Chapter Seven

Pretty Bird Uncaged

Gotham City, 1997

Oliver Queen sat at the table in the kitchenette, surrounded by piles of books and papers. One of Larry's old Louis Armstrong records was playing on the stereo. He had many of the same old classics in his CD collection at home; he remembered Dinah commenting on the fact when they first met. It had been quite a pleasant surprise to him to find such a young woman who liked the same kind of music he did, no matter how she came to hear it in the first place.

He looked up with a smile of relief as she came through the door of the apartment with an armload of shopping bags. It was well after eight o'clock, much later than her normal time for getting home, and he had begun to feel a few twinges of concern. He was hardly the nervous sort, but under the circumstances a little extra caution was only prudent.

"Guess the old saying's true," he teased. "'When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.'"

"Very funny. Since when did you start quoting T-shirts?" she replied.

She put the bags down on the floor and headed for the coffee maker. It had been a stressful day, and she needed caffeine more than anything else at this point — especially given her tentative plans for the evening. Wearily, she pulled out the chair next to him and dropped into it.

"Tired?"

Dinah sipped the hot, soothing liquid, taking her time about answering. True, she had been awakened very early, and she should be exhausted, but her adrenaline level was still at a higher level than it had been in years. It felt...wonderful!

"Mm, a little, maybe. But I don't really figure I'll be getting much sleep tonight she said with meaning.

Her words were open to easy misinterpretation, especially when he glimpsed the lettering on one small, shiny gold bag. "Veronica's Secret, huh?" he said, impressed. He leaned over, one hand tugging the string handle, to sneak a peek at the contents.

Dinah gave his hand a playful warning slap, like a mother saying "don't touch" to a toddler. "That's for later," she told him.

"I have to go out later," he reminded her with regret.

"Give you something to look forward to, then, won't it?" she teased. She laughed as he waggled his eyebrows and gave her his best dirty-old-man leer, then added hesitantly, "I'm not...absolutely sure you're going to like it, though."

He shrugged. "Bound to beat the hell out of Batman's man-panties," he joked. He'd heard the phrase somewhere in the past, and his meeting with Batman had brought it to mind again.

Dinah choked on her coffee, barely managing to avoid a classic spit take, then spluttered with laughter. "Man-panties! Oh, God...Ollie!" With a shake of her head, she stood up and started for the bedroom, still giggling, to put away her purchases.

"Well, you know, the dark underwear on the outside of the tights look," he explained, raising his voice slightly. "You didn't see the guy. How can any self-respecting crimefighter dress like that? Not as bad as that Superman guy, though. Blue and red? Please!"

Dinah, shifting things around in her mother's closet, shook her head. "And this from the guy who spent — how many years was it? — running around in a little green feathered hat?" she shot back. She waited, but there was no response from the other room.

"Szechuan okay with you?" he asked after a long silence. "I didn't have any idea what time you'd be home, so I went ahead and ordered out when it started getting late." He lowered his voice as she came back in the room, wearing shorts and pulling a T-shirt over her head.

"Bless you," she said, voice muffled in the folds of cloth. "I really wasn't looking forward to cooking tonight."

She came to stand beside him, dropping a grateful kiss on the top of his golden head. Oliver put his arm around her hips and gave her an affectionate pat. She looked down at the books and papers he had spread in front of him on the table, noticing for the first time that he'd been looking through her mother's collection of scrapbooks and taking notes.

"Finding anything?" she asked casually.

Relieved she wasn't angry at him about looking through the stuff without permission, he answered, "Some background info, that's about it. I don't suppose she told you any more than the story I got last night?"

"Less. I've been ordered, in the nicest terms possible, to stay the hell out of this and not worry my pretty little head about it."

He doubted that was quite what Diana had meant, and doubted even more that she'd put it that way, but it was strange to find himself suddenly in the position of defending the woman. "She's just trying to keep you safe," he offered awkwardly.

Dinah, expecting some muttered pejorative, was more than a little surprised. Not only at the fact that Oliver of all people was sticking up for her mother of his own volition, but at the idea that either of them could possibly think she was in need of protection. "Keep her safe" indeed! Was that the image she'd acquired over the last several years?

As she opened her mouth to make some cutting retort, exactly what she didn't know as yet, the door buzzer sounded. Oliver went to pay for the food, while Dinah scowlingly grabbed plates from the cabinet.

