Author's Note--So, apparently there is some interest in this story after all. News to me! I was just going to remove it entirely, but hadn't got round to it. Either way, here are more chapters.

Chapter Two:

Sleepless in Seattle

Seattle, Washington

March, 1988

The sound was anything but unusual in the alleys of Seattle's waterfront at that time of night. A feminine whimper, not quite a scream. A red-headed boy in his mid-teens stopped to listen, fitted a red-fletched arrow into the bow he carried, and crept stealthily toward the source of the sound. Suddenly he heard something he wasn't expecting: a cry of surprise and then the unmistakable sound of flesh being pummeled. Then the echo of running footsteps and loud, terrified sobs.

She must have got away, the boy thought. I'd better make sure he doesn't catch up with her.

But the woman's footsteps were the only ones he could hear. And, to his great surprise, the sounds of the scuffle were still going on. Warily, the teenager stepped into the alley, bow held at the ready. It wasn't two men fighting, as he'd expected; instead, a tattooed thug in a sleeveless leather jacket had a blonde girl about half his size in a heavy grip. The girl, one of the local exotic dancers to judge by the fishnet stockings and leotard she wore, aimed a couple of well-placed kicks at her aggressor's legs and tried to pivot in his embrace.

The red-headed archer took careful aim, waiting until the fight brought the creep's shoulder directly into his range. He loosed the arrow just as the girl flipped her attacker onto the ground in a well-executed judo move...and gasped in horror as he saw the bolt headed directly for her head.

She was quick, he had to admit. Stepping nimbly out of the way just in time — she couldn't have even had time to even see it coming! — she made a grab for the arrow as it whizzed past her left ear. She caught it, barely, but not without nicking her hand on the sharp tip. Frowning in irritation at the blood on her palm, she looked up to give her "rescuer" a decidedly unfriendly glare.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded angrily.

The boy gulped. "Um, rescuing you?" he said uncertainly.

"Oh, good job," she said witheringly. The guy with the tattoos was trying to get to his feet, without notable success. He'd been drunk to begin with, and being dropped on his head on concrete hadn't exactly done much to improve his condition. The scantily-clad young woman spared him an impatient frown before she bent down and knocked him unconscious. "Now, if you want to do something useful help me lock him in this dumpster," she ordered her would-be saviour.

He rushed forward and lifted the man's shoulders, taking most of his weight. "I don't think the dumpsters lock," he said as they heaved their burden on top of the smelly mess inside. There was a groan when he hit, but no movement.

The girl dusted off her hands. "Doesn't matter. He won't be happy when he wakes up, regardless. And chances are he won't be picking on any more little victim types tonight."

"Who are you?" the teen asked in amazement.

She brought herself up to her full 5'5" and gave him as imposing a look as she could manage under the circumstances. She was dirty all over, one stocking-clad knee was smeared with blood where her injured hand had brushed against it, and her unkempt blonde tresses — a wig! he now realised — had slipped out of position a bit, revealing the faintest trace of dark hair underneath.

"Black Canary," she announced proudly.

"You're one of us," he accused, belatedly figuring it out. "You're a crimefighter."

She raised one eyebrow and stared at him. "Well, yeah. What did you think I was, little red riding hood?" His glance traveled slowly from the exorbitantly-cuffed boots, the fishnet stockings, the black (blue-black? he couldn't really tell in this light) leotard with the matching short jacket, up to the blonde wig. The girl's eyes opened wide and she added quickly, "Don't answer that if you know what's good for you."

He grinned. "Okay. I won't. My name's Speedy, and —"

"You've got to be kidding me!" she exclaimed. "Why would you ever call yourself that?"

"Because that's what I am. I'm fast. I can nock an arrow faster than Green Arrow can reach for one, and that's saying something," he bragged.

"Hmm. Now him I've heard of," Black Canary said, strolling out of the alley with her newfound colleague by her side. "As soon as I came to this city. You work for him?"

Speedy considered. "Yeah, I guess so. I've been doing this nearly two years."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "You're kidding," she repeated. "How old are you?"

"Not much younger than you, I bet," he said challengingly.

"I asked you first."

"I'm sixteen," he answered. She just looked at him, and he hung his head and admitted, "Well, this summer. How old are you?"

