old man seemed distracted himself, and it wasn't something Terry was used to.
"We'll both know better next time," Wayne said brusquely, and turned back toward the screen.
Terry nodded. He would know better. "I'm not going to let this guy get the jump on me again." His tone of voice shifted from determination to reluctant admiration. "Catching the batarang was a nice trick, though."
"Yes," Wayne said cryptically. How he managed to make 'yes' sound cryptic, Terry had no clue, but there it was.
"So " he ventured, recalling how intently Wayne had been studying the footage, "Do you know this guy?"
"No."
Terry forced back a sigh. Why did that sound the same as 'yes'? "I knew things were too quiet lately. All we need is another costume in town. Why can't this city have normal burglars?"
"Nothing about this city is normal."
"Yeah, I'm getting that more and more every night," Terry muttered. "Well, whoever he is, he obviously didn't get what he came for. What's in that building, anyway?"
"The history of Wayne-Powers, and before that Wayne Enterprises. The mainframe in that building houses computer backups for every division of the company going back decades, and there's a paper document library as well."
"So we're thinking industrial espionage?"
"It's a possibility. I'll know more after I've done some research."
"Right," Terry nodded. "See if we can't put a name to the smirk."
Wayne ignored the remark. He got up from his seat and asked Terry, "Do you have that batarang on you? The one he caught?"
"Yeah. He was nice enough to leave it behind." It had been laid at his feet like a gift, actually. He had the definite feeling this guy was mocking him, and he didn't like it. "He'll show up again, and I'll be ready for him," he vowed as he handed Bruce the batarang.
"Yes," Wayne agreed, "we will be."
After Terry had left, Bruce examined the batarang under a magnifier, and frowned. Just as he'd suspected, he located a tiny electronic device, almost hidden in one of the hinges. A tracker. With tweezers he carefully removed the delicate mechanism, deactivated it, and placed it on a microscope slide to get a better look. Any other time he would have done this with Terry present, made it a lesson, but tonight it would only have been a distraction.
The design was strikingly similar to the ones Batman now used, as if the two were cousins descended from the same technological ancestor. Similar, in ways that only he could have discerned, to his own original design of so many years ago. But that meant nothing, he told himself as he moved from the lab table to the computer. It was a relatively simple device. There was nothing in this coincidence that should have contributed to the growing spark of... what?
Anxiety, perhaps, although that wasn't an accurate name for it. Unease might be a better term. Unease that had been steadily growing ever since Terry's-- Batman's--aborted encounter with the mysterious newcomer. Hope, something whispered in the back of his mind, but he didn't allow himself to hear it.
Normally, he wouldn't have bothered to observe a run of the mill attempted burglary, but because this one involved Wayne-Powers he found himself interested. At the first obscured view of the man he had felt the first twinge, but nothing in his conscious mind acknowledged why. When the stranger caught the batarang something clicked into place, but there hadn't been time to think about it then. Then the face. Even under the mask he recognized it. How could he not? It was like he'd been shifted out of sync with time, and the one word that thrummed in his head was 'impossible.'
Then the voice, and it was as if everything suddenly snapped into place with piercing clarity. His rational mind fell away, all doubts were set aside to make room for what he knew, what he simply knew. He'd shouted at Terry, and in retrospect it certainly hadn't been the most prudent thing to do. He was willing to absorb his share of the responsibility for the unpleasantly open ended nature of the incident.
Now, after time had passed, that crystal sharpness was gone, and the doubts, the calculations, the speculations came thundering back. His rational mind was present with full authority, and he set about to do what he had always done when confronted with such a challenge. He would deduce the truth.
A few hours into his research, he had gotten some answers, which inevitably only led to more questions, which would in turn find answers of their own. He had begun with the insignia on the burglar's costume, and now had a full dossier--or as full as could be expected, considering the man's fairly sketchy history.
Through it all he tried to remain calm, objective, not to let his underlying emotions cloud his thoughts. But the picture that was being painted, the way the pieces fell together--dates, places, a few names--was disturbing. Disturbing in its... plausibility. Of the several theories he had begun with, the one he found himself returning to again and again was deeply unsettling. If it were true....
If, he reminded himself. There were other, less outrageous possibilities, and they were all far more likely. Still, his instincts told him differently.
