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

A/N: "What You Look For" was written and recorded by Mary Chapin Carpenter on her Age of Miracles album (Zoё, 2010).

A/N: To a member of the GCPD, 'MCU' stands for Major Crimes Unit. I'd just like to point that out for the benefit of my fellow fans of various superhero movies who, like me, generally think of a different phrase when faced with that abbreviation!

A/N: Prozio is the Italian for 'great uncle'.

What you look for on a dirty street
Is a patch of green beneath your feet
A stubborn weed or a traveling rose
Either one lives to grow

What you look for in a stranger's eyes
Is if he sees through your disguise
How we long to be revealed
To be known we might be healed

—Mary Chapin Carpenter, "What You Look For"

Chapter 46—Stubborn Weed, Traveling Rose

"I suppose," Robbins commented as they headed for the crime scene, "you're curious as to why I haven't turned on the lights and sirens."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You… are aware that, as Batman, I relied on stealth and shadows for assistance," he remarked dryly. "There are times when advertising one's presence or," he coughed, "imminent arrival are counterproductive."

The officer nodded his approval. "Dispatch said the suspect is armed. If he knows we're coming, he might panic, which could lead to a hostage situation. Or, the suspect might panic and fire wildly, possibly hitting a bystander… or one of us," he added.

"So, Cadet Wayne," he asked with exaggerated solemnity, "what would your course of action be?"

Bruce frowned. "Well," he began, "9415 Neville is a two-story: jewelry store below, two apartments above. While assumptions are often proved wrong, I'm going to guess that, given the nature of the business, the burglary is taking place on the lower level."

"Do you have the city tour maps memorized, Cadet?" Robbins demanded.

Bruce smiled. "Just those covering the higher-crime areas, sir. Now one interesting bit of information is that there's a computer store at 9415A. It shares one wall with the crime scene; semi-detached building. At one time, it was a single store, but when rents increased, the owner had it divided and rented both separately. However, the upper apartments at 9415A are connected to 9415 by a door that is generally kept locked. If we could gain access to the second floor of 9415A, we could get into 9415 via the upper apartments. Back stairs would take us to the fire exit of the jewelry store and if we entered quietly, we might be able to take the suspect unawares."

Robbins let out a low whistle. "I like it," he said. "But I'd better run it by someone higher. We might need backup."

Bruce was about to protest that they could handle things on their own, but something checked him. He wasn't used to working with oversight. Robbins was. And if things didn't go according to plan, it was probably wise to know that their course of action had been approved.

Even if he privately thought that it was a waste of time and airwaves.

When they pulled up in front of the location, it was to find one man, in apparent pain, secured to a lamp-post by a length of wide chain wrapped tightly around his waist and fastened with a 'Kryptonite' bicycle lock. Robbins glanced at Bruce. "One of your people, d'you think?" he asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Not their style," he replied.

Robbins nodded, unsurprised. "Stay put," he said. Bruce watched as the officer approached the captive. A moment later, he jogged back to the car. "I don't suppose you have a bolt-cutter on you?"

Bruce shook his head. "We won't need one," he answered. "You can get that kind of lock open with a cheap ballpoint pen."

Robbins let out a short, barking laugh. "That, I've got," he remarked. His good humor died. "Guy said it was a kid took him out. Sprayed something in his eyes that smelled like cheap cologne, maybe aftershave. I'm calling for EMTs; can't have the guy going blind on us."

"Definitely not one of my people, then," Bruce said. "For what it's worth, while that stuff can be painful, if the eyes are flushed out, it's usually not serious. Here." He reached down for the bottle of water he'd brought with him.

"Hang on there," Robbins said. "Want to show me how you can get a supposedly theft-proof lock open with a Bic?"

Bruce shrugged. "Do you mind if I ask the suspect a couple of questions once his eyes are clear?" he asked.

"Knock yourself out," Robbins returned. "Just wait 'til I read him his rights, first."

A lithe figure in a charcoal denim jacket and jeans with a black t-shirt watched from the shadows as the officer and civilian approached the lamp-post. The figure turned with a muffled squeak, at the sound of someone clearing his throat. "Oh," a guilty voice sighed. "Hi, Bruno."

