Before I let you guys read this, I feel I have to say something. I looked at the chapter I just posted for Divine Secrets, then I looked at this chapter. They're both a bit on the side of, oh, how should I put this... depressing, maybe? I just felt that I should point out that the two chapters were written nearly a year apart, and the fact that they have been posted at the same time is sheer coincidence. I promise, I'm not going all dark and angsty on you. And the similarities between the old Trout and the Sisterhood-verse version of Mary are not as great as they appear at first glance. I'm going to different places with them. Scout's honor. (Yes, I was a Girl Scout.)
BTW, girl-gambit- don't worry about it. It took me years to see all of the episodes. I still haven't seen all the Zeta Project episodes. About half of what I write about those two is sheer guesswork on my part based on what I have seen.
************************************************
To say that Bruce was angry was a bit of an understatement. Furious was a better choice of words, or perhaps enraged. He'd spoken with Tim on the off chance that he'd been the fake Batman. He wasn't, of course, but unlikely wasn't impossible so Bruce had needed to check. Impossible would be Dick returning and putting on the suit; he wasn't going to waste a call on that. He knew Dick had been sneaking in to check on Terry, but he didn't think that concern went deep enough to pull a stunt like this. Clark had very quickly denied any involvement, and Bruce believed him. Max's reaction had been genuine, otherwise she'd have been his top suspect. And Barbara would never even consider such a thing. And the build was all wrong for Stalker, aside from this being completely out of character.
He stormed down the steps of the cave, not very relieved to see the Batsuit where he'd left it. All that meant was that someone had created their own costume, someone who had no right to steal his work. Terry's work. The name he had worked so hard to establish and Terry had struggled to uphold. When he'd started all those years ago he'd never intended this to become a legacy but that was what it had become and he'd be damned if he'd allow someone to steal it. He dismissed the minor detail that Terry had started out by doing exactly that; Bruce had long ago come to the conclusion that Terry hadn't been left with too many options that night and suspected that if he'd been in Terry's position he'd probably have done the same thing. This was different. Nobody had come to him for help and been blown off. Someone had just decided that they could just take up the cowl and-
"Bruce Robert Thomas Wayne!"
His head snapped around as Barbara stormed down the steps just as he had a few minutes ago. She was every bit as angry as he was, but she had obviously decided who was to blame for the new Bat in town.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she continued. "I can't believe you would be so callous- just replacing Terry like that!"
"I didn't."
"What's that poor kid going to think when- what?" She broke off, thrown by his quiet statement.
"I was as- surprised- as you when I saw the news. And before you ask, I don't know who it is. Yet."
Barbara glared at him a few minutes longer, then nodded. A few seconds after that, she smiled slightly.
"I guess you trained me a bit too well- it never even occurred to me that someone would dress up in a Bat-costume without your permission."
Bruce just raised an eyebrow at that, his own temper beginning to subside.
"As I recall, that's practically a tradition."
Barbara actually flushed slightly, looking uncomfortable.
"But it's not going to happen this time," Bruce growled.
"Planning on making someone's life miserable?"
"For starters."
"Good; you could use a hobby right now."
This time it was Bruce glaring at Barbara.
"This isn't a joking matter, Barbara. It isn't Halloween now; if someone is dressing up like Batman they probably intend to keep doing it. And if they think they can get away with it, they must have a good reason why."
"A reason like knowing that the people who should be in that suit can't do it right now," Barbara said, sobering.
"Possibly."
"And the people who know that..."
"Are all accounted for. At least, the ones we know about are."
"Tim, Dick, Clark, Max, Stalker, Ra's, you and me. Possibly the Brain Trust. I spoke with Tim just before I saw the news, Dick's laid up with a sprained ankle, Clark wouldn't dare, Stalker just wouldn't, and neither would Ra's."
"Max was at the hospital with the rest of us. From her reaction, I don't think she's involved. And the Brain Trust... they could be behind this, but if they are, I can't think of a motive."
"Well, it was just a thought."
"And you could be right. Just because I can't think of a motive doesn't mean one doesn't exist." Bruce turned to the computer, ready to set to work. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel useless. After a while he heard Barbara chuckle for no apparent reason, then she left without another word.
