Friday/Saturday, midnight
Gar Logan spent most of the evening sitting at his computer, trying to concentrate on his paper. At first, he thought that the lunacy of the assignment was the reason that he couldn't seem to focus. Then he thought that it was because he would soooo much rather play videogames than do homework. As the minutes ticked to hours, and the cursor blinked tauntingly at him from the blank screen in front of him, Gar eventually gave up and allowed himself to dwell on the real reason he couldn't concentrate.
Harvey Dent was in town.
Harvey Dent was in New York, surrounded by hired thugs, and for whatever reason decided to take a stroll through the Metropolitan Museum. For some reason, Gar seriously doubted that the villain wanted to add a little culture to his life.
Gar was now sprawled on his bed, unable to sleep. The same thing that kept him from focusing on his paper was now keeping him from turning his mind off and sleeping. Harvey Dent was planning something big, and the cops didn't even know where he was.
That wasn't a good thing.
No, no, nononononono that was not a good thing.
Where Harvey goes, dead bodies usually follow. Either his own goons, innocent bystanders, overbold security guards, the new District Attorney picking up his custody case…
Gar spent a good part of his post-Africa childhood in Gotham. He knew very well what Harvey Dent was capable of.
Now Harvey was here and not a soul knew about it, except him.
Finally Gar gave up on the concept of sleep. He needed to think—clear his head, before he could get anything done. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. A few hours of flying should make everything clearer.
It always did.
Saturday, before dawn
It was nearing four a.m. Only another hour or so until dawn.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Everything was still dark. Not a trace of false-dawn.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Everything was quiet, peaceful. Still.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
So many people in this building, all of them sound asleep. Easy to filer out. Nothing more than psychic white noise.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
After nearly eight hours of nonstop meditation—after she got back from class at eight and right up through this moment, Raven felt the psychic pulse of everyone around her. She drifted over their sea of dreams, caught on invisible winds that held her aloft. Above the din. Wrapped in mind-fog and invisible.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Here in her dorm room, and spread thin across the entire building, on every floor, in every hallway, every common area, and across every threshold to the outside world, Raven sat in quiet, peaceful meditation. Waiting, watching, passively anticipating.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
Yet after nearly eight hours of nonstop meditation, Raven was beginning to fade. The concentration level was demanding, and after a long day… even meditation has its biological limits.
Azarath……… Metrion……… Xinthos………
Eight hours and not so much as a thought, a presence, a shadow within shadows. The one presence she sought had yet to register. The one footprint in her psychic vision that she had been looking for all these hours never materialized. Now, Raven found that she didn't have the stamina to continue.
Azarath………
Slowly the fog dissipated. The sleeping flower bloomed and dawn broke through like a tear in the lining of the psychic sky.
Metrion………
The sea beneath her evaporated away. The invisible currents no longer lent wind to her sails. Raven drifted down, in the growing light, and felt the softness of her mattress when her legs touched down. Ordinary sounds from the outside world began to register again.
Xinthos……………
Exhausted, Raven opened her eyes at last. Then with a sigh she unfolded her legs, wincing slightly as the muscles protested. Then she yawned, and prepared to give in to her body's cries for sleep.
She does not. do. worry. This Raven told herself repeatedly as she prepared for meditation. However, she does do curiosity, and right now she was very curious to know where Dick Grayson was, and why he didn't come back to his room—or even the dormitory itself, at all tonight. In fact, she was damn curious to know where he's been all week! She had been expecting him to ask her for help studying for his finals, but they were tomorrow and he still hasn't contacted her. On top of that, Garfield and Victor haven't seen him either, and while she highly doubted that he would take up valuable study time to play videogames, it was still odd that he hasn't even seen them for, say, lunch or dinner in the café. Then of course there was his friend Barbara from Gotham who seemed very worried about something, and whatever that something was it had Dick's name all over it.
Very curious indeed.
As Raven pulled the covers up to her chin and rolled over, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep, she had to remind herself again that she does NOT do worry!
Dick Grayson was beat. It was nearly four thirty, and he hadn't even been back to his room yet since leaving for the night's activities around five. That added up to over six hours of undercover work and nearly five in the Robin suit: eleven grueling yet productive hours of vigilantism, and as he struggled to keep from falling asleep on his feet in the elevator, Dick was glad they were over.
He had gotten out of college writing (which was really just a rehash of everything they tried to teach him over the summer, though the emphasis this time was on form rather than function) and came back to the dorm. He heated up a TV dinner for a quick meal while attempting to study criminology. Unfortunately he didn't have much time to eat, since he wanted to get to the museum before closing. Shortly thereafter, Dick was packing the Robin suit in his school bag. Then he began rummaging through his wardrobe. He changed into black cargo pants and his grungiest grunge tee shirt. The Robin boots completed the ensemble, but the pants hung so low and baggy that you couldn't tell unless he rolled them up. He also grabbed a different wallet, wherein every piece of identifying information listed him as one 'Robbie Malone,' his oldest and most trusted alias. Then he'd thrown on his oversized trench coat, grabbed a New York Yankees baseball cap, and headed for the door.