"So, this is why you were so interested in watching my MMA workouts," the heavyset man growled.

"Are you mad at me?"

Bruno let out a long breath. "Nowhere near as mad as some other people are going to be when they find out about this."

"You aren't going to tell them, are you? Bruno… please!"

Bruno shifted his weight from one foot to the next. He sighed again. "I just don't want you getting hurt, carina. And you will be if you keep doing this." He paused. "Did you learn anything?"

"Dollar store cologne works almost as well as mace in a pinch?" It was too dark to see the expression on the hulking man's face, but his disapproval was almost palpable. "When you're blanking on the right hand-to-hand moves for getting a guy to drop a gun, a Kryptonite lock makes a good blackjack?"

"Don't you ever do that again," Bruno snapped, his voice deadly serious. "You're just lucky the guy wasn't a split-second quicker on the draw. You almost got yourself killed. Did he know anything useful?"

The smaller figure sighed in disgust. "Nothing. He might've come in from Metropolis, but it looks like he's not part of Intergang. Didn't know anything about anything."

"I told you we weren't going to get this solved overnight. I thought you were bright enough to realize it meant that you couldn't either. Trust me, carina, we are very interested in getting this thing resolved."

"Not as interested as I am," the figure retorted. "So. Are you gonna tell anyone?"

Bruno sighed heavily. "Not this time. See… on my way over here, I kept thinking to myself, if it weren't you doing this, if it was your brother, what would I do? And the answer is, I'd teach him a few things so that he'd have more going for him than guts, anger, and beginner's luck. You want me to keep quiet? You let me teach you a few things, too. And you don't pull this crap again until I say you're ready. Because if I even suspect that you're planning to, I gotta clear my conscience and tell what I know, you get me?"

The figure nodded. "Yeah, I get you." Then, in a lighter voice, "You're seriously going to train me?"

"Last time things were looking this bad," Bruno said, "you know a lot of people got hurt. Killed. Some of them were 'round about your age. We're trying to keep that from happening again. We don't want you to be part of it. Only…" he barked a short bitter laugh, "I guess we're sort of overlooking the fact that you already are. And if you are, maybe you need to learn a thing or two so you'll make it through this next go-round. But," his voice dropped to a murmur, "I don't think you ought to go telling anyone about it, carina."

The figure laughed. "Bruno, you're the best!"

The ambulance arrived moments later to collect the suspect. After it left, Robbins turned to Bruce with a sigh. "You're sure you've got no idea who caught him?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "You heard him. Kid somewhere between the ages of ten and thirteen, indeterminate gender, about five-two, wearing a black denim jacket and jeans, black tee, face obscured by a nylon stocking. Which eliminates the one person I know who I thought might possibly be involved."

Robbins frowned. "Tell me."

"One of the Teen Titans," Bruce said slowly. "His code name is 'Dodge'. Last year, he… decided that that he was going to be the next Robin. The current Batman was unwilling to bring him on. Then a freak accident gave him meta powers and, after some training from one of the older Titans, he joined the current team. However, first, he's calmed down a good deal over the past year. Second, he's around 5'7". Moreover, his normal costume involves a modified baseball uniform, not denims and t-shirts."

"Mmm," Robbins grunted noncommittally. "Still might be worth talking to him. Can you arrange that?"

He should have expected the question. "I'll run it by his team leader," he said. "Again, it's highly unlikely."

"True, but it wouldn't be the first time someone picked up a copycat. Who knows? Maybe there's a wannabe Titan out there trying to prove themselves. Should probably talk to the rest of the team, too." He smiled. "Guess I should thank you for the lead."

Bruce winced. "Don't mention it."

Oracle wasn't sure why she'd slapped a priority flag on Penguin's messages so that she would be automatically notified when he chose to communicate with her. She had many other ways to acquire information on the Gotham Underworld. He seldom bothered to keep her in the loop—which made a fair amount of sense: why should she expect him to help the competition? On the other hand, that was probably her answer. Cobblepot was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He could be arrogant at times. He might let a petty desire for revenge cloud his judgment. Mostly, though, he was enamored of the status quo. He had a legitimate establishment to run and a number of illegal rackets from which he took cuts. He didn't want to see either source of income run dry. As such, while he could be counted on for an occasional Bat-trap or crime spree, he tended to time those for periods when crime in Gotham was on the downswing.

