Who's Laughing Now?
Chapter 6
**
But the fact that some geniuses were laughed at does not imply that all who are laughed at are geniuses. They laughed at Columbus, they laughed at Fulton, they laughed at the Wright brothers. But they also laughed at Bozo the Clown.
-- Carl Sagan
~*~
A disheveled, almost half-crazed Dick Grayson showed up on Barbara's door step early the next afternoon. He hadn't slept at all, since the revelation that the stuffed toys had come from Barbara's apartment—or after he saw what the Joker had done to the Robin doll. Cassandra, the current Batgirl, had been watching the Clocktower since last night.
He rang the buzzer once and then leaned back on his heels. The carpet had just been replaced, and the deep blue spongen material beneath his feet was a bit soothing, even given his current circumstances. He felt like he could ALMOST doze off standing right there.
Glaring at the metal door, he pressed the button labeled "talk", next to the door bell.
"Hey, Babs," Dick called into the intercom, his throat dry and cracking. "How's about letting me in?" Staring up into the camera above the door, he could feel her gaze scrutinizing him.
Finally, the door opened. "So, you decided to come to dinner with me and dad after all?" Barbara looked up at him skeptically. He had a feeling this was going to be difficult.
Dick shrugged, trying to appear innocent. "Yeah, figured we could pick him up from the airport. Listen to stories about his great fishing conquests." He stepped into her apartment, checked the hall one last time, then closed the door and locked it, rearming the security.
How the hell was the Joker getting in and out of these places? BAT people couldn't get in and out without alerting Barbara of their presence. How could someone so… insane be doing it?
"My dad hasn't caught anything in years," Barbara pointed out. "And you look like hell, Grayson. If you're getting sick, stay away from ME."
Taking his hands out of his jean-pockets, Dick held his hands up defensively. "Wooh, there. I'm not getting sick. Just had one of those nights, you know?"
She wheeled through the living room and back into her computer room. She'd spent the whole first half of the day trying to both figure out HOW Tim had gotten into her systems, and WHY. She hated being at odds with the Bat- clan, especially since she was supposed to be on their side, but they made it difficult. She decided to play it cool with Dick, to see what she could get out of him. He HAD to be involved in whatever scheme had suddenly set her against Bruce and Tim. He'd spent all of the last night in their company, and whatever the Bat-folks had against each other, when one of them was involved in something annoying or dangerous, ALL of them were.
"The least you could have done," she said, closing down some of her more obvious windows, "was bring my toys back. I don't know what you think you're doing with them."
Cramming his fists back in his pocket, Dick bit both of his cheeks for a moment as he followed her into the room. Standing behind her chair, he watched her close several incriminating windows. It wasn't good that she was suspicious—but it wasn't unexpected. She was hardly stupid. "Uh… having them dry cleaned." If they made it out of this with their story intact, he'd get her new ones made. The problem was—he had NO idea what that resolution would be.
The Joker enjoyed driving people crazy. He enjoyed killing them, but mostly he liked to torture them physically and emotionally first. He also seemed really hung up on what Dick had done to him. Well, if someone had killed you with his bare hands, you might be a little hung up on it too.
"Just give 'em back, ok?" Finishing up what she was doing, Barbara turned her chair around to face him. "So, what's with the sudden bonding move?" she asked, skeptically.
Oh, she was suspicious, Dick thought. This was going to be an even bigger problem than it already was. "So, if you're inviting me to dinner with you and your dad, that means that I have to reciprocate?" he plastered his girl- killer smile across his face, hoping it'd at least buy him some time. He was only here tonight to make sure she and her dad were OK. Bruce and Tim were continuing to work on the case at hand.
"Dinner with your dad?" Barbara frowned. "Now THAT'S a load of fun."
"I didn't say it was supposed to be fun." He could have really been nettling her about the nature of the 'invitation to meet the parents' thing, and what it implied about a relationship. He could have been outright harassing her for a deeper commitment. But right now, it was all he had in him to play these games.
