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

A/N: "Mountains" written by Richie McDonald, Larry Boone, and Paul Nelson. Recorded by Lonestar on their Mountains album (BNA, 2006)

When you can't lean on no-one else
That's when you find yourself

—Richie McDonald, Larry Boone, Paul Nelson, "Mountains"

Chapter 43—Leanings and Findings

As soon as he was well away from the exercise, Bruce quickened his pace, no longer needing to hide his eagerness to get back. He'd been wondering whether the Titans would try to remove his piece from the board early. It was what he would have done in their stead, though he didn't think he'd have been quite that ruthless about it. His lips twitched. Who did he think he was kidding? If he'd been in their place, he would have struck just as swiftly and just as savagely. Besides, he'd been debating whether to ask M'Gann to do something like this in the first place.

The training exercise had never been for his benefit. His morale required no boosting. He wasn't worried about graduating. More to the point, his intention had been to create a scenario where his fellow cadets would think on their feet and adjust when the unexpected occurred—as it invariably did.

There was another reason, too. No matter how many times he replayed the events in his head, no matter how many times he told himself that he wasn't responsible, the deaths of the police officers who had followed him into a bloodbath more than three years earlier still haunted him. He'd done what he thought was necessary then, and perhaps it had been. But the Gotham City police forces had followed him over their own chain of command, and 28 of them had paid the ultimate price. Sometimes, late at night, he wondered whether things would have gone better had they listened to Akins' orders over his. Or if he'd accepted Akins' rebuff, when he'd asked for control of the GCPD and never hijacked the radio waves in the first place. It did no good to remind himself that there still would likely have been casualties, that the death toll might have even been higher, and that, in that scenario, he'd probably be berating himself for not having been able to convince the police forces to follow him.

He needed to know that they could handle themselves in a situation where they were in the forefront and there was nobody there to give them orders. Scratch that. He was curious to know whether they could handle themselves in such a situation. They were the ones who needed to know. And if they couldn't, then they needed to work on it now. At the academy, they had started to teach these sorts of tactics. In a couple of weeks, they would start simulated drills. But those simulators generally dealt with more mundane scenarios. Bruce doubted that they had a program to teach anti-meta tactics. And if he was wrong, then his companions would be that much better prepared.

As for himself, he could already handle himself in those situations. And, thanks to M'Gann's timely intervention, he might even be able to catch the end of his daughter's second birthday party on Skrype.

He was smiling as he entered the house and picked up the phone to call the Wests and ensure that someone would be sitting at their computer to accept his video chat.

"Daddy!" Helena exclaimed for the fifth time. There was chocolate frosting smeared around her mouth, streaking her bib, and smudging her hands and the lace edging the white puff sleeve of her pink gingham party dress.

"Hi, Helena," Bruce replied, smiling a bit as Selina expertly kept her daughter from mashing a chunk of birthday cake against the computer monitor.

"I can have Wally run a piece over for you," she smiled, "since Helena seems so intent on sharing."

Bruce shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but," he glanced over his shoulder automatically, as he heard the back door open, "the exercise is still going on. It hardly seems polite for me to indulge when I can't share with the others." His lips twitched. "Unless the cake in question serves more than forty."

"Daddy!" Helena exclaimed, reaching out toward the screen again.

"Helena!" Bruce opened his eyes very wide and his daughter giggled.

"No," Selina admitted. "Not unless we're talking about forty very small pieces."

"Squad leader?" a new voice called.

Bruce sighed. "I need to go. We'll talk later."

He turned off the Skrype session and called another security feed onto the central monitor. He frowned. At the moment, that sector was empty. He glanced at the other screens that surrounded him, located a more active sector, and switched the feeds. He'd set this area up for Jim to observe him, back when he'd first been released from Arkham. It was coming in handy now, when he didn't care to invite his classmates into the cave (where he would normally have been monitoring the exercise). "In here, Norton," he called.

A moment later, Peter Norton joined him. For an instant, Bruce wondered whether Helena had somehow tried to feed him cake, as well. Then he realized that his classmate's uniform was smeared, not with chocolate, but with mud. "What happened to you?" he demanded.

Norton gave him a pained smile. "Apart from the mud stains?" he asked. "I went to organize a jailbreak. Getting our people out of the confinement area was easy, but getting back to our turf wasn't. At least, not for me. I'm hoping our guys made it." He sighed. "Pity your horse stables are empty."

