Who's Laughing Now?

Chapter 9

**

Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? –Shakespeare

~*~

Jim had two immediate impressions: first, this house was too damned big. Batman had disappeared somewhere into it, leaving Robin to keep immediate watch, claiming he was going to 'secure their location.'

His second impression was that the butler, Alfred, was not happy. He had met them upon immediately entering the house, aiding the doctor and eyeing the two masked members of the party discontentedly.

Jim now sat outside of what he believed to be Dick Grayson's old bedroom. He'd been moved there after his first inspection by the sarcastic, frowning doctor, along with Barbara. He could hear her in there now, muttering unhappily. He was sure she was not pleased at all about being without her chair… she was stuck in there with him when she'd probably much rather run away. She'd always been rather adept at storming off, and being unable to leave under one's own power sort of stole some thunder.

The doctor appeared in the doorway, not looking in the least happy. She handed a pacing Robin his collapsed bow staff. "She'll live. He may not, if she or I get our hands on him." The woman took a few steps towards Jim and held out her hand. "I'm Leslie Thompkins."

Not knowing what else to do, Jim accepted the simple, NORMAL gesture. "Jim Gordon. Barbara's father."

She gave him half a smile, something that was slightly consoling. "Sorry we're not meeting under better circumstances." She looked to Robin, a scowl suddenly twisting on her face.

"I just work here," the boy said defensively as his cell phone rang. He cringed and pulled it out of his pocket. "Hi." The call itself seemed to be more than he could bear; the boy leaned against the wall and slid down, crouching on the floor, as though he could vanish away into it. "No. Reports of my escape are greatly exaggerated. I'm with Alfie. No, he didn't sign me out. I can't believe they called you in Switzerland. I think he just forgot. Dad… FINE. You can talk to him." Exhausted, Robin pulled the phone away from his ear. "Alfred, my dad wants to talk to you!" Waiting, he put the phone back up to his ear. "He's coming. He doesn't just sit around; waiting for you to call and make sure I'm still locked up like the little convict that I am."

The butler appeared over the boy, his hand held out and waiting for the phone. Gratefully, Robin handed it over. "No, sir… it was an error on my part," Alfred explained patiently. "I will correct the problem as soon as we return to campus. Thank you, sir. Not a problem at all." Alfred ended the call and handed the phone back to the boy. He stared down at Robin in reprimand, and the boy squirmed.

Jim tried not to watch the display, but it was nearly impossible. All the boy had to do was leave the hallway with the cell phone. Apparently no one cared any more. Fine. If they didn't, then he didn't. "Go find your mentor," he informed the red and yellow-clad sidekick. "I have a few choice words I'd like to share with him."

"No need," Batman announced, appearing at the end of the hall. He didn't dare to step out of the shadows. "The area is secure. Batgirl will be arriving shortly to provide further security."

"Oh that's just great!" Barbara hollered from the bedroom. "You tell HER, but you don't tell ME anything."

Batman seemed to stiffen, but didn't bother to respond.

"We need to talk," Jim Gordon informed the Dark Knight, his voice laced with pain and authority. Leslie Thompkins made herself scarce, entering the bedroom again and closing the door behind her.

Alfred didn't even bother to excuse himself. He simply went down stairs, probably to 'busy' himself elsewhere. He'd made it known on fifteen occasions that he should have been informed of what was transpiring within the 'family,' and they were all sure he'd find other opportunities before the night was over.

That left Robin, sitting on the floor, licking his cracked lip. He looked at the two men staring down at him, and finally dragged himself to his feet. "Hey, I'm going," Robin muttered, dragging his tired body to a standing position. "Just excuse me while I go find a ledge to jump off of," the boy muttered, following Alfred down the steps.

* * *

Batgirl had stopped two armed robberies and had helped a woman out of her burning car, after it had smashed into an art installation in Robinson Park. That was just in the last hour. She was having a good night, she was content. Now she was going to provide support at a place just outside of the city. She was working extra hard the last few weeks, but the more she worked, the happier she was.

She'd been watching Oracle's apartment, the last day or so, and was glad to get out in the night and fly after sun set. Half way between her originating point, and her destination, she caught sight of a bat, lighting in the sky. She knew what that signal meant.

Changing direction, she went back to Tricorner, and the police headquarters. Usually, she didn't go there—that was Batman's job. She could… just stop and see. It'd only take a minute. If it WAS a big emergency, Batman would want her to take care of that first. She understood him like that. Work first. Other stuff later.

Since her language skills were limited, she wasn't allowed to sneak up on the police, since they usually didn't take kindly to the way she announced herself. She made a visible approach from Ninth Street, squinting at the odd figure upon the roof.

Batgirl knew something wasn't right, Atkins usually stood near the signal, because he would shut it off when Batman appeared. Tonight, he was standing in his long, brown trench coat, looking very frightened. His body was held rigid, and there was something she couldn't identify under his coat. She couldn't see another figure on the roof, but she was sure it was there. She was also sure there was a gun in Atkins' back. His posture screamed of it.

"There's my Little Wildcard!" a voice called out suddenly, echoing off the buildings and stinging in her ears, two blocks away. "I figured Batty would be otherwise detained!" She knew it was coming, and urged herself on faster, trying to cover the remaining block and a half, diving downward and shooting off a new line, even before Atkins' feet were off the ledge. "Well, now so are YOU!"

The laughing started even as her body connected with Atkins', her arms wrapping around him, and the bulk beneath his coat. The laughing continued as the line pulled taught and their direction changed, the air rushing out of the dark-skinned cop's lungs like air being forced out of a bellows.

One bullet whizzed by them, then the full assault of semi-automatic fire began. He was aiming for Atkins, and Batgirl had no choice but to put herself in the way. She changed directions one more time, avoiding most of the barrage of fire, and lowered them beneath cement ledge for shelter as the laughing and shooting continued.

Atkins was a solid, stalwart individual, but even he had trouble getting his footing on the railing beneath him. "Can we make this quick?" he asked hopefully, keeping one hand on her shoulder to keep from falling. That was when he noticed the holes in the cape… the blood.

The girl seemed to not be paying attention. She was listening for something. Finally, there was a pause in the firing. "Outta bullets," she announced breathily, putting an arm beneath him and lowering them both the final few stories to the ground.

She had seen the files on the Joker. Oracle had told her things. She knew the other policemen would get up to the roof, search for the Joker, and probably not find him. Other times, there would be a helicopter to retrieve him, or a bunch of explosions. But he was being sneaky this time.

Catching her breath, she closed her eyes and counted. There were two holes above her left shoulder blade, another low, on the right side of her back. The cape was her primary protection in the rear, and it had twisted around her and had left her open. She wasn't sure how the bullet in her leg had gotten there. If she'd have had better speed and control in the air, it wouldn't have happened. She'd have had better speed and control, if she weren't trying to manage another body—one twice her size. Next time she'd do better.

She tore open his trench coat and looked at the small, flat package taped to his torso. "He said I was supposed to give this--"

Without preamble, she tore it off of his shirt, ripping the silver duct tape from the yellow packaging. Not bothering to open it in his presence, she vanished.

Continued in chapter ten



Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. -- Shakespeare