A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

A/N: Superman's abilities have been inconsistently portrayed over the years. I apologize for any liberties taken with his "super senses"; I haven't been able to confirm whether they are still part of his current power set. If they're canonically stronger than I've depicted them here, I guess we can chalk it up to his not being fully recovered from his trip through the red sun in Final Crisis (which takes place only about a year or so prior to the opening of Unrehearsable).

A/N: "Shine" written by Lee Hall and Elton John. Performed by the original cast on the Billy Elliot soundtrack album (Decca, 2006).

You might be feeling lousy
You might be feeling blue
A little apprehensive
A minor touch of flu
They couldn't give a monkey's cuss
They couldn't give a fig
Come on son get over it
It's all part of the gig

—Lee Hall, Elton John, "Shine"

Chapter 36—Part of the Gig

Until that precise moment, Bruce would have sworn that his temper was completely under control. He had endured a thousand daily indignities in Arkham with barely a flicker of anger. (Therapy had been different. Then, his doctors had been deliberately goading him, but even though they had, on occasion, gotten under his skin, they had not provoked him to unbridled rage.) Since leaving Arkham, he had endured snubs from society acquaintances and business associates. He had swallowed his humiliation. He had accepted the intrusions on his privacy and allowed Alex and Krait to inspect the manor, biting back his protests. He had allowed himself to be picked apart, both before entering the academy and while attending. He had swallowed it all and faced it stoically—or, at least, with more equanimity than most would have assumed possible. At this moment, though, it was all he could do not to run downstairs to retrieve a carefully-protected lead-lined box and overnight it to the individual on the other end of the telephone.

"Bruce," Clark's voice was affable but firm. "I've dealt with Intergang before. I'll deal with them now."

"I fight my own battles, Kent," Bruce snapped into the receiver. Clark was supposed to know that. Bruce had only made this call to demonstrate to Jim that his friends knew that he could handle the situation... only Clark wasn't following the script.

"Which is why you're asking for my help," the alien countered.

The lead-lined box was in the third safe on the left in the trophy room. The combination was 45...9... "I am giving you the opportunity to share your information with me, because Oracle already has enough to do, and I was hoping to spare her another task. If you're going to start setting conditions, I'll rethink that decision."

"Bruce, if I were to ask you for advice because the Joker was wreaking havoc in Metropolis and you wanted to get involved, I'd fly you here in a heartbeat. Intergang is one of my headaches. They don't have to be one of yours—not exclusively."

"They've made at least two attempts to capture or kill two people who are close to me—one of whom is a toddler," Bruce reminded him. "I want them."

"I know. That's why I want to be involved." Clark's voice was still calm, but there was steel behind it now. "You, of all people, know what happens when emotions run high. Everything you've said until now tells me that you shouldn't do this alone." There was a pause. "Should you be doing it at all? In your current situation?"

45-9-27-19-38. Bruce mentally recited the combination. "That isn't your concern."

"No," Clark shot back. "But it will be Selina's."

"What?"

"Do you honestly believe that she'll be impressed by your going back to Arkham for violating your probation? Bruce, you've just gotten her out of Gotham and under the protection of two highly-competent... call them bodyguards. Come to think of it, Jai and Iris could probably handle things in a pinch, too, so make that four. Right now, it's a temporary separation. You know Selina better than anyone, Bruce. How do you think she'll react when she finds out that you destroyed everything you've been building toward for the last eight months?"

"She'll be alive."

"She's alive now. And still on speaking terms with you. Bruce... sometimes, you don't have to push people away to protect them. Either you trust Selina to handle herself... or you don't. And if you don't," Clark paused for a moment. Bruce suspected it was solely for effect. "If you don't, since she has been linked with you before, how safe do you think she'll be once you're locked up again?"

It was unbelievable how long thirty seconds could stretch when they were consumed by dead silence. Clark waited for forty before he ventured, "Bruce? Are you still there?"

