A/N: Just a reminder: This fic is set pre-New 52 and pre-Rebirth. While Birds of Prey has revealed that Maria Bertinelli survived the attack that took the lives of her husband and son, I'm going with the post-CoIE version that left Helena an orphan at the age of eight.

"The Blue Distance" written and recorded by Mary Chapin Carpenter on her "The Things that We Are Made Of" album (Universal, 2016).

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

Across the railroad tracks, down the gravel road
headlights throw a beam on the way back home
lie down, lie down, listen wide awake
to the trains that roll, to the sound time makes

—Mary Chapin Carpenter, "The Blue Distance"

Chapter 53—The Trains that Roll, The Sound Time Makes

MacInnes waited until Clara Bressi had been borne away to the infirmary on a stretcher before he approached the officer who had pulled the trigger. "Sergeant Arneson," he said in a deceptively calm voice. "Mind telling me what just happened?"

Arneson swallowed hard. "Captain," he replied, "I spotted the intruder from afar. She disregarded my order to halt. I pursued on foot."

"You shot a kid from behind."

Arneson swallowed again. "Captain, we were attacked this morning by person or persons unknown. I did not get a clear look at the intruder and didn't realize that she was a child. When she fled the scene, I suspected that she might have been involved in the earlier attack."

MacInnes's expression did not waver. "I'll need your gun, Sergeant. Report to room 412 in the Administration building; an investigator is waiting with your union rep to ask you some questions." He hesitated. "This is the first time you've pulled the trigger outside of a firing range, correct?" The sergeant nodded as he relinquished his firearm. Now, MacInnes's face softened. "I have some idea what you're going through. As will anyone who's been in your situation."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed. Oh, Sergeant?" MacInnes added quickly. "Just a reminder. If your rep isn't present, you don't have to answer any questions until they get there."

Arneson nodded. "Yes, sir."

As the sergeant took off in the direction of the Administration building, MacInnes shook his head and scowled. Yes, they were on high alert. Yes, they had just suffered an attack that had left four cadets injured—one seriously—and left two horses dead at the scene and a third that the vet had had to put down. But one of his officers had just shot a twelve-year-old girl from behind. Regardless of the circumstances, the media was going to be all over this one.

His cell phone rang and he slapped it to his ear. "MacInness."

"Captain, I think we have an ID on the shooting victim…"

He was sprinting toward the infirmary almost as soon as the caller was finished delivering her bombshell. His route took him past the cordoned-off bomb site and he veered toward it. "Batman," he snapped. "I need a word."

Under his cowl, where the captain couldn't see it, Dick Grayson raised an eyebrow. "Of course, Captain," he said politely. "How can I assist?"

MacInnes hesitated for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. "We had an intruder a short while ago. She was spotted almost immediately and one of my people pursued after she disregarded a command to stand where she was. With everything that's happened this morning, I believe my officer when he tells me that he didn't realize that he was chasing a kid."

"A kid," Batman repeated flatly.

"About five-two, so perhaps my man can be excused for not realizing he was pursuing a twelve-year-old girl, rather than an adult of below-average height. He's being interviewed by IA right now, as it happens. We don't have all the details, yet, but from what we do know…" His voice trailed off.

Batman tensed. "Go on."

MacInnes let out a long breath. "After the girl ignored multiple warnings, the sergeant fired on her."

"I see," Batman replied. "Captain, I… I realize that confession is said to be good for the soul, but is there some… some reason that you're telling me this now?"

"Yes," MacInnes said heavily. "We… got an ID on her. She's going to be okay, by the way. It's a flesh wound. Bullet passed through her upper arm; nicked the bone on its way. Painful, but not life-threatening, thankfully. However, it occurs to me that you might be the best person to advise the family of what's happened. Frankly, we can deal with the media fallout from an officer shooting a kid. It's a tragic turn of events, and we're already starting a full investigation into the circumstances. But the media is not our biggest worry, as it happens."

As he listened, Batman felt the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. "Who's the kid, Captain?"

"Clara Bressi. Now how do we stop the lid from blowing off of this powder keg?"

Batman took a deep breath and let it out. "I'd like to see her," he said. "Not that I don't believe you, but the girl has been missing for almost three days. There are a lot of people out looking for her. And before I call her uncle and tell her that we've got her and we're bringing her home, I want to be absolutely positive we're not dealing with a case of mistaken identity."

