Mid Afternoon

Dick Grayson sat on a bench along East Drive in Central Park, the Metropolitan Museum ahead of him and Cleopatra's Needle behind. He had his criminology notebook opened on his lap with his textbook opened underneath it. The bag at his feet held his psychology textbook and notebook. The Red Bird was parked in civilian form at the Museum with most of the Robin costume. The cape and the belt he'd hidden last night in an air vent on the roof. Dick had nothing to do now but wait, and while he waited, study.

Dick's nose was buried in the notebook as he tried to be sure that he had every single criminology vocabulary word memorized. He had just gotten to the section on the FBI's Crime Index when suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Instinctively his training took over, and in mere milliseconds his right hand balled into a fist and flew up and back over his shoulder. He heard more than felt the resounding SMACK when his knuckles connected with the flesh of someone who just learned the hard way not to sneak up on out of costume vigilantes studying in the park.

Dick cast his study materials hastily aside as he shot to his feet and spun around in a defensive stance, trying to learn the identity of the person who snuck up on him. As he peered over the back of the bench, the young man splayed flat on his back in a heap with the remnants of a fully laden hotdog now decorating his sweatshirt was probably the last person on Earth he expected to see.

"Wally!"

"Awwww man!" The crumpled form moaned as it shifted into a sitting position. "You owe me a Coney!"

"What are you doing here?" Dick asked, highly amused.

"Well I was on my way back from Coney Island," Wally West, a.k.a. Kid Flash, answered from his spot on the ground. "What better way to spend a Saturday than eating all your favorite foods?"

"Wearing them, I guess?"

"Ha ha very funny. Are you gonna help me up or what?"

"Well I figured I'd just stand here and watch, but…" Dick obliged the young speedster. "Now, are you going to tell me why you tried to sneak up on me?"

"C'mon Robbie, if I was trying to sneak up on you, I would have."

"In your dreams, Twinkle Toes."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Look, gimme a minute?" And Wally suddenly streaked away. Dick shook his head and glanced at his watch. He watched the seconds tick by before—

WOOSH!

Wally reappeared, wearing a new sweatshirt.

"You're just lucky no one was home," he informed Dick. "I snuck into the laundry room and pilfered a new shirt."

Dick just shook his head. "But you look so good in mustard yellow," he mock-protested.

"Hey that's canary yellow to you, pal," Wally retorted.

"I would know canary yellow when I saw it."

"Whatever, bird boy. Now, where's the nearest hotdog vendor?"

"Uh… A few blocks downtown of here I think. Why?"

"C'mon, Robbie," said Wally as he grabbed Dick by the arm. "I said you owed me a Coney, but a regular old hotdog will have to do."

"Can't you see I'm trying to study here?" Dick protested.

"Yeah, but you can do that later. It's Saturday ferchrissakes!"

Dick just sighed and rolled his eyes. "Let me get my things…"

"I'll get 'em."

Before Dick could blink, Wally was handing him his fully laden backpack.

"It's this way," Dick directed, and he led the way downtown through the park towards the nearest hotdog vendor. "Do you always go globetrotting for meals?"

"Well I decided I wanted real chowder for lunch," Wally explained, "so I ran to the Oyster House in Boston. Then I figured to top that off with a Pasty from Sault Ste Marie, but since Coney Island was so close I figured what the hey, and ran down for a dog to snack on along the way. I always run through the park when I'm in the City, and then I saw you sitting on a bench and I was wondering 'what's Dick doin' in Central Park?' so I figured I'd run over andaskyoubutthenyousluggedme—"

"You're doing it again, Wally," Dick interrupted the supersonic babble. Whenever Wally gets excited, he tends to speak at the same speed he runs at.

"Huhwhat?"

"You were speaking like the Tasmanian Devil again. What does… what you just said, mean to a normal person?"

Wally grinned. "Should we find a normal person and ask them?"

"Very funny."

"I thought so." Just then they came upon the hotdog vendor. "Two dogs, fully loaded, my good man," Wally ordered for them. "On my buddy's tab."

"You're just lucky I've got cash on me," Dick grumbled as he fished in his wallet.

"Uh, no offense Dick, but if you ever claim to be broke I'd have to call Barry and have him warn the League that Antithesis has raped your brain," Wally informed him.

Dick scowled at him as he waited for the vendor to make change. Thankfully the man barely spoke enough English to understand what 'hold the relish' means.

"Either that or old Brucie finally cut you off," Wally continued between bites after they walked away from the vendor.

Dick just ate his hotdog in silence, trying his very best to not snap at his best friend. However, Wally eventually picked up that something was amiss.

"Okay Dick, spill."

"Huh?"

"I'll admit that the first joke was Bat-glare worthy, but the second joke should have at least rated one of those patented Robbie comebacks. I know you; you only clam up when you got something on your mind. So spill."

It took a considerable amount of mental reserves on Dick's part to suppress the groan and force his eyes not to roll. Indeed, Wally knows him quite well, but he was hoping not to be put in the position of having to lie to his best friend. After all, if he told Wally about Two-Face and the museum, then the speedster would have insisted on sticking around to help, and Dick would have none of that. Harvey Dent is no George Harkness, and Dick already has enough to worry about without adding the safety of his exuberant and impulsive best friend into the mix. That and the upcoming fight with Two-Face was personal.