* * *
The lights of the interior of the airport reflected off of the glass walls of the "B" terminal of Gotham International Airport, denying Dick and Barbara a view of the rain that had been pouring down since they'd left Barbara's apartment a few hours before. They'd been sitting there for quite some time. First the flight had been delayed in Florida from take-off, and now it was having trouble landing because of the storm in Gotham. Was it possible for weather to be doing things to spite them all?
Through the mirror created by the light and the glass, Barbara eyed Dick suspiciously as he continued to look around the airport with equal concern. She knew he was trying to hide his frequent inspections of their surroundings, but she still caught him. She wasn't stupid—she'd played the game long enough to learn Bat-Tricks.
He also seemed under-slept, under-fed, and generally nervous, which made her task of detection all the more simple. He continually rubbed the palms of his hands on the faded knees of his jeans, and looked at her, trying to smile. Occasionally, he'd shift stiffly in the black pleather chair he sat in, arching his eyebrows, as if he could cover for his current state with mere cuteness.
"Dick…" Barbara finally pleaded. This couldn't continue like it had been—she refused to let it. "Is this about Jason? What's really going on?"
He snapped out of his thoughts and regarded her silently for a moment. The dark thoughtfulness in his eyes reminded her more of Bruce's usual state than Dick Grayson, Perpetual Optimistic.
"Why was Tim hacking inside my network last night?" She'd asked the young man directly, but he'd evaded her last night, and she'd already spent the whole day trying to figure out what he was up to, and only had half a clue. "What does this have to do with Arkham?"
Her Twenty-Something Wonder continued to reveal nothing, and she was caught between anger mixed with frustration, and serious concern. She wanted to smack him. But above all—she didn't want him to end up like Bruce—constantly playing his emotional cards incredibly close to his chest
"It's nothing, Babs," he told her mildly. "Just… getting to be that time of the year. And Tim's just probably stretching his hacking wings."
Folding her arms over her chest, she barely bit back fury. "Not on MY machine, he doesn't! Bruce should kick his ass for the security breach alone—unless—Bruce was in on it. Look, I know he has bots aimed at me. I know he's got at least a dozen hacks on my network going. But if I'm part of this team—I think I should know what the hell's going on."
He looked away from her for a moment, then got his cell phone out of his pocket, then got up and began walking away.
Her eyes bored hatefully into his plaid cotton sweater. "Don't walk away from me, Richard." She could have followed. She had a good mind to chase after him, in her damned wheel chair, and tell him exactly what she thought of the situation. But if he were 'pulling a Bruce,' what would the point be?
"Yeah, Tim… put Bruce on," Dick said quietly. He walked towards the newsstand, which was closed at this advanced hour. Leaning against the metal frame of the newsstand counter, he forced himself to not look back at Barbara. He hated this. He hated doing this to her—but Dick being a jerk was a hell of a lot less painful and nerve wracking than knowing she in serious danger from a force they had yet to isolate and as of yet had no means to stop.
As much as he despised her anger, he didn't know if he could handle what would happen to her emotionally even more. The Joker had taken so much from her, had completely altered the fabric of her life, and had perhaps killed Dick's window of opportunity to ever give her happiness.
"How the hell is he doing it?" Dick asked nervously when Bruce came on the line.
It was awfully damned quiet on the other end. "Just stick with her. Don't alarm either of them unnecessarily," Bruce instructed.
Like a junkie in need of a fix, Dick fidgeted, his eyes darting back and forth in exhaustion coupled with uncertainty. "Ok, this is out of hand."
"I know," Bruce answered tightly.
Dick tried to swallow his frustration. He knew Bruce was at a breaking point as well. "Sorry," he apologized breathily. The only consolation that Dick had at this point was that even though the Joker had somehow gotten into Oracle's overly secure lair, all of the madman's attacks seemed directed at Batman and his protégé's, and not Oracle. "Look… just… figure something out," he demanded pointlessly.
Ending the call, he stared at the black phone in his hand for a moment. He couldn't take it if Barbara knew what was going on. He couldn't stand the look of betrayal in her eyes if she knew they'd kept this from her so long already. He couldn't bear the hurt that would cover over her features as she relieved all the old pains, or the look of haunted fear that would overcome her as she imagined new atrocities.