Your instincts are getting old, he chided himself. He was getting old. No, he was old. It was startling how often his mind needed to be reminded of that. His body never forgot, of course, and it was fully aware of it now. His bones ached. He recognized the need for sleep, but didn't know if he could quiet his brain long enough to fulfill that need. He didn't really want to.
He fought it for a while longer, closing the file and calling up the footage from Batman's video feed again. He played it several times without the audio, scrutinizing every frame. Then, he cued it to the desired frame, switched on the audio track, and let it play.
"Let me guess. Batman, right?"
Stop. Rewind.
"-Batman, right?"
Rewind.
"-Batman-"
Bruce jammed a finger onto the console, and the whole screen went dark. The silence of the cave was immense, and for an instant it felt filled with ghosts. Indeed, for a moment he felt the ghost of that earlier sensation, that dead certainty, brush his mind. If it were true...
To his chagrin, he found he was tired enough he needed his cane to climb the stairs. The 'tap, tap', and the slight shuffling of his own footsteps seemed to fill the cavernous space. He took one last glance back at the bank of costumes along the wall, his eyes focused on Nightwing's. He swallowed hard, attempting to stifle the unease, and whatever other emotions he was unwilling to name, and abruptly shut off the light.
If it were true, it would change everything.
Terry, fitted out in his Batman costume except for his face and head, stood back for a few seconds and observed Wayne at the computer. He didn't seem to be doing anything but staring at the images on the screen. Half the display was filled with a still captured from Terry's video feed of the night before; the other was a file photo he'd managed to pull up of their mysterious visitor. It was from a surveillance camera somewhere. Not the clearest shot, but identifiable. "Hey, that's him."
Wayne nodded. "I traced the insignia. He calls himself the Phoenix."
Terry snorted. "Oh, well that's not pretentious at all." Wayne didn't seem amused. "So, is that the best image we could get of him?"
"Hmm?" He'd heard him. He was giving him a chance to rethink his phrasing.
Taking the hint, Terry corrected, "So that's the best image we could get of him. I can work with that. What's he about?"
"He works mostly out of Europe and Africa. I found references to him going back almost thirty years."
"Thirty years? He couldn't have been around that long. He didn't seem that old. Closer to my age than... well, you know."
"Mm hmm. There are also several incidences where he's supposedly died."
"So..." Terry considered. "We could be talking different guys." He motioned to Wayne and then to himself. "You know? Different guys?"
"It's a possibility."
"Maybe a generational thing. Father to son or-"
"Specific records only go back a decade or so," Wayne interrupted. "This," he said, pulling up an image of a nondescript building in an urban center to replace the still from last night, "is the Van Dekker Gallery in Johannesburg, home of one of the most valuable private collections in southern Africa. Eight years ago Phoenix was hired, for a considerable fee, to design and test its security system." He glanced sideways at Terry.
"Let me guess..."
Nodding, he confirmed, "Three months later it was robbed. No one was ever apprehended."
"So he's a bad guy," Terry concluded.
Wayne pulled up another image alongside the gallery, this one of a group of smiling, dark skinned children in hard hats standing in front of a construction site. "This is the village of Makembo in the Congo. Six years ago a local warlord controlled it and eight other villages in the region, diverting international relief funds meant for agriculture and health care into his own pockets. He hired Phoenix as a 'personal security consultant.' Six weeks later the warlord was deposed and imprisoned, and this school was built with funds from an anonymous donor."
Terry furrowed his brow in confusion. "So he's a good guy?" Wayne didn't offer an answer. Sighing, Terry declared, "Man, I hate it when they're ambiguous. Good, evil, pick and side and go with it."
The pictures of Phoenix appeared on the screen once again, and the old man stared at them intently. Terry was convinced something was going on, something more than he was being told. What else is new? he thought resignedly. "He won't try for the corporate archives again tonight now that he knows Batman is on to him."
"No," Wayne shook his head. "But there's someplace else, in the old warehouse district." Here his voice turned distinctly sardonic. "I moved some things there during the 'merger' with Powers."
"Sneaky," Terry commented his approval. Pulling on his cowl, he asked, "You think he'll go there?"
Bruce Wayne pressed a button on the console and the screen went dark, the only image visible in it now the reflection of Batman standing behind him.
"That's where I would go."
A soft glow emanated from the warehouse skylight as Batman crept along the roof. Wayne had been right; Phoenix had shown up just where he'd said he would. Moving over to the open section of the skylight Phoenix had obviously used, Batman peered down into the main room of the warehouse.