So was everything with Bruce.

"I was dumb enough to show off some of my detective skills in class," Dick settled on an explanation. "And now my professors think I'm some sort of prodigy or something. I'm taking two finals tomorrow, and if I pass them, I get credit for the classes and then get bumped into the next level, where I've got weeks worth of work to make up. If I fail, I'll let my professors down, but if I pass Bruce will kill me for being so careless with my identity."

Wally was silent for a few moments as the information soaked in. Then suddenly he burst out laughing. "Oh man, Robbie! Only YOU could get into a mess like that!"

"I'm glad my troubles amuse you," Dick said with emphasized dejection as Wally tried to get control of his laughter.

"I'm sorry, buddy," said Wally as he wiped a tear from his eye, "but that's just…" And he was lost to another laughing fit again.

"Would you quit it?" Dick snapped. "Jeez you sound like you've taken a dose of Smilex!"

Finally, after much effort, Wally managed to control himself.

"So, what subjects?" he managed to ask with only minimal giggling.

"Intro to Criminology and Intro to Psych."

"Criminology? Man, you shoulda called! Barry would so have run over here to help you study!"

"I didn't think of it," Dick deflected. The last thing he wanted was stray members of the Justice League coming to call, especially now.

"Heh, some detective you are."

"Do you wanna end up on your ass again?"

"Hey you can't hit what you can't catch."

"Your sweatshirt says differently."

Wally's mature comeback to that was to pointedly stick his tongue out at Dick.

"Anyway," Dick segued as they made it back to the bench he had commandeered earlier. "I really have to get back to the books."

"Yeah, man, I hear that," Wally replied in sympathy. "Just cuz I can read at super speeds that doesn't mean I learn that way."

"Yeah I know."

Once again, Wally did the mature thing and gave Dick a hearty raspberry. Dick shrugged, feigning innocence.

"Well it was great seeing you, Twinkle Toes," he said at length.

"Ditto, Robbie," Wally replied, semi-serious again. "And remember, if you ever need anything, just call me. I'll be there in a—"

"Flash," Dick finished for him.

"Well, yeah."

"See ya later, Wally."

"You too Dick. And good luck with those tests!" And with that, Wally West waved, flashed a cheeky grin, and took off at super speeds for parts unknown.

With a tired sigh, Dick threw the remains of his hotdog away in a nearby trashcan and made his way back to the bench. He still had many good hours of daylight in which to study.

---

Victor Stone exited the 86th Street Subway Station not entirely sure why he had come here. He had tried once more from his apartment to get a hold of Gar—both by telephone and computer—to no avail. Now here he was, on his way back to the museum. It had been the start of this mess, and for some reason Vic was uncannily sure that it would be the end of it. If he wanted to find Garfield Logan, this was the best place to start looking.

The trip back to his apartment was relatively on his way, and fortunately didn't take too much extra time. To try and decrease his dependency on S.T.A.R. Labs for routine physicals and maintenance, Vic had been working on a few upgrades of his own design. He had switched his normal eye-piece to a new prototype with enhanced telescopic and magnification features. While largely untested for long-term usage, the prototype might prove invaluable in helping him to spot his green friend in a crowd. As Victor shelled out the cash for the entry fee, he sincerely hoped that Gar was somewhere inside.


Garfield Logan sat in fly form on one of the roof support structures above the main lobby of the museum. He had a perfect view of everyone entering and exiting the museum, and was still maintaining his stakeout for Harvey Dent—or anyone who possibly fit the bill of one of his cronies. Therefore he easily noticed—with great chagrin, when Victor Stone entered the museum.

What the heck is HE doing here? Gar thought to himself as he saw his friend grab a museum map from the tray by the information desk.


Victor studied the map, trying to decide the most probable place that Garfield could be. He committed the map to memory and then placed it back on the desk, having already planned out a search strategy. First off: a complete and thorough scan of the lobby area. That's where they first ran into Two-Face and his goons.

Victor quickly scanned the room with his electronic eye—no sign of Garfield Logan. The he squinted in just the right way and the magnification function switched on. Victor then scanned again, this time taking in everything, from the air vents to the picture frames.

There!

Victor was staring at the ceiling; or rather, at a surprisingly motionless fly on the ceiling. He squinted again to adjust the magnification factor and quickly zoomed in on the fly. Sure enough, the fly was green. It was Garfield.

Victor grinned up at him rather overtly but decided against waving. A person can mostly get away with smiling, but he didn't want people to wonder why he was waving at the ceiling. Quickly though that smile turned into a frown.

What on Earth would Gar be doing perched on the lobby ceiling as a fly?

How the heck am I gonna get him to buzz down here and tell me?


Garfield saw Victor looking through the crowd, only to have his gaze eventually focus in his general direction. Gar wondered if he'd been spotted, but the huge plastic grin that spread across Victor's face answered that question easily.

Caught red (green) handed, Gar left his perch and flew down to Victor. Just for fun, he buzzed his head a few times and watched with amused satisfaction as his friend had to allow the annoyance. After all, it wouldn't do for Victor to squish his best friend like the insect he currently was.

Brief moment of amusement passed, Gar then buzzed away.