******************************************
J-man shivered in his hiding place. Wherever The Bat had been, it had changed him. Before The Attack- like most of Gotham, he'd gotten into the habit of referring that way to the assault he'd organised- fighting Batman had always been a losing battle, but not like this. Now The Bat didn't even seem human.
Not for the first time, he wished he'd never had the bright idea of giving No Fun Boy a permanent smackdown. He'd just wanted to get back the respect the Jokerz had been losing. The T's had been laughing at them for getting their butts kicked by a single guy who didn't even have a fancy suit to give him an edge. That was just too much. He'd figured that making an example of that twip would stop the laughing. How was he to know that No Fun Boy worked for the richest guy in Gotham? Worse, that the richest guy in Gotham was Scary Old Guy himself! When he'd seen that on the news, he'd known they'd have to get rid of the twip quickly so they'd cut their fun short and dumped him in a section of the park that nobody ever visited anymore. The twip should have died. Hell, he'd been almost dead when they'd left him. But someone had gone for a walk in the wrong place at the wrong time or something; anyway, he'd been found. And then Old Man Wayne had tracked him down and the city had learned what the Jokerz could do when they felt like it, but had they reacted like J-Man thought they would?
Well, if they had, he wouldn't be cowering inside an abandoned building all alone.
They should have been terrified. The Jokerz had proven they could hit anyone they wanted. Instead, it had become open season and it wasn't fair! And Mad Stan deciding that the twip's mother was his One True Love was something they really hadn't needed. After all, those dorks from the Royal Flush Gang were being careful not to kill anyone. So was that tattooed freak. But Mad Stan? He hadn't killed anyone yet, but J-Man knew that couldn't last.
God, for a few hours they'd been on top of the world. No Fun Boy was theirs to kill, then that damn report had ruined everything. If he'd just had the time he'd have had that twip begging for his life. He'd wanted to see No Fun Boy beg. But he hadn't. Not even when they'd broken his leg with the crowbar. Not even when they'd burned off his fingerprints so the cops couldn't identify him too quickly. And not even when they'd dragged him to that deserted section of the park and hauled out the baseball bats. He'd just forced his eyes open and looked right at J-Man. No Fun Boy hadn't said a single word, but that look still made J-Man wake up screaming. It was like the twip had known what would happen, and his only regret was that he wouldn't be there to watch. J-Man had grabbed a baseball bat and taken the first swing himself, just to make the twip stop looking at him.
It hadn't worked. Every time he closed his eyes he could see those pale blue eyes telling him that he was going to die too.
A noise in the corner made him jump, all his attention focussed in a second.
"Who's there?"
Silence. J-Man reached for the grenade he'd lifted off Mad Stan the day before. He turned and saw something move.
"Batman! Stay away!"
He pulled the pin, threw the grenade. Just after he heard the tinkling of broken glass he remembered the remains of the mirrors along the wall of the old store. The grenade bounced back toward him.
***********************************************
"Batman" stood outside the abandoned building, watching smoke billow from the now totally glassless windows. He'd tracked J-man here, but had arrived seconds after an explosion had ripped though the place. The police officer who had been trailing him was staring in horrified confusion.
"I know you didn't do that," she said, "so who did?"
"I don't know." Ignoring the creaks and groans coming from the damaged store, he walked toward it. His infra-red sensors were picking up small fires, doubtless started by the explosion. What they weren't picking up were any signs of life. They were, however, picking up the unmistakable traces of recently deceased bodies. Mostly rats, some sparrows, a few pigeons- and one human.
"Batman" sighed heavily. He hadn't wanted this. He turned, starting to walk off. Then an ominous groan filled the air. He scanned the building quickly, realised the danger, and dove for the officer. Both of them were sheltered around the corner of another building when the old store collapsed.
************************************************
Bruce was still scowling as he walked down the hospital corridors. He couldn't honestly say he was sorry that J-Man was dead, but Batman shouldn't have been involved. Even a fake one. Even when the witnesses agreed that the explosion had taken place before his arrival. He was linked to it, and that was enough.
"Bruce, if you don't get that look off your face, Terry's gonna think he did something wrong."