"I'm just on my way to the infirmary now," MacInnes nodded. "You're welcome to accompany me."

Batman nodded back and fell into step behind him. "Actually, Captain," he said, "as much as we don't want things getting out of hand, if we're about to question a minor—however gently—don't you think we need to get in touch with her family first?"

MacInnes exhaled heavily. "You're right. I'd better make the call. After I let Sawyer know what's up."

Clara kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. It wasn't hard. The hard part was actually not falling asleep. They'd patched up her arm and, while it still hurt a great deal, it was better than it had been. She focused on that pain now and tried to keep from dozing off. She wasn't safe. Until she was back with her uncle, she wouldn't be safe. And she couldn't trust anybody but Batman to get her back.

Which meant that, as tired as she was, as much as she just wanted to rest like the man who'd treated her had told her to do (he'd seemed nice, but that didn't necessarily prove anything), she had to get up and get moving.

She slowly eased herself off of the cot and managed not to whimper as a sharper twinge of pain shot through her arm. This place was crawling with cops and she didn't know how many of them were owned by the Mandragoras. She walked carefully to the window, looked outside and smiled. Maybe there was a way out of here after all…

…If she could just make it about a hundred yards without being spotted.

"Why was there no guard posted outside the room?" MacInnes demanded.

"For a kid?" the officer replied incredulously. "…Sir?" he added when MacInnes—and the muscular man in the dark suit and sunglasses glowered.

"My employer will be rather… unhappy with this turn of events," the newcomer said with deceptive calm.

"We share his unhappiness, Mr. Vitrelli," MacInnes snapped.

"You should."

Batman's raised both hands in a placating gesture. "There's a lot of excitement happening inside campus right now, gentlemen," he interjected. "I don't think anyone seriously thought that one scared, wounded, twelve-year-old was going to try sneaking out of the infirmary." He sighed. "Although, I guess I probably shouldn't be that surprised." He turned to Vitrelli. "She slipped past your employer's security, got kidnapped by the Mandragoras, escaped from his people, and managed to stay out of their hands for over a day. Then, as near as we can tell, someone else picked her up, she got away from them, and turned up here. She's been either locked up or on the run for the better part of three days. At this point, I'll bet that there aren't a lot of people she thinks she can trust."

"So, she's not going to stay in any one place for very long," MacInnes grunted. "Still… she shouldn't have been able to leave the infirmary."

"From what I've gathered," Batman sighed, "she's plenty resourceful. And desperation lets a person manage some pretty incredible things. Trust me on this one," he added, shaking his head. "Anyway," a slow smile came to his lips, "I don't think she could have gotten far. Are the roadblocks still up?"

MacInnes nodded.

"Have any vehicles gotten in or out in the last half-hour or so?"

MacInnes frowned, thinking. "We ordered pizza for everyone here. The truck…" He strode briskly to the window and muttered an expletive under his breath. "It must have just left." He grabbed his phone, hit a button, and barked several orders into the mouthpiece.

"If she stowed away in that, we'll catch it. Meanwhile," he sighed, "we're going to scour every square inch of this campus in case she's hiding somewhere. I trust we can count on your assistance?"

Batman's lips twitched. "Naturally, Captain. Oh, Captain," he added, smiling a bit more, "I think you might want to verify whether any of the cadets have search-and-rescue training. It could be worthwhile to make use of it. Mr. Vitrelli," he turned to the man Bressi had sent in response to MacInnes's phone call. "Have you ever met Clara Bressi? Would she recognize you?"

The lawyer shook his head slowly.

"Too bad," Batman sighed. "I was hoping that, if she were still here and spotted you, she'd know you for someone she could trust. At least enough for her to come out of hiding. I guess we can't count on that."

Vitrelli hesitated. "I'd like to help with the search regardless," he said. "At least, let's just say that when I contact Mr. Bressi, I'd prefer to be able to give him some good news."

MacInnes regarded the two men for a moment, his gaze inscrutable. Then he blew his breath out noisily and nodded.

Oracle recognized the number on her caller ID and fought the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she turned on the voice scrambler. "Don Bressi," she greeted him.

"Is there any news?" he demanded, skipping to the chase.

She sighed. "We're still searching," she admitted. "As soon as we hear something—"

"I've heard something," Bressi cut her short. "I was hoping you could confirm its veracity."

"Go ahead."

