After my encounter with the man in the alley, I hurried back to my motorcycle and headed to the Batcave. According to Alfred, Bruce still hadn't returned home or switched on his tracker. My nerves had been so unsettled when I realized the perp was using Wayne Enterprises grade smoke bombs that I felt like I couldn't go home now. Once I'd returned to the Batcave, I texted Colleen to build a cover story and, using a Wayne Tech app, post-timestamped a message to my dad that would read as if I'd sent it at midnight explaining that Colleen was going through a breakup and needed a sleepover. I settled in; I was staying here until Batman returned.
"Miss Gordon, would you like to rest in one of the guest rooms upstairs?" Alfred asked as I began disrobing and storing my Batgirl suit.
"Not now, Alfred," I said. "I want to find him."
"Miss Gordon, it's four in the morning. You've been awake almost 24 hours straight…" he tried to explain.
"I'll get some coffee, then," I argued.
"I must insist," Alfred spoke over me in a booming voice. I could see how he had raised Bruce with such authority. "I will monitor the Bat Computer for any updates. Please, go upstairs and shower. Get some coffee. Lay down. Take your phone and I will call the moment there is news." As much as I wanted to argue, I knew I had no legs to stand on. I smelled. I was tired. I was probably getting hangry.
"I'll have my phone," I ceded. "Call as soon as you know something." He nodded respectfully, and I left the Batcave and headed upstairs to the kitchen. Coffee first.
When I arrived in the kitchen, the coffee was already prepared in a French press by the stove. I poured myself a cup and rummaged in the fridge for some creamer. As I stirred my mug, I heard some creaking floorboards down the hall. My heightened paranoia forced me to place my mug down carefully, and I lowered in my stance, ready for a fight. I crept away from the island counter and peered around the corner and into the hallway.
"Jason?" I called out as I realized the source of the noise. His darkened shadow was just down the hall, wearing jeans and a light grey tee shirt. His hair looked disheveled and I could smell the pungent sweat of teenager from where I stood ten feet away. He had frozen and crouched low in the hall, possibly having the exact reaction I'd had to the sounds of an unknown person in the house.
"Oh. Hey Barbara," he said in reply, standing upright but lingering in the dark hallway.
"What are you doing up? It's the middle of the night," I asked, stepping fully into the dark of the hall. He shrugged and fidgeted down the hall.
"Some people get up at 4am," he said, shuffling his feet.
"Why'd you get up at 4am?" I asked again, wondering why he was avoiding my question.
"I, uh… have homework I didn't do last night," he said with a grumpy sigh, trudging closer to the kitchen. "Needed to get some coffee."
"Oh," I answered. "There's plenty left." I returned to the kitchen and pulled another mug out of the cabinet. "You've still got all day today before school tomorrow... you can't do it later?" I asked.
"Have stuff going on later... jus' wanted to get it over with," he answered as I poured him a cup of coffee. I realized he didn't know that Batman had ghosted me last night. I contemplated telling him. Would he be worried? Or, like Dick said, did this kind of thing happen more often than I'd like? Would he even care? "Do you take creamer?" I asked as I turned around. Only then did I get a clear, good look at Jason. His clothes were dirty and his hair was matted to his head with sweat. And he had a bloody lip. "Jesus, Jason, what happened to you?"
"What… oh, I… just grabbed the first clothes I saw. Not a morning person," he said, taking the coffee from my hand and sipping it black.
"No, you've got… your lip is bleeding," I said, wanting to help him clean up but not wanting to breach any boundaries. "And you look like you just ran a marathon."
"Oh. Yeah. I, um… I get night terrors," he said, his finger touching his lip tenderly as if he just realized it had busted.
"Night terrors?" I asked.
"Yeah, they're like nightmares but… real-er," he explained off-handedly. I knew what night terrors were and didn't need a basic explanation; what I was hoping for was an explanation of why.
"That's awful," I said. "You never remember what they're about, right?" Typically, night terror patients didn't recall what their episodes were about or that they even had an episode; but then again, typically night terror patients were small children, not teenagers.
"Um, yeah, actually," he said, turning and looking down into his coffee cup, "I always do." This struck me as odd- perhaps he had been misdiagnosed. I lowered my cup and leaned back against the counter behind me.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked noncommittally. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but anything that caused the state he was currently in while he was sleeping is cause for concern.
"Um… not really," he said with a small smile up at me over his coffee cup. I smiled back.
"That's okay," I replied. He looked back down into his coffee before taking another sip.
"Bruce around?" he asked, looking up from his coffee. I felt my heart stop in my chest and ran through the excuses I could give him.
