Ava stood over the injured man, her hand tightening around the grip of the gun. There was no warmth, no humanity, in her eyes, only a cold, dead look of someone who had cut that part away. The man before her looked up, smug, his own lips – bruised and bloodied – were twisted into a smirk.

"I know who your family is. You won't kill me. You're a hero," he said.

A faint flicker of emotion stirred in her eyes. Curiosity. She cocked her head to the side. "Oh? I thought I was perfectly clear that I'm not a hero?"

With a sigh, she squeezed the trigger.

Chapter 6 Plans

Ellia was the first to arrive. The first League meeting in the fifteen or so years since she'd been working with them, helping train and learn. There had been a few offers before, mostly as an attempt for her to take the oath to join, to really become one of them. By doing that however meant surrendering that otherness she'd clung to in the wake of Max's death. Yet this meeting wasn't a request out of pity. It was an order, blanketed thinly with the vague threat of removal. Warily, Ellia accepted and ensured she was the first to arrive. Whatever Batman had planned for the meeting she was determined to as be ready for it.

As one by one the members trickled in she realised how few of the original members were left; really just Batman, Wonder Woman and Superman. The latter had only aged fractionally and Wonder Woman still seemed the same. Batman moved beside her and Ellia noted the increased aids in his suit. To the untrained eye he still moved with the natural youth he started with. To her, she saw an old man pushing his retirement. As a hero, anyway. Amongst them, as well as the new faces – many old sidekicks that had come to replace their masters – Ellia felt that stirring of otherness. She had barely aged herself. No wrinkles to show, nor slowed reflexes to indicate she was forty. Not that that age was considered old by human standards but there was a marked difference, especially when she still resembled those who had barely turned twenty five.

Once the last member took their seat Batman rose and set a disc on the table. Immediately a hologram sprung up, a video recording of a masked and blurred figure. Why someone needed to distort their already hidden face Ellia didn't know. Curious, though, she remained quiet.

"Yesterday the League was sent this anonymous video. Prior to this I had been investigating an international spy group with connections to many of the League's greatest enemies, past and present. This was the response to the investigation."

Ellia didn't miss the careful omission of his investigation. She felt a chill snake down her spine. Did he mean to draw her name into it? Granted she'd followed up on a few leads and contacted some old allies she'd scarcely expected to be lumped in with Batman. Given his attitude towards her.

He waved his hand over the disc. A hologram sprung up, a masked face, seeming to quiver. Like it was glitching. Ellia turned her True Sight on it and saw it wasn't a fault. The video had been designed to do that. There was also a pale pulse, oddly familiar to her but too weak to study further. She blinked, normal vision settling, and the video crackled once more.

"Hello Justice League," began the voice, digitally distorted. "For some months you have been seeking us. You have our attention. Congratulations. Now, we're going to play a game. The rules are simple. We'll send you clues and you just have to solve them. There will be a time limit of course. Where is the fun if there wasn't? Failure or refusal is not advised. We'll be in touch."

Ellia's blood had turned to ice. She glanced at Batman, whom she found watching her, studying her reaction. The video had been shown to inform the League but also to gauge her reaction. To see if she was somehow involved.

"This is real?" Ellia said. "They actually contacted you?"

"I presume they're usually more likely to ignore attention on them?" Batman replied calmly.

She snorted. "They're very selective about who they work for or communicate with. Max and I tried to get their help years ago but they refused. When we pushed they blew up a bus we were meant to be on, killing half a dozen people. We took the warning."

"So they're not adverse to killing?" Superman broke in, troubled.

"No. They're not the best in the world for no reason. What I find weird is that they've contacted you and issued a challenge, a game. It's so unlike them," she murmured, glancing back at the disc. Why had they contacted the League? To what end? "They're methodical and practical. From what I know is they only kill with reason." She held up a hand as a couple members went to break in. "I don't agree but they don't kill for fun. Unless it serves a purpose they won't even hurt someone. Unfortunately, if they see that the death will have purpose, they won't blink. The bus being a prime example."

Across the room wary glances were exchanged. Ellia still didn't think they really grasped how dangerous this group was. In the months that Max and Ellia had spent trying to contact them, at trying to procure their services, it had been a struggle and ended in six people dead. If the League called this group's bluff or failed? How many people would die? She eyed each of them, wondering if they believed the threat for what it was, and how very real the threat of failure was. At how many lives were at stake.

Superman stood from his seat, clearing his throat. "I suggest we stand by and see what this challenge is like. For now, we don't risk upsetting them. We can't give them a reason to hurt people. From there we'll look at our options. See if he can covertly uncover who they really are."

From her seat Ellia snorted, loudly. Gazes snapped to her, critical. She met their gazes, undaunted. She'd be damned if she let anyone make her feel small. Turning her gaze back to Superman, her chin slightly lifted, she rose to her feet and set her closed hands against the table.