Bruce smiled. "During the First World War, British forces procured much of their cavalry from overseas. If I recall my family history, after the Germans sank the Lusitania, my great-grandfather donated every horse he owned to assist with the war effort. The stables have stood empty ever since." He shook his head. "You can change back into your street clothes" He gestured toward a large canvas bag lying in a corner. "Drop what you're wearing in there when you're done."

Norton nodded. "How are we doing?" he asked.

For answer, Bruce gestured toward the surveillance camera array. Norton drew closer. Bruce, noting that his classmate was neither dripping nor tracking mud on the floor, moved aside.

"Hey," Norton exclaimed happily, "looks like they all got back to base okay!"

"Nicely done," Bruce nodded. "There are four cadets in the Titans' brig. I'm not sure Wonder Girl has any desire to be rescued." His voice took on a dry note as the security display showed her in animated conversation with Cadet Maleev.

"You think they...?"

Bruce sighed. "I think she's probably spying behind enemy lines and relaying her findings telepathically to Miss Martian," he said. "However, I don't believe such activity precludes casual flirtations. Or budding friendships."

"Someone should warn Jeff," Norton replied.

"In this case," Bruce said, "I believe experience will prove the best teacher."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door opening once more. A moment later, a thoroughly disgusted—and almost thoroughly scarlet-garbed—Dodge stomped into the room. "Who booby-trapped the flag site?" he demanded.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "What kind of booby-trap?"

"The kind that makes the ground cave in when you teleport onto it," Dodge retorted.

For a moment, Bruce was silent. Then he found the relevant screen and replayed the events. When he was done, he smiled. "It wasn't intended as a booby-trap," he said. "The ground beneath the Manor is honeycombed with caves and tunnels. When I was a boy, I discovered that opening the same way you did—with similar results. Except that instead of sustaining a number of direct hits from opposing forces when I was lying on my back with the wind knocked out of me by my landing, my father rescued me. And inserted a wooden baffle in the opening." His lips twitched. "It would appear that one of my teammates discovered that baffle and chose to remove it."

Dodge made a face. "And I just picked the one lousiest spot to land?"

Bruce's lips twitched once more. "It appears," he said, as he brought the area up on the large monitor and pointed out several features, "that while that might have been true at the outset, since this exercise began, a number of other traps and defenses have been laid." The twitch became a smile. "Laramie was Special Forces before coming to the Academy. I suspect he's had some training in such matters. It's actually rather impressive. I generally prefer something more sophisticated, but I probably shouldn't discount cruder defenses when they're this effective."

Dodge made an irritated noise. Norton laughed.

Deep in Titans' territory, Cadet Patricia Lee waited for their white-haired guard to continue pacing the base perimeter. "All clear," she said softly. "Go."

Chuck Sienkiewicz frowned. "Let's wait another minute. I don't know how loud the response is going to be."

"Don't leave it too long. She'll be back in a minute. I can't believe they didn't confiscate our radios. Sloppy thinking."

Sienkiewicz rolled his eyes. "You realize it probably means that none of the previous detainees remembered we had them in the first place," he pointed out. "They're not the only sloppy ones." He turned on his radio. "Sienkiewicz to base. Sienkiewicz to base. Listen. Wonder Girl has been feeding information on your defenses to her teammates via telepathy. Exercise caution."

There was a crackle of static that sounded impossibly loud to the cadets' ears, but no Titans came running to investigate. Then, "Acknowledged Sienkiewicz. Got any more intel?"

"She's coming back," Lee called softly. Then, in a louder voice, she called, "Hey. Could we get some water, please? "

On her way over, Ravager shrugged, turned to a large insulated cooler, opened it, and bent down to check its contents.

Sienkiewicz smiled at the short respite. "Can't talk. Over and out." He closed the channel, just as Ravager straightened, holding a plastic bottle.

"You need anything else?" Ravager asked.

The two cadets looked at each other. "No," Lee called. "We're good."

In an undertone, Sienkiewicz added, "Really good."

Lee fought not to smile too broadly, worried that Ravager would know something else was going on. Instead, she twisted the cap off the water bottle that her guard handed her and took a long swig.

Laramie was reburying a snare trap under a pile of dead leaves when Kotsopoulos approached him. "Ortega said to give this to you," he said, handing over a folded piece of paper.

"What is it?" Laramie asked, accepting it.