Dick drove east all the way into Flushing. The drive was hectic, to say the least, but at least he was going against the flow of rush hour traffic. Dick left his car in the subway parking lot after having changed over the license plate and secured his backpack in the hidden trunk compartment. 'Robbie' was sitting in a subway car studying criminology flashcards by six p.m.
The museum had changed its layout slightly in preparation for the new exhibit. Dick was thankful that the local authorities took Robin's hunch seriously, because he noticed quite a few out-of-uniform police officers trying to look inconspicuous at key points throughout the museum. Also, all the security cameras appeared to be functional (a far cry from anything in Gotham), and he was fairly certain that some of them were brand new.
Dick wandered the museum, picking up an exhibit map and seemingly meandering his way around. While he did grant himself a five-minute break to actually read the plaques for the Egyptian artifacts, mostly he was concerned with making a mental map of every possible entrance and exit from the museum and the individual exhibit halls. As the museum kicked everyone out for closing, Dick was sure that Harvey would come in through the loading entrance on the north side. It was fairly common for trucks to make after-hours pickups and deliveries—changing over the exhibits, stocking the cafeteria, gift shop, custodial supplies, etc. Dick would have bet his last dollar that Harvey was counting on no one noticing an unscheduled box truck idling by the garage door.
His reconnaissance mission successful, Dick made it back to his car around ten thirty, and Robin was five minutes early for his rendezvous with Special Agent Hernandez at eleven thirty. Hernandez confirmed that the NYPD was on alert and that museum security had been doubled. He was sure that if Two-Face tried anything, the local law enforcement could handle it.
Robin succeeded in keeping a straight face. The NYPD has never had to deal with Two-Face before, and if the GCPD can't handle him…
By midnight, Dick was parked in the Red Bird, still fully in costume, listening to the police scanner with the car's modified radio and studying for his exams through the Starlite night-vision lenses in his mask.
Thankfully no police emergencies occurred.
Dick made his way back to campus around four, lamenting how he felt more tired after four hours of studying than after eight hours of patrolling on jump lines. Now, as the door to his dorm room was in sight, Dick didn't think he'd ever been so grateful to be here in his life.
Sleep had rarely looked as appealing as when he keyed himself into his room and locked it behind him. He barely even had the presence of mind to stash his costume before passing out on his bed. However, sleeping in Kevlar-nomex weave with steel plating would have sucked come morning. Mostly on autopilot, Dick took his mask out of the pocket of his oversized trench coat and tossed it onto his bed. Then he hung the trench in the closet before removing the false paneling that kept his costume hidden. He stripped out of the costume, grabbed the mask, and hid everything away. Too tired to even think about showering, Dick hastily pulled on a pair of clean boxers before collapsing on top of his bed. He was asleep before his head fully hit the pillow.
Gar was in peregrine falcon form, soaring high above the clouds. Try as he might, no amount of carefree flying could fully distract him from the moral dilemma at hand. Should he do what his head screamed, which was absolutely nothing, so as to not start down the slippery slope at whose bottom rested the ashes of his former life; or should he do what his gut—and his conscience, was screaming at him to do, which was to warn the authorities that Two-Face was in New York. Unfortunately with that route, however, they would have to question where he got that information, and if he told the truth, they would most certainly ask him how he was able to recognize Dent in his mask and disguise. Gar knew that he wasn't a very effective liar, and the truth of the matter was that he really didn't want to spell it out for everyone about his relationship to the former Gotham district attorney. Aside from the painful memories dredged up—the custody battle and its convoluted twists, turns, and major stalls as it passed through the hands of four separate lawyers, Gar was none too comfortable with earning the attention of the law. Too much of his past centered around sordid and people and events, and Gar knew well enough to understand what circumstantial evidence and guilt by association meant.
Besides, some of things were so painful that he had to keep them private.
And so the dilemma…
Surprisingly enough, just as Gar was about to lose hope, swallow his pride, and fly towards the nearest NYPD precinct, his answer seemed to drop right out of the sky.
Well, more like from a high rooftop to the street below. Using a decel cable.
With newfound hope Gar pulled into a swan dive. He'd seen on Tabloid Television that it was rumored Robin was in New York, and here was proof!
Well, proof enough.
As soon as he was close enough, falcon-Gar let out an ear-piercing shriek. Barbara Gordon, wearing the spare Batgirl costume she keeps in a hidden compartment in her car at all times and currently winding down her unsuccessful search for Dick Grayson in a Robin suit (with a few choice words to say to him if her hunch was correct), startled at the sound of the cry. She whirled around just in time to see a green falcon swoop out of the sky and transform right before her eyes into a small green human who landed gracefully on his feet.
Garfield Logan!
Two batarangs were held at the ready, but Batgirl held back and eyed the teenager skeptically.
"You're probably here looking for Two-Face, right?" Gar asked, coming straight to the point and trying his best not to be distracted by the gorgeous vigilante in black spandex.
Batgirl's eyes narrowed in response.
"Yo, you're Batgirl, right? Robin's girlfriend? You guys have to be here looking for Two-Face."
Barbara seethed at his words. "What of it, Logan?"
"Hey! How did you—No! Don't tell me, IMDb, right? Everybody knows me!"
Barbara doesn't have the training; otherwise she would have resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow beneath the cowl.