Sixteen more seconds passed. Then, "Damn you, Kent. Fine. Come alone. One hour. No costume." Bruce slammed down the receiver, half-wishing that it was constructed of something flimsy enough to crack, but WayneTech made quality products.

In Metropolis, Clark smiled despite himself. As much as he tried to tell himself that he wasn't invested in winning an argument, when it came to Bruce, it happened so rarely that he couldn't completely suppress a surge of satisfaction. Still, despite losing this round, it was just like Bruce to still insist on dictating the terms! It was funny, Clark reflected, but somehow, there seemed to be something inherently right about that...

"So, that's that," Wally finished. "Helena's sleeping right now and Linda and Selina are chatting in the kitchen. Iris is finishing up her homework and Jai..." Wally smiled. "He's in the den hoping I'll think he's asleep, when he's really snuck over to the computer to play Civilization." He shrugged. "His grades are decent and he didn't complain about tidying up his room for company. I'll give him another half hour and then I'll go check on him, making sure I make enough noise walking down the hall."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "You've mellowed."

"Having kids does that to you," Wally said mildly. "Let me rephrase. Having small kids does that to you. Or haven't you talked to Bruce lately?"

"Yeah," Dick grinned. "And you're right. Bruce was a lot more... easy-going, I guess, when I was a kid. Maybe because I thought he hung the moon and he didn't want me to find out differently."

"So what happened?"

"Part of growing up means finding out differently," Dick sighed. "There's probably a bit more to it than that." His voice turned thoughtful. "I mean, when you think about it... I don't think Bruce ever did. Find out differently, I mean. He was only eight when his parents were murdered. That's still a point when kids think their parents can do no wrong." He shook his head. "Man, no wonder he couldn't deal when I started questioning him. He didn't have his past experiences to fall back on... not really. He left Gotham at fifteen, thereby avoiding years of fights with Alfred..."

Wally nodded. "And, no offense, but Alfred always had that reserve. I mean, when you and Bruce didn't see eye to eye, it really was a kid struggling with his father. But Bruce and Alfred? Granted, I didn't usually get the chance to see them interact, but it didn't feel like the same vibe to me."

"It wasn't," Dick agreed. "Alfred..." he frowned, trying to find the right words. "Alfred loved Bruce like a son. Same with me. Same with Jason and Tim, I'm pretty sure. But when I first arrived at the manor, he was very... stiff. Proper. Heck, you called it: reserved. And from what I've gathered, Bruce wasn't really the kind of kid to see that kind of attitude as a challenge. Thinking back, maybe Bruce wasn't the only one who loosened up around me. Or maybe, by the time Alfred learned how, Bruce was already..." He sighed. "Anyway."

"Yeah. You and Barbara ought to get down here sometime," Wally said, changing the subject. "Keystone's changed a bit in the last few years. Especially the downtown core. It's not as..."

"Boring?" Dick grinned.

"Sedate."

"Like I said—boring."

"Easy to pass judgment from so far east," Wally countered. "Seriously, you're way overdue for a visit."

Dick sighed. "Maybe in the summer. After the hearing. For now, though—"

A loud crash followed quickly by an angry wail interrupted them. Wally glanced quickly over his shoulder. "I'd better see what that was," he said. "I'll call you later."

"Sure."

After the call ended, Dick leaned back, closed his eyes and smiled. Sometimes, he reflected, a person could be too close to a situation to see it clearly. Sometimes it took an outsider to lend perspective.

Dick was going over reports at the office the next day when Sal Fiorini stepped into his office. "Do you have a moment?" he asked.

Dick looked up from his monitor. "Sure. What's up?"

"Do you have any experience in teaching or training?"

Dick blinked. "Well... nothing I could put on a résumé, you understand."

Sal smiled. "Am I correct in taking that as a 'yes'? In other words, if I were to ask you to bring our quality assurance team and trainers up to speed on your new security protocols, could you do it?"

"Uh... sure," Dick said faintly. "I guess so."