Bressi's voice was almost too calm. "I've received a telephone call notifying me that a young girl was shot on the grounds of the police academy this afternoon. There's reason to believe that it was my grand-niece. I sent one of my people there to check it out and he hasn't called me, yet. Which leads me to believe that it was either a case of mistaken identity, or she's making the GCPD look like the Keystone Kops—and I'm not talking the ones that the Flash works with—or things are more serious than that phone call let on and my man is still trying to figure out a way to break it to me."

Was it possible for that sinking feeling to drop below her stomach? Because, as much as she'd had no sensation from the waist down in years, she thought she could feel that. "I haven't heard anything like that," she said. "But the academy has been on lockdown since early this morning and they're still keeping quiet about the reasons."

"But you do know those reasons."

"I monitor radio frequencies," Oracle explained. "They're not using them."

Bressi considered that. "All right. Maybe you're telling me the truth. I can't tell with that robot voice you're using, but let's just say for the sake of argument that I accept what you're saying. In that case, I'm sorry to have bothered you. You keep looking for her and," his voice faltered for a moment, "let's just pray we have some good news by midnight." The connection closed with a click.

Barbara sucked in her breath and fought down a wave of anger. She hated it when other people got their hands on this kind of intel before she did. And she was already thinking of the repercussions if Bressi's information was good.

She took another deep breath and tried raising Dick on the radio. When he didn't respond, she set about trying to find something online that would either substantiate or refute what Bressi had told her, muttering curses under her breath as her fingers played over her keyboards.

"That's what it looks like," Dick spoke tersely into the cowl radio. Sorry for the delay in checking in. I didn't want to tell you until I had something definite, but I guess you could argue that if a wounded twelve-year-old managed to break out a police infirmary and possibly depart campus without being spotted… she's either the mob princess who's been giving seasoned killers the slip for the last few days… or someone in this city has a new kid sidekick and hasn't told us."

Next to him, looking surprisingly comfortable in the uniform of an academy cadet, Bruce frowned and jerked his head toward a thickset figure who was striding down the hallway toward them. Dick sighed. "I know. Look, I see MacInnes coming back. Technically, we're still under radio silence and I'd rather not rub his face in the fact that it doesn't apply to me. Love you, too. Later."

He turned to Bruce. "Guess you heard."

Bruce didn't reply. Instead, he snapped to attention as MacInnes drew closer. Dick didn't exactly follow suit, but he did stand a bit straighter. "From the look on your face," Dick said, keeping the gravel in his voice to a minimum, "I gather the news isn't what we were hoping, but it could still be worse."

MacInnes let off a short, barking laugh. "That's an optimistic way of putting it. You sure you're the Bat?"

Out the corner of his eye, Dick tried to gauge Bruce's reaction, but the other man's poker face was firmly in place. "For the time being," he replied. "What can you tell me?"

"Well," MacInnes grunted, "we caught up with the truck about a quarter mile past our roadblock. No kid. However, the driver let us know she'd had to stop at the railway crossing when the barrier came down. When we checked the back of the truck, we found some shoe prints, don't match what the driver was wearing. Truck's back here now; we're going to let CSI go over it now that they're just about done with the stable, but it looks like she's on the run again." He shook his head. "Guess we'd better cordon off the area and start searching." He looked from Dick to Bruce. "If either of you have any suggestions, now's the time."

Bruce lifted his head slightly. "Captain."

"Cadet?"

"Are any of the horses in fit condition to be ridden, Sir?"

MacInnes thought for a moment. "I'll need to confirm that, but I believe so. Why?"

"Captain," Bruce said again, "a horse can go where a car can't. If there's one thing that's been made clear, it's that the girl knows how to evade pursuit. She won't be moving along the roads. Parallel to them, perhaps; she's trying to get to her uncle and she has to know that she's got two possible ways into Gotham: take the Bristol Township Line Road east to the Kane Bridge or west to the Mooney and then follow the Airport Road south to the New Trigate bridge, or even the Vorfinkel."

"She wouldn't go that far out of the way," MacInnes protested. "Not on foot."

"Normally, Sir," Bruce said, "I'd agree. But she's aware that we—or, more to the point, the Mandragoras—know where she's going. She can't outrun them; not unless she keeps hitching rides on various vehicles and that gets riskier for her the more people are looking for her. Her best play is to go by ways they won't expect. If the fastest way back to her uncle is over the Kane Bridge, I suspect she'll be aiming for the Mooney."