"Well look, Batgirl, Two-Face is in the city. At the Metropolitan Museum. I have no idea what he's up to, but it can't be good. You guys have to stop him!"
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because I saw him! Him and his goons."
"You saw Two-Face, strolling through the Met like any other normal citizen?" Barbara couldn't help but disbelieve the story.
"Yeah!" Gar insisted. "He was wearing a mask though—a pretty good one that covered nearly his whole face, and a wide hat pulled down low."
"Then how did you recognize him?"
Gar's heart jumped into his throat. How could he answer that without lying to a protégé of the world's best detective?
"I didn't," he said as truthfully as possible. "He recognized me. Tork, ya know? He stopped to talk to me, and I got a good look at his masked face. If you know who I am then you know I've lived in Gotham. I saw him flipping his coin." Gar pantomimed the flipping motion with his thumb for effect. He hoped to God that Batgirl believed him. If she did, then no doubt she would report back to Batman, and then the Dark Knight would be tracking Two-Face. It was sort of his job, after all, and he had a better shot than the cops did. That's why he's Batman.
Not to mention the lack of public probing into his past and private life. After all, the Bat-clan should know a thing or two about wanting to keep secrets and remain anonymous.
"We'll look into it," Batgirl answered after a tense moment. Gar could have sagged to the ground in relief. Then without another word, Batgirl turned and fired a jump line. It caught on some unseen rooftop and she swung away into the night.
His conscience clear, Garfield looked around to be sure no one was watching. Then he jumped into the air and transformed back into a falcon, finally now feeling tired enough to possibly sleep.
Breakfast Time
Garfield awoke feeling only slightly better for having slept. Nightmares had plagued him since the moment he fell asleep at five until finally waking him permanently around nine. Then, realizing there was nothing else for it, Gar got dressed and decided to head down to breakfast. A nice, strong cup of hot cocoa would help him to forget the past night's turmoil, along with a heaping plate of waffles. Yes, waffles would make everything better.
Personally, Gar was ashamed of himself. The dreams hadn't been that vivid in years. Finally, when he thought he had moved passed it all, there was 'daddy' in his dreams again, promising that unconditional love and loyalty can help keep all the bad monsters away. The dream always ends the same way: with 'daddy' turning into the worst monster of all.
Gar knew that it was all Two-Face's fault. He just had to come along and dredge up old memories.
All through breakfast, Gar couldn't stop dwelling on it. He tried to tell himself that his conscience was clear. After all, he told Batgirl what he knew. That should mean that she, Batman, and Robin would be on hand to deal with Two-Face and send him packing back to Arkham.
What else could he do, right? He's already informed the important people, the people who are in positions to actually do something about it. What else is there?
It's not like he, who knows the way that Two-Face works, who knows what kind of trouble he can unleash on a city, can do anything about it. It's not like Gar Logan, who has the ability to transform into any animal you could imagine at whim, can do anything to stop a villain that he has a personal grudge or two against.
Right?
Damn.
Gar left the café and went back to the privacy of his room. Once there he opened a window, transformed into a dragonfly, flew up and away to the roof, ducked out of sight, and turned into a falcon. Then he turned in the direction of Manhattan, cursing Two-Face all the way.
He found the Metropolitan Museum opened when he got there. Not that it would have mattered, though. He flew into a cloud and changed into a small black (green) fly. He flew down to the museum and through an open window. From there he headed for the main lobby. It was as good a place as any to wait for Two-Face to show.
Gar landed on one of the lattice roof supports and began to lackadaisically watch the crowd, waiting for the villain to make his move.
Victor Stone was annoyed.
Well, maybe a bit more 'concerned' than annoyed, but still, his titanium feathers were ruffled. Gar was supposed to sign onto instant messenger last night. They were supposed to chat while working on their lab reports for chemistry. At first Vic thought that Gar didn't want the distraction while he worked on his culture essay about the museum, but as the hours stretched past midnight, Vic finally gave up and went to recharge. He left the instant messenger logged in so that Gar could ping him in the morning with a 'sorry I ditched you last night' message.
When he woke up this morning he saw that no such message had been sent.
Since he wanted to work on some extra credit in one of the physics labs this weekend anyway, Vic decided that there was no better day than today. He grabbed the subway, then a bus, and finally completed the mile walk from the bus stop to campus around ten. He had phoned Gar's room, but didn't get an answer. It was easiest to assume that his friend was still sleeping—who could blame him on a Saturday? So Vic shrugged it off and went to the lab to begin his extra credit work.
Noon
Dick rolled over and groggily looked at the clock. He started to full alertness as soon as he read the time, but then his heart rate calmed considerably when he remembered that it was Saturday. He hadn't slept through any classes.
The downside was, of course, that this was Saturday. The second day of the Egyptian twins exhibit at the museum, and the second anniversary of the last time he and Batman busted Harvey Dent. Robin would be at the museum tonight, preparing for the eventuality of Two-Face's attempted heist. Idly he wondered if it would come two hours after closing, or a bit later at two a.m. Two a.m. was the more likely, but either was a possibility, and Robin would have to be prepared. The museum closed at nine, and Robin resolved to be there by then, just in case. Poor planning would not cause him to miss his chance to get Two-Face.