Maybe I'm overreacting, she admitted to herself. To be perfectly honest, her mother had always had a tendency to be smotheringly overprotective from the time Dinah had been a small child, insisting she remain in her company or her father's at all times. The only reason she'd been encouraged to study martial arts was for self-defense...just in case. She'd seemed pleased by her accomplishments in judo and karate, but she'd never actually seen the sort of thing she was capable of during her tenure as Black Canary. Ollie, on the other hand, ought to know exactly how well she could take care of herself, but he'd never been able to entirely control his protective instincts where she was concerned. He didn't mean to treat her as a damsel in distress; it was just part of his nature to play knight errant.

Well...she'd just have to show them both.

———————— -

This was the most incredible vehicle he'd ever seen — long and low and sleek, with an outrageously extended hood in front, sort of like a cross between a stretch limo and the world's most powerful sports car. The mighty engine was almost silent as it idled, producing just a low rumbling sound that faded into the background noise of the neighbourhood. He tried not to let his surprise at its presence show, but he couldn't keep the look of frank admiration off his face. The low bubble canopy slid back as he made his way around the side of the vehicle, and Green Arrow hopped inside.

"Nice ride, Bats," he said casually as he settled himself in the cockpit. "Must have cost a little more than thirty thou."

"A little," Batman confirmed, with a hint of a smile.

The man in green folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the seat, very much at his ease. He wasn't about to give the other man the satisfaction of asking just how he came to be waiting for him outside the apartment building.

The Batmobile pulled smoothly away from the curb and joined the flow of traffic on Adams Boulevard. Green Arrow looked around with interest. Most cities are supposed to look more or less alike, but Gotham was at least as far removed from Seattle in character as it was in miles. Gothic and deco buildings everywhere you looked. The state's license plates proclaimed it to be the Dark Deco State, and its premier city certainly lived up to its title.

"I hope you do a better job of concealing your identity in Seattle than you do here," Batman remarked at length.

"Eh," Green Arrow shrugged.

"I'm not the only one who could track you down, you know."

His passenger looked over at him with a frown. "Believe it or not," he drawled, "once upon a time I was just as anal about that as you are. But I outgrew it."

"Mm," Batman grunted. "Did your enemies outgrow it, also? I'm sure you've managed to make a few over the years. Have they ever come after your girlfriend to get back at you?"

Something of the sort had happened, more than once, because one or the other of them had gotten sloppy about their identities. As a matter of fact he couldn't help but think that the present situation could have probably been avoided if only the senior Black Canary had worn a mask. But that was none of this jerk's business.

"Leave her out of this," he warned, anger flaring briefly in his eyes. "You may think you're the so-called 'world's greatest detective', but you don't know as much as you think you do."

To prove a point, Batman began to reel off a long list of information he'd uncovered after their previous encounter. He'd merely accessed the police files to discover what visitors from Seattle had made a complaint, and let his computer fill in the blanks from there.

"Your name is Oliver Queen — no middle name. You were born in 1953 in Star City, California. You were the only child of wealthy parents, both of whom died in a plane crash off the coast of Greece in 1975."

"Smartass," grumbled Oliver. Characteristically, his flash of temper had quickly disappeared, to be replaced by a kind of tolerant half amusement, and he let the other man continue for the moment.

"You've never been married, although for the past several years you've been living with a woman by the name of Dinah Laurel Lance. You have one son, born when you were eighteen." Batman gave him a sidelong look, almost but not quite disapproving. "He came to live with you when he was twelve, after his mother's death.

"In 1982 you fell off a yacht in the South Pacific and were presumed drowned. Three months later you showed up again, quite unharmed. The next year you took a trip around the world with a corporate plane and company pilot."

Oliver smirked at him. "I learned my lesson about boats," he said easily enough, though the dubious amusement was beginning to pall.

The Dark Knight went on, taking no notice of the interruption. "You played a sizeable role in bankrupting your family company, whereupon you moved to Seattle, into the condominium you inherited from your maternal grandmother."

"All right, all right; I'm convinced. Knock it off. I already know the story."

"Since then your employment record has been erratic and rather...colourful. For the last two years, you and your girlfriend have co-owned a shop known as 'Sherwood Florist'," continued Batman remorselessly. "You —"

"You know, Bats," Green Arrow objected in a dangerously mild voice, "you're seriously starting to piss me off!"