"Nineteen," she told him, then some vestige of honesty compelled her to add, "Next week." The two of them grinned at each other for a moment, then Black Canary held out her uninjured hand. "Nice to meet you, Speedy. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

He watched her walk away, sticking carefully to the shadows. She's not bad for a beginner, I guess, he thought with a hint of condescension. I better find out who she is before Green Arrow gets back to town. We can't just let anybody in a costume come in here and start playing hero. God, she's gorgeous.

Speedy hadn't said anything about his skill as a tracker, but if he had he wouldn't have been bragging. The girl who called herself Black Canary never had the slightest idea anyone was following her as she made her way home. A tree and a garage roof gave her access to the window of her second-story apartment. The boy watched from the shadows, making careful note of where the light went on and counting the number of windows. He moved around the front of the building and checked the mailboxes. If his figuring was right, she'd gone into apartment 2B, which had two names written on its box. The first name had been obliterated with black magic marker. Greg maybe? But the girl's first name, Dinah, was still there. The last name Windrow had been x-ed out and replaced with Lance.

Dinah Lance, huh? Nineteen next week, and apparently divorced or something. Well, well.

------------------------- -

Mystery Men attract trouble.

Doubtless there was some truth in the warning she'd heard all her life, but Dinah Lance had been a magnet for trouble long before she'd ever actually taken the step of putting on a replica of her mother's old costume. Characteristically disregarding the advice, she assumed the situation was the same way with the rest of the handful of brave souls (or nutcases, to put it another way) who had chosen to become crimefighters.

Black Canary, a long coat hiding most of her costume, stood looking at the racks of high-calorie snack food, sipping a cup of coffee and questioning her judgment. She was cold, lonely, wet, and exhausted.

Why am I doing this? she asked herself. It's not like this city doesn't already have a protector or two...what can I possibly add? And am I even enjoying it? Then she caught sight of herself in the overhead security mirror and grinned ironically at her distorted reflection. Oh, snap out of it! Even crimefighters need a coffee break once in awhile. A little chocolate and I'll be ready to take on the whole underworld by myself. Now, what kind do I really —

Uh oh. Moving a few inches to the right in search of a different kind of candy bar, the girl had a different view in the mirror. She could see the gun clearly as the guy in front of the counter opened his coat. A few quiet words were exchanged, and the clerk didn't offer to put up a fight. The woman's eyes were round with terror as she handed over the money in the register, all fifty dollars of it. The robber didn't appear satisfied, nor was he buying the story that all the big bills were locked up in the safe until morning. The pistol made its predictable appearance, pressed up against the petrified clerk's forehead.

Moving quickly and as silently as possible, thanking fortune for the store's noisy fans, Black Canary put down the coffee and divested herself of the coat. Keeping low, in the vain hope the robber wouldn't look up and notice her in the mirrors, she crept toward the front of the store.

She had only one chance at this. One second's mistiming, and the woman would be dead. But there were several feet of open space between herself and the robber; she would have to traverse that and jar the man's hand upwards before his finger was able to squeeze the trigger. No. Her reflexes were remarkable, but she probably wasn't that fast.

Gathering her courage, the young crimefighter heard herself say in a querulous voice, "Excuse me? Do you have any trash bags?"

The distraction worked. The robber swung around and turned the gun on her, just as she had instinctively known he would. He stood gaping for one precious second when he got a good look at her clothing, giving Black Canary all the opening she needed. The look of fear on her face, mostly feigned, lowered his guard even further and he was starting to enjoy himself just before a lightning fast high kick took the pistol out of his hand.

She had no time to stop and tell herself what a monumentally stupid thing she'd just done, and how outrageously lucky she was. The man tried to hit her in the face, but Black Canary blocked his punch. She grabbed his wrist and used his own weight against him, landing him ignominiously on his butt on the floor.

"Jesus, lady!" he swore. "Fifty bucks ain't worth it." He fled the store as the clerk pressed the panic button over and over.

Dinah, barely breathing hard, remarked, "Guess I don't need the bags after all — the trash took itself out. Are you okay?" The clerk couldn't answer. She just stared at the costumed figure in shock.

"I'll be back for my coat later," Black Canary called back as she gave chase.

She managed to trail him for several blocks before she finally lost him in a paved area behind a mission and a Chinese laundry. Hands on hips, she stood under the dim streetlight and surveyed her immediate surroundings through the fine mist.