Tim's comment went unnoticed.
"This shouldn't have happened."
"Care to specify?" Tim sounded more than a bit exasperated; that Bruce noticed.
"No."
"Figures."
Bruce's scowl lessened a bit, then deepened as he heard a loud voice coming from Terry's room. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but he could understand the tone easily enough: someone was getting bawled out for something. If anything had happened... he increased his pace.
"..don't even deserve the name! You should have died! They should have killed you the same way you killed my son!"
Bruce threw the door open. A tall, silver-haired old woman was leaning over Terry, screaming at him. Terry had drawn away from her as much as he could; unfortunately, that wasn't much. His face was dead-white and even from the door Bruce could see that he was trembling.
Bruce hadn't moved so quickly in a long time. Before he knew it he was across the room, grabbing the woman's arm and practically throwing her at the door.
"Get out."
Tim started to catch the woman out of pure instinct, but stopped himself. The woman steadied herself on the doorframe, then turned and shot a poisonous glare at Bruce.
"I should have known you'd show up. You disgust me, both of you. I know what you're really doing with that dreg, and I'm going to tell everybody what kind of man you really are. People like you-"
Tim grabbed her arm, cutting her off. He wasn't as naturally intimidating as Bruce, but he was still a good deal bigger than the woman.
"The exit is downstairs. Use it. I'll be watching. And don't expect the guards to let you back in again."
He shoved the woman away from him and out the door, then followed her down the hall. Bruce turned back to Terry, barely stopping himself from asking who the woman was. Even if Terry had known, he was in no condition to be questioned. Bruce hit the call button, alarmed, as he tried to calm Terry down. The damage had been done, though; Terry was practically hysterical. Whatever the woman had said before they'd caught her, she'd managed to completely terrify him.
Ms. Maguire rushed in, took one look at Terry, and ordered the young man beside her to fetch a sedative. It was a very long two minutes later before Terry's eyes finally closed and his breathing returned to normal. Bruce looked down at Terry's tear-stained face and decided that someone else's life was going to be made hell for a while. It wouldn't take too long to find out who she was, and when he did... But first he had to find out what exactly she'd said.
"Now, if you'd care to be explaining things, Mr. Wayne," Ms. Maguire said quietly. Bruce looked at her; she was just barely restraining a raging temper.
"Tim and I came in and found some woman yelling at Terry. We threw her out, but..."
"You threw her out?"
"Yes."
"Without bothering to call Security? Who, I might add, were just down the hall."
"Yes."
Ms. Maguire sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"And if she'd been armed, what would you have done then? This is a dangerous town, as you should know by now, and anybody who would come into a hospital and have a temper tantrum at a boy less than a week out of a coma is probably not someone whose best judgement is to be trusted. If you should see her again, please leave it to the professionals no matter how tempting it is to have her guts for garters. After all, how would we be explaining it to the lad that we'd let you get hurt trying to protect him?"
Bruce was stunned. He hadn't been lectured like this- except by Barbara- since Leslie died. Nobody had dared. And what was worse, she had a point. He hadn't stopped to consider whether the woman was armed; he'd just acted. He was almost about to admit it when Tim returned with an odd expression on his face.
"Well, the old bi- uh, woman's gone, and I don't think she'll be back soon."
"What did you do?"
"Good lord, you're as bad as Mr. Wayne."
"I didn't do anything," Tim protested. "Not that I wasn't thinking about it, especially after listening to her rant for 15 floors, but the other old woman beat me to it."
"What other old woman?" Bruce growled.
"The one who rode down the elevator with us. The second we got outside she, um, she..." Tim broke off, clearing his throat.
"She what?" Bruce and Ms. Maguire chorussed.
"She hauled a dead fish out of her pocketbook and started hitting the first old lady with it, screaming that she'd better leave 'that sweet young man' alone or- I'm not repeating the last part. Little old ladies have changed a lot since I was a kid is all I'm saying."
Bruce's eyebrow shot up. Tim didn't try to look away.
"A dead fish?" Ms. Maguire blinked.
"Could I invent something like that?"
"I don't know. But I wish I'd seen it. Still, I-"
Bruce, sensing another lecture, cut her off.