Yet right now it was only noon. Dick had just woken up from what was probably the best night's sleep he had gotten all week, and he didn't have anything to do as Robin for quite a few hours. That left him with the entire afternoon with which to study, and Dick fully intended to do just that. He planned on grabbing some brunch in the café and then hunting down Raven (odds are that she'd either be in her room or in the library). Hopefully her offer was still good for study help: he needed someone to quiz him on the information ensure that all that reading was sticking in his brain.
But first, a shower.
Now that it was noon, and since he had reached a decent stopping point in his experiment, Victor decided that it was time for lunch. Before grabbing food, however, he decided to swing by the dorms—there were always people going in and out that would hold the door for him like he belonged there (though the giant security lapse hadn't yet crossed his mind). Perhaps Gar would answer better to a knock rather than a phone call? If not, then surely Raven was around. He got the distinct impression that she didn't have much of a social life.
Just as expected, some random student was exiting the dorm just as Victor approached the stairs. He jogged apace to be able to reach the door before it closed and locked itself, and so easily came to stand inside the supposedly secure dormitory. From there, he bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, heading for Garfield's floor.
When he reached Garfield's room there was no answer, and he had made sure to knock extra hard, too, incase his friend was a sound sleeper. It brought his neighbors to their doors, and he apologized with a shrug and a bashful grin, but no Gar.
Victor tried to tell himself that Gar had already left, probably for lunch. On any other day, he might even have believed himself. However, he couldn't get what happened yesterday out of his head. As much as he tried to hide it, Gar had been seriously freaked by the encounter in the museum. When he finally heard an explanation why, Vic could hardly blame him. Yet even still, something about that guy at the museum—what did Gar call him? An ex-lawyer turned criminal? Well, something about the guy didn't set right with Victor, either, and it wasn't the simple fact that his friend has a known criminal in his past, either. Something in the way he looked… The glassy quality to his eyes, the plastic-y look to his grin that didn't show teeth, the almost hollow sound of his voice and the size of the brim of his hat.
Something just felt off about the guy—beyond what Garfield had told him. Victor cursed himself for having been too irritated at the time to bother to pay close attention. Now his regret for that oversight had morphed into what he tried to tell himself was premature concern for his friend. After all, he only saw him last night, and it was barely lunchtime.
Forcing himself to shrug it off, Victor left Gar's doorstep and headed back towards the staircase.
Raven rolled over in bed, bleary-eyed, blinking at the light that escaped her heavy curtains to fall across her face in a slender stream.
"Nngggh…" She shifted, stretched, and finally sat up. When she glanced at her clock she groaned again and allowed herself to flop back down on her back. Meditating as she did right before sleep can produce some… interesting consequences the following morning. Maybe sometime later she would learn to equate the feeling with the cerebral part of a hangover, but until she actually gains that particular experience she has no name with which to label the overly harsh way light and sound register in her brain, the annoying twinge of headache, and the overall desire to simply roll over and die.
Unfortunately, she knew that she wouldn't be able to fulfill that wish. The only way she knew to make herself feel better was to self-medicate. Back home, that meant a long, hot bath and a bottomless cup of herbal tea. Now… Well, an overly large cup of tea would have to suffice, and she knew exactly where to get it.
Raven dressed in casual, loose-fitting clothes and ran a brush through her short hair. Finally she grabbed her keys and her wallet and shoved them into her pockets. She left the room and locked the door behind her.
She paused right outside her door.
Dick's room was right across from her.
With a mental sigh, Raven closed her eyes and concentrated… concentrated…
Concentrated…
No, Dick wasn't in his room.
A physical sigh and Raven opened her eyes. Of course it was possible that he had come back early this morning after she had stopped 'watching' and then left before she woke up. It was possible…
Raven blinked slowly, exhausted. Her mental energies weren't quite replenished yet from last night's exertion. She wasn't used to such focused meditation. She needed breakfast. She needed tea. She needed—for the elevator to hurry up already.
The decent nearly flipped her stomach. Mercifully she was the only one in the elevator.
The doors dinged open on the ground floor and when Raven stepped across the threshold into the hallway—
"Raven!"— She nearly jumped out of her skin.
Raven grit her teeth and winced, but recovered quickly. "… Victor."
Victor Stone had just finished descending the stairs. He smiled at her and waved slightly as he jogged to come to stand beside her. Raven saw that he easily fell into step with her as she headed for the front door. She ignored him.
"Uh, you wouldn't by any chance have seen Gar recently?" Victor asked her.
"No," she deadpanned. Then a thought gave her sudden pause. "Have you seen Dick?"
"Nope. Not for days."
Raven didn't say anything else and the reached the front door in silence.
"Heh. The two of them are probably off somewhere without us, having fun," Victor mused dejectedly.
Raven spared him a sideways glance. "… Perhaps."
"Uh… I was on my way to the café for some lunch."
"You do that."
They reached the end of the walkway and Raven turned left, away from the café.
"Uh… Yeah…" Victor watched her for a moment; then turned right. "I'll… yeah." Victor mentally shrugged and continued on his way to the café.
Dick felt worlds better after his shower. Now properly attired to face the day, Dick grabbed his backpack and shoved his psychology and criminology textbooks and notebooks into it. He slipped his feet into laced sneakers, pocketed his keys, shouldered the backpack, and left the room.