Almost immediately he spotted Phoenix leaning over one of the computer terminals, completely focused on it. Batman couldn't read the display from his distance without zooming in, but it wasn't necessary to know Phoenix wasn't up to anything good.
He dropped down through the open window and landed on the floor with an almost inaudible thud. Of course Phoenix, who seemed to have supernatural hearing, heard him. "Back for more?"
"I don't think we've been properly introduced. Let me guess. Phoenix, right?"
Phoenix raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Someone's been doing their homework."
He let that pass. "Your little magic tricks won't help you this get away this time. I'm on to you. I've got more than one trick up my own sleeve."
A half-smile threaded its way across Phoenix's face. "I'm going to let you in on something, kid. It doesn't mater how many bat-gadgets you throw at me, you can't win this one."
"We'll see."
Phoenix crossed his arms and frowned. "I'm sure you're very good at this, but it's all a giant waste of time. I'm not here to blow anything up, get any dirt on anyone, or generally harm anyone in any way. I'm actually here to do something good."
Batman snorted. "Yeah, right."
"You think I'm lying?"
"Like you said, I've done my homework."
Phoenix grinned suddenly. "Hey, I never said I was a saint." He took up his previous position at the computer console and the streams of data began flying across the screen again. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."
He didn't really want a fight, but Phoenix wasn't giving him a choice. Batman pulled out another batarang, readying his stance. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."
Phoenix laughed. "'We can do this the easy way or the hard way'? People actually still say that?"
Batman gritted his teeth in annoyance. Didn't this guy take anything seriously? "Have it your way then." He threw the batarang at Phoenix, then jumped high into the air, positioning himself to land a kick to Phoenix's head. Just as his foot was about to make contact, Phoenix slid out of the way and he overshot his target. Before he could land, Batman felt a powerful blow to his solar plexus that left him gasping for breath.
Instincts took over and he rolled out of Phoenix's range. Not that it was necessary; Phoenix was just standing there, watching him. And smirking.
"Trust me, kid, you don't want to do this."
"Oh, I think maybe I do," Batman said as he stood up.
"I don't want to have to hurt you."
"Funny. I was just going to say the same thing," he said as he leapt backwards, used the wall as a springboard, and vaulted over Phoenix's head. He landed behind his opponent, sweeping a leg around to knock him off his feet.
Or he would have if Phoenix hadn't stepped out of the way again. Without pause, Batman continued the assault with his fists. He aimed his blows first for Phoenix's midsection then worked his way up.
Every one of his punches was blocked as though he was a rank amateur. Who the hell was this guy? Batman continued to strike at him, trying to force Phoenix to back up if nothing else. He only wound up giving ground himself.
He threw one final, frustrated punch before Phoenix finally lashed back, catching him across the temple. Batman staggered backwards, blinking back disorientation.
"I told you, you don't want to do this," Phoenix said. "You can't beat me."
"Maybe not," a new voice called from the shadows of the warehouse. "But there's not much chance you can stop both of us." Terry's eyes widened as the large bat-exosuit stepped into the light.
What the hell is he doing here? Terry thought. The last time Wayne had used the suit had been when Batman was fighting Inque and losing hopelessly. He wasn't doing that badly this time.
"What are you doing here?" Wayne demanded of their adversary.
Even behind the mask, Batman could see Phoenix's eyes narrow dangerously. "Well. Isn't this a surprise," he said with deceptive mildness. "Two for the price of one. Don't I feel lucky."
"You didn't answer my question," Wayne said. "What are you doing here?"
"Beating the stuffing out of your protege here," Phoenix sneered. "Don't you even bother to train them properly anymore?"
"He can hold his own."
"Not from what I've seen," Phoenix shot back. "He couldn't even land a single hit. It was bad enough that you were putting children into lethal situations, are you trying to kill them now?"
Phoenix didn't wait for an answer. He jumped high into the air, landed on one of the beams near the ceiling, then seemed to fly out the skylight he'd come in.
Batman readied himself to pursue and called over his shoulder at Wayne, "I'm going after him."
Wayne stopped him short with a simple, "No."
"What?"
Wayne turned to leave without waiting to see if he'd follow. "You won't be able to catch him."
Terry tapped the edge of his credit against the tabletop, the click, click, click sound oddly comforting. He'd asked Commissioner Gordon to meet him during his lunch break and thought the nearby diner would be a good idea.