When the reverse held true, on the other hand, the Penguin was given to passing along some fairly useful intel.

She looked up as Batman slid into her office via the open casement window. "You've got Inzerillo spooked," she said cheerfully. "He went running to Ozzie in a panic."

Dick pushed back his cowl. "Serves him right," he replied. "Anything we need to worry about?"

"Well," Barbara said, "Ozzie sent him packing. I think he wants to keep a lid on things almost as much as we do. As we figured. He did remind me of something: Enrico's connected to the Mandragoras… who would probably take poison before they sit at the same table with the Bertinellis. And no," she smiled, "I didn't tell Helena, yet."

Dick sighed. "That could be trouble."

"Pardon?"

"I went into this knowing I'd never unite all the families. I was hoping to have some of them falling in behind me and the rest staying out of it. I didn't actually think it would work out that way," he admitted, "but I was trying to be optimistic. I've been counting on Gotham's organized crime families to close ranks against Intergang after what happened in Metropolis. But here's the thing: Inzerillo's family controls a good piece of Gotham. The Mandragoras have more. Bressi's got enough people in line that it shouldn't be a concern… unless the families not allied with him are nervous enough to swallow their pride and knuckle under to Intergang, hoping that—if Intergang beats us and takes over—they'll be able to hold onto most of what they've got, maybe carve out some of Bressi's turf. Inzerillo wouldn't consider it on his own, I don't think. But there's bad blood between the Mandragoras and the Bertinellis. That could lead the Mandragoras to do something stupid." He sighed. "I'd talk to them, but it might make things worse."

"And if you did make them an offer, you might have the Bertinellis backing out."

Dick nodded. "And I can't have an alliance falling apart right when it's coming together."

"Okay," Barbara sighed. "It's 6AM in Monaco right now. Helena's probably asleep. I'll call her this afternoon—if she or the rest of the team haven't already checked in by then. She might have some ideas."

"If they involve letting the Mandragoras go hang," Dick said seriously, "tell her we can't afford it. We're trying to keep a lid on matters, not shake them up."

"I know." She squeezed his hand. "I'm glad tomorrow's your night off. You look beat."

"I feel beat," Dick admitted. "Though I'll probably feel a bit better after something to eat."

"There's that chocolate bread pudding left over from supper," Barbara grinned. "If you put up a pot of tea to go with it, I'll come down in a few and join you."

Dick smacked his lips. "I like the sound of that," he said, stooping to kiss her. "Don't take too long, though. Once I warm up the bread pudding, there's only so long I'll be able to wait before the smell of chocolate overwhelms my willpower."

Barbara laughed. "I guess everyone's got a weakness."

"Got it, Harrier," Wonder Girl acknowledged. "I'm enroute now." She sighed. "Nights like this, I feel like I'm in one of those Warner Brothers cartoons where the cat's gonna get tossed out of the house if he wakes up his owner and the mouse is gleefully knocking stacks of plates off the high shelves while the cat freaks out and tries to catch them all."

Over the comm-link, Tim laughed. "It's not just you," he managed. "Do you need backup?"

Cassie considered. "No, I think I'm good." She put on a fresh burst of speed and flew onward toward the Hill. Her jaw hardened when she first glimpsed the flames from one of the tenement buildings. Roberto Panessa was a racketeer and a slumlord, but neither he nor his tenants deserved to have his property firebombed. She saw a number of people clustered together on the roof and muttered an expletive under her breath.

By the time she reached the building, she'd managed to suppress her anger. "Hi, everyone," she waved cheerily. "Let's get you out of here." She glanced about quickly. There were nearly forty people on that rooftop and the flames were only three floors below and rising.

She seized hold of the two people who were closest to her and lifted off again. "I'll be back in a minute!"