Sal shook his head. "You're going to need to sound a lot more confident. Modesty is a good thing, but not when it's carried to the point that it calls your knowledge and competence into question. We both know that your systems work. The only question is whether you can explain them to laypeople and persuade them that any minor inconveniences pale when compared to the benefits of the new setup."

Dick frowned. "Have people been complaining?"

"Not officially," Sal replied. "Not in Gotham. I'm sure you can understand, though," he continued, "that the friendly rivalry between Gotham and Metropolis can be a lot less friendly when the perception is that some Gotham hotshot—whom many of them have never met—is trying to make a good impression with the top brass and changing things for the sake of changing them. Now, we both know that's not the case. Unfortunately, the Metropolis office doesn't."

Dick was still frowning, even as he nodded slowly. "I see."

"If you're amenable, I'd like to send you out there for a few days. As I said, the primary reason would be to explain the new system and walk the appropriate personnel through it. Right now, all they have is a handbook outlining the new security procedures, but nobody has sat them down to explain why it's all necessary—because the trainers haven't yet been trained on them yet. I'd like you to do that, but I'd like you to get to know some of the people in that office. I'd also like them to get to know you." He smiled. "It never hurts to have a few contacts in different departments who can help speed your requests through the right channels."

"Sounds good," Dick nodded again. "When would you want me to go?"

Sal's smile broadened. "I'll need to verify a few things before I can answer that, but it should be fairly soon. I'll get back to you."

Bruce hated it when Clark used his heat vision to warm up his coffee. "I can pour you a fresh cup," he pointed out testily.

Clark took a sip of his now piping-hot coffee. "Why waste what I have? This is fine."

Bruce shook his head. "It's not fine. There is a marked degradation in taste, which you, for one, ought to recognize."

Clark shook his head. "It's really more my sense of smell that's super-keen, and this smells all right to me. It's still a cut above what the Metropolis PD serves when they invite my help on a case, and I drink that to be polite."

Bruce sighed. "Just try not to melt the design on the mug," he muttered, giving in.

"Anyway," Clark said, nodding in acknowledgment and setting the mug back down on the kitchen table, "that's the extent of what I know. I can definitely talk to some of my Intergang contacts in Metropolis and see whether anyone sanctioned the attack or whether someone overstepped their authority. They like to police that kind of thing themselves, so that just might solve your problem for you."

Bruce's jaw clenched. "I prefer to solve my own problems."

"Even when solving them will make a bigger one for you," Clark pointed out.

Bruce scowled. Without turning around, he called, "How long have you been listening, Jim?"

Gordon walked into the kitchen. "Long enough."

"And I suppose you're on his side?"

"As far as I'm concerned," Jim said, "the only side I'm on is the one that doesn't support your ending up in a holding cell while your lawyer tries to marshal up a few convincing arguments on why you shouldn't be shipped back to Arkham post-haste." He held up a hand as Bruce tried to say something. "And don't even try to tell me that you're the only person in a position to do anything about it when you're sitting across the table from..." He smiled, "...a man who proves every day that the pen—or perhaps, I should say 'keyboard'—is mightier than the sword. Or batarang," he added.

Clark lowered his eyes. "I'm not sure I'm that influential."

"Oh, I think you can be," Jim peered steely-eyed over his eyeglasses. He turned to Bruce.

"I'm not going to tell you," he said slowly, "to give this a few more months and pursue it when you're done with the academy. It's not as though you'll get to decide what you investigate—if your field assignment even involves investigation. It usually wouldn't," he admitted, "although I could see some of the higher-ups pulling strings, just because when you have the necessary skills, it'd be idiotic not to use them. Plus, I don't think Intergang is likely to pull out the Trivial Pursuit board and settle in to wait for you to graduate before they make their next move." He shook his head. "I'm just going to remind you that one of your biggest... issues to work on still is your need to control every situation. I shouldn't have to point it out to you, Bruce, but this one really is out of your hands. You've done what you can to make sure that your daughter and her mother are safe. The rest? If you need to hear it, I'll say it. This isn't your fight. It's not. Not this time. You can accept that and go on... or you can deny it and let it eat you up or do something reckless and stupid and hope it's not so reckless and so stupid that I come to the conclusion that a true friend would have to rat you out." He met Bruce's furious stare calmly, but when he spoke again, there was more than a hint of iron in his voice. "There's a limit to how far you can push me. Don't press it—and," he added, "you can stop trying to glare me into submission. We both know you aren't about to slug me if I don't fall into line. And I'm not telling you anything you don't already know."