The last time they'd met here, she had told him about how she'd stayed behind when Dick Grayson had left. And how she didn't hate Wayne. Hopefully she'd open up again since Wayne wasn't talking.
It was obvious that he and Phoenix had some connection, but when Terry had asked, Wayne had refused to answer. He had eventually given up. When Wayne didn't want to talk about something, there was nothing Terry could say to change his mind.
A cup of coffee already in her hand, Gordon slid into the booth across from Terry, startling him out of his thoughts. "Hello, Terry," she said coolly.
He nodded slightly at her. "Commissioner."
She took a sip of her coffee while Terry tried to think of how to start the conversation. When he found nothing, she asked, "Are you going to tell me why you asked me here or am I going to have to guess?"
A quick glance down showed that he still held the credit, only now he was turning it over in his hand. He forced himself to lie it flat against the table, though his fingers still strayed to it almost of their own volition. He hoped she didn't notice. "Who's Phoenix?" Might as well go with the direct approach.
Though her face remained inscrutable, he saw her hands tighten around her mug. "Shouldn't you be in school, Mr. McGinnis?"
"Lunch period. Who's Phoenix?"
Gordon's gaze drifted away from him towards the window and the view of Gotham it offered. "I don't have any idea who he is."
She was lying, she had to be. There had been a flash of something in her eyes when he mentioned Phoenix's name. But why would she lie, keep that information from him?
Terry sat back in the booth to contemplate the matter while Gordon slowly fingered the edge of her coffee mug. She didn't seem to be puzzling anything over in her mind. Her expression was... sad? It also hadn't been surprise when he'd mentioned the name Phoenix. Which meant she had to have at least some idea of who was behind the mask. But how? Up until last night, even Wayne hadn't seemed to know who... Wayne.
"He told you, didn't he? About Phoenix."
Gordon turned a sharp look on him and sipped her coffee before answering. "Yes."
"Why? What do you have to do with Phoenix?"
"With Phoenix?" She raised an eyebrow in a gesture reminiscent of one of Wayne's favorite expressions. "Not a thing."
Terry sighed; obviously she wasn't going to make this easy for him. "He seemed to know an awful lot about the old days." He saw the bitter smile that crossed her face for a moment before she could hide it. "And he must be someone important to get the old man out of the cave."
"Someone important..." she repeated softly.
This could be his chance. "He said something. Something about 'putting children into lethal situations'." He let his tone of voice show what he thought of that. "Do you know who he is?"
She seemed to snap out of her reverie and leveled another sharp glance in his direction. "I'd never heard of him until today. And I don't want to hear about him ever again."
"I just want to know what's going on here. You know what Mr. Wayne is like, he won't tell me anything. And this Phoenix guy could be dangerous. I barely know anything about him."
She considered this for so long Terry was worried he'd lost her. Barbara Gordon could be pushed for information, but only so far. If he'd gone over the line...
"I want you to understand something," she said slowly. "You're burning your bridges with this one, kid. I can't tell you everything, but I can point you in the right direction. However, you will never come to me with this again. Is that clear?"
Not for the first time, he wondered exactly what it was that had made her want to run as far away from the whole situation as possible. "Yeah, I get it."
He expected some story from Wayne's past, from when he had been Batman. Or maybe when she had been Batgirl. Something that would shed light on what was happening now. What she gave him was a name. And one he already knew, at that. "Robin."
Terry blinked. "Robin?"
Gordon picked up her purse and slid back out of the booth. "Coffee's on you this time, kid."
"Which Robin?"
She paused next to Terry's side of the booth, cocking her head. "Both."
It wasn't much, and he had no idea how either Dick Grayson or Tim Drake was going to help him understand, but he trusted her. If she said that it would help him, it would. "One more thing." She frowned down at him, but didn't walk away. "I have to ask... Why are you helping me?"
"Because as long as I've made sure the police enforce the law in Gotham... some things should be dealt with by family." Gordon pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "Don't make me regret my decision."
Terry walked out of his last period class and found Dana waiting by the door.
"Hi. Bio let out early, thank God. Do you mind if we stop at that new coffee place on the way home? I think I'm hooked on cappu...ccinos." The last word started off bright but the last few syllables just sort of fell out of her mouth. He winced. She could read him so well sometimes.
"You can't walk home with me today, can you?" She didn't sound surprised. And only mildly disappointed. Her tone of voice was almost exactly like that of his mother two nights ago, and it made him feel just as uneasy. It was a disturbing trend that he really didn't have time to ponder right now.