"Go on," MacInnes prompted.

"My guess," Bruce warmed to his subject, "is that she'll be following the road west, keeping as much out of sight as possible. That means behind the false front of trees that separates the highway from the farmland. I'm presuming that those vacant lots that were strung out along the road three years ago are still undeveloped?"

"Mostly," MacInnes nodded.

"That means tall grasses, shrubbery… In all likelihood, she'll have enough cover to avoid detection from the road. A mounted search and rescue would be a different story."

MacInnes was silent for a moment. He appeared to be chewing the inside of his lower lip. Finally, he nodded. "I'll see about those horses, Cadet. Meanwhile, you and the Bat go over the infirmary with whatever cutting edge tech you have that outdoes our fine-tooth combs. See if you can find something we missed."

He strode away before Bruce finished saying his 'Sir, yes, Sir.'

Bruce and Dick had barely begun checking out the infirmary, when MacInnes returned. Both men were stooping to examine the floor by Clara's cot, but they immediately stopped what they were doing and rose to their feet at his approach. "You're in luck, Cadet," he rumbled. "We've got four horses fit for riding. In case Captain Alanguilan didn't tell you when he started training you, every mount we've got is trained for search-and-rescue; it's part of the reason we keep them around." He smiled thinly. "Captain Alanguilan will be taking one and he and his partner will be going east. Since you're so sure that the Bressi girl's going west, I'll let you check in that direction. Any of your fellow cadets up to the task?"

Bruce considered. "There were four of us training. At this point, I think we're all up to the task." His voice lowered slightly. "Cadet Norton is a better rider than the rest of us and if he were able, he'd be my choice."

"Diplomatic, Cadet, but I'd like to know who you'd prefer accompanying you: Brenner or Parsons."

Bruce frowned. "Parsons is a stronger rider, but I've worked with Brenner extensively. I'm more familiar with his thinking and how he's likely to act in the field. Since you want to keep this a police matter," his eyes flicked meaningfully toward Dick, who gave a half-smile that made him wince—it just looked wrong in the cowl—"Brenner's my choice."

"Noted," MacInnes nodded. "I'll tell Alanguilan to take Parsons with him, then." His lips twitched. "There are four horses, after all. And this is exactly the kind of thing we have them for. I'll have Brenner meet you by what's left of the stables. Captain Alanguilan will bring the mounts."

"Yes, sir," Bruce snapped, betraying neither surprise nor pleasure.

"Right," MacInnes barked. "Dismissed. Get going, Cadet. Batman, a word."

Already headed for the door, Bruce started to turn back automatically. Then he caught himself, suppressed a mental sigh, and walked off in the direction of the stables.

Clara waited until the four cars sped past before she cautiously broke through the tree cover and approached the road sign. "Mooney Bridge, five miles," she read aloud. She tried not to wince. Her arm was killing her and she was sure she had a pebble in her shoe, but getting it out would involve using that arm or, at least, the hand attached to it. She was doing her best not to use that arm; she got a fresh jolt of pain every time her best wasn't good enough. She'd been dealing with the pebble until now, but… five miles? And then how much longer before she found a way back to Gotham?

She was closer now than she had been a day ago, she reminded herself fiercely. She knew this area. Sort of. She'd been up here with her dad a few weeks ago checking out the private schools. There were a whole bunch of them: Brentwood, Cooke, Gotham Academy… Even Gotham Heights Public School had a better rep than the schools in Gotham City proper.

Thinking about her dad brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't believe that he was gone. Six weeks ago, they'd been looking at schools and now… Now, she had to keep moving. If she stopped, she might not have the strength to start again. She needed to get back to Uncle Tony. She wanted her own room, where she could sleep or cry or punch something. She wanted someone to fuss over her, even if she normally hated that crap. She was alone, she was scared, she was hurt and tired and hungry and she wanted… Well, she wanted her parents, but since that wasn't going to happen, she wanted Luka and Uncle Tony and Aunt Nadia. She wanted someone to treat her like a kid again, and this time, she wouldn't try to pretend she was too tough for that. She just wanted to go home.

She heard a noise in the distance that rapidly grew louder and, without taking time to see what it was, she bolted back into the trees, sucking in her breath as she felt another twinge in her arm.

Bruce and Cadet Brenner rode down the Bristol Township Line Road. "How's the collarbone, Sir?" Brenner asked.