He had to tell her.
With his head hanging low, he marched back to where Barbara was sitting. Her arms were folded over her chest, he could tell that from fifty yards. Making the long trek back across the abused tan carpeting of the terminal, he tried to formulate something resembling an explanation.
Dick sat down, trying to appear contrite. As he did so, he noticed two airline employees becoming busy, even though they were still the only people waiting at the gate.
He gave a contrite sigh before he began. "Babs… you're right. I owe you an explanation. For the hacking… for everything." This was the thing that separated him from Bruce, right? He hadn't completely allowed himself to be isolated and warped the way Bruce was.
Right. He'd just keep telling himself that as Bruce kicked his ass for this.
She scowled at him, turning the chair and moving towards the counter at the gate.
"Wait, aren't you going to listen?" he asked pleadingly. He was ready to tell her, and she was moving away from him?
"Either make it quick, or wait until we drop my dad off at home, because they said his plane arrived at the gate, No-Wonder. But you weren't listening because you were having a pow-wow down the corridor." She parked herself near the big metal door at the gate, her back to him. Locking her wheels, her arms folded over her chest again, her opinion of his actions clearly visible.
* * *
Listlessly, Tim swung in the oversize chair back and forth as he talked to Black Canary. He didn't know what he could do to release his nervous energy, but twiddling his thumbs didn't have nearly the same hypnotic effect as the creaking Batman's chair made every time he stopped his momentum and changed direction.
"Thanks," he said, getting ready to finish up his conversation. "I appreciate you clearing that up." He didn't want to imply anything beyond gratitude and annoyed complacency, but Dinah's revelation about the toys had done more to trouble his soul than ease his mind.
"Hey, no problem. I'm happy to be involved with anything that gets him in deep trouble—he's been mean to Oracle lately," said a sultry yet flippant voice. " Just tell Nightwing he better stop being a boob and give her the dolls back. I mailed them to him because I thought it would be a good joke, but she's uber-livid."
Tim licked the sore on his lip, wondering why he didn't have a compartment in his belt for lip balm. "Do you remember the source of the e-mail you got from Nightwing? Or the box he had you mail 'em to?"
"I can forward you the e-mail."
Tim thanked her and closed the connection, not even bothering to ask her to send the full headers of the e-mail. It would be pointless. Dinah more of an 'in your face' type field agent. She didn't handle technology very well at all—hence her thinking that an e-mail in Dick's tone of voice was actually from Dick.
He swallowed a few times before turning the chair and rising to join Bruce at the metal table that had filled up with evidence since this had begun. He was reviewing physical copies of blue prints and security schematics. This had been going on for several hours, and Batman hadn't said a word the entire time, except when Dick had called.
"This is looking REALLY bad," Tim pointed out. "I mean… Babs isn't safe. He knows who she's in contact with—even if he didn't somehow magically break into her apartment to get the dolls." Batman's black-gloved hand pulled a deep blue and white sheet off of a more modern blue on white sheet, looking back between the two sets of plans. Robin wasn't wholly sure he should be interrupting, but it seemed like Batman had been going on too long like this with no results.
"Then they are in danger right now," Batman announced, finally releasing the plans and stepping back from the table. "The Joker has free access in and out of Arkham. He's had it since No Man's Land, at least. Dick didn't find any tampering with the security system because there wasn't any. The 'out' was built into the system put into place after the quake."
Tim's jaw dropped. "So he found another rout out on his last escape… just because?"
"This is a game to the Joker," Batman pointed out painfully as he dialed Dick's cell phone number. He had some theories on how the Joker had appeared to be sleeping or in therapy when these events had occurred. All of it led up to one immediate problem: Dick, Barbara and Jim were out in the open.
Without waiting for Batman to tell him to, Tim began migrating towards the car. As he did so, he made sure they were prepared, tasers, sedatives and anti-Joker-venom. A new problem twisted in his gut: if the Joker had been able to come and go freely for such a length of time—what had he had time to plan for them?
Continued in Chapter 7
But we are all men
In our own natures frail.