"Did you find out who she was?"
Now Tim looked away, the smirk gone.
"Yeah. I did."
"And?"
"Her name's Brenda McGinnis," Tim scowled. "Bruce, that old witch was Terry's grandmother."
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Well, that should stir things up nicely...
BTW, girl-gambit- don't worry about it. It took me years to see all of the episodes. I still haven't seen all the Zeta Project episodes. About half of what I write about those two is sheer guesswork on my part based on what I have seen.
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To say that Bruce was angry was a bit of an understatement. Furious was a better choice of words, or perhaps enraged. He'd spoken with Tim on the off chance that he'd been the fake Batman. He wasn't, of course, but unlikely wasn't impossible so Bruce had needed to check. Impossible would be Dick returning and putting on the suit; he wasn't going to waste a call on that. He knew Dick had been sneaking in to check on Terry, but he didn't think that concern went deep enough to pull a stunt like this. Clark had very quickly denied any involvement, and Bruce believed him. Max's reaction had been genuine, otherwise she'd have been his top suspect. And Barbara would never even consider such a thing. And the build was all wrong for Stalker, aside from this being completely out of character.
He stormed down the steps of the cave, not very relieved to see the Batsuit where he'd left it. All that meant was that someone had created their own costume, someone who had no right to steal his work. Terry's work. The name he had worked so hard to establish and Terry had struggled to uphold. When he'd started all those years ago he'd never intended this to become a legacy but that was what it had become and he'd be damned if he'd allow someone to steal it. He dismissed the minor detail that Terry had started out by doing exactly that; Bruce had long ago come to the conclusion that Terry hadn't been left with too many options that night and suspected that if he'd been in Terry's position he'd probably have done the same thing. This was different. Nobody had come to him for help and been blown off. Someone had just decided that they could just take up the cowl and-
"Bruce Robert Thomas Wayne!"
His head snapped around as Barbara stormed down the steps just as he had a few minutes ago. She was every bit as angry as he was, but she had obviously decided who was to blame for the new Bat in town.
"What the hell were you thinking?" she continued. "I can't believe you would be so callous- just replacing Terry like that!"
"I didn't."
"What's that poor kid going to think when- what?" She broke off, thrown by his quiet statement.
"I was as- surprised- as you when I saw the news. And before you ask, I don't know who it is. Yet."
Barbara glared at him a few minutes longer, then nodded. A few seconds after that, she smiled slightly.
"I guess you trained me a bit too well- it never even occurred to me that someone would dress up in a Bat-costume without your permission."
Bruce just raised an eyebrow at that, his own temper beginning to subside.
"As I recall, that's practically a tradition."
Barbara actually flushed slightly, looking uncomfortable.
"But it's not going to happen this time," Bruce growled.
"Planning on making someone's life miserable?"
"For starters."
"Good; you could use a hobby right now."
This time it was Bruce glaring at Barbara.
"This isn't a joking matter, Barbara. It isn't Halloween now; if someone is dressing up like Batman they probably intend to keep doing it. And if they think they can get away with it, they must have a good reason why."
"A reason like knowing that the people who should be in that suit can't do it right now," Barbara said, sobering.
"Possibly."
"And the people who know that..."
"Are all accounted for. At least, the ones we know about are."
"Tim, Dick, Clark, Max, Stalker, Ra's, you and me. Possibly the Brain Trust. I spoke with Tim just before I saw the news, Dick's laid up with a sprained ankle, Clark wouldn't dare, Stalker just wouldn't, and neither would Ra's."
"Max was at the hospital with the rest of us. From her reaction, I don't think she's involved. And the Brain Trust... they could be behind this, but if they are, I can't think of a motive."
"Well, it was just a thought."
"And you could be right. Just because I can't think of a motive doesn't mean one doesn't exist." Bruce turned to the computer, ready to set to work. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel useless. After a while he heard Barbara chuckle for no apparent reason, then she left without another word.
******************************************
J-man shivered in his hiding place. Wherever The Bat had been, it had changed him. Before The Attack- like most of Gotham, he'd gotten into the habit of referring that way to the assault he'd organised- fighting Batman had always been a losing battle, but not like this. Now The Bat didn't even seem human.