Victor's electronic eye easily followed Garfield as he flew away. When he saw that Gar was headed for the men's room he quickly caught on and followed the fly. Gar gained entry as another patron left, and Victor followed almost immediately. He got there just in time to see the end of Garfield's transformation, and a petit green human was standing before him seconds later.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Victor asked his friend rather hotly.

"Er, well—"

"Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?"

"Well, I—"

"And why the fuck didn't you tell me that your ex-lawyer friend was Harvey Dent, a.k.a. Two-Face!"

Gar's surprised stammering quieted to a standstill at that line. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered.

"Dude, how did you figure it out?"

"Your story left as many questions as it gave answers. I did a little digging and I found out that the only surviving ex-lawyer to have touched your case was Harvey Dent. And I ask again, why didn't you tell me?" In classic form, Victor's earlier concern over his friend's well being had now morphed into anger for having been kept in the dark and made to worry.

"Look dude, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," Garfield said sincerely. Then, rather sheepishly he asked: "Will you let me explain?"

Victor's anger softened just slightly at Gar's pitifully pleading expression. He relaxed a bit, and then gestured flagrantly with one arm.

"Oh, by all means, little buddy. Explain away."

Gar smiled slightly, but it fell from his face rather quickly. He sighed instead.

"Well, seeing Dent in the museum really threw me for a loop," he explained.

"Yeah, I got that when you said so the first time," Victor countered. "Why didn't you tell me the creep's name?"

Gar sighed again. "Well, I figure you know this by now, but Harvey Dent's big time bad news. He's the second most deadly villain in Gotham outside-a the Joker. Whenever he's on the loose, people get killed. Cops, innocent bystanders—not even his own hired thugs are safe! When I saw him at the museum, I just knew that he was scopin' the place out, and I'd bet my entire allowance too that he's here to try and rip off the Egyptian exhibit."

"How do you figure that? Why would he be interested in the Egyptian stuff? It would be damn near impossible to fence."

"DUH! Gemini dais, mummified twins! Two-Face gets his jollies through the number two, and with anything that has duplicity or double meaning. It's his whole shtick."

"And how do you know that?"

"Dude! Remember I'm actually from Gotham? Everyone in Gotham knows about Two-Face and his damn coin and fucked up psychoses."

"And what? You figured that you'd hide in the lobby and try and take him out when he showed?" Victor asked incredulously.

Gar just stood there staring at him unwaveringly.

"Aw man! Are you crazy! I've read up on your Gotham wacko. It takes the likes of Batman to stop him. What do you think you're gonna do? Turn into a giant snake and wrap him up for the cops?"

"After I left your place the other night I went flying," Gar explained. "When I was out I spotted Batgirl. I'd heard that Robin was seen in the City and I figured that the two of them must be here doin' recon work for Batman—you know? Trying to track down Two-Face? So I flagged her down and told her what I saw. I bet the three of them are gonna show up here and mop the floor with Two-Face and his goons and when they do I so totally want a front row seat. That loser's the reason my adolescence sucked worse than the Knights' last season and I wanna be there when his life goes to shit, too."

"And if the Dynamic Trio just so happens to need backup…" Victor asked through a grin. After hearing Garfield explain just what he was doing, he found that he couldn't really stay mad at him.

Gar's response was to blush as much as a green human is capable.

"While that's all well and good, Gar," Victor continued, "you still haven't told me why you didn't tell me about Dent from the beginning."

Gar's blushing smile faded at the reminder. He sighed yet again.

"I'm sorry, dude," Garfield apologized. "It's just… well, it's not exactly habit to have someone on hand who I can trust with stuff like that. I mean, look at me! I'm a meta with powers that interest more than just talent scouts and freak show owners. If word were to get out that I have a long-standing connection with one of Gotham's scariest villains it could attract some very unwanted attention and trust me, you soooo don't want the pointy-eared uber-freak keeping a running tab on you."

When Gar finished his explanation, Victor frowned. "Damn, dawg, you weren't supposed to have such a good explanation. Now I can't stay mad at you."

Garfield grinned and jumped up and down in excitement, clapping his hands. "SWEET!" He exclaimed. "You're, like, totally my best friend and I'd hate it if you were still mad at me."

"Don't sweat it," Victor reassured. "Now, what can I do to convince you to leave the police work to the actual cops—and Bat-type vigilantes?"

In response to this question Gar grew serious again. "No can do, dude. One way or another, Two-Face is goin' down tonight, and if I'm not helping then at least I'm gonna be watching and enjoying."

Victor sighed and ran a hand over his titanium scalp. "Well can I at least talk you into grabbing some pizza with me? I had a shitty school-brand lunch and you can make up for my entrance fee with sausage and pepperoni."

Gar seemed to waver a bit, so Vic added: "C'mon, Gar. Even if you're right about Two-Face—and there's no guarantee on that—he certainly isn't gonna try and pull something in broad daylight. From what I've read he's smarter than that. Too many things could go wrong."

Now it was Garfield's turn to sigh. "Yeah… Yeah I suppose you're right about that. Okay, pizza it is."

Victor smiled broadly. "Booya!"

"But if I'm paying I want peppers and onions," Gar swiftly added as they both exited the men's room.

"Go half and half?"

