Batman leads us out of Luthor's bunker, our exit being a storm drain on the outskirts of Goodwin Airport. The tunnel's large enough for us all to fit in, though Batman and Tim hunch a bit. It's one of the few times in my life I'm lucky for my less-than-giant stature. By the time we reach the end of the drainage tunnel, its night.
With a single kick, Batman forces the grating separating us from the world to the ground. It splashes into the muddy river bed noisily, making a sound somewhere between a whoopee cushion and blowing raspberries. The 8-year old in me laughs.
Batman jumps down into the water. It pools around his ankles, and he doesn't seem to mind. Instead he extends an arm to me and helps me down first.
"How's that leg?" he asks.
"Uh, fine" I tremble. When was the last time I talked to Batman? Can't even remember. My eyes dart around. Oh it's uncomfortable. "It's fine…sir." Bart, you idiot. Batman's one of those rare breeds that demands respect just by looking at him. You don't necessarily have to voice your respect. A casual grin might do it. Whatever.
Oddly enough though…he doesn't seem to mind that I called him 'sir.' I don't question it.
"Good," he says. I sling an arm around his shoulder, and step aside. Tim drops to the ground. Conner's the last out of the drain. He looks at me in what I imagine to be some kind of voiceless apology. 'Sorry about you leg, Bart, but those are the breaks.' Jerk. I purse my lips, about to say something, but stop. I'll save my two cents.
Batman turns to Tim, whose busy wiping the mud off the ends of his cape.
"Ca you get back to San Francisco?"
"Yeah," Tim says absent-mindedly. "I'll put in a call to the Watchtower. They can find our position here and teleport us back."
"You're sure?"
"Aren't I always?" Tim says with a half-smirk. I remove myself from Batman's shoulder and find a tree stump to lean on. Batman turns to Conner, and I go to Tim. I happen to…overhear Conner talking to Batman.
"How did it go?" Batman asks.
"Fine," Conner says distantly. I glance over my shoulder quickly and see Conner and Batman standing a few yards away from us, up the ridge. Twin halogen lights peer over the edge of the ridge a few more yards ahead of Batman. Must be the Batmobile, or its headlights anyway. Or…whatever Tim called it. Part of me wonders…isn't having your headlights on just a little obvious?
And I tune out of Conner's conversation right about there. I turn back to Tim. He's got a hand cupped around one ear.
"This is Robin." A pause. "Can you do a teleport for three to San Francisco?"
I glance down at my knee. A scab's already forming over my exposed kneecap. After Black Adam snapped my leg and hauled me off to his little prison cell, I ripped off part of the suit around my knee. Partly to see just how much damage ha been done and to see if there was anything I could do. That was dumb reasoning. With exposure to the elements, infection probably set in. After all…accelerated healing doesn't mean invincibility. Man, I wish it did.
I extend my knee outward, trying to keep it as straight as I can so the bones set right. I try to work through the pain, massaging the muscles in my thigh--the vastus medialis and the vastus lateralis thank-you-very-much Gray's Anatomy. The drawback to extending the leg is that it involves almost every leg muscle. A lot of those muscles were separated from their insertions, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Black Adam. Jerk.
I look back at Tim. He's done talking to the Watchtower. He flashes me a grin and looks past me, to Conner and Batman.
"Conner, they're ready."
Conner glances at us and says a hasty okay, then turns back to Batman. He nods his head and turns away. Batman heads up the ridge, towards the lights of the Batmobile.
Next thing I know, strange blue energy bands appear around us. I close my eyes and I feel a jolt for a second. Like the jolt you feel when the rollercoaster jumps to life and starts rolling along on its track. Right before its rockets up the track...and suddenly shoots down. I half expect to get thrown down violently.
But I don't. By the time I open my eyes, I'm back in the Tower. The big panoramic windows on the top floor overlook San Francisco Bay. The sunset bathes the Bay in warm orange and red. Further out, Alcatraz is silhouetted against the sky. I sigh relief.
"Home," I say, with a smile. "Who wants pizza?"
"Later," Tim says. "We need to get you down to Medical. Have Cyborg and Cassie take a look at your leg.
Tim hangs around just long enough to see Cassie and Vic slap a tourniquet around my knee, set me up in a swanky hospital-type bed. He comes in my room as Cass lifts my leg into a ceiling-anchored hanging support…thingy.
Cass moves to my bedside. "Lift your head," she says. I follow suit, and she fluffs my pillow.
"Wow," I say. "Are you tryin' to seduce me, Miss Sandsmark?"
"Don't get your hopes up," she says with a half-grin.
"Fair enough," I say. "So, uh, when do I get my sponge bath?"
"When you grow up," she says. She arranges my pillow back behind my head, and gives men unexpected peck on the forehead. My eyebrows pique and I stare into space. All I can manage is some inordinate sound that sounds something like 'whoa', but even then it's a stretch.
I look ahead of me to see Tim standing into the doorway—leaning against the frame, his arms folded over his chest. He's got a small grin on his face.