---Henry VIII, Act V Scene iii
Chapter 6
**
But the fact that some geniuses were laughed at does not imply that all who are laughed at are geniuses. They laughed at Columbus, they laughed at Fulton, they laughed at the Wright brothers. But they also laughed at Bozo the Clown.
-- Carl Sagan
~*~
A disheveled, almost half-crazed Dick Grayson showed up on Barbara's door step early the next afternoon. He hadn't slept at all, since the revelation that the stuffed toys had come from Barbara's apartment—or after he saw what the Joker had done to the Robin doll. Cassandra, the current Batgirl, had been watching the Clocktower since last night.
He rang the buzzer once and then leaned back on his heels. The carpet had just been replaced, and the deep blue spongen material beneath his feet was a bit soothing, even given his current circumstances. He felt like he could ALMOST doze off standing right there.
Glaring at the metal door, he pressed the button labeled "talk", next to the door bell.
"Hey, Babs," Dick called into the intercom, his throat dry and cracking. "How's about letting me in?" Staring up into the camera above the door, he could feel her gaze scrutinizing him.
Finally, the door opened. "So, you decided to come to dinner with me and dad after all?" Barbara looked up at him skeptically. He had a feeling this was going to be difficult.
Dick shrugged, trying to appear innocent. "Yeah, figured we could pick him up from the airport. Listen to stories about his great fishing conquests." He stepped into her apartment, checked the hall one last time, then closed the door and locked it, rearming the security.
How the hell was the Joker getting in and out of these places? BAT people couldn't get in and out without alerting Barbara of their presence. How could someone so… insane be doing it?
"My dad hasn't caught anything in years," Barbara pointed out. "And you look like hell, Grayson. If you're getting sick, stay away from ME."
Taking his hands out of his jean-pockets, Dick held his hands up defensively. "Wooh, there. I'm not getting sick. Just had one of those nights, you know?"
She wheeled through the living room and back into her computer room. She'd spent the whole first half of the day trying to both figure out HOW Tim had gotten into her systems, and WHY. She hated being at odds with the Bat- clan, especially since she was supposed to be on their side, but they made it difficult. She decided to play it cool with Dick, to see what she could get out of him. He HAD to be involved in whatever scheme had suddenly set her against Bruce and Tim. He'd spent all of the last night in their company, and whatever the Bat-folks had against each other, when one of them was involved in something annoying or dangerous, ALL of them were.
"The least you could have done," she said, closing down some of her more obvious windows, "was bring my toys back. I don't know what you think you're doing with them."
Cramming his fists back in his pocket, Dick bit both of his cheeks for a moment as he followed her into the room. Standing behind her chair, he watched her close several incriminating windows. It wasn't good that she was suspicious—but it wasn't unexpected. She was hardly stupid. "Uh… having them dry cleaned." If they made it out of this with their story intact, he'd get her new ones made. The problem was—he had NO idea what that resolution would be.
The Joker enjoyed driving people crazy. He enjoyed killing them, but mostly he liked to torture them physically and emotionally first. He also seemed really hung up on what Dick had done to him. Well, if someone had killed you with his bare hands, you might be a little hung up on it too.
"Just give 'em back, ok?" Finishing up what she was doing, Barbara turned her chair around to face him. "So, what's with the sudden bonding move?" she asked, skeptically.
Oh, she was suspicious, Dick thought. This was going to be an even bigger problem than it already was. "So, if you're inviting me to dinner with you and your dad, that means that I have to reciprocate?" he plastered his girl- killer smile across his face, hoping it'd at least buy him some time. He was only here tonight to make sure she and her dad were OK. Bruce and Tim were continuing to work on the case at hand.
"Dinner with your dad?" Barbara frowned. "Now THAT'S a load of fun."
"I didn't say it was supposed to be fun." He could have really been nettling her about the nature of the 'invitation to meet the parents' thing, and what it implied about a relationship. He could have been outright harassing her for a deeper commitment. But right now, it was all he had in him to play these games.