"You got me. She wrote out a whole list of things for me to do, ending with handing you this. No clue what it's about."

Laramie's eyebrows shot up. He unfolded the page, read it, frowned, and handed it back. "Have a look."

Kotsopoulos obeyed. "Her handwriting's a little hard to read, isn't it?" he murmured. Then, "Oh, boy."

Laramie nodded and took back the paper. He read it over to himself once more:

WG in mental contact with MM. I'm hoping giving Kotsopoulos a lot of other tasks to think about, MM won't suspect anything and won't follow when he passes this to you. Ideas?

Laramie sighed. For several long moments, he held the paper in his hand. Then he smiled. "I believe that there might just be a way to work with this. In about ten minutes, tell Maleev you're relieving him and he's on flag duty. Meanwhile," his tone lightened, "I don't suppose you know how to block a telepath?"

"No."

"Me either. But maybe we can give her something else to think about."

Kotsopoulos shook his head. "You don't think she'll know?"

Laramie's smile turned practically vicious. "Not if the main thought going through your head is, 'Is Miss Martian reading my mind right now?' Because I bet you're already wondering that." His teeth gleamed white in his dark face. "It's something we all should have been wondering from the start. Maybe even think about how you aren't sure how to defend yourself. Try telling yourself to try to think about stupid stuff: nursery rhymes, advertising jingles, major language groups... All I want you to do is hang around Wonder Girl and keep her—and Miss Martian—distracted. Leave the rest to someone who isn't you. You don't need to know who it is. I'll take care of that. You just get ready to relieve Maleev and," he grinned, "think chaotic thoughts."

Kotsopoulos nodded slowly.

"Copy that, Megan," Harrier said with a smile. He turned to Kid Devil, Ravager and Static. "A couple of cadets found one of the tunnels under the estate. When they checked where it led, they came out on the other side of that stand of trees," he gestured in its direction, "which as you can see is—"

Ravager let loose with a loud expletive. "Only about ten yards from our flag!"

"Right," Harrier confirmed grimly. "Now, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess it's not coincidence that they came out in our territory. The catacombs are a maze and I'm all but certain that Bruce would have sealed off most of the side passages—not to mention the Cave connection. If he left any surface access to the catacombs visible, it's because he wanted it found. Anyway, instead of trying for our flag right then and there, those cadets went back to their base to report and come back with a bigger force."

Kid Devil nodded sagely. Static frowned. "So the tunnels just happen to come out where we've stashed our flag?"

"Yeah," Ravager chimed in. "That's a pretty big coincidence, you ask me."

"There's more than one access point," Harrier said. "I know of three others in our territory and there could be some I don't know about. As a matter of fact, I didn't know about this one. Now..." He smiled. "See those rocks over there?"

The three other teens nodded.

"There's another access point there. I'm thinking... if the three of us wait for the cadets at the mouth of the tunnel and we have Megan waiting at the other access point to block off their retreat..."

"We'll have them bottled up in there!" Static said excitedly. "That'll thin their numbers for sure!"

Harrier nodded. "I'm calling Megan back now. We'd better move into position." He sighed apologetically. "That stand of trees is actually on the edge of an escarpment. It's going to take us a few minutes to climb down to the tunnel mouth and it's going to be steep going."

Ravager got to her feet and started toward the trees. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's move!"

It was with some trepidation that Brenner and Ortega made their way to the gravel path that marked the beginning of the Titans' territory. "Do not," Ortega ordered, "say anything about it being too quiet. I'm jumpy enough as it is."

A broad grin split Brenner's features, but all he said was, "Yes, Ma'am." He pointed out a twisting path of packed dirt. "It's not the shortest route, but it is the least noisy. As long as they haven't booby-trapped it."

"I'll take least noisy any day," Ortega replied fervently. She consulted her map. "Okay. According to the reports from the cadets who made it back safe after Norton broke them out, their flag is..." her finger stabbed at the map, "...here. And if Maleev's plan works, then the Titans should be..."

Brenner nodded. "Smart. Those trees at the edge of the escarpment will block their seeing what we're up to until it's too late."

"Unless Miss Martian picks up our thoughts. Or decides to fly. Or they've left some kind of nasty surprises."

"What would Batman do?"