"Merely trying to prove a point," the other crimefighter informed him with an expression of smug superiority,

"That you're a real bastard? Yeah, thanks, I got the idea." Batman didn't respond to the taunt, and they drove on in silence for several minutes. Finally Oliver roused himself and asked suspiciously, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Theatre district," replied Batman tersely.

Green Arrow studied the dark figure with interest. "Why not start with his house? Chances are that's where he'd be keeping any incriminating papers."

Batman shook his head. "Too early in the evening. He'd be too likely to be at home and awake at this hour."

Oliver knew he was almost certainly correct, but he couldn't help taunting his new ally a little. "Where's your sense of adventure? Doesn't the Dark Knight like to live dangerously?"

"You mean reckless grandstanding and unnecessary risks?" He shook his head in the negative. "Save it for the west coast. We've got a job to do here."

And some people call me a hypocrite! thought Green Arrow, shoulders quaking with silent laughter. "You are one funny guy, anybody ever tell you that?"

As they passed the imposing structure of the Byzantium, it was still early enough for a few people to be around. The driver turned onto a side street near the theatre.

Batman was beginning to tire of the competitive banter. "Do you ever take anything seriously?" he asked rhetorically. "For that matter, do you even know who we're trying to find?"

"Guy by the name of Cary Young."

A faint smile tugged at the thin line of Batman's mouth. "It might have prevented a few problems if you'd thought about talking to Mrs. Lance before you had to put an arrow through a man's leg, but at least you finally did a little detective work."

"Y'know," Ollie began conversationally, "I'm not really a patient man, and I don't imagine you are, either. So, either let's quit messing with each other and exchange information, or else pull this fancy car over and exchange a few punches. Your choice."

The other man gave him a look of sardonic amusement. "You really are too dependent on excessive violence," he said as he turned the Batmobile into an alley and pulled to a stop. His voice held a tone of mild reproach, as well as that ever-present, intolerable smugness.

Green Arrow raised his eyebrows in surprise when the car stopped. Did this nutcase actually intend to take him up on his idle threat? he wondered. The canopy slid back and Batman hopped out. Green Arrow followed suit, but the Dark Knight didn't deign to answer the look of inquiry he gave him.

Pulling a small, blunt-edged device from his utility belt, he pointed it in the direction of one of the darkened windows on the fourth floor of the building. As he pressed a button a thin cable shot upwards towards the target.

He handed the grappling gun to his companion. "Press this button to send it back down to me," he ordered.

Green Arrow gave him a look of incredulity. "You've got to be kidding me. Haven't you ever heard of a fire escape?" But he took the device and with a slight, what-the-hell shrug, allowed himself to be lifted into the air on the retracting cable.

He had the window of Young's office unlocked and open and was checking carefully around inside the frame for alarm mechanisms by the time Batman joined him on the ledge. Finding none, he lowered his lean body through the window feet first. He turned to Batman with a wide grin as the latter joined him inside.

"I like your toys!" he said with enthusiasm.

Batman gave him a grimace that might have passed for a smile.

- >>>————————>

She'd noticed the long, blue-black vehicle on the street below when she'd stood guard in the hall while Oliver made his exit through the floor's fire escape window. So...he's got himself a ride. Boy's night out, she thought sourly as she went back into the apartment.

Entering the bedroom, she opened the closet door and pulled out the black bodysuit she'd bought that evening, stood holding it in her hands for a long time. She hadn't been absolutely certain when she made the purchase, but seeing the two crimefighters — the two superior, arrogant male crimefighters — go happily off together to take care of something that by rights was her responsibility, she realised the decision had been made. Resolutely, she began to assemble the things she needed.

It had been six years since she'd last done this, but the ritual was well remembered.

She pulled the fishnet stockings taut, zipped up the crepe-soled, black leather ankle boots (they'd cost far more than she could afford, but soft, supple leather was important when you didn't have the luxury of breaking in a new pair of shoes gradually), and adjusted the fit of the half-jacket she wore. Then, with slightly shaky hands, she applied a little spirit gum just below her hairline to ensure the wig wouldn't slip. A few more unnecessary adjustments while she gathered enough courage to finally look at the finished product.

Dinah Lance looked into the mirror; Black Canary gazed steadily back at her. The dark pageboy was hidden by slightly longer blonde tresses, the somewhat wan complexion covered by makeup and the domino mask.

"Long time no see, sweetie," she told her reflection approvingly.