He's still out working.
He's berating Dick in Bludhaven.
He's being held hostage by a secret association of ninjas.
"He should be home soon," I settled on. He nodded back somewhat nonchalantly; maybe this was commonplace after all.
"Damn… kinda wanted his help on some homework," he said with a shrug as he began to turn away.
"Anything I can help with?" I offered. It was nice talking to him, and I wanted to understand him better. He wasn't like Bruce, all mission and business and seriousness; and he wasn't like Dick, all flirt and tease and sarcasm. He had his shields up and deep scars, but he seemed like a good, genuine person underneath.
He eyed me skeptically. "You want to help with my homework?" I lolled my eyes to the side.
"Well, it kinda depends on what kind of homework it is," I specified. Though, in truth, I was game for anything. I just wanted to get to know him.
"I need to write a paper about Machiavelli and his book, The Prince," he answered. I inwardly grimaced: I'd always been bored silly with book reports and literary analysis. Why write a paper about something you can process internally in minutes? But I understood the value and importance.
"Sure, I can help with that," I shrugged. "Why don't you go shower and get ready for the day… I need to shower too, anyways," I remembered, looking down at myself. I was in the tight fitness leggings and black halter exercise top that I wore beneath my Batgirl suit. I was so focused on getting to know Jason that I'd completely forgotten about my own disheveled appearance.
"Yeah," he nodded, confirming I did indeed need a shower, "rough night?" I let out a breathy chuckle and nodded.
"A good one," I said, recalling taking out Two-Face's men and saving victims of muggings and barfights. But remembering that Batman was still out there, alone, lost, made me nervous. I tried to keep a forced smile on my face; I didn't want to worry Jason.
"Yeah, well… I'm gonna go shower. Come up in twenty, if you wanna help," he said, starting to leave the kitchen.
"Yeah… oh wait!" I called after him, and he stopped in the doorway to answer me. "I have no idea where your room is." He smiled and laughed back at me.
"I'll come get you then," he said, starting down the hall towards the stairs.
After a good shower in the library bathroom, I changed into the leggings and cotton tee shirt I had brought from home. While I waited at the base of the stairs in the Great Room for Jason to come get me, I texted Alfred:
Any news yet?
He responded quickly: None yet.
I shook my head and looked down at my phone. I considered texting Dick. Wasn't this concerning? Shouldn't we be talking about this? I couldn't not be worried.
"Up here, Batgirl," Jason called from the top of the stairs. I put my phone in my pocket and tried not to think of it, bounding up the right grand staircase to follow him. We turned the corner at the top of the staircase and I peeked in a room as we passed it. It had a large, queen-sized bed with a dark blue comforter. There were books on shelves and folded clothes on top of the dresser. Boxing gloves rested on top of a trunk in the corner of the room with a roll of athletic tape beside it. A yoga mat sat rolled up in one corner, straps hung over it. But we didn't turn into this room; we walked past it. It wasn't grand enough to be Bruce's room- so whose was it?
The room we turned into was the next one. And I could tell before I was inside it that it was Jason's room.
The wafting, pungent smell of sweaty, teenage boy poured from the room like Bath & Body Works had created the scent. Used athletic tape was on the floor, bundled in sticky wads. Used towels, boxers, tee shirts, and socks littered the floor. Textbooks, homework, and a laptop sat in the middle of the floor, a makeshift homework dashboard to sit cross legged at. The bed, however, was made: the pillows were neatly fluffed and in place, and the comforter pulled up into place to conceal the sheets below. The comforter was rumpled and creased, as if Jason had thrown his body haphazardly on top of the comforter and slept on top of the blankets.
"Sorry… I don't like Alfred cleaning up my stuff," Jason said, reaching down and grabbing his laptop and the book from the ground. "He sneaks in to do it sometimes, but… I'm a nester," he smiled at me proudly. I laughed under my breath: why did I get the inkling that Dick had taught him to say that? "Let's go to the library, it's cleaner in there," he said. I took one last glance around the room, taking in the sight of his dirtied socks and smelly shoes and tired, faded sweatshirts, before following him from the room. As we passed it again, I let my eyes scan the first bedroom we'd passed with the boxing gloves and dark blue comforter. This time, I saw a few more details: a picture frame on the bedside table and a poster on the wall, too dark to see; formal shoes lined up by the dresser; what looked like a large leotard hanging from the doorknob to the closet. I logged these details for later, wondering if I could investigate further another time.