Bruce shook his head irritably. "There are far too many things that involve me that are 'out of my hands,'" he snarled.

"Welcome to the GCPD," Jim shot back. "Why do you think I was happy to have you on-side?"

Still glowering, Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Oracle," he said, "call them. Tonight. Nine o'clock. The cave under the manor. Everyone currently operating in Gotham—with or without my sanction." He turned off the phone and sighed.

"Happy?"

Jim shook his head. "Since when did my daughter become your secretary? You can't make your own damned phone calls?"

Bruce opened his mouth to retort that he was only taking Jim's directive to not take so much on his own shoulders to heart. Then he saw that his old friend was doing his best to suppress a smile. He sighed and took a sip of coffee.

"So," Bruce concluded, "as much as I would prefer to deal with this on my own, it's been made emphatically clear to me that such action would be ill-advised at this time." He closed his eyes and waited for the usual sarcastic comments. Instead, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he looked up. If Cass's action was hesitant, her gaze was direct. A faint smile played on her lips. "Hard," she nodded, her approval plain.

"I wonder," Kid Devil looked down diffidently, clearly uncomfortable at making himself the center of attention, "if we've all been followed... I mean..." He glanced up at Bruce. "I... I know that a while back you had those plans in case you had to fight the rest of us. Maybe you still do, I don't know. That's not... what I mean is..." He lowered his eyes again and took a deep breath. "For you to come up with those plans, you had to observe everyone. For Intergang to have any traction here," his words were coming more easily now, "they know they've got to deal with us. We've all... most of us have been followed. What if it wasn't just about hoping we'd lead them to Catwoman? What if they also want to know what they're up against and figure out how to take us out?"

Bruce nodded. "The idea has occurred to me, as well," he admitted. He'd been interested to see whether anyone else would suggest it. "It's likely."

Kid Devil looked up cautiously, then lowered his eyes again, but not before Bruce caught his stunned smile.

"Good thought, Eddie," Tim approved. "It might be interesting to know what inroads they've already made. This could be the tip of the iceberg. It could also be a small force trying to give the illusion of being bigger than they are. Sort of the way some little dogs like to bark and growl and hope nobody notices how easy it would be to step on them. Usually, the dogs that really are big and tough tend to be more easygoing."

Ravager laughed. A few others smiled. Bruce nodded again.

"Well," Dick said, looking at Oracle's digital mask on the vid-screen, "I was going to save this until I got home, but now seems like as good a time as any: Sal Fiorini wants to send me to Metropolis in two weeks to talk to the WE branch. And no, that should not be 'PMWE', but I'll say it if I have to."

The Oracle mask blinked off and Barbara's face appeared. "How long would you be gone?"

Dick sighed. "He wants me there for three weeks, but I can probably fly home on Friday afternoons and back on Sunday evenings. Of course, if I knew anyone in Metropolis who was capable of running or flying at high speeds, I might be able to come back here to patrol after work. Oh. Hang on..." He blinked innocently at Superman. "I think I do."

Superman smiled. "I'm sure we can arrange something."

"For now," Wonder Girl said, "let's just try to be extra careful. If we are being followed, we'll need to be sure we don't lead anyone back to our HQs. Speaking of which... is this place safe?"