Once she had her cargo safely on the ground, she opened her comm-link once more. "About that backup?" she said. "I changed my mind."

"Roger that," Harrier returned. Then, with some concern, "Cassie?"

"I just saw more smoke two blocks away and I can't go check it out, not with the people trapped on the roof here." As she spoke, she leaped into the air once more.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Tim's voice came back online. "Emergency crews are on their way. I'm having Miss Martian drop Dodge off at your location. He can get everyone off the roof at once. You head for that other building; if the fire's just hit, there might be a panic to get out. You and M'Gann need to keep things under control. It won't be just you, by the way. Cops, EMTs, and fire fighters are converging on the scene as we speak. And Cassie?" Tim's voice dropped a notch and took on an even more serious note.

"Yes?"

"That other site is also a Panessa building. I don't think these fires are accidental. If you happen to see anything suspicious while you're over there, call it in."

"It's probably a waste of time," Sgt. Murakawa admitted to the cadet sitting in the passenger seat. "We know there's a fire. But when someone calls 911 and doesn't specify the nature of the emergency…"

Jeff Maleev smiled. "…then police, fire, and ambulance are all dispatched to the scene." He hesitated. "Do you think this could be related to everything that's going on now with the Families, sir?"

Murakawa considered. "No idea. If we knew who owned the building, it would help. I guess when MCU gets the details, that'll be one of the first things they look at."

"Is there a way to find out?"

A chuckle escaped Murakawa's lips. "You've got the Bat in your class, don't you, cadet?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "His outfit was a one-man operation, or close to it. He had to do it all. We're a team. A brotherhood. And one thing you need to get straight early is the difference between having your brothers' backs and doing your brothers' jobs. You'll have enough on your plate doing your own work. If you want MCU, then talk to your superior officer about what it'll take for you to make that team. First prerequisite? Pass the Detective Exam. Until then, you do your job, which—in this case—is that of 'first responder'. That means you establish the perimeter, see if you can figure out where any suspects entered or exited, keep anyone unauthorized away from the crime scene, and—this is important—separate all witnesses immediately, so they don't have a chance to work out a story among themselves. Leave the interviewing to the detectives. Leave the evidence gathering to CSI. First responders? We file our reports, and let the good people in the MCU and CSI make like Scooby Doo and solve the mystery."

"Respectfully, sir?" Maleev began.

"Well?"

"It's usually Fred, Daphne, and Velma who solve it. Sir."

"None of whom are you." He pulled into a parking space. "Here we are. Get out. I'm going to talk to some of the people who just exited the building. Maybe a few of 'em saw something."

Maleev nodded dejectedly. Then, as he glanced over his head, he smiled. "Sergeant?" he said, pointing at the blonde woman soaring overhead with one child in each arm and another seated piggyback on her shoulders. "You might want to talk to her."

"Heard you had a visitor," Batman intoned. It was two nights later and he was feeling the better for having had a good sleep.

Startled, Oswald Cobblepot spun about and let out an angry squawk. "Why do I even bother keeping you in the loop?" he demanded. "If you're just going to pop in to give me a heart attack anyway…"

"At ease, Ozzie," Batman said, holding out his hands palms down and lowering them slightly, as though patting down the air before him. "I just came by to thank you."

Penguin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Thanks for not letting the nature of our… relationship cloud your good sense. I appreciate it."

Oswald harrumphed loudly. "Yes, well. Civil war in the streets will scare the paying customers away. Can't have that happening."

Batman shook his head. "No. No, we can't. Again, I appreciate that you realize it. So. I thought I'd mention your assistance to Bressi. If you're looking to ally yourself—"

Penguin held up a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "Eh… thank you, Batman, but no. In my experience, choosing sides can be rather detrimental to running a profitable business. You know how it is," he shrugged. "I provide a safe meeting place where deals of every kind can be negotiated in relative quiet and confidentiality. I take percentages, not sides. As a result, my life is relatively peaceful, except for when you and your ilk pop in to disrupt it. I'd hoped that forwarding some intel might serve much the same purpose as an insurance premium: pay a small amount now and avoid paying a much larger one down the road."