The library was situated in the back-right corner of the second floor. The room was at least two stories high, with full bookcases that stretched to the ceiling and lined the entire perimeter of the room. I looked around in wonderment and speculated as to how the books were organized (I saw no monikers of the Dewey Decimal System, at least). Three large leather sofas sat in the middle of the room, situated around an area rug and coffee table. A desk and regal chair stood to one side, clear except for an ink well and old-fashioned wax seal set. An old, expensive looking chess set sat prepared on one side of the room with two high backed chairs. But Jason led me to two large lounging chairs and started setting up his homework.
"So you read this book?" Jason asked me as he sat on the floor in front of a chair, opening his laptop and clicking through his files.
"In middle school, yeah," I nodded, still taking in the lush library.
"Middle school? Kinda heavy reading for a kid," he said.
"I've always been a big reader," I explained, sitting down in the chair beside him.
"Do you even remember it?" he asked, looking dubiously up at me.
"I have a really good memory," I answered with a smile. In fact, I had an eidetic memory- once I saw or read something, it seemed to rattle around in my brain forever. But I didn't need to brag…
"Okay, well… what do you remember about The Prince?" he asked, pulling the copy of the book closer to him and flipping through the pages.
"Did you read it?" I asked. He looked up at me with raised eyebrows, forcing a look of innocence.
"I'm more of a Jane Austen fan," he answered. I laughed to myself under my breath.
"I said I'd help, Jason, I'm not doing it for you," I crossed my arms.
"No, no, no… just talk to me about it. I googled it. Wikipedia says it's a philosophy book about political structures and colonization and royalty and stuff, so I get the basics," he said.
"Okay… well, yeah, those things are all discussed. But the greater message is more important. When people say that someone is acting 'Machiavellian,' they're referring to his more general philosophy. He's the source of the phrase, 'the end justifies the means,'" I explained. He took this note on his laptop.
"So, like, as long as the day is saved it doesn't matter how you saved it?" Jason clarified.
"Yes, that's the basis of his philosophy," I nodded. "And he took it to macabre extents. For example, he believed if we want to punish criminals, we shouldn't kill them but force them to rot in prison for the rest of their lives, knowing life was going on just out of the reach."
"Sounds like Batman," Jason noted. I paused and my breath stopped a moment.
"Well… kind of. But also, no," I explained. "So, Batman refuses to kill. If the 'end' he's going for is ending crime in Gotham, Machiavelli would say that justifies killing criminals to ensure they don't return. But Batman refuses to kill."
"So, what's the opposite of Machiavellian?" he asked. I shrugged.
"There's not necessarily a philosopher who opposed him, but you could say generally… principled. Caring that things are done a certain way, not just so they can be done," I said. He sat quietly, staring at his laptop screen without typing.
"Do you think that's the better way? Batman's way?" he asked. The question took me with a bit of surprise; it was rare that I'd heard Machiavellianism discussed in a positive context. The way I was raised, the way I viewed the world all told me that principles mattered.
"I think so," I answered honestly. "Though everyone has a level of Machiavellianism in them… there's an interesting psychological profile called The Dark Triad test that measures an individual's level of Machiavellianism, narcissism, and psychopathy. The idea is that no one ever scores a perfect zero, even if they're a really good person. But police and courts use it often to determine the sanity and psychological states of criminals; the higher the scores, the more dangerous." He nodded to himself and looked down at his hands.
"I bet I'd score higher on Machiavellianism," he said. I tilted my head at him, curious.
"You think so?" I asked. He nodded to himself. "Why?" I provoked him to explain.
"I mean… I'm sure Bruce told you. I lived on the streets for a long time," he explained. "I had to steal to live. Sometimes I had to hurt people. I didn't want to, but… it meant I'd stay alive. And that's what mattered… that I was safe and fed. And the means didn't mean anything to me." I nodded softly, not wanting to interrupt.
"Bruce told me… about the first time you met him," I said. Jason looked down at my feet, as if embarrassed or skeptical. "Batman was nothing to you. And you stepped up and saved his life, even though he meant nothing to you. That doesn't sound to me like someone who only considers his own ends."
"Yeah, but… I wanted to kill Joker that day," Jason said, looking up at me with serious eyes. "And I didn't have a problem for a second with those means." His eyes seemed to be asking me a question: am I a bad person? I tightened my lips and tried to smile at him.
"But you didn't," I reminded him. "And you're here now… and I can tell, you care about your principles now." He nodded, still mulling over the ideas he had about himself. I wanted to find a way to comfort him, show him that he was above the brutality he feared within him, but I didn't know how. My phone vibrated: it was Alfred.
He's on his way back now.