"I'm sorry," he said, and then launched into the explanation he had prepared. And this one was mostly true. "I've got some research to do."
"Oh. I could wait, or stick around and help you if you want." The offer was halfhearted at best.
"That's okay. I don't know how long I'll be. Besides, you'd be bored stiff." He grimaced dramatically and gave her the hard sell. "History."
"Ooh, your favorite subject."
"Tell me about it."
"Well, at least you're studying," she teased him.
"Hey, it's been known to happen," he returned lightly. They'd reached the computer lab adjacent to the library.
She gave him a smile, but not one of her brilliant Dana smiles. It was more... concerned. "Hey, Terry, are you sure you're all right? You look really ragged today. How many times did you walk into that door, anyway?" she asked, reaching up to lightly touch the abrasion on his forehead.
Actually, it walked into me, he thought. Repeatedly. "I'm okay. Just tired, I guess."
"Okay." And then, after a pause, "Guess I'll go then."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." She turned to go, and he watched her for a while. When she was almost all the way down the hall he impulsively called to her, "Maybe I'll call you tonight."
"Sure," she replied - as if she didn't quite believe it, he thought. "Have fun with history."
He grimaced, genuinely this time. "I'm sure I will," he said dryly, although he doubted she could hear him by now. To himself he muttered, "Ancient history." He turned and entered the lab and found Max there waiting for him, sitting on a table and swinging her legs.
"Hey, I got your message. What's up?"
He closed the door behind him, wished it had a lock, and said to her, "I need your help with something."
Her eyes immediately brightened. "Yeah? What is it?"
"Don't get too excited, Max. It's just a little research."
"Oh." She frowned a little, feigning disappointment, and then broke into a sly grin. "It is... work-related, though?"
"I also need you to not ask too many questions."
She sighed. "Right. So what do you need from your humble servant, exactly?"
"Can you set up a workstation where I can search old newspaper files, official records, that kind of stuff?"
"Terry, I know you're not exactly Mr. Academia, but I have seen you hand in term papers. Always late, of course, but I know you know how to type something into a search engine -"
"Without logging on to the network. In private. I can't do this in the library, it's too public, and at home there's Matt and my mom and-"
"Gotcha. Privacy and anonymity." She started working at a terminal. "I can only give you about a half hour in here, by the way," she informed him, her voice slightly distracted as she concentrated on the screen. "Then the Statistics Club meeting starts."
"Statistics Club?" Terry asked, as if he couldn't quite believe there was such a thing.
"Hey, careful with the scoffing. I'm a member."
"Not the president?" he gibed.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I have better things to do with my life than being president of the Statistics Club. I'm the treasurer." A few more keystrokes and she stood up, gestured to the workstation. "There you go."
"Thanks." He sat down, shoved his backpack under the table, and looked up at Max. "Uh, Max?"
"What? Oh, I get it. Time for me to scram, right? I suppose you want me to play watchdog, stand out in the hall and make sure no one comes in?"
"Yeah, thanks."
She nodded briskly and said "Woof," then left him to his work.
When he heard the door click shut he turned to the computer, wondering where to begin. Robin, he thought. Commissioner Gordon had said to start with Robin, so he entered the time frame for his search and got underway. Unfortunately, his first search returned about a zillion results, most of what would have been of interest to him buried under bird watching articles and stories about people named Robin Something. He sighed, and muttered, "This is why my term papers are always late."
In a few minutes he managed to refine his search, but there was still a mountain of material. Most of it was standard, the same kind of stuff that was reported about him all the time. Nothing revelatory, nothing new. He paid special attention to the dates, though, and managed to pin down the first appearance of Robin in a news account. There were regular mentions for a while, then a gap, and then they started up again. He opened new searches, one for 'Nightwing,' one for 'Grayson, Richard,' and a last for 'Drake, Timothy.'
He was starting to see the timeline more clearly in his head. The death of Grayson's parents, his adoption by Bruce Wayne, then Robin showing up a few years later. Robin mentioned less when Grayson would have been in college, then dropping out of sight altogether until a new one had suddenly appeared, coincidentally around the same time of Bruce Wayne's legal guardianship of the Drake kid. Then Nightwing had arrived, although accounts of him were fewer and sketchier. Batgirl's named popped up in a lot of the articles, too, although he hadn't searched for her. No mystery there.