"We'll talk."


Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Raven was 'seated' in the lotus position, hovering a foot above her bed.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

The mind of Garfield Logan is a far cry from the subtle silence of the mind of Dick Grayson. Instead of calming blackness, there's raging Technicolor activity. His thoughts are scrambled; shuffling so quickly from topic to topic that it lends an almost instinctual, animalistic feel to it. Unlike Dick's mind, whose quiet she can focus on for hours, Raven can't listen to Garfield's surface thoughts for longer than a few seconds before the cacophonous din gives her a headache. It's the main drawback to counting him as a friend. However, it's also the prime advantage for conducting a telepathic search for his psychic signature, because he would be remarkably easy to pick out of the proverbial crowd.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

All she had to do was extend her soul self out through the astral plane and follow the sound of the loudest jumble of unintelligible noises, and there she would find Garfield. Raven mentally followed a search pattern of ever-increasing circles spiraling outwards from her physical person, using her corporeal form as the epicenter for her search. In this fashion, Raven searched the campus…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

The surrounding town…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

The entire body of Long Island…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Garfield was nowhere to be found.

Azarath…… … Metrion…… … Xinthos…… …

Raven slowly ceased her meditation and came to rest upon her mattress. She sighed tiredly and opened her eyes, taking a moment to glance at the clock. It was nearly four o'clock. A quick check revealed that Dick wasn't in his dorm room, either. With another sigh Raven pushed the ensuing thoughts out of her mind. She'd have time to worry about Dick when she was through searching for Garfield. She closed her eyes and resumed her meditation.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

So he wasn't anywhere on Long Island. Where else then could he be?

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

The next logical thought was that he was somewhere in the city, so Raven focused herself in that direction. However, New York is a much bigger, more densely packed haystack in which to be digging around for needles. She would need to concentrate harder, making sure to comb the city thoroughly so that nothing was overlooked.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

The best plan was to start in Manhattan, and then, if necessary, branch outwards from there. To accomplish this, Raven's soul self traveled along the astral plane to the southern tip of the island. She planned to conduct a thorough sweep moving in a northerly direction.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

This was going to take a while.


"Dude, I cannot believe they made me buy a ticket!"

"Yeah, well, you snuck in and then tried to sneak back out again," Victor explained over a mouthful of pizza.

"But that's so totally not fair!" Gar protested.

"This from the guy who snuck into the museum in the first place, as a fly no less."

"Heh, I shoulda snuck back out as a fly too."

"But you didn't think of it," Victor pointed out. "And now you're paying the price."

"Real funny, dude," Garfield droned. "Regular comedian."

Victor just grinned and took another bit of pizza.

"I should probably be heading back soon," Gar continued on a more serious note.

"Back where?" Victor asked. "You mean the museum? Do I have to list the number of ways that that is a monumentally bad idea?"

"But dude—"

"But what? It's a stupid thing to do and you know it."

"Two-Face ain't gonna notice a little bug on the wall."

"Unless that bug gets too caught up in the moment and attacks him as a spider monkey or something."

"Dude that's so totally not gonna happen," Garfield assured him. "The Bats will show up to deal with it and with the three of them in town it's so not gonna be a problem. I just wanna watch, man. To make up for all those years of court dates and social workers."

"Look dawg, the only way I'm gonna let you go back in there is if I go with you."

Garfield's eyes practically bugged out of his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he stammered. "You wanna talk bad ideas? You're a six-foot tall walking talking hunk a metal—no offense. I can hide as a fly on the wall but where the heck are you gonna fit?"

"In the men's room of course," Victor pointed out. "I'll just rig up a sign on one of the stalls that says 'out of order' and hide with my feet outta sight. No one'll know."

"And what the heck are you gonna do squatting on a toilet for five hours?"

"The same thing you were planning on doing from the roof."

"Dude, I'm just gonna be there to watch and savor the moment."

"And I'm going to be there to bail your ass out when the shit hits the fan."

Garfield blinked a few times as his mind processed what Victor just said. "Dude… You—you don't have to."

"Shut up and throw your trash away," Victor replied, standing up to do the same. "If we're going do this then let's do it before I change my mind."

Garfield grinned broadly and did as he was told. Then the two friends made their way out of the I Love New York pizza parlor and headed back towards the museum.

"Look dawg, before we get in there there's something I want to give you." The two of them were currently standing by the front entrance.

"Uh…"

Victor then opened a seemingly random compartment in his arm. He removed a small electronic device and held it out to Garfield in the palm of his hand.

"Dude, what is that?"

"It's a one-way transmitter," Victor explained. "I've been working on it for extra credit in my electronics class. Stick it in your pocket or something. Then I can hear everything that you do."

Garfield blinked a few times before gingerly reaching out to grab the microchip-like device. He inspected it for a few seconds with something akin to awe before tucking it safely into his pocket.

"Uh, dude, you do of course realize that you're bugging a bug, right?"

"Shut up before I swat you."

Gar mock cringed. "Heeeelp meeeee," he whined in a high-pitched voice.

Victor smacked him for his efforts.

"… Ow."


8:40 p.m.