First he knocked on Raven's door. After a few moments and another knock he surmised that she had already left for whatever business she had that day. If he wanted her help studying he would have to track her down later; but first, some breakfast.
Well, really lunch, but who's counting?
Dick found his way to the café and carded his way in. There was a handful of students spread around the numerous tables, but alas, no Raven. Perhaps she went to the library?
Before Dick could really contemplate the matter—actually, before he had even fully entered the dining area, he heard someone calling his name.
"Yo! Grayson!"
Dick turned and saw Victor Stone waving at him and beckoning him over. Dick saw that Victor had an entire table to himself, and with a shrug, decided to join him.
"Hey, dawg. We thought maybe your bed had swallowed you whole, or something."
"Close," Dick answered as he dropped his backpack off. "Psych. And criminology." And the FBI, and Batgirl, and Two-Face…
"Rough, man."
"Yeah. But worth it."
"Well, they just switched over the grills. You missed the pancakes, but the burgers are nice and hot."
"Right…"
Dick left to find something decent—er, edible, and made a mental note that he really needed to go shopping later. He came back with a tray of… something, a few minutes later.
"Uh… what is that?" Victor asked skeptically.
"Dead, cooked, and hopefully edible."
"You sure about that?"
Dick poked at it with his fork. "… No."
"That's one of the main reasons why I opted to live off campus. They only times I eat that slop is when I've got no other choice."
"Like now?"
"Well…"
Dick laughed and Victor shook his head.
"Actually, I was supposed to be getting pizza with Gar, but he bailed on me. I'm pretty sure he forgot. I was just kinda biding my time here in case he stopped by."
"Gar passing up a pizza run?" Dick asked, more amused than shocked.
"Yeah man. It's weird. We went to the museum yesterday—he had this project to do for that pop-culture class of his and I tagged along for the heck of it. Well after the museum we were hanging at my apartment playing videogames, but then he left around dinnertime to go work on his project. He was supposed to IM me when he had at least a good part of it done, cuz then we were gonna tag-team on our lab reports. 'Cept he didn't IM me. Not last night, and not this morning. He wasn't even in his room when I stopped by this morning."
"Maybe he found someone cuter to study anatomy with," Dick offered with a shrug.
"Heh, probably."
Conversation lapsed into silence as Dick ate his… 'lunch.' Victor slurped the rest of his soda and then got up to dispose of his trash. When he sat down again, he seemed to be waiting patiently enough for Dick to finish. However, he just happened to be waiting for the world's second best detective. Dick noticed as Victor shifted in his seat a few times, absent-mindedly tapped his fingers on the table… stopped… started again.
"Something on your mind?" he asked when he couldn't take much more of it.
"Uh… yeah. Um… You and Gar are like, good friends right?"
"Yeah," Dick answered guardedly. "Why?"
"Did he ever talk much about his past? You know, stuff about when he was a kid in Gotham?"
"Not much," Dick confessed carefully. He knew all about Gar's childhood in Gotham, but not from Gar. "He never seemed comfortable talking about it."
"Damn."
"What is it?"
"Well, the thing is, we ran into somebody at the museum. And I mean literally. Guy just came up outta nowhere. Anyway, Gar was seriously weirded out by it. When I asked him later what it was all about, he told me that the guy used to be his lawyer, back when he was going through all that custody shit. He said that the guy had since been dis-barred or something, and that he was a crook nowadays, but I woulda thought so anyways. You should have seen the cheap suits they were wearing. But my point is, I haven't seen Gar since."
"And you're sure he hasn't found a cute little blond somewhere?" Dick asked, his features overly calm and his voice neutral, but his inner Bat was already taking over. Every mental alarm bell he had was going off right now. He knew very well that Garfield's first custody lawyer was Harvey Dent, and if what Vic said was true…
"Man, usually I would think so, but Gar was seriously power-freaked by this dude and—no offense, Gar painted him as Gotham scum, and there isn't any scum in the world worse than Gotham scum."
"Well sadly I'll have to agree with you there," said Dick, subconsciously doing his best 'clueless Bruce Wayne' imitation; standard practice when having to downplay and deflect things that relate directly to the 'night work.' "But don't you think you're worrying a bit too much? Last night was Friday night, and its only… one, Saturday afternoon."
Victor sighed. "Yeah… Yeah you're probably right."
"I'd take notice if he doesn't show up for class on Monday. Until then, just be glad for him and hope she has a sister."
This comment earned a laugh, and Dick smiled.
"Well I'd love to stay and chat about Gar's mating rituals…" He stood to go.
"Gonna hit the books?"
"And hope they don't hit back."
"Well good luck dawg."
"Heh, thanks." Now he turned to leave.
"Oh, hey Grayson?"
And he turned back around. "Yeah?"
"Raven's been looking for you."
Dick grinned sheepishly. "She's supposed to be helping me study. We keep missing each other though."
"Well if I see her I'll tell her you're not dead."
"Thanks."
Dick grinned and waved and left the café. He just found out he had a bit of daylight detective work to look into.
Raven sat in a dimly lit old-fashioned jazz café, sipping her fourth (free refills) cup of herbal tea and listening to some relatively decent open-mike poetry. The tea and the ambiance acted like the balm to her psyche that she had been desperately craving. Feeling much better, now Raven was curled up in one of the wing chairs for the audience members around the small platform stage, just soaking it all in because she enjoyed it. This place was her favorite off-campus hangout.