On impulse he decided to cross-reference all the relevant names he could think of, and was rewarded by an article titled "City Council Honors Commissioner." It was just a fluff piece about James Gordon getting a plaque at some fancy dinner, but there was a photo accompanying it.
"I'll be damned," he murmured. "One big happy family." It was somewhat surreal. In the foreground of the photo was the former police commissioner and his daughter. Barbara Gordon smiled broadly, one arm around her father. Terry could scarcely believe that vibrant young woman was the same person he'd talked to earlier that day. Then again, there was something in this image - something in the eyes, maybe - that seemed to bridge the two divergent pictures of her in his mind, those of present day top cop and long ago Batgirl.
To the left, and slightly in the background, was none other than Bruce Wayne, young, and surrounded by women. And he was smiling. Kind of a phony smile, Terry thought, but still a smile. "This is going to give me brainsprain," he muttered, shaking his head. Also in the photo was a bored looking boy of about thirteen - that must be Drake - and a dark-haired man maybe five years older than himself that had to be Grayson. Grayson looked like he was trying not to look like he was looking at Barbara Gordon.
All of this was interesting, but none of it shed much light on current events. He only had a few minutes left, so he went to the last few chronological entries. At Tim Drake's obituary, he stopped cold. Jesus, he was just a kid. It said something about an 'accident,' which Terry didn't buy for a second. Robin had disappeared, of course, and it looked like that was when Nightwing had split town as well. There was nothing else until a notice several years later that Dick Grayson, former ward of Bruce Wayne and only heir to the Wayne fortune, had been declared legally dead.
Terry sighed and rubbed his eyes. So they were both dead. He hadn't known for sure, but it wasn't a big surprise. What the hell did any of this have to do with Phoenix? Maybe I'm missing something, he thought. He sent both death notices to the printer along with some other material he wanted to go over one more time later before he shredded it, and decided to go back and reread some of the articles while he had time, hoping he'd stumble upon some clue that he'd previously missed.
Partly because he was absorbed in his reading, and partly because his senses were dulled by plain old exhaustion, Terry was somewhat startled when from over his shoulder came Max's voice asking, "Who's 'Richard Grayson'?"
Quickly getting over his surprise, he ignored the question.
"Oh, I get it. This is the stuff I'm not supposed to ask about, right? No problem." Nevertheless, she grabbed the copy of the old newspaper photo as it came out of the printer. She raised her eyebrows and pronounced, impressed, "Whoever he is, he's cute."
Terry wrinkled his brow, annoyed. "He's dead," he said flatly, and took the picture from her hand.
"Shame," she said, a little wistfully. Then she shrugged. "Oh well."
He sighed, trying to suppress his irritation. This Phoenix thing had not been good for his mood. "Refresh my memory, Max. Weren't you supposed to be outside making sure no one came in here? Including you?"
"Geez." She lowered her voice, and leaned closer to him to say, "Just because you're a superhero doesn't mean you get to be snippy, you know."
"Sorry," he said, although from his experience he thought maybe it did. Well, after another few decades, maybe.
"S'ok," she smiled. "You've practically got STRESS stamped on your forehead. Are you sure this isn't anything I can help with...?"
He shook his head. "A hundred percent sure, Max. Trust me. You don't want to be in on this." I don't even want to be in on this, he thought ruefully. Whatever it is.
She seemed to accept this, albeit grudgingly. "All right. Anyway, I came to tell you you'll have to wrap it up now. Thirteen point five percent of Stats Club members get to meetings early." She smiled at him expectantly and was rewarded with a blank stare. "Statistics joke," she pointed out hopefully.
"I know," he said.
"Jokes are funny," she reminded him. "They make people laugh."
He grinned. "Usually."
She punched him on the arm. "Come on. I'm not going to let you abuse me anymore. You really ought to appreciate me more, you know that McGinnis?"
Terry paused in the task of putting the printouts in the front pocket of his backpack and regarded her. "I do appreciate you, Max," he said sincerely.
"Yeah, I know," she grinned. "Now get out of here."
"Gladly." He turned to the computer and exited the file, barely pausing to glance at it a last time. "Oh, and can you...?" he pleaded.
She nodded. "Erase your trail, I got it."
"Thanks. Oh, and..."
"No, I won't look." She held up her right hand. "I swear."
"Thanks again. You're the best."