Bruce let the silence stretch out for a minute before he relented. "It would hurt more if I hadn't studied pain control techniques in the past. I'm managing. And you?"

"Me?" Brenner shrugged. "I'm still sore all over, but I'll live." He laughed suddenly. "I'm not sure," he added with a grin in his voice, "but I think Taupe thinks he's a hunting dog now."

Bruce's lips twitched. "He's a search-and-rescue horse," he commented. "As is Schilling. Their senses are keener than ours and they're likely to recognize when something is 'off' before we will. Pay attention to them and look where they look."

"Yes, Squad Leader," Brenner said, all joking gone from his tone. "Sir?"

"Brenner."

Brenner swallowed. "Just a thought, Squad Leader. I've a niece about the girl's age and I know that if she were near a horse, she'd be running up to pet him and offer him an apple. Maybe letting one of our mounts go graze in a field…"

Bruce shook his head. "I think she's a little too scared and a little too wary for that right now. She knows that there are people looking to either kill her or use her as leverage against her great uncle. She's been in the wind this long by keeping her guard up and being ready to run at a moment's notice. She won't break cover to fawn over a horse."

"It was just a thought, sir."

Bruce nodded. "A different child, a different situation, and it would probably be a good one. But not now—Whoa!" Although he didn't raise his voice in the slightest, his sudden command stopped both horses at once.

"Sir?"

"Keep your voice down, Brenner," Bruce snapped. "Look at your mount."

Brenner frowned. "I don't..."

"Ears are forward, nostrils flared… They've spotted something." He pointed toward the wooded lot on the south side of the road. "This way. Come on!"

They hadn't gone far into the trees, when Brenner caught his attention with a whispered "Sir?"

Bruce halted Schilling and waited for Brenner and Taupe to pull up alongside. "What is it?"

For answer, Brenner dismounted, walked several steps back, stooped, and picked up a small leather object. "A wallet, Squad Leader," he replied. He opened it while he was speaking and pulled out a school ID. "Well, it's the Bressi girl's, all right," he said. "She must have dropped it on the run."

Bruce nodded. "She can't be much farther now, but these trees are thick. I think we'll do better if we proceed on foot. Keep a grip on Taupe's reins. And don't forget: look where he looks." He frowned. "I make it less than an hour to dusk and his night vision is better than ours."

Brenner nodded. "Sir, yes, sir."

Clara crouched in the tall grass and willed herself not to move. She was trembling, whether with cold or fear she no longer knew. She was itchy and grungy and she hadn't had a shower in three days. They'd had to cut her shirt off to get at the bullet wound. In its place, she'd been given a blue button-down blouse that was several sizes too big and looked like it was part of a police uniform. Probably was. The guy who'd given it to her had mentioned that he thought a sweatshirt would be too hard for her to put on with an injured arm, but she wished he'd tried anyway. She was freezing. She wished she knew what had happened to her jacket. At least she wasn't in a hospital gown; she still had her jeans.

She couldn't hear much over the pounding of her heart. The hoof-beats she'd heard in the distance had stopped close by, but they hadn't started up again. Instead, she'd heard the rustle of grass and leaves and realized that they were coming closer. Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me, she pleaded mentally. She knew she should try to get away but if she moved now, they'd hear her. She couldn't move fast in these weeds and grasses anyway; when she'd been on her feet, they'd come up past her waist.

She realized that it had suddenly gone very quiet and she wondered whether they'd actually given up and moved on. I'll just count to ten, she told herself, and then I'll get up and see. No. Twenty. She gave it thirty. Then, slowly, painfully, she half raised herself, bracing her weight on her good arm and cautiously tried to peer over the grass stalks.

A bright light pierced her eyes and she stifled a scream.

Brenner sucked in his breath as the horses' ears flicked nervously back and forth. Only Bruce appeared unstartled. Brenner recovered quickly, though. "You're Clara, aren't you?" he asked softly. "Clara Bressi?"

For answer, Clara struggled to her feet and tried to run, but the grass was too high. Her foot sank into a depression and she almost twisted her ankle. Still, she managed a few steps before she seemed to realize it was futile. She stopped, shaking, her back to them. Her shoulders heaved as she nodded.

"I'm Bruce," Bruce introduced himself. "This is Chuck."

"Cops," Clara said flatly.