Dick was now in sitting in the Red Bird getting ready. The museum would be closing in twenty minutes and he needed to be inside when it did. He took full advantage of the tinted window feature to change out of his civilian clothes. He changed into the Robin costume, minus only the cape and utility belt. The mask he kept in a hidden panel inside the body armor. Then on top of the costume he added his disguise: one standard-issue rent-a-cop uniform. The museum had employed a boatload of them. Dressed as such, Dick could slip through the front door (without having to pay the admissions fee) and passed the real guards. No one would pay any attention to a security guard ignoring 'Do Not Enter' signs as he made his way to the roof. There he would ditch the disguise and grab the cape and belt.

Once dressed Dick made his way over to the service elevator in the back of the garage. The guard seated by the doors momentarily turned his radio down when he noticed the new guy approaching.

"'Evening Danny," Dick greeted in a perfect Brooklyn accent. The guard smiled congenially and tried to place the face that just greeted him.

"Uh, evenin'… Steinman," the guard read Dick's nametag.

Dick smiled back. "Butch and Tom wanted me to ride up to the roof after my dinner break. They want to be sure that the new cameras are working properly."

The guard squinted, studying the nametag and the face of the young man before him. "Uh… Have we met?"

A look of genuine hurt expertly crossed Dick's face. "The company picnic in the park last weekend," Dick informed him. "You remember? We bashed the Mets' pitching together while you were playing third and I was waiting for someone to bunt me home. You told me all about how you were going to score tickets to the playoffs."

"The picnic?" The guard's questioning face slowly melted. "Man, I was so hammered by the end that I don't remember half the stuff I did."

"Really? That's too bad. I guess you don't remember our little wager then, either."

The guard blinked. "Wager?"

"Yeah. Toronto won on Tuesday and I owe you five bucks."

"No kidding? Wow, Steinman, I'm sorry."

Dick shrugged. "S'okay don't worry about it. Just buy me a drink next time we all go to Finnegan's."

The guard chuckled as he turned his key in the elevator, opening the doors. "Sure thing, kid."

"Catch you later, Danny."

"Yeah, later."

When the doors closed Dick couldn't help but smile. His surveillance and research paid off in spades, and the guard bought the act. He pressed the button marked R for roof and rode the elevator to the top.

When the doors dinged open Dick noticed that the sky above was completely dark. The sun had fully set and nighttime was upon him. With a self-satisfied smirk, Dick found the air vent where he'd stashed the cape and utility belt. He shed the rent-a-cop disguise and pulled the eye mask from its hidden compartment and spirit gummed it into place. Then he fastened the cape to his shoulders and strapped on the belt, and now it was Robin standing on the rooftop of the Metropolitan Museum, waiting for Two-Face to make his move.


1:30 a.m.

Batgirl was standing in the shadows at the base of the north wall of the museum. If she'd guessed correctly, then Robin was probably already up there in full Bat-stakeout mode. While she was still incredibly pissed off that he had swiped her costume (which proved once and for all that he's known her identity all along, since no one uses real names in costume), she had shoved her anger to the back of her mind, along with whatever emotions were elicited by the realization that Dick Grayson was Robin. The only thing that mattered right now was that in roughly a half hour's time Two-Face was going to attempt a heist at this museum. The only relevant facts are that she is standing at the base of one of the largest and most respected museums in the world, in a city she is unfamiliar with, far away from the looming protective shadow of the Batman, and about to provide backup to the (recently revealed to be) former younger half of the Dynamic Duo, whether he wants it or not. Two-Face was one of the deadliest villains in the Gotham Rogues Gallery, and she'd be damned if she'd let Short Pants go it alone. After Dent is safely behind bars she'll be free to have the 'discussion' with Dick Robin Grayson that needs to happen, but not before.

With these thoughts in mind Barbara readied her Grappling gun. She fired and then watched as the grapple sailed through the air and hooked itself over the lip of the roof. Then she braced herself as the automatic pulley proceeded to hoist her aloft as it reeled in the cable. Soon she was standing squarely on the roof, taking in her surroundings.

"I'm sure your black and yellow costume blended so well against the white side of the building."

Batgirl nearly jumped out of her skin. She whipped around in the direction of the voice and saw Robin partially emerge from the shadows.

"Better than your red and green," she flippantly pointed out. Seeing him once again in costume, she still found it difficult to believe that it was Dick Grayson beneath the mask, but now that she knew the truth there was no mistaking it. However, now was not the time to bring it up, tempting though that was.

"I didn't scale the wall," Robin told her matter-of-factly.

"Any sign of Two-Face?" Batgirl asked in a neutral tone, trying to change the subject.

"If there had been you'd be late."

Batgirl seethed. "It's not two a.m. yet."

"And what if Dent decided to strike two hours after closing?" Robin redirected, his voice like ice.

That comment gave Batgirl sudden pause. "But he didn't," she pointed out.

"But he could have. And you wouldn't have been ready."

"And if he struck two minutes ago you wouldn't have been ready, if you're too busy arguing with me to pay attention to your surveillance."

Robin's eyes narrowed in his mask. After a moment's pause he turned on his heel and stalked back into the shadows. He resumed his silent stakeout beside the air vent.

"You can be such a dick sometimes," Batgirl declared as she stomped over and joined him in the shadows. Robin effectively ignored her, preferring to keep his attention focused on the night around them. Two-Face could strike at any time—and she was right, focusing on her meant that he wouldn't be ready.