"I know." Max sat down at the computer and set about covering the tracks of Terry's research, just in case, and he left the lab, passing one of the young statisticians on his way out.
Terry shifted the pack on his shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position for it. His entire body ached after last night's fight with Phoenix, and spending an entire day in school having to pretend nothing was wrong had only made things worse.
He'd had several worse injuries since taking up the mantle of the Bat, but Phoenix hadn't really been trying to hurt him, he knew that much for certain. Phoenix had been too quick, too on-target with his punches for Terry to have gotten off so easily.
He still wasn't sure what to make of the latest costume to hit Gotham, but he decided to think about it later. Right now he just wanted to get home and rest. Letting the backpack slide off his shoulder, Terry practically dragged it on the ground alongside him. He lifted a hand to the cut above his eye, wincing a little when his fingers made contact. He should probably take care of that soon...
"That looks like a nasty scrape," a voice called from a few feet behind him. Terry dropped his hand and whirled around to see a man about his age, with bright blue eyes, a familiar face, and long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, coming towards him. There was a smirk firmly in place on his face as he said, "You should have that looked at. What happened?"
The last thing Terry wanted right now was to strike up a conversation with a stranger, even one he thought he should know. But brushing this guy off would only attract attention, and besides, if he played along he might figure out where he knew this guy from. "I hit my head on my locker door. It was a very smooth move."
"Hit your head on your locker door? Sure you did." The man's smirk widened. "I'd think that by now you'd be able to come up with a better excuse than that."
Terry didn't stop walking, giving the other man a wary look. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course not." The guy looked him up and down a couple of times, noting the tension in Terry's body. He put his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "At ease, kid. I come in peace. I need a favor. One costumed crimefighter to another."
What? Oh, damn. This time Terry did come to an abrupt halt. "You! What do you want? And why are you out of costume?"
Phoenix shrugged. "I didn't think you'd appreciate taking a chance on anyone seeing you being approached by a guy in a costume. People in Gotham may not be that bright, but they're not stupid, either.
"Figuring out who you were was easy, kid. He should have taught you better than that. I guess he's slipping in his old age."
"What are you talking about?"
Phoenix titled his head a few degrees to the right. "Maybe he didn't completely fail to teach you a few things, after all." He started walking again, not looking back to see if Terry followed him. "Don't worry, kid, you couldn't tell me much I don't already know."
Terry had a hint that he might be right about that. "What's with the 'kid' thing?" he asked irritably. "You can't be that much older than I am."
He thought he saw another smirk on Phoenix's face, but couldn't be sure. "I'm a lot older than I look."
And he was supposed to be the one with the tired expressions? "So... How do you know about him?"
"You seem like a bright kid, you figure it out."
"For someone who said they wanted a favor from me, you sure don't seem to act like it."
The corners of Phoenix's mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown. "You're right. It's just..."
"Let me guess. It's complicated."
"You got it. Let's just say that... We have history together."
"Oh, right. That clears it right up."
Phoenix turned a piercing look on him that far too familiar. It was a disturbing sensation.
"You remind me of someone I used to know."
"Who?" Terry asked the question before he even had time to realize he'd said it aloud.
Phoenix shook his head. "Uh uh. That's something else you'll have to find out for yourself."
"How am I supposed to do that? You're not giving me much to go on."
"Sorry about that, kid. I've been there myself. But that's one story I don't care to tell."
Terry forced himself to take a deep breath before Phoenix's vague, half-answers made him ready to snap. He decided to change the subject. "You never answered my first question. What do you want?"
"I need some information."
"I thought you said I couldn't tell you anything you didn't already know."
Phoenix glanced at him for half a second before turning his gaze back to the street. "You can't. But you can give me access to the Batcomputer for a short time without anyone else knowing I'm even there."
He knew about the Batcomputer, too? In order to know about that he had to have been inside the Cave... Or known someone else who had. "Dick Grayson! I knew you looked familiar!"
Phoenix's eyes widened enough to be noticeable and Terry heard a tiny, sharp intake of breath before Phoenix's features settled back into their previous guarded mask. "Congratulations, kid. You've got one more piece of the puzzle to play with."
The question was, could he fit it into the right place? "Obviously you know him, why don't you just go ask him for whatever it is you want?"
"Look, kid. I don't want to be here anymore than you want to deal with me," Phoenix evaded. "Give me half an hour with the Batcomputer, without him knowing I'm there. I do a little researching, then I'm gone and I don't come back. I'll be out of your hair and you can go back to fighting the bad guy of the week."