Not for the first time, he wished he'd never had the bright idea of giving No Fun Boy a permanent smackdown. He'd just wanted to get back the respect the Jokerz had been losing. The T's had been laughing at them for getting their butts kicked by a single guy who didn't even have a fancy suit to give him an edge. That was just too much. He'd figured that making an example of that twip would stop the laughing. How was he to know that No Fun Boy worked for the richest guy in Gotham? Worse, that the richest guy in Gotham was Scary Old Guy himself! When he'd seen that on the news, he'd known they'd have to get rid of the twip quickly so they'd cut their fun short and dumped him in a section of the park that nobody ever visited anymore. The twip should have died. Hell, he'd been almost dead when they'd left him. But someone had gone for a walk in the wrong place at the wrong time or something; anyway, he'd been found. And then Old Man Wayne had tracked him down and the city had learned what the Jokerz could do when they felt like it, but had they reacted like J-Man thought they would?
Well, if they had, he wouldn't be cowering inside an abandoned building all alone.
They should have been terrified. The Jokerz had proven they could hit anyone they wanted. Instead, it had become open season and it wasn't fair! And Mad Stan deciding that the twip's mother was his One True Love was something they really hadn't needed. After all, those dorks from the Royal Flush Gang were being careful not to kill anyone. So was that tattooed freak. But Mad Stan? He hadn't killed anyone yet, but J-Man knew that couldn't last.
God, for a few hours they'd been on top of the world. No Fun Boy was theirs to kill, then that damn report had ruined everything. If he'd just had the time he'd have had that twip begging for his life. He'd wanted to see No Fun Boy beg. But he hadn't. Not even when they'd broken his leg with the crowbar. Not even when they'd burned off his fingerprints so the cops couldn't identify him too quickly. And not even when they'd dragged him to that deserted section of the park and hauled out the baseball bats. He'd just forced his eyes open and looked right at J-Man. No Fun Boy hadn't said a single word, but that look still made J-Man wake up screaming. It was like the twip had known what would happen, and his only regret was that he wouldn't be there to watch. J-Man had grabbed a baseball bat and taken the first swing himself, just to make the twip stop looking at him.
It hadn't worked. Every time he closed his eyes he could see those pale blue eyes telling him that he was going to die too.
A noise in the corner made him jump, all his attention focussed in a second.
"Who's there?"
Silence. J-Man reached for the grenade he'd lifted off Mad Stan the day before. He turned and saw something move.
"Batman! Stay away!"
He pulled the pin, threw the grenade. Just after he heard the tinkling of broken glass he remembered the remains of the mirrors along the wall of the old store. The grenade bounced back toward him.
***********************************************
"Batman" stood outside the abandoned building, watching smoke billow from the now totally glassless windows. He'd tracked J-man here, but had arrived seconds after an explosion had ripped though the place. The police officer who had been trailing him was staring in horrified confusion.
"I know you didn't do that," she said, "so who did?"
"I don't know." Ignoring the creaks and groans coming from the damaged store, he walked toward it. His infra-red sensors were picking up small fires, doubtless started by the explosion. What they weren't picking up were any signs of life. They were, however, picking up the unmistakable traces of recently deceased bodies. Mostly rats, some sparrows, a few pigeons- and one human.
"Batman" sighed heavily. He hadn't wanted this. He turned, starting to walk off. Then an ominous groan filled the air. He scanned the building quickly, realised the danger, and dove for the officer. Both of them were sheltered around the corner of another building when the old store collapsed.
************************************************
Bruce was still scowling as he walked down the hospital corridors. He couldn't honestly say he was sorry that J-Man was dead, but Batman shouldn't have been involved. Even a fake one. Even when the witnesses agreed that the explosion had taken place before his arrival. He was linked to it, and that was enough.
"Bruce, if you don't get that look off your face, Terry's gonna think he did something wrong."
Tim's comment went unnoticed.
"This shouldn't have happened."
"Care to specify?" Tim sounded more than a bit exasperated; that Bruce noticed.
"No."
"Figures."