Ortega considered. "Probably not play 'Capture the Flag' in the first place," she said dryly. "But leaving that aside, we know his reputation. Contingencies for contingencies and then contingencies for those contingencies. And maybe one day," she admitted, "we'll be able to plan fifty moves ahead too, assuming we live that long. But for now, for today..."she squared her shoulders and took another breath. "For today, let's just focus on being careful, remembering the goal, and hoping for the best." She took another breath. "Okay. As soon as we cross that gravel line, we need to be as quiet as possible. No talking unless it's necessary. Watch where we step. And when we're in range of their flag, get ready to cover me when I break and run for it."

Brenner's salute held no trace of mockery. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."

Three quarters of a mile east of Brenner and Ortega, Cadet Rachel Jang led a small group of fellow cadets through a thinly-wooded area. The trees would be thicker once they crossed out of the free zone, they knew. "Just go slow," Jang cautioned. "Think about their flag. And only about their flag."

Cadet Stuart cleared his throat. "Why are we taking the long way?" he asked. "If we—"

"Laramie's got a plan," Jang cut him off. "I don't know what it is; I just know we're part of it."

"You didn't think to ask?" This from Thobani. "I mean, what if we're heading right into an ambush?"

Jang sighed. "Then we either end up in their brig or back at the manor."

"And if it were a real situation," Campbell said, "we might be dead."

"And as it is," Jang retorted, "we're up against a telepath. Still think we need to know the whole plan?" Chastened, Campbell looked away. "Uh-huh. Didn't think so. We're cadets. We follow orders unless we've got a damned good reason not to and then, even if we're right... chances are there's going to be fallout." She didn't have to elaborate. While they didn't have all the details on what had gone down over Jandt, they were all aware that Wayne had gone through channels and followed procedure and still been raked over the coals for it.

"Think about their flag," Stuart said slowly. "Thinking... thinking..."

"Walk while you think," Jang said. "Let's keep moving."

"Shouldn't they be here by now?" Ravager demanded in a harsh whisper. "It feels like we've been waiting here forever."

Harrier gave her a long-suffering sigh. Megan? he thought. Are you reading them yet?

The Martian's response was quick, if slightly annoyed. I would have told you if they were. But I should be picking them up. Her mental transmission paused. Then, a moment later... Guys! There's another team coming in about a thousand yards away from me to the east! Four cadets. And still no sign of anyone in the tunnels. Do you want me to fly over?

Ravager bit off a curse. Surprisingly, Harrier did as well. "Static. Kid Devil," he snapped, "go. Ravager and I will stay here in case that other team's here to draw us away from the tunnel mouth.

"Just you and me?" Rose asked, leaning closer.

"Static's got a flying saucer," Harrier retorted. "Kid Devil has a rocket-powered trident. Do you have anything that can keep up with them?" Ravager looked away. "That's what I thought."

He waited for a quip or smartass remark. When he didn't get one, he turned his head toward her. She was looking up at the escarpment. "You see something?" he asked.

Ravager shook her head. "No. I don't..." this time, she didn't stifle her expletive. "Our flag! It's gone!"

"Move, move, move!" Brenner urged, as he and Ortega ran. He'd been practically biting his nails while Ortega had wound the flag around its pole and tied it down, but they were making better time without the thing flapping behind them in the wind.

They were out of the Titans' territory and into the free zone, but they wouldn't be safe until they'd crossed back into their own turf. Cutting across open space would save them time, they knew, but Laramie had been emphatic in his instructions. The two veered off to the left, where several tall boulders stood. When they were within twenty feet of them, Cadets Jennifer Lerner and Artie Burns rose from where they'd been crouching behind the rocks. "Pass it to me, Ortega!" Burns grinned, reaching for the flag.

"Stay here," Lerner interjected. "Discourage pursuit."

Brenner nodded as Ortega passed the flag over with a grin of her own. Lerner had placed eighth in the Boston Marathon three years ago. Burns had gotten into college on a Track and Field scholarship and set a Gotham U record for the 5,000 meters in his first year that hadn't been broken yet. Moreover, they were both fresh, while Brenner and Ortega were winded. "Roger that. Good luck."

Ortega looked over her shoulder and her eyes widened as she saw a glimmer of silver and a streak of green approaching from the west. "GO!" she bellowed, raising her firearm. "NOW!"

"Not that one!" Brenner snapped. "Use a flare gun!"

Ortega blinked. Then she smiled again. "That buys them about a minute. We have to stall them," she said, readying the new weapon. "At this point, we're both expendable; the flag has to get back home."

"Agreed."