"If it's that easy why don't you just ask him?" Terry repeated.
Phoenix's hand balled into a tight fist and he looked away for a long moment. "I... I don't want to put him in danger. It's better if I handle this myself."
"Right. Just a suggestion: next time, think your cover story through before you try to sell it. What's the real reason you want my help?"
Phoenix gave him a look of mild surprise. "Okay. I've tried every other source, but none of them have what I need to know."
"And the reason you can't just ask him...?"
Phoenix was quiet for a full minute. "It's complicated."
Terry rolled his eyes and continued walking. They were both quiet for several minutes as they made their way down the street. Phoenix didn't seem to be thinking at all, but Terry used the time to weigh his options. He might be able to figure out what was going on if he agreed to help Phoenix... But he'd have to go behind Wayne's back to do it. "I can't help you," he finally said.
"Can't or won't?"
He stopped short again, Phoenix halting half a step later. "I have no reason to trust you. All I know about you is that you wear a costume, you've been well-trained, steal from some people, help others, that you look a hell of a lot like Dick Grayson did forty years ago, and that you have some kind of history with Mr. Wayne." He shook his head. "I need more to go on if I'm going to decide to trust you or not."
Phoenix raised an eyebrow at 'Mr. Wayne'. "He's still keeping secrets, huh?"
Terry's expression took on a hard edge. "Yeah, and that's why I won't tell him about this conversation. Two can play that game."
A ghost of a smile played at the edges of Phoenix's mouth. "Not that it makes much of a difference. He obviously knows I'm here already and it won't be long before he figures out the rest of it."
"I don't suppose you could fill me in? It'd be nice to know something before he does for a change."
Phoenix's smiled bloomed into soft laughter. "It's tempting, just to picture the look on his face, but no."
Terry scowled. "You're a lot like him, you know. Keeping secrets, not telling others what's going on..."
Phoenix's merriment vanished in an instant. "No. I'm not like him. I keep my secrets for entirely different reasons."
"And just what would those be?" Terry didn't really expect an answer, so he was surprised when he got one.
"He keeps his secrets to control everyone around him. If you don't know what's happening, you can't make your own choice. You go along with what he wants."
"What about you? Why do you keep your secrets?" Terry pressed.
There was more silence from Phoenix. They really were a lot alike. "For one thing, it's a long, long story. Like I said, a story I don't care to tell. It would take too long. And time is something I can't afford to waste right now."
Terry shrugged with nonchalance. "Your choice. Personally, I'd think that if you had time enough to waste talking to me, you probably could have told the whole story by now. But what do I know? I'm just a kid, right?"
Phoenix glared at him. "Yes. You are. You're not old enough to see what he's doing to you or how he's manipulating you." His gaze softened a little. "But I don't expect you to listen any more than..." Terry could have growled in frustration, but managed to keep quiet.
"You know, McGinnis, there are easier after-school jobs," Phoenix said more than a little sadly.
Terry wasn't sure he liked the new tone to Phoenix's voice. "Are you kidding? I'm going to put this on my college applications. 'Extracurricular activities: yearbook, intramural basketball, saving Gotham City from psycho costumed supervillains.'"
Phoenix's laugh was still tinged with sorrow, but he did sound in better spirits. "That's good, kid. I can see why he chose you--"
"It wasn't like that," Terry interrupted. "He didn't choose me. I chose. I was the one who forced my way into being... You know."
"I'm sure that's what you think--"
"No. I know. He didn't want me to wear the mask at first, I had to steal it to... take care of some things." Phoenix wasn't the only one who didn't want to share. "He wasn't exactly happy about it, but, if anything, I forced him into this situation."
"I know you're just telling it like you see it, kid, but you don't know him. You can't see how he twists everything around." Phoenix paused to stare at him until Terry started to squirm inwardly. Phoenix had that look down perfectly. "But I'm wasting my time, aren't I? You don't want to hear it."
"You weren't there," Terry pointed out. "You don't know what happened."
Phoenix raised his eyebrows. "No, I don't. But I know him. I know how he works, and what he does to people." He took a sharp turn to his right, away from the direction of Terry's home, and called over his shoulder, "You'll see it, too, someday."
Terry watched him go, not bothering to respond. He still didn't know what to make of this...situation...but now he had more to go on. Maybe enough for the pieces to start falling into place.
End Part One