* * *
The lights of the interior of the airport reflected off of the glass walls of the "B" terminal of Gotham International Airport, denying Dick and Barbara a view of the rain that had been pouring down since they'd left Barbara's apartment a few hours before. They'd been sitting there for quite some time. First the flight had been delayed in Florida from take-off, and now it was having trouble landing because of the storm in Gotham. Was it possible for weather to be doing things to spite them all?
Through the mirror created by the light and the glass, Barbara eyed Dick suspiciously as he continued to look around the airport with equal concern. She knew he was trying to hide his frequent inspections of their surroundings, but she still caught him. She wasn't stupid—she'd played the game long enough to learn Bat-Tricks.
He also seemed under-slept, under-fed, and generally nervous, which made her task of detection all the more simple. He continually rubbed the palms of his hands on the faded knees of his jeans, and looked at her, trying to smile. Occasionally, he'd shift stiffly in the black pleather chair he sat in, arching his eyebrows, as if he could cover for his current state with mere cuteness.
"Dick…" Barbara finally pleaded. This couldn't continue like it had been—she refused to let it. "Is this about Jason? What's really going on?"
He snapped out of his thoughts and regarded her silently for a moment. The dark thoughtfulness in his eyes reminded her more of Bruce's usual state than Dick Grayson, Perpetual Optimistic.
"Why was Tim hacking inside my network last night?" She'd asked the young man directly, but he'd evaded her last night, and she'd already spent the whole day trying to figure out what he was up to, and only had half a clue. "What does this have to do with Arkham?"
Her Twenty-Something Wonder continued to reveal nothing, and she was caught between anger mixed with frustration, and serious concern. She wanted to smack him. But above all—she didn't want him to end up like Bruce—constantly playing his emotional cards incredibly close to his chest
"It's nothing, Babs," he told her mildly. "Just… getting to be that time of the year. And Tim's just probably stretching his hacking wings."
Folding her arms over her chest, she barely bit back fury. "Not on MY machine, he doesn't! Bruce should kick his ass for the security breach alone—unless—Bruce was in on it. Look, I know he has bots aimed at me. I know he's got at least a dozen hacks on my network going. But if I'm part of this team—I think I should know what the hell's going on."
He looked away from her for a moment, then got his cell phone out of his pocket, then got up and began walking away.
Her eyes bored hatefully into his plaid cotton sweater. "Don't walk away from me, Richard." She could have followed. She had a good mind to chase after him, in her damned wheel chair, and tell him exactly what she thought of the situation. But if he were 'pulling a Bruce,' what would the point be?
"Yeah, Tim… put Bruce on," Dick said quietly. He walked towards the newsstand, which was closed at this advanced hour. Leaning against the metal frame of the newsstand counter, he forced himself to not look back at Barbara. He hated this. He hated doing this to her—but Dick being a jerk was a hell of a lot less painful and nerve wracking than knowing she in serious danger from a force they had yet to isolate and as of yet had no means to stop.
As much as he despised her anger, he didn't know if he could handle what would happen to her emotionally even more. The Joker had taken so much from her, had completely altered the fabric of her life, and had perhaps killed Dick's window of opportunity to ever give her happiness.
"How the hell is he doing it?" Dick asked nervously when Bruce came on the line.
It was awfully damned quiet on the other end. "Just stick with her. Don't alarm either of them unnecessarily," Bruce instructed.
Like a junkie in need of a fix, Dick fidgeted, his eyes darting back and forth in exhaustion coupled with uncertainty. "Ok, this is out of hand."
"I know," Bruce answered tightly.
Dick tried to swallow his frustration. He knew Bruce was at a breaking point as well. "Sorry," he apologized breathily. The only consolation that Dick had at this point was that even though the Joker had somehow gotten into Oracle's overly secure lair, all of the madman's attacks seemed directed at Batman and his protégé's, and not Oracle. "Look… just… figure something out," he demanded pointlessly.
Ending the call, he stared at the black phone in his hand for a moment. He couldn't take it if Barbara knew what was going on. He couldn't stand the look of betrayal in her eyes if she knew they'd kept this from her so long already. He couldn't bear the hurt that would cover over her features as she relieved all the old pains, or the look of haunted fear that would overcome her as she imagined new atrocities.