"So, let's see if we can get them to chase us. And veer off in opposite directions."

Brenner aimed his flare gun upwards at a 45-degree angle and was rewarded by a scream from Miss Martian. She lost altitude, but, with Kid Devil's assistance, managed to stay airborne. Ortega aimed her weapon at Static. Although he tried to shield his eyes, his saucer wobbled erratically as he fought to keep it on course.

"Come on!" Ortega ordered. "Now!" The two sped off in a widening 'V'.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Ravager snapped, taking off after Brenner. "You can run, but you can't hide!"

"Ravager!" Harrier shouted, but his teammate either didn't hear or ignored him. "Damn it!" he groaned. "They haven't got the flag. They..." He looked at his remaining teammates. "Forget them; chase down the flag! M'Gann, Static, Kid Devil, do you copy that?"

Shaky, but affirmative replies came back.

"Are you good to continue?"

This time, the responses were slightly slower in coming, but they were still positive.

"Ravager?"

Still no response. Harrier glowered. "Let's go!" he ordered the others.

"They're gaining on us!" Lerner panted. "Your turn"

Burns sized up the landmark they were closing on—the next relay point. "Gimme," he said. "And cover me."

The flag was in his hands and he raced off. Lerner readied her firearm. "Good luck," she gasped, knowing he probably hadn't heard her. She turned to face their pursuers. The three in the lead were flying. They ignored her, chasing the flag. She didn't wait to find out if the two on the ground would do the same. She fired.

Harrier jerked and cried out in pain as a pink blotch appeared on his chest. Then Lerner's hand went numb and her gun dropped. She looked down at the appendage and saw a paler pink patch on her glove. Damn it. Seeing that the white-haired teen was training her firearm on her, Lerner raised her hands in surrender.

"Get her back to base," Harrier groaned.

"But..."

"Ravager, they've got the numbers. If we get our flag back, there'll be one less of them to make another attempt. Go!"

Ravager sighed and took hold of Lerner's arm. "Come on," she muttered. "Hey," she said in a friendlier tone as they started the long walk back, "nice shooting."

"You too."

Burns broke into a huge grin as he approached the relay point to find Parsons and Mazzuccheli waiting. "Give it to Parsons," his hulking classmate directed. "Then get your flares ready. They work better than the other guns on the flyers."

Burns obeyed and looked at the sky. "It's just three of them now?" he asked.

"For now. Static and Ravager are transporting prisoners, but they'll be back. Wonder Girl is in custody. Dodge has been eliminated. Right now? Harrier, Miss Martian, and Kid Devil..." He broke off abruptly. "..Two o'clock high!" He fired his flare gun and immediately shielded his eyes with a cry, as Kid Devil's suit emitted a light-burst of its own.

Miss Martian tumbled to the ground, her coverall sporting patches of dark pink from the impact. Harrier ran to her, yelling at Kid Devil to proceed.

Burns spared a glance behind him. Parsons was running with the flag. She was still fifty yards away from the boundary, but Kid Devil was closing the gap quickly. Parsons seemed to realize this, for she put on a fresh burst of speed, even as she drew her arm back and flung the flagpole overhand. It arced gracefully through the air, coming to rest nearly a hundred and sixty feet away—over the boundary and inside the Cadets' territory.

Cheers sounded from the trees, as Harrier, Kid Devil, and a somewhat-shaky Miss Martian walked up, smiling, their hands extended.

The exercise was over.

This time, the seating was mixed. It wasn't that easy to tell: the cadets still outnumbered the Teen Titans by a factor of more than three to one, but they all sat together. Wonder Girl and Jeff Maleev were deep in conversation, as were Harrier and Laramie. The latter two were comparing notes on tactics and strategy. Bruce didn't think he needed to strain to hear the other conversation; he had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

He cleared his throat and they straightened and sat at attention. He smiled. "One of the challenges of leadership is keeping your head when the unexpected happens." His gaze panned the room slowly. "And it always does. The best you can do is know your adversaries. Learn everything you can, both from research and from your observations in the field. Experience is the best teacher, but also the most unforgiving. So." He nodded to Laramie. "Report."

"What? Verbally?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You didn't score or order any kills, correct?"

Soft chuckles greeted the question and Laramie smiled. "No, Squad Leader."

"Then, yes. Verbally. What was your strategy?"