Bruce smiled. "A good question. The answer is 'yes'. My systems can detect any tracers, homing beacons, and the like. If any of you had come onto the premises wearing such a device, I would know. Moreover, I have a field operating that can scramble and redirect any signals transmitted from those devices. Besides," a hint of annoyance crept into his voice, "given my current situation, the manor may already be a target. If you had to lead a hostile to one of my bases of operations, this one may be the best-known, but it's also the best-defended. I considered the risk acceptable. This time."

"So," Wonder Girl nodded, "no impromptu meetings, surprise parties, or tag team racing down here without clearing it with you first. Got it."

In the past, Bruce might have glowered at the young woman's easy familiarity. Now, he simply nodded back. "Precisely."

He turned to Dick. "The Metropolis trip sounds promising. If possible, though, I would like you to see what you can learn about Intergang while you're out there."

"I figured," Dick grinned. "It's just nice to know that I can get back to Gotham on my nights off, is all."

Bruce fought not to sigh. As much as he would have preferred that Dick pursue the investigation with single-minded devotion, he had to admit that the 'two nights on, one night off' protocol seemed to be working well. And he hadn't forgotten how, even with that rule in place, the stress had been affecting Dick not so long ago. Dick didn't always do things his way but, Bruce reflected, that wasn't necessarily the failing he'd once thought it was. "Keep me informed of your findings," he said. "I will expect frequent reports."

"You'll get them."

The meeting wound up quickly after that and the others headed off. Dick was the last to leave. "I'll walk you to your car," Bruce offered.

Dick nodded. "Hey. Thanks for not trying to micromanage this one. I know it's got you rattled."

Bruce sighed. "I hadn't thought it was that obvious."

"It wasn't. But I know you." He stopped and turned around to face Bruce. "Seriously. If it were Babs instead of Selina getting targeted, I'd be a wreck. Or calling in a few favors owed to me on the other side of the law." At Bruce's raised eyebrow, he amended, "Well, no. Not really. But the temptation..."

"Yes."

Dick sighed. "Look, I know you know this, and I know you normally wouldn't, but just in case you were wondering... or reconsidering... If you ever do want to talk, you know I'm around, right?" He was unable to completely suppress the start it gave him when Bruce clapped a hand to his shoulder. He covered it with his own. "I mean it."

For a moment, he thought that Bruce might actually take him up on the offer, but all the other man said was, "Let me know when your departure date has been confirmed."

The next night, the Teen Titans found themselves patrolling the downtown core when a message from Oracle sent them racing for the university.

"It is not a zombie attack," Static insisted, half-laughing. Then, more uncertainly, "...is it?"

"Hey, guys," Oracle said, "I just eavesdrop on police band. I don't investigate at street level. That's your job."

"So... what?" Dodge asked. "They're just roaming around looking for brains, brains, braiiiiiiiinnnns?"

Ravager made a disgusted noise. "If that's the case, Mikey, I don't think you've got a thing to worry about."

Dodge blinked. "Oh," he nodded. "Because I'm pretty much intangible, right?"

"Well... not exactly what I was thinking, but whatever."

"Huh?" He paused for a moment. Then his puzzled look gave way to an angry frown. "Hey!"

Ravager giggled and sped on ahead. She rounded a corner, then doubled back, her lone eye wide. "Uh... guys?"

Behind her, a crowd of students shambled forward steadily, arms stiffly outstretched. "Feed..." they croaked. "Feed... feed..."

Ravager swallowed. "Okay, Dodge. Maybe you have got a problem after all..."

Thankfully, Helena was feeling much better tonight. She'd already escaped from her bed twice, despite the hastily-installed guardrails. Although the hour was late, Selina was finding it difficult to get her to sleep. In the cave, and later in the safehouse, there had been no windows to let them know when it was day or night. And while she had been sick, Helena had slept most of the days away. So, it was understandable that at nearly midnight, she would be wide awake. Understandable, but frustrating just the same.

Still, Selina reflected, as she softly closed the door to Jai's bedroom behind her, it was a relief to have her daughter nearly back to her old self. She tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea.