The faint but unmistakable sound of footsteps somewhere above her head got her attention. As she went to investigate, Black Canary ventured too close to the shadows.

Without warning, she felt a pair of hands grab her roughly. Dinah moved to kick her attacker, but her feet were imprisoned by a second man. She struggled to free herself, mentally going through all the judo moves she knew, but to no avail. The first man, the one she'd been chasing, ended up with a split lip when she butted him with the top of her head, but he managed to keep his grip on her.

His friend, trying hard to keep hold of the girl's thrashing feet, let out a sudden agonised shriek and dropped his burden. He limped away into the shadows as quickly as he could go, moaning with every step.

A red arrow dangled from one of his buttocks.

Black Canary seized the opportunity. She pivoted, ducking under her captor's arms like a square-dancer, and used her momentum to spin him around. A karate chop to the back of the neck sent him to the gravel without another word.

The crimefighter, resisting the impulse to give him a good solid kick, gulped in several breaths of the night air. Taking one last deep breath she barked, "Speedy, get down here!"

The boy in the yellow and red costume scrambled down the drainpipe. For a moment he was torn, tempted to go after the guy he'd shot, considering the other was subdued for the moment, but Dinah didn't seem too concerned. Figuring he'd have enough trouble with the arrow — he might even be stupid enough to try going to a hospital for treatment — Speedy dismissed the second assailant from his mind.

He reached back and unsnapped a small pouch on the side of his quiver, pulling out a section of strong plastic tie wrap. Expertly, he used the cord as a pair of flexible handcuffs, attaching the would-be convenience store robber to the drainpipe.

"Better?" he asked his new friend.

Black Canary nodded and rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. "Yes. I can't thank you enough for coming to my rescue in the nick of time."

It was impossible to tell under the pinkish glow of the light, but his face darkened suspiciously. She could have sworn his skin suddenly turned a shade somewhere between the colour of his hair and the silly red Robin Hood hat he wore.

"Now," she said with mock sternness, "have you been following me?"

He gave her a slightly embarrassed grin and shrugged. "I thought it was you I caught sight of. Thought maybe I could help out."

"And you did. Thanks again."

"Anytime, Dinah," he smiled.

Her mouth dropped open. With a quick look to make sure their prisoner was still unconscious, she grabbed Speedy's arm furiously. "What did you call me!" she demanded, dragging him with her.

"I'm sorry."

"Come on, I've got to see if I can retrieve my coat before there are too many cops crawling all over the mini-mart."

Flashing lights a few blocks away informed them they were too late. Black Canary sighed in irritation, but Speedy urged her forward. Keeping carefully out of sight beside the building, they kept watch until Speedy spotted a friendly face. Officer Chandler was by himself, thankfully, talking on the radio of his police cruiser. When he started back inside, his attention was attracted by a loud "Psssst!"

He stopped, looking at the dark space warily. The teenage crimefighter stepped out of the shadows, and with a resigned look Chandler moved closer to meet him. "What now, Speedy?" he started to ask, and then he caught sight of the girl.

"Ahhh," he said in sudden recognition. "So this is our new vigilante, huh? The heroine of the night. Nobody really believed the clerk's description, you know."

Speedy drew her forward. "This is Black Canary."

The officer shook his head in resignation and contemplated moving to a city where the police took care of things and there wasn't a costumed nut job running around. With the addition of the girl, apparently Seattle was now up to three.

"Aren't you cold in that get-up?" he asked by way of greeting. She scowled at him and he turned his attention to the boy. "Where's your old man?"

"Around," Speedy hedged. "Right now I'm trying to get my friend's coat back. She left it inside the store. Think you can oblige?"

Chandler muttered under his breath. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

"Well, just to make it worth your while, you'll find your suspect tied to a drainpipe behind Santa Dominica's Mission."

A few minutes later, her overcoat having been surreptitiously returned to her possession, Black Canary sighed wearily. "Well, I'm calling it a night, just like I was planning to do before all this came up."

She paused, then looked at her new friend suspiciously. "I suppose you know where I live, too?" He nodded. "Then I guess you might as well come up and talk to me for awhile."