My attention jolted awake: Bruce was coming home.
"Oh, um…" I stammered to Jason, "I'm so sorry, I've gotta…"
"Go, you're good," Jason said, leaning over his laptop. "This gives me a lot to write about. Thanks." I smiled and hurriedly bolted from the library, rushing down the stairs and into the study on the first floor. Once the elevator arrived in the Batcave, I hurried towards the Bat computer to see Alfred at the monitors, logging information and watching news updates.
"Where was he?" I asked.
"He's just arrived back on mainland soil, he should be arriving in a few minutes," Alfred answered.
"But where was he, Alfred?" I asked again. Alfred turned to me with tired eyes.
"When he switched his tracker back on, he was returning from Metropolis," he said. My eyes grew wide.
"Metropolis?" I asked. Was something major going on, something that Superman needed help with? Bruce had just recently explained how he didn't want us spending our time helping cities other than Gotham, but had something happened that required world saving? "He didn't say anything to you about what he was doing there?"
"When he turned his tracker back on, he told me he'd be back at the cave shortly and that he needed me to take Master Todd to his appointments this morning. That's all," he said. I could tell Alfred knew more but was keeping the truth from me. Fine. I bit my cheek in frustration and waited.
In just a few minutes, I heard the roar of the Batmobile as it entered the cave. It pulled onto the launching pad and went from 30mph to stoic in a second without so much as a squeak from the tires. Batman vaulted out of the car in his suit, striding towards me and Alfred casually as if the night had gone entirely as planned.
"Did you take care of Two-Face's men?" he demanded of me. My jaw dropped a little in incredulity.
"Yes, I… where have you been?" I asked.
"Alfred, pull up the video on Barbara's night. Find the story robbery," he said, removing his cowl from his head.
"Bruce, you disappeared! You were supposed to stay within a four mile radius, and you disappeared," I followed him as he went to the cage that held his suit. He removed his arm guards and began putting them away.
"Something required my immediate attention…"
"You turned off your comms and your tracker, I thought something terrible had happened."
"I didn't want you following. You're not ready yet," he insisted.
"But I'm ready to patrol Gotham on my own? You need to trust me, Bruce, that's how this works," I argued.
"When you're ready, I'll brief you on all that you…"
"I'm not your sidekick, Bruce, I'm your friend," I insisted. I could hear my emotions in my voice; I could hear Dick's advice in my ears; I could feel my frustration reddening my cheeks. I needed to calm myself down. "You need to trust me, you need to talk to me. Were you with Superman?" Bruce pulled off his boots and looked at me with what might as well have been an eye roll. "Why were you in Metropolis?"
"I was investigating a lead," he said.
"A lead on what?" I asked. He pulled off his leg bracers and stored them, giving me a hard look before turning away and walking back to the Bat computer. "Bruce, I need you to be honest with me…"
"The League of Shadows is in Metropolis," he answered, confirming Dick's suspicions. I felt myself getting angry. "I followed one of their disciples from here in Gotham, trying to locate where they're hiding." He began to scroll through my footage on the consoles as he spoke. "I've narrowed it down to a few city blocks."
"But if they're in Metropolis," I started, "shouldn't they be Superman's problem? You told me we needed to keep our focus on Gotham…"
"The League affects Gotham. Gotham has been a part of their plans for centuries, it's no coincidence they're staying just across the bay," he answered, "and I don't trust Superman to handle them." I had my doubts, and was still incredibly frustrated with Bruce, but I knew better than to push the issue. This was all I was getting out of him for now, and there were more important things to discuss. "You ought to use your detective mode more frequently," Bruce advised me as he reviewed me defending the store against Two-Face's men. "There could have been more men in the back of the van. But your takedowns are clear and simple. Good work."
"Two-Face's men weren't a problem," I said, nudging him aside and fast forwarding through the evening. I tried to move incredibly quickly through the part of the night I'd spent on the rooftop with Dick, when we were searching for Batman. I rushed through the footage to the end of the night: my encounter with the man in the alley. "This guy, on the other hand…" I let him watch in silence as he studied our combat. Bruce said nothing as he watched the man lock me in his arms, and I watched his eyes wince as the man threw a smoke bomb to disappear. When the video reached the place when I had given up looking for the man, I hit pause and turned to Bruce to see his jaw tight. "The smoke bomb he threw was Wayne Enterprises grade technology. The casing dissolved. I thought he'd taken it off you… I thought you might have been…" I trailed off. He got the idea. And he didn't look happy.
"Alfred," Bruce called back without looking away from the screens. "Reopen the case file on Red Hood. He's back."