"I'm not in the protection racket, Ozzie," Batman snapped. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you can buy me off."

Penguin sighed. "Fine. Think of me as running my own private Switzerland. I'm staying neutral in this. And one more piece of advice. Consider it a friendly warning. Neutrality means I'm helping—and hindering—both sides equally. If I pass on intel to you, rest assured that I will also pass on intel to Inzerillo's people. I mention this as a precaution, lest you think you can get more information out of me with your usual intimidation tactics. I daresay you might. But for every tidbit you extract from me, know that I will freely disclose similar data about your people and Bressi's to the other camp." He smiled. "If I were you, Batman… I'd wait. You have Inzerillo running scared right now. Sooner or later, he'll come to me looking for information that might give him an edge and, when I refuse him, he will likely attempt to intimidate me." He chortled. "Then, I'll obviously be honor-bound to send another email to your computer-savvy ally, won't I?"

Batman shook his head. "You're playing a dangerous game, Ozzie," he cautioned, smiling crookedly.

"Perhaps. But I believe I know the board—and the rules—at least as well as you do. Now. Surely you have a jaywalker to terrorize somewhere?" He waved his hand in dismissal and deliberately turned his swivel chair around. "I do love to look out at the skyline after dark, Batman. Don't you?"

There was no reply. When he turned his chair back to his desk, Cobblepot noted with satisfaction that he was now alone in his office.

Talking to the Titans had been a waste of time, as Bruce had suspected. Still, Tim had been gracious enough to pop in at Central and advise Robbins in person. The team agreed to keep an eye out for the new person—something that they would have done without being asked, particularly since the eyewitness had pegged them for a child, perhaps not even in their teens yet.

Oracle and Batgirl were doing their part as well, and even Huntress and Black Canary had their description, though at the moment, they were more concerned with mob activity. "If Batman reconsiders his no-kill policy," Huntress had remarked decisively, "I want to know yesterday. There are a few people I'm monitoring that I could be a lot less gentle with."

Barbara had sighed. "Even if he does, I won't," she'd replied. "Sorry, Helena. If you want to sign on with Checkmate or Task Force X, I can get you an introduction. But otherwise…"

"I know, I know. We don't kill. Not even if it's scum who truly deserves it."

"If you'd like," Barbara had offered, "I can teach you a few non-lethal, very painful moves. I can't sanction killing, but I have no problem with you making them wish I would."

Helena had shaken her head in mock despair. "I guess it'll be better than nothing."

"And if you do happen to see that kid…"

"I know. I'll call it in."

However, nearly two weeks later, it was Cass who encountered the newcomer.

"So," Cass said, "you need backup but… outside?" She was sitting on her cape, and she shifted in her chair to dislodge it, wincing a bit as the steel rollers slid on the metal flooring of the Bat Cave's computer station.

Dick sighed. "Bressi called for this meeting in his home. It's small. Him, the heads of the other six families he's brought in, and me. But having us all in one place is risky. There's going to be security on the grounds; he's providing most of it. But he's asked me to put one of my own people in, too—a sign of good faith." He shrugged. "I agreed."

Cass nodded. "Okay."

"Cass…" Dick's expression turned serious. "I'm counting on you to keep a lid on things. I promised Sawyer: no killing condoned on our watch. If it happens, we bring them in, no matter which side fired. Let the courts decide whether it was justified. I've told Bressi and he's told his people. That doesn't mean that somebody won't get trigger-happy." He closed his eyes. "One thing that I've finally learned after spending too much time trying to be exactly like Bruce and then doing my level best to be totally unlike Bruce…" He opened his eyes and flashed her a quick grin, "obviously, not at the same time; I wasn't that confused…" His grin widened when she gave him a fleeting smile of her own, "…is that we can't control every situation. We just do our best and hope for the best. You're going to be one person, keeping an eye on seven nominal friendlies and an untold number of potential hostiles. No matter how hard you try, stuff might happen. I guess," he said seriously, "what I'm trying to say is, I trust you to do everything you can to defend the house and keep everyone—ally or enemy—alive. If that's not enough… then it'll still be everything you could have done and I'll make sure Sawyer hears it from me."