In the grand scheme of things, being put in his place by Batgirl just now was on the lower end of the totem pole of his current grievances; the first being that he gave her a reason to put him in his place. He was still too emotional, too wrapped up in his own thoughts and feelings. He couldn't afford that right now. If he wanted to have any chance at all of stopping Two-Face he needed to focus. He would have to be just as cold, calculating, and unfeeling as the Batman himself; and up until a few minutes ago Robin could have sworn he'd had that covered.

Then Batgirl showed up.

Barbara.

He thought he'd taken care of her when he stole her costume, but obviously she had a spare hidden somewhere—or she drove all the way back to Gotham to get another one. Dick wouldn't have put it past her. Damn redhead with her father's damn stubborn streak and damnable Irish temper.

She was just so determined to help him, and Dick could have sworn that her tenacity only increased the minute she found out her interference wasn't welcomed. In a sick, perverted way, Robin began to gain an appreciation for what Batman must have felt, tolerating his annoying sidekick presence all those years. No wonder there were cases where he would force the Boy Wonder to stay in the cave. Before he had reached an acceptable level of training there of course were villains that the Dark Knight didn't want his apprentice to go anywhere near. Now Dick found himself sitting uncomfortably on the other side of that fence. Two-Face was one of those villains, especially after— … what happened. No way in Hell was Batgirl ready to test her mettle against the fiend.

Shit. I'm probably not ready, either, Dick lamented with a distinct Bat-like pout to his jaw. At least, when it was just him, it was his trial, his gauntlet to run. If things went poorly, the only unfortunate bacon to be fried would be his, and while he fully respected and appreciated the danger, he did not have any problems throwing himself into the line of fire. It's what he was trained to do. Trained for years by the best there is. It was his life, his calling, his karma. He was Robin, and not even Batman could take that away from him. It wasn't a job, a hobby, a sport; it was a way of life, Dick Grayson's way of life. It was his way of honoring his parents and ensuring that no other small boys had to live with survivor's guilt on top of losing their parents to the wicked criminal underbelly of the world. And tonight would prove to be his biggest challenge.

And then Batgirl showed up, and completely changed the nature of the game.

In his dark corner Robin seethed. Robin brooded and Robin frantically reviewed and reworked his plans. Now instead of focusing solely on Two-Face, his attention would have to be divided. Instead of a takedown plot, he was now wrapped up in a foil. Instead of tying Two-Face up in a neat little bundle to hand over to the authorities, he would just have to hope that he managed to prevent them from stealing the exhibit. It was all he could manage, if he had to constantly watch Batgirl's back at the same time. If he managed to apprehend most of the goons then that would be an added bonus. Two-Face, however, would take full advantage of a Robin off the top of his game. Barbara would be his primary target—he just knew it, and there was no way to convince her to leave, and no time to come up with a better plan. He had no options now; Batgirl had just cost him Two-Face. Robin wanted to hate her for it—and he just might have succeeded, if he wasn't so focused on ways to keep her safe.

Robin felt the swell of emotions even as he did this, and he hated himself for them. Emotions cause doubt, which leads to indecision, and indecision… gets people killed. Dick learned that lesson well. At least before, when he was just the junior partner, the big decisions largely weren't his to make. Sure he would offer input, and Batman came to value his intuition, but in the end it was always the Dark Knight himself who called the shots. Of course Robin was free to argue and disagree all he wanted, after the crisis was averted. In the thick of things though, there was no room for questioning, no room for debate, no room for doubt. Batman's orders were followed without question, usually to fruition but sometimes even to folly. Then sure, Robin could offer all the 'I told you so's he wanted (and quite often he did), but in the field, the Batman's orders were followed without question. It kept the Dark Knight happy, and as an added bonus it lifted the burden of responsibility off of Robin's shoulders. Batman's mistakes were Batman's alone, and Robin was spared the need to share in his guilt.

Robin carried enough guilt as it was from his own mistakes, but they were the result of poor execution, or even outright failure on his part. Never were they the result of poor executive decisions. Never since— … That night, that horrible, horrible night.

Now Robin found himself standing on the roof of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, anticipating the arrival of Two-Face, with Batgirl by his side and no Batman anywhere to call the shots. This was his show now. Robin was on his own, flying without a net. Whatever happened tonight—for good or ill, would rest entirely on his shoulders.

That was all well and good—Robin had accepted that the minute he began to lay the groundwork for this operation. But now that groundwork—the careful planning and mental preparation, had just been shot to Hell by the arrival of one vivacious redhead with often more exuberance than brains when it came to crime fighting. Now, here in the shadows with time desperately running out, Robin had to rebuild his strategy from the ground up. Robin had to… rethink his priorities. Number one had just become 'protect Barbara.' If in the midst of that they were able to apprehend a few goons and prevent Two-Face from escaping with most of the Egyptian exhibit, so be it. Dick would have time to hate her later, if he managed to get them out of this mess alive.