"Was that necessary, Cass?"
She turns to Tim. "No, but it served its purpose."
"Which is?"
"It shut him up."
So much for euphoria. Cass turns back to me, pats my bare chest and flashes a wink. "Get some rest, Bart. See you tomorrow."
She swaggers past Tim. He moves aside to make room for her watches her go, and approaches the bed.
"How you feeling?" he asks.
"A box of chocolates, yourself?"
"Considering what you've been through, that's--"
"Surprising? You're tellin' me. Considering what I've been through I should be ready to tear some heads."
"And yet here you are." Tim folds his arms over his chest.
"Here I am," I say proudly. "Though…"
"What is it?"
"Oh, it's Conner."
"Your leg," Tim replies, finishing my thought.
"It's more than that, Tim," I say, pryingly. "He just sat there. I don't know about you, but…"
"You're hurt," he says.
"Yeah," I say bluntly. "Wouldn't you be?"
"Bart, I've been doing this for a while now," Tim says. He turns and walks along the side of the bed slowly. "It never gets easier. The more you do it, the more chance you have of running into trouble."
"Yeah, but you weren't there," I say. "He just let it happen. Have you ever been totally helpless? Betrayed? Left out in the cold?"
"Many times," Tim says quietly. "And I know what you're feeling. But this is something you need to talk to him about. Don't let it get the best of you."
"Tell him that."
Tim stops at the foot of the bed.
"Get some rest, Bart. I'll have Cyborg put you on reserve until you're back to full strength."
"Yeah, ok," I say distantly.
Tim turns and leaves. He leaves the door open. My eyes drift shut for a few minutes.
They open to the harsh fluorescents overhead. I look ahead of me and Conner's standing in the doorway, his hand hovering over the light switch.
"Mind if I turn these on?" he asks callously.
"Sure," I say. "Why not." I turn my head and look out the panoramic window—it's more of a wall, really. The outer façade of the Tower is mostly glass, at least on the upper levels—the T-section. 'Frisco is alive with the lights and life of a Saturday night. I almost wanna jump out of bed and go be a part of it.
I look back to Conner. He's at the foot of the bed now.
"Listen," he says, wringing his hands like Richard Nixon. Sheesh. "I, uh, came to talk."
"Okay," I say, feigning interest. "How's your portfolio? Diversified?"
"Come on," he says, cocking his head in annoyance. "Can we be serious about this?"
"You wanna be serious?" I say, my voice rising. "Fine. Let's be serious."
"Alright," Conner says, crossing his arms.
"You just sat there," I say. "Sat there and let it happen."
"Bart, it wasn't my fault—""
"Wasn't it!"
"Dr. Psycho was influencing me."
"Yeah right."
"Bart, I never intended for any of this to happen."
"Yeah, Conner. This crap just fell into place. Gimme a break."
"You have to believe me. I never wanted any of this to happen."
"Then you shouldn't have gone to find Luthor. You should have stayed here, not gotten involved. I'd still have a working leg, and we'd all be a lot happier!"
"If you want me to apologize for going to Luthor—"
"I want you to apologize for not doing anything! Black Adam breaks my friggin' leg and you sit there. Not saying anything, just letting it happen. You could've taken them all out in a blink. What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Conner exhales, and collects himself. "I wanted to help. But I couldn't. Dr. Psycho was playing with my mind. He had me locked in that chair. Even if I wanted to stop Black Adam, I couldn't."
"I'm not grotesquely ignorant, Conner! Psycho may have been screwing with you, but you could have done something about it. You could have fought it! But you didn't. You just went along with whatever Luthor said, didn't you. You just rolled with it. Did you even hear that little voice inside that says 'this might be a bad idea'?"
"That's not—"
"Fair? I'll tell you what's not fair. I'm out of commission for who-knows how long while this damn thing heals! Because of you, I have to sit on the sideline while everyone else gets to contribute to society."
"Bart, all I can say is that I'm sorry."
"Yeah. You are sorry."
"So that's it then? What happened to forgive and forget?"
"Why should I?"
"It's what friends do for each other."
"Face it, Conner," I say, quieting my voice. "What you just did wasn't for anyone but yourself."
"You know that's not true."
"It is. And you know it."
Silence. "This is your fault," I say. "Tim and I try to save you, and we get beaten to hell and back by Slade and Zoom while you run around playing secret agent with Luthor. That's not fair."
Conner slumps a bit, in a visible kind of defeat. "I am sorry about your leg, Bart. But I had to know where I came from. What I'm doing here."
"And did Luthor enlighten you? Did you find what you were looking for?"
"You know I did."
"Doesn't look like it."
"Come on!" Conner protests. "You knew what I was doing. What I was getting into. You didn't have to get involved."
"I don't wanna hear it," I say impatiently. "Listen, Conner. I did something for you…and you threw it back in my face. For the foreseeable future, stay the hell away from me."
"So that's it?"
"I didn't stutter. There's the door."
Conner turns and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Next: Tim returns to Gotham..