"From us," Cass said firmly.

"From us." He took a deep breath. "Okay. You ready?"

For answer, Cass reached behind her to pull up her cowl. Dick followed suit.

A moment later, the Batmobile sped out of the cave, the Batcycle close behind.

From her position on the roof of Bressi's Lyntown mansion, Batgirl kept a careful watch on the grounds to the west. One of the other guards had offered her coffee, which she had declined. This truce did not sit well with her. As much as she understood why it was necessary, she believed that she'd had her fill of working with trained killers before her ninth birthday. And if not then, surely her time spent with Lady Shiva had sufficed.

She froze. In the near stillness of her surroundings, the sound of a boot squelching on wet ground sounded impossibly loud. She looked down and, with the aid of her thermal imager, spied a slight figure cutting across the grounds, toward the perimeter wall.

She pulled out the walkie-talkie that one of Bressi's people had handed her. "Saw something. Checking," she said tersely.

An instant later, the voice of the guard who'd offered her the coffee crackled over the receiver. "Need backup?"

"No." She seldom did. And she definitely didn't want armed backup. Not when everyone had been tense for weeks and an accidental gunshot could set off the war that they were trying to prevent. She took a running leap off the roof, stuck the landing on the top of the balcony railing a floor below, and executed a triple somersault to the grassy turf.

Her quarry was trying to hide in the shadows, but showed dark red to her thermal imager. From their body language, the quarry was tense, more than a bit nervous, and not planning to fight. Batgirl considered letting the intruder escape, but then she remembered: they had been leaving the house, not trying to break in. If they had overheard anything, stolen anything, Batgirl needed to know now, before they left the scene.

She sprinted for the shadows, moving swiftly and far more quietly than the person that she was chasing. That person wasn't staying still either. They moved cautiously, taking advantage of whatever cover they could find. There was a gate less than twenty yards away. The figure closed the distance confidently and moved to the electronic pinpad. A moment later, the gate swung open and the figure clenched a fist and jerked it upwards in triumph.

That was when Batgirl took them down with a flying tackle.

When there was no answer to his knock, Bruno cautiously eased the bedroom door open. "Come on, carina," he coaxed. "Don't sulk. You know I didn't cancel our lesson to be mean, I did it because I didn't want one of your prozio's sentries to get trigger happy."

When there was still no answer, he looked at the lump under the blankets and quilt and smiled indulgently. Then his smile froze. The window was open and there was something off about that lump. Hoping to hell that he was wrong, he walked to the bed and laid a hand where his charge's shoulder should have been. It sank into pillows. He moved to the window and saw a sturdy cord tied to the iron bracket of an adjacent book shelf. "Porca vaca!" he muttered.

He left the room, raced to the end of the hallway and took the stairs at a run. When he reached the basement, and one of the lieutenants came forward to block him, he slowed his pace and raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I need to talk to Bressi, now," he whispered. "Tell him—."

Just then, his cell phone vibrated. "Wait." He pulled out the phone, looked at the number, and heaved a sigh of relief. "Never mind."

Batgirl's gloved hand snuffed out the intruder's startled cry almost immediately. A moment later, the vigilante winced, grateful that the tough leather afforded her some protection against her adversary's teeth.

"Stop," she whispered harshly. "Quiet."

The intruder continued to struggle, twisting and kicking as best they could. Despite herself, Batgirl felt a grudging admiration. Many people would have given up by now. The intruder kept at it. Finally, the small body relaxed with a frustrated groan.

Batgirl eased herself off of her captive, still keeping a firm grip on their wrists. "Okay?" she asked.

The captive tested her grip once more, then nodded in resignation.

"Come."

The captive started struggling again. "No! Please. I'll go back on my own."

The voice was light, with a slight huskiness to it that gave no clue as to gender. "Then…" Batgirl said simply, "you die. Security. They see you, they shoot." Behind her mask, she frowned. "Why?" From the tilt of the captive's head, the cowled woman realized that she needed to use more words. "Why… are… you… here?"