"You look exhausted," Linda greeted her.

"I feel worse," Selina admitted, sinking into a chair across the table from her.

"It's not easy having a sick child, I know," Linda nodded. "I'm glad she's doing better."

"Me too," Selina nodded back. "As much as she runs me ragged when she's feeling well, I'd rather have that little bundle of energy any day of the week."

A loud crash came from upstairs. It was quickly followed by a high-pitched wail. "Ma-maaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Selina sucked in her breath. "I mean it," she said, pushing back her chair. "Seriously. However..."

She sped out of the kitchen, while Linda tried to suppress a smile.

"Man," Static exclaimed, as he used his electromagnetic power to immobilize the feet of the zombies at the front of the mob. Those at the rear tried to advance but were unable to break through. "Where are these things coming from?"

"Think they'll figure out that they should cut out through the side streets and circle around?" Ravager asked out of the corner of her mouth.

"Don't give them ideas," Harrier snapped.

"They're not going to get ideas," Kid Devil said. "They need brains, brains, braiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins for that."

Harrier gave him an evil look. "Don't you start."

"Sorry, couldn't resist."

Harrier's frown remained in place. "Try." He looked to each member of the team in turn. "Those... creeps were normal university students this morning. I don't know what happened to change them, but if there's any chance at reversing the process, we have to go easy on them now. They aren't responsible for their actions."

"You're kidding, right?" Ravager demanded. "Look, I'm all for protecting the innocent, but if someone's trying to kill me, they're not innocent anymore. If your sweet little puppy gets rabies, you have to have him put down. Those things?" She waved toward the horde. "They aren't as sweet." She slid her blade meaningfully into the en garde position. "If they break through, they're mine."

"Um..."

Wonder Girl, hovering several feet in the air above, glanced down at the blond boy who was diffidently shuffling his feet. "Dodge?"

"I... I might be able to bring them to the Astral Plane. Maybe it'll snap them out of it. If not, Raven might have some ideas."

"What if it doesn't snap them out and something attacks them while you and Raven are trying to find a cure?" Harrier asked.

"I..."

"How about we test if it works?" Wonder Girl asked. "Dodge, grab one of them, take them back, and see if they revert to normal. If it does, you can do the rest of them. If not, you can bring them back and drop them on a rooftop or something."

Harrier frowned as he mulled the suggestion over. "That could work."

"It's not like we have many other options," Miss Martian pointed out.

Ravager sighed. "Yeah, I can take a lot of them down, but there've got to be a couple of hundred over there. I can't fight them all. None of us can, not if you're serious about going easy on them."

Harrier nodded. "Do it."

Dodge nodded. Then he vanished. He materialized at the back of the horde for a moment. From her vantage point, Wonder Girl saw him take hold of one zombie by the arm and disappear once more. He rematerialized an instant later, still holding onto the other youth. The young man's face was pale and his eyes were wide, but his jaw no longer hung slack and his arms were no longer stiff. "Wh-what happened?" he asked feebly. "Where... how...?" He closed his eyes. "What's going on?"

Miss Martian landed next to them. "I'll explain afterwards," she said gently. "Harrier...?"

Harrier smiled. "How many trips is it going to take you?"

The blond boy considered. "If Static can stick everyone to the ground for a second, I think I can do it in one."

Static hesitated. "Everyone? I..." he nodded. "Okay, but make it fast. I can't hold them for long."

"You won't have to," Dodge replied confidently.

Static licked his dry lips, took a deep breath and focused. "Done."

"Gone."

And they were.

The remaining Titans looked at the area where the students-turned-zombies had been and their jaws dropped. "Um... guys?" Ravager said slowly.

"Hey! You kids!" A police officer came charging up. "Hey, who's going to pay for that?"

They barely registered it when Dodge returned an instant later with the healed—and thoroughly disoriented—college students. They were too busy gaping at the enormous pothole in the asphalt where the former zombies had been standing a moment ago. Clearly, Dodge had teleported not only the students, but the pavement beneath their feet.