"Cadets, actually," Brenner corrected.

She turned slightly, so that she was half-facing them. "What, like West Point or something?" It was hard to tell whether she was sniffing or sniffling. Bruce reached into his pocket for a packet of tissues and held it out to her. She looked at it warily, but made no move to draw close to take one.

"Police academy cadets," Brenner replied.

Clara sighed. "Guess that explains what all those cops were doing there," she muttered.

Bruce shoved the tissues back into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. "Your uncle is tearing the city apart looking for you," he said, his voice low, as though he were trying to soothe a skittish horse. He flipped the phone open and unlocked it. "Would you like to call him to let him know you're all right?"

Clara hesitated. "Put the phone down," she instructed. "And move back. Both of you."

"Clara," Brenner started to say.

"I'm not coming any closer to you unless my uncle says I can trust you. You want me to call him, then put the phone down and move back ten steps each. And not baby steps," she added belatedly.

In the fading daylight, Brenner saw Bruce's lips twitch. "Sensible," he said, with a hint of a smile in his voice. He rested the phone carefully on the tips of the high grass blades. "Careful you don't let it drop. It won't be easy to find again."

He jerked his head toward Brenner. "Ten steps," he murmured. "Would you like us to lead the horses back, too?"

Clara thought about that for a moment. "No," she decided. "They can stay."

Bruce nodded. "Your uncle will probably need our names," he said, walking backward the requisite ten steps with Chuck keeping pace beside him. "This is Cadet Charles Brenner. I'm Cadet Bruce Wayne."

The names meant nothing to her, but at least they were short and easy to remember. "Got it," Clara nodded. "Stay back. You take one step closer and I run. With your open phone. And all your contacts and information."

Brenner made a strangled noise. Bruce's lips twitched again. "Understood. Go ahead and make the call. We'll wait."

For several long seconds, the only sounds that could be heard were the slow breaths of men, girl, and horses, the chirping of spring peeper frogs, and the electronic beeps as Clara punched Tony Bressi's private telephone number into the phone. Then, "Uncle Tony?"

A moment later, Clara was smiling as tears coursed down her cheeks. "Yes, I'm okay. I mean, I will be. I mean… I'm in Bristol. No, not alone. A couple of cadets from the police academy found me. I wanted to make sure it was safe to go back with them. Chuck, no, Charles Brenner and Bruce Wayne. What? N-no, I don't know who he... Uh, okay, sure." She withdrew the phone from her ear and held it out.

"Mister… uh… Cadet Wayne?" She stifled a gasp as she moved her injured arm slightly, but she gave no other sign of discomfort apart from her pained smile. "My uncle wants to talk to you."

Bruce strode forward at once. "All right," he replied, a faint smile playing on his own face as he accepted his phone back. "Don Bressi, good evening…"

They rode back to the academy, Bruce holding Clara in the saddle with one hand and Schilling's reins with the other. He'd turned his jacket into a makeshift sling. Clara was half-asleep and slumping by the time they arrived.

A black limousine was waiting as they rode through the main gate. Close by, Bruce could see MacInnes and Batman standing beside Vitrelli and a newcomer—a beefy man in a business suit. Bruce's eyes narrowed. He didn't think he'd ever fought this man, but he knew a mob enforcer when he met one. As he and Brenner brought their horses to a stop, the beefy man drew closer.

"She's all right?" he asked, a trifle anxiously.

Bruce nodded. "The wound isn't serious. I'd say her condition is mostly due to stress and exhaustion at this point. Mr…?"

The enforcer passed before the horse and came around to Clara's good side. "Bruno Miglione," he said, holding out his hands. "Here. Pass her over."

Bruce caught Dick's eye for a moment. At his son's quick nod, Bruce complied.

Clara sucked in her breath and her eyes flew open. "Bruno?" she whispered.

Bruno slid one arm easily under the girl's knees as he supported her back with his other hand. "Hey, carina."

Clara buried her face in the mobster's shoulder with a sob. "Oh, Bruno," she whispered raggedly.

MacInnes cleared his throat. "There is the matter of some paperwork to be filled out," he said softly. "Could you ask Don Bressi to contact us to set up a convenient time? I can have an officer come round within the next day or so."

Bruno nodded. "I'll tell him." He glanced from MacInnes to Batman to Bruce to the other cadets and officers clustered nearby. "So, that's it. I can take her home?"