He had to tell her.
With his head hanging low, he marched back to where Barbara was sitting. Her arms were folded over her chest, he could tell that from fifty yards. Making the long trek back across the abused tan carpeting of the terminal, he tried to formulate something resembling an explanation.
Dick sat down, trying to appear contrite. As he did so, he noticed two airline employees becoming busy, even though they were still the only people waiting at the gate.
He gave a contrite sigh before he began. "Babs… you're right. I owe you an explanation. For the hacking… for everything." This was the thing that separated him from Bruce, right? He hadn't completely allowed himself to be isolated and warped the way Bruce was.
Right. He'd just keep telling himself that as Bruce kicked his ass for this.
She scowled at him, turning the chair and moving towards the counter at the gate.
"Wait, aren't you going to listen?" he asked pleadingly. He was ready to tell her, and she was moving away from him?
"Either make it quick, or wait until we drop my dad off at home, because they said his plane arrived at the gate, No-Wonder. But you weren't listening because you were having a pow-wow down the corridor." She parked herself near the big metal door at the gate, her back to him. Locking her wheels, her arms folded over her chest again, her opinion of his actions clearly visible.
* * *
Listlessly, Tim swung in the oversize chair back and forth as he talked to Black Canary. He didn't know what he could do to release his nervous energy, but twiddling his thumbs didn't have nearly the same hypnotic effect as the creaking Batman's chair made every time he stopped his momentum and changed direction.
"Thanks," he said, getting ready to finish up his conversation. "I appreciate you clearing that up." He didn't want to imply anything beyond gratitude and annoyed complacency, but Dinah's revelation about the toys had done more to trouble his soul than ease his mind.
"Hey, no problem. I'm happy to be involved with anything that gets him in deep trouble—he's been mean to Oracle lately," said a sultry yet flippant voice. " Just tell Nightwing he better stop being a boob and give her the dolls back. I mailed them to him because I thought it would be a good joke, but she's uber-livid."
Tim licked the sore on his lip, wondering why he didn't have a compartment in his belt for lip balm. "Do you remember the source of the e-mail you got from Nightwing? Or the box he had you mail 'em to?"
"I can forward you the e-mail."
Tim thanked her and closed the connection, not even bothering to ask her to send the full headers of the e-mail. It would be pointless. Dinah more of an 'in your face' type field agent. She didn't handle technology very well at all—hence her thinking that an e-mail in Dick's tone of voice was actually from Dick.
He swallowed a few times before turning the chair and rising to join Bruce at the metal table that had filled up with evidence since this had begun. He was reviewing physical copies of blue prints and security schematics. This had been going on for several hours, and Batman hadn't said a word the entire time, except when Dick had called.
"This is looking REALLY bad," Tim pointed out. "I mean… Babs isn't safe. He knows who she's in contact with—even if he didn't somehow magically break into her apartment to get the dolls." Batman's black-gloved hand pulled a deep blue and white sheet off of a more modern blue on white sheet, looking back between the two sets of plans. Robin wasn't wholly sure he should be interrupting, but it seemed like Batman had been going on too long like this with no results.
"Then they are in danger right now," Batman announced, finally releasing the plans and stepping back from the table. "The Joker has free access in and out of Arkham. He's had it since No Man's Land, at least. Dick didn't find any tampering with the security system because there wasn't any. The 'out' was built into the system put into place after the quake."
Tim's jaw dropped. "So he found another rout out on his last escape… just because?"
"This is a game to the Joker," Batman pointed out painfully as he dialed Dick's cell phone number. He had some theories on how the Joker had appeared to be sleeping or in therapy when these events had occurred. All of it led up to one immediate problem: Dick, Barbara and Jim were out in the open.
Without waiting for Batman to tell him to, Tim began migrating towards the car. As he did so, he made sure they were prepared, tasers, sedatives and anti-Joker-venom. A new problem twisted in his gut: if the Joker had been able to come and go freely for such a length of time—what had he had time to plan for them?
Continued in Chapter 7
But we are all men
In our own natures frail.
---Henry VIII, Act V Scene iii