The captive tried to get loose again. When that didn't work, slim shoulders slumped dejectedly. "I live here. Now, anyway."

"Then…" Batgirl shook her head, perplexed, "why… leave?"

The captive sighed. "I was testing myself. I wanted to see if I could get out without being spotted."

"Almost got killed."

"No. I was in the other room listening when you guys got your security posts. Once I knew where you were standing, I figured it'd be safest getting out that window. Bats don't kill. Everyone knows that."

"True," Batgirl admitted. Her voice hardened. "Still stupid." If another sentry had come to relieve her for a moment, if a security camera had caught a shadowy figure crossing the grounds… "Name?"

"None of your business."

Batgirl sighed. "Fine. Back to house. Their business."

"No! Please… Let me do it myself."

"Too dangerous."

"Then let me get out and I'll call Bru—someone to let me in the front door. Please. If those guys on the roof don't kill me, my uncle will."

"Uncle?"

"Great uncle," her captive sighed. "Tony Bressi."

Batgirl regarded the small figure for a moment, as she searched her memory for a name. Luka Bressi, she remembered, was fifteen. Her captive seemed closer to eleven or twelve. "Clara?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah."

She considered. Then she pulled out her walkie-talkie. "All okay," she said softly.

"What was it?" a male voice asked over a crackle of static.

"Will report at house," she said. "Coming now."

She turned to Clara. "You said… call someone. In house?"

Clara nodded. "Yeah."

"Cell?"

For answer, Clara reached slowly into her pocket and pulled out a phone.

"Call now."

She nodded again. With one finger poised over the 'talk' button, she paused. "Batgirl? Do you… can you find out who killed my father?"

Batgirl shifted her weight from one foot to the next. "Trying."

Clara groaned in frustration. "Everyone is trying," she growled. "But nobody's finding them!"

"Takes time," Cass said, not unkindly. "We will."

"Sure." She made the call and spoke briefly. After a moment, she handed the phone to Batgirl. "He wants to talk to you."

Hesitantly, Batgirl held the phone to her ear. "Yes?"

"Batgirl?" a gruff voice demanded. When she confirmed it, he heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. Listen. You take her around to the kitchen door in five minutes. The sentries will be elsewhere; I'll make sure of it. I'll meet you both there. And Batgirl, thanks. I was about ten seconds away from having to tell Bressi his grand-niece had disappeared. Seeing as I'm supposed to be watching out for her, that wouldn't have gone well. Much appreciated." The call ended. Batgirl handed the phone back to Clara.

"Come. No. Wait." She gripped her cape by the top edges and shook it out so that it flowed smoothly behind her. "In case sentries don't all move in time," she said, making an effort to remember her words, "behind me. Under cape. Hold my waist. Then… they'll just see me."

As the twelve-year-old hastened to obey, Cass added under her breath, "I hope…"

Less than ten minutes later, the three were seated around the kitchen table. "I was giving her combat tips," Bruno admitted. "I guess… well, you remember last time, when someone opened fire in the school and Aquista's daughter was gunned down. I didn't want that happening to her. I figured, if she knew how to fight and she knew some evasive techniques, it might help."

"Against guns?" Batgirl asked.

"Look," Bruno sighed, "nobody likes thinking that they're helpless and there's nothing they can do. I thought if I gave her a few tricks, maybe she wouldn't feel that way."

"Uh… Bruno?" Clara snapped, "I'm sitting right in front of you, so quit talking about me like I'm not here."

"Carina…" Bruno held up a warning finger, "do you have any idea how close you came to getting shot tonight?"

Clara glowered. "I told Batgirl—"

"And if Batman had asked her to come into the meeting for a minute and another sentry had taken her post? Or another sentry came over to her position to ask her something, spotted you, and decided anyone sneaking around the grounds couldn't be up to any good? What if someone had taken you for a burglar?"

Batgirl lifted her hand. "Did," she admitted.

Vindicated, Bruno jerked his head toward his young charge. "See?" His eyebrows came together in a glower. "You're grounded. Two weeks. Except for school. No friends, no phone calls you don't clear with me, first."