MacInnes nodded. "Might want to get that arm looked at again. Just to make sure she didn't do anything to make it worse when she took off before. In fact, our infirmary's open, if you'd like to…" His voice trailed off when he realized that Bruno was already shaking his head.

"Thanks for the offer, Captain, but going by her bandage, she doesn't seem to be bleeding and her uncle really wants her back home. We'll look after her."

He glanced at Bruce. "Sir. I… don't believe I've had the pleasure before. But," a faint smile flickered on his lips, "I've seen what some of my… colleagues looked like after running into you in the past and I think I'm glad we're meeting one another under better circumstances. Thanks for getting her back here."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You're quite welcome," he returned, a hint of a smile on his own face.

"Bressi's already called to express his gratitude," Barbara grinned at Bruce, who stared out at her from the monitor in the cave. "He said I could let you know he owes you a favor, any time you want to call it in."

Bruce shook his head. "Not necessary."

"I know, but it could come in handy one of these days." She heard the door open behind and caught the almost imperceptible lightening of Bruce's features—a sure tip, even if she hadn't already recognized the newcomer's tread on her hardwood floor. She waved to Dick to join her.

"So," Barbara said, tilting her head up as Dick stooped down to kiss her hello. She kissed him back and then returned to the monitor, her look half-daring Bruce to comment on the display of affection. "The mob war has been averted, for now. Clara's back home, safe, sound, and hopefully, under better protection."

Bruce nodded. "Good."

"I bet Bressi had apoplexy when that enforcer of his told him what she'd been up to," Dick remarked. Bruce nodded; Barbara had been keeping him in the loop and, while he hadn't had time to give her updates the attention he would have in earlier days, he was aware enough of the situation to know what Dick was talking about.

"Not our worry," Bruce remarked.

Dick nodded. "I know. At least, not for now." Seeing Bruce frown, Dick took a deep breath. "She's smart, she's sneaky, and she's proved she can get past Bressi's security. Not to mention fall off the radar for more than three days, with trained killers trying to hunt her down. And if Bressi knows what she can do, then as much as the Families try to keep their wives and daughters out of their business… I think we have to consider that he might want to make an exception down the road."

Bruce nodded. "Hopefully, not. But if he does, we'll need to deal with her at that time."

"Or," Dick said, "we can take steps now. I've been doing some thinking and, as much as we're down a Robin at the moment, I'm not about to bring her into the fold." He noted the relief on Bruce's face and grinned. "Sure," he continued, "she's got skills and smarts. But given our current relationship with the GCPD, I'm not ready to leave myself open for child endangerment charges. To say nothing of how Bressi's likely to react if his great-niece starts coming home with all kinds of bumps and bruises. However…"

"However?" Bruce prompted, when Dick's pause stretched past the five-second mark.

"However, Bressi can't deny that the skills Clara's already picked up are probably what's kept her alive over the last few days. And Helena has been sitting in on some of his council meetings with the Bertinelli contingent."

"I'm surprised that the rest of her family was willing to accept her," Bruce admitted. "As you pointed out, women generally aren't accepted into the organization."

"No," Dick admitted, "but her late father commanded a certain amount of respect. And she doesn't have to hide her skills; her family sent her to Italy after her parents' murder. They know she learned a lot from her cousins and their associates. Long story short, she's there as a bodyguard and they like the idea that she doesn't look the part. It's less conspicuous than if they had a couple of hulking guys flanking them at all times."

Bruce sighed. "Your point?" he asked.

"I'm thinking," Dick said, "that it's no secret that Helena is teaching at the Gotham Academy. It's also no secret that she probably knows more than Bruno about martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. And with the Bertinellis aligned with the Bressis… and the security at GA… Well, what could be more natural than if Tony were to enroll his niece at GA? She'd probably be safer there than in the city anyway. And with Helena there to keep an eye on her and maybe give her some extra coaching…"

Bruce was shaking his head. "Huntress is often on assignment with the Birds."

"That… might not be a problem," Barbara spoke up for the first time.

"Huh?" Dick glanced at her. "Babs? I know that smile. You're up to something, aren't you?"

Barbara's smile widened. "Well, it's not like we didn't discuss having Helena train her, when we first realized what she was getting up to. I knew her work with the Birds could pose a problem, so I did some checking around and discovered that Gotham Academy is currently in the market for a Computer Programming instructor. I sent in my resume and they called me today for an interview." She was grinning now. "It's by no means a done deal. I'm not the only candidate and I might not get the job. But if I do, then even when Helena's off-campus, I can keep an eye on her."