Yet as good as she felt being here, something was preventing her from fully enjoying herself. A nagging thought, a worry pricking at the back of her mind that encouraged her thoughts to stray from the poetry and onto other, more relevant things.
Where in bloody Azarath was Dick Grayson?
Garfield hasn't seen him. Victor hasn't seen him. That girl Barbara—who obviously came all this way to visit him, hasn't seen him, and she was really worried about something, most likely him. She could understand that he would want to lay low for a while, to take as much time as possible to study for his exams, but this was bordering on excessive, even to her reclusive standards.
Nearly a week later and Raven couldn't help it anymore. She was officially concerned.
For the umpteenth time, her eyes drifted over to the payphone in the corner. Finally, she got up and decided to appease her curiosity (and ease her conscience) a little. She fished around in her pockets for all the loose change she could find, and decided to place a call to the number she had googled a few days ago.
Good afternoon, Stately Wayne Manor.
Raven recognized the soothing British accent as belonging to Dick's 'Alfred.' She knew she'd dialed the right number.
"Is Dick there?" she asked, cutting straight to the point.
I'm afraid that the young master is presently away at University. May I take a message?
Raven frowned. Well, Dick hadn't gone home…
"When you talk to him, could you tell him that his friends are worried about him?"
A brief silence on the other end.
May I inquire as to the nature of your concern?
Raven heard genuine concern in the old man's voice. She frowned, not having meant to upset him. "We haven't seen him for days, and I know for a fact that he didn't go back to the dorms last night."
A longer, seemingly tenser silence.
As soon as I get a hold of him I will most certainly relay your message.
"Thank you."
Still frowning, Raven hung up the phone. It seemed rather obvious that Dick hasn't spoken to anyone at home for a while, either. Well, given that 'Alfred' was able to track Dick down when they were all out for pizza, she was fairly confident that'd he'd be able to find him now, most likely through the GPS in his cell phone. With a sigh, she hoped that the device didn't actually have to be on for such things to work. For the past week, it's been kicking over straight to voicemail.
Instead of heading to the library to look for Raven as he had originally planned, Dick walked briskly back to the dorms. Feeling too antsy to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs and jogged them two at a time until he reached his floor.
He keyed himself into his room and dumped the forgotten backpack on the bed. Then he went straight to his desk and opened the top drawer. He grabbed an Altoids tin and shook it once, but the sound was certainly not indicative of a handful of mints jouncing around. Dick flipped the lid back and grinned: generic lock picks and skeleton keys! Not the more serious ones he keeps in the Red Bird and in his utility belt, just good enough to prove that he's an ordinary teenaged boy with ordinary teenage compulsions.
Then suddenly he frowned. Dick Grayson can absolutely NOT afford to get caught picking locks around campus, not the day before his two final exams; not if he didn't want to get expelled.
The frown deepened into a scowl. Vic was concerned about Gar, and you didn't need to be the world's second best detective to figure that much out. Not only that, but the picture Victor painted shed enough light to give Robin cause for concern. It shouldn't matter that Dick's life might be inconvenienced by it.
With an angry grunt Dick slapped the lid closed and chucked the tin back into the desk drawer and slammed it shut. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet and removed his student ID card. He fingered it gingerly, testing its resiliency. Gaining illegal entry into another student's dorm room by picking the lock with a card might look a bit better if caught than if he used real lock picks for the job. The dorm's room door locks were simple enough that it should be too hard to pick Gar's lock 'the poor man's way,' as he once heard Catwoman put it.
Card in hand, Dick walked determinedly down the hallway to Garfield's dorm room. He knocked a few times but got no reply. Dick waited a few moments to be sure the coast was clear before sliding the card between the door and the door jam. With one deft motion he had brought the card down onto the locking mechanism and shoved it back. The lock gave way with a hollow click and Dick grinned at his handiwork. He pocketed the card and opened Gar's door.
The effort was met with heavy resistance.
With a grunt, Dick shouldered his way into the room. When he looked at the floor, he saw that it was littered with generic dorm room debris: piles of clothes, candy wrappers, empty soda cans, and the like. Then he shoved the door closed again.
Standing in the center of the room, Dick surveyed his surroundings like a crime scene. The well lived-in look spoke of many things. The bed covers were rumpled—not slept in, but slept on, as though Gar hadn't wanted to bother. There were no flies buzzing the food remains yet, but the soda in the plastic cup on the desk had gone mostly but not completely flat, most likely left over from the night before. The clothes strewn about on the floor didn't discriminate in where they fell. As a matter of fact, it looked like at one point Gar had nearly emptied his closet as he searched for something. The clothes had been thrown haphazardly around, but a good chunk of them had landed in front of the door.
Dick pursed his lips, staring at that pile. It hadn't been disturbed until he himself entered the room. The door hit it heavily, knocking some articles out of the way and running over and dragging others. Testing a theory, Dick walked over and grabbed the door again. This time it swung much easier, since the obstructing pile of clothes had been scattered by the last time the door was opened.