Kid Devil gulped. "Um... Harrier's the team leader," he said, clapping a hand on Tim's shoulder and shoving him forward. "He can explain."

"What's going on?" Dodge asked. He elbowed his way to the front. "Uh oh."

And Harrier squared his shoulders and advanced to speak to the cop—but not before shooting a deadly glare at both Dodge and Kid Devil.

Bruce was not normally nervous about taking tests. For one thing, in most cases, he already knew the material in greater detail than the manual supplied. In those cases where he did not, he usually spent hours reviewing his notes and corroborating them with real-life examples culled from online sources.

When it came to unarmed combat, his biggest problem was completing the assigned partner drills without grandstanding or incorporating moves from martial arts not on the syllabus. However, when it came to armed combat, Bruce found that he was still having difficulties.

"A seventy-eight is not a passing grade, Cadet," Farnham rumbled. "Neither was the eighty you got last time, nor the seventy-five the time before that. Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. You need an eighty-four to pass this class. An earned eighty-four. That means that if you receive an eighty-three, I will not bump you up the extra mark. I'm not going to look at how far you've come since you started, applaud you for making progress, and give you a single point that you haven't merited. Eighty-four, cadet. And eighty with a shotgun. Or you wash out and give up that little pipe dream of yours about operating in this city—with or without our blessing."

As always, Bruce stood at attention and tried to let the tongue-lashing roll off. Inside, he was seething. He didn't know whether he was angry with Farnham for needling him, at Sawyer for insisting that he put himself through this torment, or at himself—because he knew full well that it was his own fault that he was failing at this and he hated to fail at anything. No matter how he felt about guns, he needed to get past this block. Otherwise, he wouldn't be avoiding firearms because he chose to do so, but rather, because he had no choice but to do so. He refused to accept that—just as he refused to listen to the mocking voice in his head that demanded to know just who he thought he was kidding.

He was still fuming as he removed the clip from his handgun. When he turned, it was to see Brenner standing a respectful distance away. He sighed. "If you're wondering whether I'm up for another session in the paddock," he said, "I'm willing."

Brenner nodded. "Thank you, Squad Leader." Instead of turning around, though, he remained at parade rest.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Squad Leader," Brenner said, "I earned a perfect score on the pistol range today."

"Congratulations."

"I've done so consistently for the last week."

Bruce felt his jaw clench. "Is there a reason you're telling me this, Brenner?"

Brenner wiped his hands on his BDU pants—regulation wear for the firing range. "Squad Leader, I think I can help you improve your scores. Sir," he added.

He fixed the cadet with a steely stare. "You do."

Brenner swallowed hard, but stood his ground. "Yes, Sir."

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell his classmate that he neither needed nor wanted anyone's help. Unfortunately, saying so would be half a lie and they both knew it. He did need help.

"Respectfully, Squad Leader," Brenner added softly, "I think it would be one hell of a shame if you let this hold you back. The city's going to need you. Sir."

Both of Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "I suppose after Sgt. Farnham's speech, that my situation is now common knowledge." It might already have been, he knew. Sawyer had given that press conference weeks ago. This was the first time, though, that one of his classmates had alluded to it. He took a breath. "How long did you practice that speech, Cadet Brenner?"

Brenner flushed. "I don't know if I can call it 'practicing,' Squad Leader," he admitted, "so much as knowing I had to say something and hoping it came out right. Sir."

Bruce shook his head. "You should practice more," he said flatly. "Your delivery was too fast in some spots, too hesitant in others. And you're swallowing half your words."

A puzzled frown creased his forehead, but his voice stayed steady this time, as though he was taking Bruce's reprimand to heart. "Sorry, sir."

He sighed. "Of course, you're not offering to assist me with public speaking, are you?" His lips twitched.

A moment later, Brenner flashed him a guarded smile. "No, sir."