Bruce's scowl lessened a bit, then deepened as he heard a loud voice coming from Terry's room. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but he could understand the tone easily enough: someone was getting bawled out for something. If anything had happened... he increased his pace.
"..don't even deserve the name! You should have died! They should have killed you the same way you killed my son!"
Bruce threw the door open. A tall, silver-haired old woman was leaning over Terry, screaming at him. Terry had drawn away from her as much as he could; unfortunately, that wasn't much. His face was dead-white and even from the door Bruce could see that he was trembling.
Bruce hadn't moved so quickly in a long time. Before he knew it he was across the room, grabbing the woman's arm and practically throwing her at the door.
"Get out."
Tim started to catch the woman out of pure instinct, but stopped himself. The woman steadied herself on the doorframe, then turned and shot a poisonous glare at Bruce.
"I should have known you'd show up. You disgust me, both of you. I know what you're really doing with that dreg, and I'm going to tell everybody what kind of man you really are. People like you-"
Tim grabbed her arm, cutting her off. He wasn't as naturally intimidating as Bruce, but he was still a good deal bigger than the woman.
"The exit is downstairs. Use it. I'll be watching. And don't expect the guards to let you back in again."
He shoved the woman away from him and out the door, then followed her down the hall. Bruce turned back to Terry, barely stopping himself from asking who the woman was. Even if Terry had known, he was in no condition to be questioned. Bruce hit the call button, alarmed, as he tried to calm Terry down. The damage had been done, though; Terry was practically hysterical. Whatever the woman had said before they'd caught her, she'd managed to completely terrify him.
Ms. Maguire rushed in, took one look at Terry, and ordered the young man beside her to fetch a sedative. It was a very long two minutes later before Terry's eyes finally closed and his breathing returned to normal. Bruce looked down at Terry's tear-stained face and decided that someone else's life was going to be made hell for a while. It wouldn't take too long to find out who she was, and when he did... But first he had to find out what exactly she'd said.
"Now, if you'd care to be explaining things, Mr. Wayne," Ms. Maguire said quietly. Bruce looked at her; she was just barely restraining a raging temper.
"Tim and I came in and found some woman yelling at Terry. We threw her out, but..."
"You threw her out?"
"Yes."
"Without bothering to call Security? Who, I might add, were just down the hall."
"Yes."
Ms. Maguire sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"And if she'd been armed, what would you have done then? This is a dangerous town, as you should know by now, and anybody who would come into a hospital and have a temper tantrum at a boy less than a week out of a coma is probably not someone whose best judgement is to be trusted. If you should see her again, please leave it to the professionals no matter how tempting it is to have her guts for garters. After all, how would we be explaining it to the lad that we'd let you get hurt trying to protect him?"
Bruce was stunned. He hadn't been lectured like this- except by Barbara- since Leslie died. Nobody had dared. And what was worse, she had a point. He hadn't stopped to consider whether the woman was armed; he'd just acted. He was almost about to admit it when Tim returned with an odd expression on his face.
"Well, the old bi- uh, woman's gone, and I don't think she'll be back soon."
"What did you do?"
"Good lord, you're as bad as Mr. Wayne."
"I didn't do anything," Tim protested. "Not that I wasn't thinking about it, especially after listening to her rant for 15 floors, but the other old woman beat me to it."
"What other old woman?" Bruce growled.
"The one who rode down the elevator with us. The second we got outside she, um, she..." Tim broke off, clearing his throat.
"She what?" Bruce and Ms. Maguire chorussed.
"She hauled a dead fish out of her pocketbook and started hitting the first old lady with it, screaming that she'd better leave 'that sweet young man' alone or- I'm not repeating the last part. Little old ladies have changed a lot since I was a kid is all I'm saying."
Bruce's eyebrow shot up. Tim didn't try to look away.
"A dead fish?" Ms. Maguire blinked.
"Could I invent something like that?"
"I don't know. But I wish I'd seen it. Still, I-"
Bruce, sensing another lecture, cut her off.
"Did you find out who she was?"
Now Tim looked away, the smirk gone.
"Yeah. I did."
"And?"
"Her name's Brenda McGinnis," Tim scowled. "Bruce, that old witch was Terry's grandmother."
**********************************************
Well, that should stir things up nicely...