->>>————————>

An hour ago, Dinah reflected, she'd been ready to go home, by herself, curl up with a chocolate bar and go to sleep. But the convenience store holdup had abruptly changed her plans — and kept her from picking up the candy bar. And now, instead of getting a few hours sleep before she had to go to work, she found herself, still in costume, curled up on one corner of her ratty old couch entertaining a smartass teenager who seemed to know far more about her than he should.

The boy sipped his mug of hot cocoa — the two envelopes of instant represented her entire stash of chocolate — and looked at his surroundings, unimpressed.

"Live here by yourself?" he asked.

The needless question irritated her. "Like there's some chance you don't know?" she scoffed.

"Only what I got off your mailbox," he told her candidly. "Name, address...doesn't take much to figure out you had a husband — or something — when you moved in, but you don't anymore."

"Technically, I still have a husband, at least until he signs the divorce papers. He took off for South America someplace and I don't have the cash to follow him." It was absolutely none of his business but what the hell, she thought. It wasn't like she had anybody else to talk to.

"So that's why you took up crimefighting? Not that you don't do okay out there," he added generously.

She raised one eyebrow. "Oh, thank you," she said sardonically.

"Ah, come on, Dinah, I didn't mean it like that," he protested. With the worldly experience of two whole years on his side, he continued, "Not many amateurs could handle themselves as well as you do. The only real mistake I've seen you make is assuming the guy was alone when you got too close to that dark alley. I could train you, though, if you want. You know, a few tips here and there — prevent what happened tonight."

He stopped and watched her expression warily. He'd seen enough of her mercurial temperament to expect her to be furious with him, but he'd felt he had to make the offer. Obviously she learned from her mistakes at least. He'd noticed almost immediately that this time out she wore gloves. Maybe the nick on her hand from the arrowhead had taught her a lesson.

To his surprise, the tightly compressed lips loosened into a sudden smile and she laughed at him. Laughed at him and tousled his hair like he was six, and he blushed like an idiot as usual.

"I grew up knowing how to do this stuff," she told him, while his face flamed. "And I hardly need lessons from some kid who can't even pick a better name than 'Speedy' — but thanks for the offer anyway, kid."

"My name's Roy," he mumbled. "Roy Harper."

"Hey, that's a start! Nice to meet you, Roy Harper," she said with a friendly smile that positively bowled him over. Then, probably to get back at him for his audacious offer, she ruined it by asking, "Does your mother know you're out this late on a school night?"

He shrugged, then shook his head. "She's dead," he said simply, with a tone of carefully cultivated indifference.

Dinah, with a similar hurt not that many years behind her, reached out a sympathetic hand and patted his wrist. "I'm sorry. My dad's dead, too. It happened when I was your age," she said, as if there was a huge interim. "He was a detective. Taught me everything I know."

"Green Arrow taught me."

"Good teacher," she smiled.

Roy's freckled face lit up. "I could introduce you," he offered, figuring she'd have to be impressed if he arranged for her to meet someone who was on his way to becoming a local legend.

"Sure. Sounds nice," she said indulgently, not sounding particularly impressed.

He thought about it for a minute, formulating his plans. He remembered their first meeting, when she'd told him she would be nineteen in a few days. "Your birthday's this week, right?" he asked.

"Thursday," she confirmed. "Why?"

"Because I was just thinking...if you don't have any friends in Seattle, why not come over for dinner Thursday and spend your birthday with us instead of by yourself? And then you can meet a real superhero."

She was almost positive his comment about her lack of friends was pure speculation, but he couldn't have hit the mark any more effectively with his arrows. It was true; she hadn't managed to get close to the people at work, and the only social contacts she'd made in her few weeks in the city had been colleagues of her estranged husband. She'd been planning on ignoring the occasion, but Roy's invitation sounded better. Besides, the irony of the last remark amused her. Clearly he didn't know everything.

"Tell you what, Speedy," she bargained with him. "You told me your real name, that should be all I need to find you. If I can work out where you live by Thursday night, then I'll join you. Okay?"

He laughed. "What's this, a contest? Sounds like fun. You sure you can—"

Dinah cut him off. "If I can't manage that one I'll know I shouldn't be in this business."

She rose and picked up his empty cup, carrying it and her own to the sink. Roy recognised the dismissive gesture for what it was and snatched his red cap from the table.

"See you Thursday?" he said hopefully.

She gave him a nod and a tired smile. "Eight o'clock," she said. "Now, you run along home, kid. Some of us have to work tomorrow."