No, not Dick. Robin. If Robin managed to get them out of this mess alive—the only way he was going to succeed at that, was to remove all emotional attachments, because emotions bring doubt, and indecision… and death. Death was the real enemy, one that made Two-Face look like a tiptoe through the tulips. In order to keep his focus, in order to be able to make the correct decisions when the shit hit the fan as it inevitably was going to do, he could only be Robin and to Robin, she could only be Batgirl. Two vigilantes that pass in the night, that's all they were—all that he would allow them to be right now. He couldn't, wouldn't think of her as Barbara Gordon. Barbara Gordon meant something to him. Barbara Gordon was his friend, and with villains like Two-Face, friends were nothing but liabilities.

Batgirl, however, was his colleague, his immediate partner for this operation. A cape and cowl, nothing more. And this was just another ordinary stakeout. Two-Face was just the villain they were trying to apprehend. There was no past. There was no history, no future and no feelings. There was only now, this night—however it chose to end. They were Robin and Batgirl on a mission; that was the end of it.

It could be no other way.


1:45 a.m.
Gotham

The Batman has had a long day. Friday nights were historically the worst night for crime fighting, and so he didn't even return to the cave until nearly dawn. Then Bruce Wayne had to attend Saturday business luncheon with a few high-powered shareholders and then he had to make an appearance at the charity auction sponsored by the Wayne Foundation, which was capped off by fabulous evening of dining and entertainment designed to loosen people's purse strings. All said and done, he barely managed to escape the event without drawing unwanted attention to himself, and he didn't get back to the cave to begin preparing for his Saturday patrol until well into the evening.

Finally free of the trappings of high society, the Batman was just barely into his rounds when a general alert came through the police scanner. Apparently some local gang developed serious delusions of grandeur and attempted to knock off the First National Bank. They'd botched the attempt and set off the alarms, and a high-speed chase ensued. Squad cars and motorcycles littered the Gotham Expressway right up to the Trigate Bridge, where Batman had left caltrops in the road for a lovely parting gift. The getaway car blew out all four tires and spun out of control until it wrapped itself around a lamppost. The would-be thieves were dazedly pulling themselves out of the wreckage just in time for Gordon and his backup to arrive.

A flip of a switch and the Batmobile's onboard electromagnet cased the unused caltrops to return from whence they came, allowing Gordon's police cruiser access to the scene. Gordon drove on through, and the uniformed officers he brought with him apprehended the criminals. Justice now having been served, the commissioner took a leisurely stroll down to the end of the bridge. There he turned around and appeared to survey devastation wrought by the car chase.

Soon enough, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Thanks for your help," he said aloud, seemingly to no one.

"Any leads on Two-Face?" a gruff voice spoke from the shadows behind him.

"Not yet," Gordon answered. "Wherever he is, he's sure as hell staying under the radar."

"He'll turn up," Batman assured. "Scum always does."

Gordon nodded barely perceptibly in agreement. "Has Robin had any luck tracking him in New York?"

Silence.

A slight shift in the wind.

Gordon turned around… to find himself standing alone.

"I hate it when he does that!"


Batman was already in the Batmobile, speeding back towards the cave.

"Alfred!" he barked into the communicator.

Right here sir, Alfred's voice chimed in. I must say, I think I've discovered

"Not now Alfred!" Batman cut him off. "Prep the batplane."

"Very good, sir. And might I suggest that when you get to New York, you head straight to the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time for games, Alfred."

"Surely not, sir, but I just came across a very interesting article in the cultural section of today's paper on the Egyptian Twins exhibit…"

"And today was the second day of showing," Batman concluded. "And the anniversary of the last time I busted him."

"Ido hope that everything goes well, sir. Especially for Master Dick."

"What do you mean, especially for Dick?"

"For goodness sake, sir, doesn't Bruce Wayne check his personal voicemail? I called you this afternoon to tell you that one of Master Dick's friends from University called, wondering if he had gone home."

"What?"

"Apparently he hasn't been seen for several days, and his school friends are quite concerned for him."

As they should be Bruce thought as he came to the straightaway of the Bob Kane Memorial Bridge. He hit the Nitro to boost his speed.

"Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Hurry."


1:50 a.m.
The roof of the Museum

"You want to play," said Robin, breaking the silence and effectively startling Batgirl. "You follow my rules."

Batgirl scoffed. "Who died and made you Bat?"

"I don't need you here. I don't want you here. Having you here makes everything more dangerous. Batgirl is not a wildcard I want to play with in this game; the stakes are too high."

"Would you get over yourself?" Batgirl told him off angrily. "You're not Batman. You're just the sidekick! You need backup."

Dick glared at her icily from behind his mask. "You know why Batman never let you face Two-Face before," he told her, condescending in that Bat-superior way. "You're not ready. And if you don't know that then you're a fool."

First useless, then unwanted, and now a fool. Batgirl seethed behind her cowl, her spare cowl, because the bastard stole her other one. How mild-mannered Dick Grayson shared a body with this jackass she'd never know.

"Oh I'm the fool now?" she redirected angrily. "You're the one who's hell-bent on facing off against Dent all by yourself."

"This is my show," Dick said levelly, pulling off his best impersonation of the Batman to date. "Either play it my way, or get the hell out. Your choice, Batgirl."

Batgirl hesitated a moment, almost as though she was seriously considering the matter—either that, or she was trying to force herself not to say something stupid.

"Wow…" she mused. "Someone really did die and made you Bat."