As Dick pondered this, he suddenly felt a draft. Slowly his gaze drifted around to the only window in Garfield's room. It was wide open; the cheap Walmart-special curtains were ruffling slightly in the cooling autumn breeze.
Dick smirked. While all the tabloids claimed that it was true, he never really knew if he should believe it or not, but here was incontestable proof. Garfield Logan has the ability to transform into animals at will. Dick shook his head with a slight chuckle. Apparently Gar has been availing himself of the ability lately by leaving the dorm via his window. He must have turned into a bird, or some sort of flying insect—or a crawling one, or maybe a mammal like the flying squirrel that can glide—
Dick snorted another laugh. It really didn't matter what Gar changed into. The point was that his green friend has been traveling to and from the dorms in animal form. Also, given the state of the room right now, Dick was fairly certain that Gar had left sometime last night. Judging from this evidence, Dick concluded that Gar came back from Victor's—either by door or window, and at some point poured himself a glass of soda, lied down for a while and tossed and turned—perhaps while studying? It would explain why he didn't get under the covers. Gar then left his room by window sometime later, most likely after he found whatever it was he was rummaging for.
Wherever he went though, he didn't speak to or rendezvous with Victor, as was the plan. Without preamble, Dick turned Gar's computer monitor on. The screen flicked to life and revealed that Gar was working on his essay for his culture class, though he hadn't gotten much farther than putting his name on the paper and giving it a title before it was abandoned. That fit with what Vic had told him, and Dick surmised that Gar had tried to work on the paper, as planned, but something came up that caused him to leave the paper unfinished. The monitor was turned off, so he didn't leave in a forced hurry (say, one where he was dragged off at gunpoint—as improbable as that sounds, but Robin reminded himself that Two-Face might be entering into this equation).
No, the monitor was turned off, and the window was opened as wide as it could go. This suggested a deliberate action on Garfield's part. Why ever he left, he did so willingly and with purpose.
And he hasn't reported in, and has he come back since.
Dick turned off the monitor and ran a hand through his hair. He wouldn't put it passed Two-Face to try something—he recognized Gar, even risked exposure to talk to him. Who's to say a simple coin flip a few hours later hadn't led to this end result?
No one.
The same no one that couldn't prove it.
Dick sighed again. There wasn't enough evidence here to ease his worry, but there wasn't enough to add to it either. The clues could be pointing to something completely innocent (at least of Dent's involvement), or they could be indicative of something more insidious, and there was no way to really tell for sure.
Seeing nothing else for it, Dick relocked Gar's door and left the room. If Two-Face really was involved, then there was nothing he could do about it until tonight. Dick would simply 'interrogate' Dent after he took him down, and God help the villain if he's harmed his green friend in any way. Forcing himself not to worry, Dick went back to his own room. He had quite a bit of studying left to do.
Early afternoon
After lunch, Victor had decided not to return to his extra credit work just yet. He was in the mood to procrastinate, and so he went to the computer lab in the basement of the library instead. He wanted to check his email, to see if Garfield had sent him an apology email or something. Unfortunately, no such email had been sent.
Victor knew that his concern was silly, but right now in his life he had a grand total of two friendly acquaintances and one (and therefore best) friend. He was too used to (and bitter about) the only good things in his life being forcibly taken from him and he most definitely did not want that trend to continue.
Still in a procrastinating mood and unable to get his mind off of Garfield's disappearance, Victor pulled up the Internet Movie Database's website and searched for Gar's name. He reread his friend's filmography and then for shits and giggles clicked the biography link. Not much was listed, other than the fact that he was first recruited by a small television studio because of his unique talents. After Space Trek was cancelled he's posed as animals in a few commercials but hasn't had any real acting work since then. Victor noted with a snort that the bio had been updated to include that Gar had earned his high school diploma and was now pursuing higher education in the veterinary sciences.
Then Victor got an idea. The IMDb listed Gar as being a native of Gotham…
Victor glanced around quickly to be sure that no one was watching. Seeing that the coast was clear, Vic snapped open his mechanical left thumb, revealing a USB plug in. This he inserted into its proper port and then clicked to recognize the new hardware when the prompt came up. Now plugged in, Victor used the positronic part of his brain to interface with the PC he was using. Then, using a capability inspired by tales of Superman's exploits against Brainiac, Vic mentally traveled through an open port and into the internet. Now Victor was literally surfing through the information superhighway, with the information he sloshed through scrolling in binary code quickly through the field of vision of his electronic eye—never once was any indication of his activities displayed on the computer monitor in front of him.
In this fashion Victor navigated his way into the Gotham school district's sealed records files. There he found Gar's school psychologist's and guidance counselor's records and evaluations of him. Vic didn't read these documents thoroughly—not intending to pry—but he did find within them notes on the status of the continuing custody battle between that snake Galtry, and the Daytons, who eventually won. From those notes he pulled four names—each one a Gotham district attorney who had been involved in Gar's case.
His task accomplished, Victor extracted himself from the internet and unplugged his thumb from the USB. With the digit firmly restored, Vic opened a new browser window and punched up google. He had four names to research.