Laramie cleared his throat. "Well, once we received a radio transmission from one of our people, who'd been captured behind enemy lines—"

Tim gave an angry start. "You didn't confiscate their radios?" he demanded, looking over his shoulder to where Kid Devil was seated.

The other youth looked down. "I didn't think of it."

Bruce held up his hand. "Cadet Laramie has the floor." He nodded to Laramie. "Continue."

"Yes, sir. As I was saying, once we received the transmission, we realized that Wonder Girl was in mental contact with Miss Martian and was relaying everything she could about the layout of our base, our defenses, and any plans she might overhear. It occurred to me that, while I didn't know how we could shield our thoughts from a telepath, we might be able to shield our plans. To that end, I approached various members of our team, telling them only the role that they were to play. If they didn't know the full plan, they couldn't reveal it. I also," he coughed, "noticed that Wonder Girl and Cadet Maleev were friendly. While I had no reason to believe that he was telling her anything about our plans, I made sure to give him incorrect information hoping that either he would inadvertently let something slip, or that—since Miss Martian was reading Wonder Girl's thoughts and Cadet Maleev was in proximity—she might pick up stray thoughts of his, as well." He took a breath. "I'm not sure if telepathy works that way, but the strategy cost nothing to try. We needed the brig guarded. That was Maleev's job. Either nobody was reading his thoughts and he wasn't revealing anything—in which case, having the misinformation harmed no one—or somebody was, which would work to our advantage."

Bruce nodded. A pleased smile flashed across his face for an instant. "For the record, telepathy rarely works that way, but you weren't to have known that. What else?"

"Sir, one of my people discovered a cave that appeared to lead to a network of underground tunnels. I didn't know where they would end, but it occurred to me that if the Titans thought we had a secret route into their territory, we could steer them away from our actual incursion point—"

"Oh, for the love of...!" Static's voice trailed off. "That's got to be the oldest trick in the book!"

Laramie turned to face him. "Yes, well, not everything new is necessarily improved," he retorted with a grin. Laughter rippled behind him as he continued. "So, I had a large force moving in from the west, while a smaller force, comprised of one fast runner and one expert marksman, crossed in from the east and grabbed the flag. On the return trip, I had two teams of fresh runners waiting to relieve the current flag-bearers. Squad Leader, if you'll recall, on our first day of the Academy, we created a group résumé. At that time, I was seated next to Cadet Parsons and I remembered that, like Burns, she had attended Gotham State University on a Track and Field scholarship. However, her forte was the javelin throw. For this reason, I placed her on the final relay team. I had also directed Brenner and Ortega to roll and tie the flag on its pole to minimize wind resistance, in the event that it would become necessary to hurl it the last few yards. Which it did."

Bruce nodded. "Well done."

He nodded to Harrier. "Report."

Tim rose to his feet. "We were cocky," he admitted. "It cost us. We relied too heavily on having a spy behind enemy lines and it didn't occur to us that our own prisoners were also transmitting information. We reasoned that taking you out would break morale and prevent the opposing team from coming up with a winning strategy. We were... seriously wrong. Also," he took a deep breath and turned around, "I'm sorry for calling you out just now, KD. I didn't tell to you confiscate radios; I just assumed you would."

"I should have," Kid Devil admitted.

"Maybe. But I still should have been clearer."

"I should have been smarter."

Norton sighed audibly. "You two aren't going to hug or anything, are you?"

There was general laughter as the two youths shook their heads, smiling.

"Anything else?" Bruce asked, when they'd quieted down once more.

Harrier shook his head. "No, Sir. Except..." he broke into a smile, "you guys put in one heck of a showing and, in all seriousness, I'm glad you're going to be on our side, once you're out in the real world."

There were nods from the rest of the Titans.

Bruce motioned for Tim to sit down. "Ravager," he said, "Before you leave, I'll look to receive three reports from you. "Static, one. Burns, one. Meanwhile," he motioned to the tables, "I expect you've all worked up an appetite. Start with what's there. Pizzas will be arriving shortly." His gaze locked on Harrier's. "Knowing where you went wrong is the first step to knowing how to do better," he said firmly. "And you will. Next time."

Harrier nodded. Then Dodge got up and took a plate and, as though his action was a pre-arranged signal, the others followed suit.

Bruce was looking out at the stars through the ballroom's French doors when Laramie approached. "Question, Squad Leader?" he asked.

Bruce glanced at him. "One."

"Did you plan it, Sir? Getting taken out early so we'd have to come up with our own strategies?"