Robin stood stone silent, as though he were waiting for her answer. Finally Batgirl sighed, and brought her temper back under control.

"What's the plan?" she asked dejectedly.

Robin didn't get the chance to answer her. He was cut off by the sound of a large crash, followed almost immediately by machinegun fire.


1:50 a.m.
Inside the Museum

From where he was hiding in the men's room, Victor Stone could still hear everything that happened inside the museum, thanks to the new and improved earpiece he had upgraded to. Of course, he didn't need the extra help to hear the incredibly large crash or to feel the building shake.

Realizing suddenly that the rules had changed, Vic abandoned his hiding place and booked it back into center of the lobby. What he saw there made his jaw drop. A gang of thugs in cheap suits piled their way out of a brand new H3 that had just crashed through the front door—literally. The newly wrecked hummer, painted two-toned in black and white, was still spinning its wheels in the debris field.

"Holy…" Victor breathed, a cybernetic deer caught in the hummer's one good headlight.

"Well, well, well," he heard a scratchy, throaty voice drone. His telescopic eye caught sight of a man in a two-toned suit to match the hummer carrying a Tommy gun. The villain known as Two-Face was now climbing his way around the fallen stones and other detritus now littering the lobby entrance. "What have we here," he asked. "Garfield's own personal Tin Man." Two-Face fished his coin out of his pocket and flipped it… flipped it… flipped it.

Victor stood stock-still, well aware of the numerous machineguns trained on him.

Finally Two-Face snatched the coin out of the air. He palmed it and then flipped it over onto the back of his hand. He studied it a moment, and then looked up at Victor, grinning. "Boys!"

The goons snapped to attention.

"What's say we blow this hunk of junk back to Oz."


The green fly on the roof supports had transformed itself into a green rat as soon as the museum had closed. Thus with keen ears Garfield Logan heard everything that was said below him. The Bats weren't here yet and God only knows what happened to the guards. Thus there was no one on hand to help Victor, who was currently facing the business end of eight machineguns.

The green rat snarled in anger. Two-Face has screwed with his life enough, he most certainly in NOT going to get away with turning his best friend into Swiss cheese.

The rat dove off the roof and turned into a Tyrannosaurus that landed heavily in the center of the lobby.

"What the—"

Two-Face's questioning was cut off by the T-Rex's sudden ear-splitting roar that reverberated painfully around the cavernous lobby. Most of the goons dropped their guns to cover their ears.

T-Rex shot its tail around and upended Victor ("Ack!") while the bad guy's were distracted. A bit of fancy footwork and Victor was tossed onto the dinosaur's back just in time for Garfield to transform into a thoroughbred and take off around a corner, down a corridor and out of site.

"After them!" Two-Face shouted to his goons, and the chase began.

"But Gar I don't know how to ride a horse!" was heard shouted above the blazing machinegun fire that trailed after them, kicking up plaster and masonry dust all around them.

The horse snorted and pressed onwards, hoping to lose the thugs at an outright gallop through the museum while at the same time managing to not dislodge his passenger, whose arms were wrapped about the horse's green neck for dear life.

Then suddenly and without warning the horse slammed on the brakes, skidded to a halt, and transformed into an orangutan.

"Aieeeeee!" Victor went sailing ass over teakettle until a large hairy arm lassoed him and dragged him through a service door and into a stairwell.

"Where did they go?"

"Split up! Find them!"

The orangutan turned back into a petit, out-of-breath green human. Victor turned to him as soon as he caught his breath.

"So you got any more bright ideas?"

The footsteps of the goons were getting closer.

"Just one," Garfield replied, panting slightly still. "Run."


1:52 a.m.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Raven's soul self was flying over the island of Manhattan. She still hadn't found any sign of Garfield Logan, and this was her second sweep of the area. Perhaps she was not as attuned to the psychic signatures of others as she had previously thought?

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

He had to be out there somewhere…

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

If only he would… think… a little louder.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

She'd be able to find him.

Azarath… Metrion… Xinthos…

FLASH!

Loud noises.

Dust and stone flying everywhere.

Raven gasped

FLASH!

Men in suits.

Men in suits carrying guns.

A long, dark hallway.

Raven flinched.

FLASH!

Wind in her face.

A racing heartbeat.

The stench of sweat.

And gunpowder.

"Nnnnngh!"

FLASH!

Raven toppled over backwards, crashing back down into her pillows.

Her eyes were squinted shut, and she was panting.

Panting…

Panting…

FLASH!

Adrenaline.

Chaos.

Fear.

Fear?

FLASH!

Raven's eyes snapped open. She inhaled sharply and shot up in bed.

"The museum…"

Raven scrambled to her feet and threw open her closet door. She grabbed her blue cloak and threw it about her shoulders. Garfield was at the Metropolitan Museum, and he was in trouble. Big trouble.

Raven stood in the center of her room. She took a few deep breaths and centered herself, distancing her own emotions from the vision she just received. Her whole body was tense, a testament to how strongly the vision affected her.

"This had better be worth it," she grumbled, right before an obsidian hole opened in the floor beneath her feet. Raven sank down into it—into the astral plane. This would allow her to travel at higher speeds than normal levitation, and she sensed that time was indeed of the essence.

She headed for the museum.