Vic started with the DA who won the case for the Daytons. The DA was still serving, though now in Cleveland, and therefore didn't fit the profile of 'former lawyer turned criminal,' so Victor moved onto the next name on the list. The previous DA, one Aldrich Meany, it turns out was murdered by the villain known as Two-Face and so was immediately ruled out as well. The DA before that was one Janice Porter, but Vic decided to research her anyway. You never know… It turns out that she was murdered too, also by Two-Face.
"Guy must have a thing against lawyers…" Vic muttered as he googled the final name on the list, Harvey Dent.
"Oh… shit…"
Raven left the café around lunchtime and returned to campus. Once there, stopped by the library. She still had a few books before she reached the maximum checkout limit and didn't feel like going all the way back up to her room to retrieve her finished ones only to have to go all the way back across campus to the library and then back to her room again. She could return her finished books at another time.
She had made it to the library when, for the second time in as many days, someone exiting in a hurry nearly ran her over. For the second time is as many days, the flood of emotions coming from the person was enough to nearly make Raven—who had not been expecting it—go weak at the knees.
"Raven! Please tell me you've seen Gar."
This time the culprit was Victor Stone. While his thoughts remained concealed in a boisterous sea of ones and zeros, his emotions rang out loud and clear. Raven half blinked, half twitched as she processed them. Victor was worried, almost frantically so… apparently about Garfield Logan.
"… Not since the last time you asked," she answered, her expression returning to the neutrality conveyed in her voice.
"Shit!" Victor exclaimed. "Shitshitshit!" The bubble of emotion pulsed again.
Raven blinked slowly. "Why do you ask?" she questioned, her voice bland as she refused to allow herself to be influenced by Victor's emotions.
"He may be in trouble," Victor replied seriously. "Big trouble."
Raven blinked again, slowly. Victor's emotions lent truth to his words. "What sort of trouble?" she asked, sounding curious but not concerned.
"Big trouble," Victor reiterated, and Raven didn't have to be an empath to sense his mounting agitation. "Look if you see him, tell him then and there to call my cell, and then sit on him or something until I get there. Whatever you do Rae, don't let him out of your sight!" Victor's 'cell,' of course, was actually a highly advanced piece of communications technology built into his right forearm. Unless Vic removed the arm, he had it with him at all times.
Raven cocked her head slightly to one side, regarding him with seeming passivity. She sensed that his fear—for indeed that's what it was, was justified somehow. Perhaps it was because he himself believed it so strongly? Whatever the case, the realization gave her pause.
"Where will you be?" she asked him.
"First I'm going back to my apartment. I'm gonna go look for him, but I—ah, I need to pick up a few things first."
Raven barely nodded. "I'll keep an eye out for him," she informed him.
Victor barely managed a smile in return. "Thanks, Rae. I've gotta go." He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead he walked briskly past her and continued down the sidewalk, rounded the corner, and disappeared from sight.
Raven watched him go until he disappeared. She blinked again, momentarily considering the nickname Victor just gave her. Only her mother had ever called her that.
Those thoughts were quickly shoved aside, however. First Dick Grayson had gone missing, and now, Gar Logan. Raven released a mental sigh as she abandoned her mission to the library. Instead, she headed back to her dorm room. Unlike the welcomed obscurity of Dick's mind, Garfield's had unique and easily discernable psychic signature. His mind was an open book that heralded its secrets to the psychic world with all the subtlety of the Rose Bowl parade. Therefore it was conceivable that she could locate his mind through the astral plane—a possibility that she regretted not having in her search for Dick, which had made last night's stakeout necessary.
With a mental sigh, Raven abandoned her mission at the library and headed back to her room. If Garfield really was in as much trouble as Victor feared he was—and Raven would have sworn that he feared for Gar's very life, then perhaps she could use her unique talents to find her green… acquaintance, and if necessary, devise a way to help him. After all, it's not like she had anything better to do on a Saturday afternoon…
Raven reached her room and locked the door behind her, hoping not to be disturbed (by anyone other than Dick or Gar). She reclaimed her usual seat atop the bed and folded her legs beneath her in the lotus position. She stretched her arms once and rotated her shoulders before letting her hands fall into the customary position. Raven closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming, centering breaths, and began her next meditative mission.
Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…
AN- The bit about Harvey Dent killing his successors is canon. Janice Porter was killed in Batman: Dark Victory (which incidentally also contains Dick Grayson's Robin origins story, though the two plot points are unrelated). Aldrich Meany was the DA that was changed into a judge of a different name in Robin: Year One.
AN2- For the purposes of this story: Harvey Dent was handling the investigation into Galtry which ran alongside the custody battle. Dent worked closely with the Daytons and the custody lawyers, trying to put Galtry away. Unfortunately, a rather large (canon) problem dealing with Gotham's organized crime monopolized more and more of Dent's time, so the Galtry matter was unresolved at the time of Dent's 'accident.' The custody case stalled, especially since Dent returned and sabotaged his old office and files. Of course it didn't help matters much that the new DA was focusing on the mob problems and a potential copycat serial killer and not chasing after Galtry, who was rather small potatoes comparatively, until Two-Face killed her and the investigation stalled again. Finally the next DA replacement settled into his new job and took up the case. He made quite a bit of progress, but alas Two-Face killed him and everything was delayed yet again! The case finally resolved by the next DA, and Galtry was imprisoned and the Dayton's won custody of Garfield.