Bruce shook his head. "Perhaps, I should have, but no." He smiled. "You did well, though. Extremely well."

Laramie scuffed his boot on the polished wooden floor. "We got lucky. They underestimated us. How often is that going to happen?"

"Often enough," Bruce returned, "but not always. You'll need to anticipate what could go wrong and come up with contingencies. You'll also need to accept that when things go wrong, they will very often go wrong in a way that you did not anticipate."

Laramie nodded. "I guess that was what happened before. Three years ago, I mean. The mobs."

When Bruce shot him a hard look, he found Laramie staring fixedly at the night sky.

"I was thinking of that a bit," Laramie continued. "At the end, when Ravager took out Brenner and Ortega. And... well, when Miss Martian got you. It doesn't get easier, does it? Losing people?"

Bruce shook his head. "No."

"That's... good," Laramie said slowly. "I don't think it should. Get easier, I mean."

Bruce was silent for a moment. Then, "I suspect you'll have ample opportunity to experience that for yourself. You did well today. The next time there's a crisis or a combat exercise, they'll look to you for guidance. If someone else has been placed in command, it's likely they'll consult you for advice. Be ready for that."

"What happened out there today was sheer luck," Laramie said. "I can't count on that."

"No," Bruce answered. "No, it wasn't and no, you can't count on it. You demonstrated a capacity for leadership and a talent for adapting short-term tactics to forward a long-term strategy. You can build on that. Though luck will always be a factor," he admitted. "One of many."

"Can we do something like this again? After graduation, I mean; I don't think we'll have time for another full-scale exercise until then, but once we get our first assignments, maybe a repeat exercise would be a good idea."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Harrier approaching them, carrying a slice of Hawaiian pizza on a plate. While he enjoyed the combination of ham and pineapple, he knew that it wasn't Tim's favorite. "We'll discuss that at a later date," he said turning around and flashing Tim a broad smile.

It was a good deal more genuine than the polite society smiles he normally sported at social gatherings.

In Metropolis, Nightwing watched as Superman curved a metal pole around five Intergang members. As if the thing were a giant twist-tie, he twined the two ends together, securing the criminals. "Who ordered the hit on the Gotham underworld members?" The Man of Steel demanded.

The five men were silent. One smirked. "Don't know what you're talking about, Boy Scout," he said.

"I think you do."

"Yeah, but you don't know it. And torture's not exactly your thing so... yeah, turn us over to the cops; we'll be out on bail before you know it, and..." His voice trailed off as Nightwing stepped into his line of sight.

"You're right," he said softly, his face expressionless. "It's not his thing. It's not usually mine, either. However, your organization is trying to gain a toehold in my city. You've threatened the lives of two people who are very close to me." He held up a nightarang and rested the tip on the thug's cheekbone. The man's smirk dropped away. "Don't worry," he said, his voice almost gentle. "I don't kill either. And if I were so inclined, the big guy would probably just bring you back. But it might be interesting to find out how much you can live through. Don't you think?" he asked, as he held up a taser and turned it on. The thug shrank back against his fellows, trying to get as far from the crackling thread of electricity as he could.

"It was Simp Catelli!" another thug blurted.

Nightwing looked over his shoulder. Superman nodded. "He's one of Mannheim's lieutenants," he said with a disapproving frown. "MPD's been trying to put him away for a while, but they've never been able to connect him to any illegal activity."

"I think this gentleman will be happy to make that connection for them," Nightwing said affably. "Won't you, Sir?"

The second thug gulped and pumped his head vigorously up and down.

Superman placed a hand on Nightwing's shoulder. "Well," he said. "I guess we'd best tell the police where to pick you up." Keeping his grip on Nightwing, Superman steered the young man out of the warehouse. As soon as they were outside, he stepped in front of him.

"Torture, Nightwing? Really?"

Dick sighed. "No, not really. But they didn't know that."

"You sounded pretty convincing."

"Yeah," Dick said. "That's Bruce's training."

"And if he'd called your bluff? Would you have gone through with it?"

Dick started to deny it. Then he thought about what it would have meant, had Selina and Helena been in their car when it exploded. Had he and Harrier been a couple of minutes slower in reaching Bruce's subway safehouse when Intergang had tried to blow the door off its hinges. "I..." He closed his eyes and shook his head, hardly believing what he was saying but knowing that it was the truth. "I... don't know. I just... don't know."