Clara bristled. "You can't do that! Uncle Tony will—"

"Your prozio," Bruno cut her off, "will want to know whether I've got a good reason for penalizing you. So, he'll ask me." He shrugged. "So, I'll tell him."

"No!" Clara gasped. "If he finds out…"

"…Yup. So, you're not going to tell him about this conversation. You're not going to leave the grounds except for going to and from school. And you're not getting any more lessons from me until the two weeks are up. Once they are, you show me you've mastered what I've already taught you and then we'll discuss whether I should teach you anything new. And know this: I teach fighters, not spoiled little princesses. Capice?"

Clara glared sullenly down at the kitchen table. "Yeah, capizco."

Bruno sighed. "Sorry you got mixed up in this, Batgirl. Thanks again."

The rest of her sentry duty passed without incident. She and Batman waited until the scions of the other Families had left before heading toward their vehicles.

"Hope you weren't too bored," Batman remarked to her, as he remote-opened the Batmobile door.

Batgirl shook her head. "Wasn't."

"Oh? Anything interesting happen, then?"

Batgirl shrugged. Then, hesitantly, "Dick? When you and Batman caught… Zucco? Did it… help?"

Dick froze. Then, slowly, he turned to face her. "What do you think?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "Dunno. So asking." She took another breath. "Batman said once… never found… he never found who killed his parents. If he had… maybe would have quit. You found. Still…" she gestured toward his cape.

Batman exhaled noisily. "Bruce wouldn't have quit," he said. "He might not have been as intense, but a lot of why he was out there was—at least, this is what he told me—Gotham used to be a lot safer. That's why his parents thought it was okay to cut through an alley to get to where they'd parked their car. Back then—and this isn't Bruce trying to pretend that his parents didn't make mistakes; I've looked at the crime stats and they bear out—Gotham really was a place where people could walk around at night and feel safe. Especially in that area. It used to be called Park Row, you know. Still is, officially. Anyway, after they were killed, things started going downhill. People living in Park Row started moving out to the suburbs. It wasn't long before people in other neighborhoods who could afford to followed suit. It took a few more years before Gotham became like it is now, but Bruce saw it happen. He said he wanted to make Gotham like it used to be before: safe. So no more kids would have to watch their parents get shot in front of them. And that wouldn't have changed, even if the cops had caught the killer that same night."

He took another breath. "I think catching Zucco helped in some ways. I didn't have nightmares about him coming after me. At least, not for long. But… well… I also got a taste of," his lips twitched, "dishing out justice before the courts got the opportunity. Guess we can debate if that's good or bad. Why the sudden interest?"

Cass shrugged again. "Dunno. Bruce didn't think you were too young?" This time, the proper sentence structure came more easily.

Dick considered. "I think he did at first. But I know I reminded him a lot of himself after he lost his parents. I was angry. I wanted my parents' killer brought to justice. I didn't like a bunch of grownups telling me that they were going to handle it and then not seeing them making any headway. I wasn't exactly stupid. And… I guess I was stubborn enough that Bruce didn't think he could talk me out of it." He smiled. "Anything else you want to know?"

Cass was silent for a moment. "Dunno," she repeated. "Thinking." About Clara. Angry. Smart. Stubborn. Doesn't like… a bunch of grownups telling her that they were handling and then not seeing progress… She tried to squelch her next thought. It would be too dangerous. Dick would never allow it. She shouldn't allow herself to think it, not after Stephanie—who had also been angry and stubborn. Smart in many ways, too, just not the ones that might have saved her life. But the thought she tried to push away would not be suppressed. New Robin?

"I'm sending you an email," Clark said tersely. "The usual encryptions. And remember, this is not one hundred percent confirmed. I was flying by the MPD headquarters and overheard a conversation. They are keeping it quiet because once the word is out… you know it's going to be a race to get them into custody before the Families take care of it in their way. And even once they are in custody, they may not be safe."

Oracle nodded. "Got it." She let out a breath. "So… these are the gunmen who took out almost ten percent of the Gotham crime families."

"And, according to the MPD's data, they're headed your way."