"Don't underestimate these people. This isn't a game," she said firmly and strode from the room.

"You have a visitor, Ava," said Jedd, a performer at the Olympia, his head poked through the doorway.

I glanced back at him in the mirror. "Name?"

"Bart Allen."

The makeup brush in my hand stilled against my cheek. I set it down, slowly and nodded back to Jedd, who waited for my reply. To my surprise, my heart gave a tiny jolt, then stilled into its familiar calmness.

"Send him in."

With a nod Jedd slipped out, closing the door. I rose out of my chair and slipped out of my robe, then grabbed my dress from the rack. It was easy to slip into it. I was zipping it up when there was a knock at the door, followed by it cracking open. Bart saw me – saw the half-dressed state I was in and froze. I pinned him with a hard look in the mirror.

"In or out?"

He stuttered for a moment then stepped inside and shut the door. "In."

"Why you're there reckon you could zip me up?" I asked.

For a moment he stared at me, then nodded and stepped behind me. I felt his warmth brush over my skin, sending chills scattering across my skin, snaking down my spine. I repressed a shiver, just barely, as his fingers touched the zipper. A part of his hand brushed the bare skin of my back. It was hard to ignore the scorching heat of his touch but I pushed it down, hard. There was no good in becoming emotionally attached. At reacting. At feeling. Slowly, he pulled the zip up. I didn't miss how his hand lingered for a second before he stepped away and cleared his throat.

"All done."

I ran a hand down over my dress and smiled. "Perfect." With a deep breath I turned to him. "I have to admit I didn't expect you to visit." After our last chat went so swimmingly.

He tensed a fraction. So the wound was still there after all. "It's alright." It wasn't, I sensed. "I guess it's hard to reconcile the two versions of you I know; the girl and the…the woman in front of me. They're completely different people and I guess-"

"It's hard accepting that an old friend has become an insanely beautiful criminal singer?" I offered with a wink.

With that he softened. "You're not a criminal."

"Well, no," I lied. "I mean, I'm not like the ones you deal with. Can't say I'm entirely innocent of being bad occasionally."

With each word the air seemed to grow hotter, full of double meanings and promise. Poor Bart didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to handle me. Good, I wanted him off balance. I leant back against my table, stretching out a fraction.

"I just wanted to apologise. I've been an ass. Part of me has been treating you like the girl I used to know but you're different. Not bad different. I guess-"

"Dinner."

He blinked. "What?"

"I finish eleven. There's a wicked diner nearby, does twenty four hour food and amazing fries. Buy me some and we're good," I said, turning back to my dresser.

There was still a few strands of hair to pin away. Once I was finished I turned back to Bart, who regarded me with a strange expression. One I couldn't read. I studied him for a second, then breezed past, not willing to dwell on it too long. Thoughts like that were dangerous.

"I have to go on but wait for me, won't you?"

Wait for me, won't you? The words reverberated in Bart's head as he took a seat by the bar with a clear view of the stage. Of the club, too but that was old training and instinct kicking in. He tipped his head back and swallowed the burning alcohol, hoping it would dull that fire in him. That it would clear his head. It didn't help. The image of Ava half reclined on that table like some dangerous creature was enough to make him have cold showers for a week. He still remembered the feeling of her, how warm and how amazing she'd smelt. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers, how she'd faintly curled on his touch.

He ordered another drink.

As he waited in the corner of his gaze he caught sight of a familiar face sitting two seats over. He moved over and the familiar figure turned to him.

"Bart?"

"Hey Dick. What are you doing here?"

Richard Grayson, once an active hero, now a reclusive investigator, gave him a queer look. "I've been coming here for years."

Beyond that, it seemed there would be no explanation offered. Bart's drink arrived. He held it but didn't move to drink it. The surprise of seeing his old ally made the night even more unusual. He went to speak when he heard the music begin, an ethereal voice glide across the room. Instinctively, he turned in his seat and froze. There, on the stage, bathed in the pale silver light of the stage, was Ava. Her long black hair was braided and curled around her simply made up face.

He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Wow."

"So that's Benny's new singer?" Dick asked conversationally.

Bart couldn't look back at him. "Yeah. Ava."

He didn't say her last name, figuring that Ava had gone through extensive pains to cut that part of her life away. What good would it do to tell Dick that Wally's daughter was backpacking across the world, singing and doing whatever she wanted?

"She looks like…" Dick's voice trailed off, half drowned out by the music. "Never mind. It's impossible."

Ava belted out another song. When she was finished the club erupted into applause, the sound deafening. It seemed that Ava had awed and stunned the crowd. She beamed back, her face lit by both the lights and a profound joy within. It was though a sun blazed within her. Then she looked at him, as if instinctually knowing exactly where he was in the crowd, and the smile took on another gleam. A private one, reserved just for him.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped to a spot behind him and the smile fell from her face. That's when gunfire erupted within the club.