Dick grinned back. Then he turned to face Bruce once more. "I'll defer to Helena's judgment on this one, but Clara may well turn out to be an ally down the road. I'm not about to invite her into one of the Caves or unmask in front of her or anything stupid like that, but as far as some martial arts and other defensive moves? They've already saved her life at least once in the last couple of days. She might need them. And," he added, "it might not be a terrible thing if she got friendly with a few people who aren't part of Bressi's coterie. If she doesn't, it might just be a matter of time before they do bring her in as a bodyguard. Or worse." His face was serious. "Six years from now, I don't want to come up against her as a mob assassin and wonder if maybe, if we had taken an interest at the time, she might have taken a different path." He shook his head. "Just because I'm not planning on taking on a Robin in this climate doesn't mean I want to just… wash my hands and forget all about her."

Bruce shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I can't imagine you do." He sighed. "I will grant that Helena's background probably does give her the greatest chance of success. I'm," he shook his head again, "not entirely happy with the direction you're taking, but I understand why you're taking it. With reservations… I approve."

Dick knew he didn't actually need Bruce's approval anymore. Still, he couldn't fully suppress his smile at his mentor's words. Bruce's answering smile, while fleeting, was no less genuine.

"Thanks for coming with me, Batgirl," Arsenal said with a smile. Seated beside him in the non-descript van, his companion tilted her face in his direction for a moment. Then she gave a slight nod and returned her attention to the road before them. Arsenal wished he could tell if she was smiling. He found her silence unnerving. She guarded her tongue and her body language as though they were priceless artifacts that might crumble if exposed to light or air. The full face-mask only exacerbated the mystery. The young woman was a cipher, one he wished he could translate better.

He tried being friendly again. "Uh… I know Gotham pretty well, but I'm almost never out in the boonies. I'm glad you know your way around here better than I do."

Batgirl paused and tilted her head once more. Then she gave it a slight shake. "No," she whispered.

Arsenal rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, you shouldn't talk so much," he said sarcastically. "It'll distract me."

Batgirl seemed didn't even turn her head this time. "Too late," she replied. "Here."

He turned onto the side road she'd indicated. There had been a smile in her voice this time. Arsenal grinned. She was falling for him after all! He pulled up next to the gate to the farm. There were no lights on the property and no vehicles outside. The place looked deserted, the farm's iron gate barred and sealed with a large padlock. "Hang on," he muttered. "I'll take care of the lock." He unfastened his seatbelt. "Hey, do you think that kid was exaggerating about the weapons in the barn?"

Batgirl shook her head. "No."

Arsenal rolled his eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Sometimes," Batgirl replied, "less."

He wished once more that she wasn't wearing a full mask. He suspected that she was joking now, but without seeing her expression, he couldn't be sure. He slid out of the van and grabbed a small case of tools that had been lying between the two front seats before shutting the door behind him. It didn't take long for him to cut the chain off the gate, and then get back into the van and drive along the dirt path to the barn.

"Clear view of the stables from here," he muttered, not really surprised when Batgirl said nothing. "Okay. Let's get started."

Batgirl nodded and opened her door at the same time that he opened his. She went around to unlock the back of the van as Arsenal approached the barn.

"I don't like this," he said in a low voice as Batgirl rejoined him. "The barn's unlocked. Who leaves crates of munitions lying around where anyone can take them, unless…" He pulled open the door and cursed loudly. Then he turned on his radio.

"Oracle, you there?" he demanded. "We're at the barn. Either Clara was wrong about the weapons crates… or they've been moved."

Batgirl bent down to the ground and retrieved a small object. The copper bullet gleamed in the beam of her flashlight. Arsenal's eyes widened for a moment. "Oracle," he said quietly, "I don't think she was wrong. We're coming back." He ended the communication and motioned to Batgirl.

"Let's go," he said reluctantly. "Cases of guns and ammunition just waiting to be released on the street. The others are going to love this."

As they turned around, Batgirl suddenly ducked into a low crouch. An instant later, Arsenal felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. A light probably ten times brighter than their flashlights shone into his eyes and he gasped as he closed them. And then he heard an all-too-familiar click-and-slide and a rough voice ordered, "Hold it right there!"