Bruce sighed again. "All right. Tomorrow. Before class. But if you think I'm going to let you back out of this evening's equestrian drills, you can think again."

Brenner's smile widened. "Sir. Yes, sir."

Bruce shook his head. "Hit the showers, Cadet Brenner. I'll meet you at the stables. And Brenner?" He closed his eyes and exhaled. "Thank you."

"Did you find it easier to accept an offer of help that second time?" Alex asked the next evening. "It did come right on the heels of that other matter."

"It did," Bruce acknowledged. "And yes. It was easier, though I don't think it's because I'm getting used to giving in." He leaned back against the cushioned leather armchair that smelled faintly of saddle soap. Or perhaps, after spending weeks in the stables, he was simply imagining the smell.

Alex steepled his fingers. "Oh?"

"In the first case, I'm being ordered to step aside, when... yes, I do want to be involved. I realize that doing so is not in my best interests, but there is a part of me that doesn't care." He fixed Alex with a level gaze. "I'm no fool. I'm not going to throw away what I've been working for all these months. I have to accept outside help. You'll pardon me if I'm less than cheerful about it."

"No," Alex said smiling, "no, I think that's pretty understandable. "And the second case?"

"In the second case," Bruce said, "I..." It was warmer than he would have liked in the office. When he leaned forward, his shirt stuck to his back and he fought the urge to reach behind him and pull the fabric away from his skin. "I have the freedom to turn down the offer. And don't think I wasn't tempted. I prefer to succeed—or fail—on my own, as a rule."

"Yes, I've noticed that," Alex said mildly. "What stopped you?"

Bruce's lips twitched. "I've been succeeding on my own to a point. However, unlike most of the other skills I've acquired, this one has a deadline. I need to have mastered this skill by graduation. I'm already more than halfway through the program and I seem to have... hit a plateau. I'm close," he added, his voice gaining in intensity as it dropped in volume. "Despite my distaste for the skill, I learned it once and I need to learn it again. Cadet Brenner was one of the first members of the class to reach the required level of accuracy with both weapons. That doesn't necessarily make him a good tutor, but I don't think I'm going to complete the program on schedule without some assistance. And he is offering. And..."

"And?"

Bruce smiled and let out a breath with a sigh. "And I know that it galled him initially to approach me for help with mounted parade drills, but he did so because he was determined to get the skills he needed to pass the course—and mounted drills aren't compulsory. He could have gone back to the regular drills. Instead he asked for help and he's made steady improvement. I respect that." Bruce pursed his lips. Then his face relaxed in a bland smile, similar to the ones he had flashed at social events in times gone by. "I suppose," he said lightly, "if I can respect a person's asking for help when they're in danger of lagging behind, I don't have much reason to be embarrassed about needing to ask for it myself. If the only thing holding me back is pride..." he shook his head, sobering once more, "...I've been down that road too many times in the past. It's time to try a different path."

"And, in other news," the television reporter's voice continued breezily, "local authorities are still trying to determine whether the university campus was indeed the site of a zombie attack last night. While there were several eyewitnesses..."

Paxton turned off the set and shook his head. Zombies. Sometimes, it felt like he encountered them every day: mindless drones blocking his path, draining his energy, oblivious to the bigger picture.

He checked his watch. Derek was late. Paxton wondered what could be keeping his young protégé. He was looking forward to a report on the state of affairs at PMWE, half hoping that the place was going to pot without him. If only the stock market pages would bear out that theory, but thus far, they weren't.

There was a measured rap on his front door. Paxton smiled. It was about time. He got up from his desk chair and strode to the vestibule. "What kept...?" His question died on his lips.

The man at the door was not Derek. He had gray skin, matted hair, a slack jaw, and a glazed look in his eyes. He smelled of damp clay and old refuse.

The zombie clapped an ice cold hand to Paxton's shoulder and stooped so that their eyes met. Rancid breath assaulted Paxton as the zombie spoke.

"Come..."