Disclaimer
Teen Titans is a registered trademark of DC Comics and Cartoon Network Inc. All trademarked characters, locations, themes and ideas are used without permission in a work of fan-created fiction. The following has been done without profit for purely entertainment purposes. All original concepts, characters, themes and ideas within are the copyrighted property of the author, and are not to be reproduced without his prior consent. Additional information used in creating Teen Titans: Adaptation is courtesy of Titans Tower Online.
Teen Titans
Adaptation
By Cyberwraith9
Higher Calling
The school bell rang, giving rise to hundreds of teenagers who abandoned their desks with the anticipation of a weekend unfulfilled. Seats squeaked and halls clamored with the student body of Metropolis Midtown High School in exodus. The students pulled almost enough books from their lockers to fill their homework needs before congealing into their favored cliques as they poured out into the late spring afternoon.
Between the chattering groups, there existed a clique of one. He walked between the other teens, not among them. The difference was blatant to those around him, who stared after him with murmured questions as he descended the steps of the school. They gave him a wide berth wherever he went, through the narrowest hallways to the wide city sidewalk.
Rumors wafted after him. If they were to be believed, he was an arsonist, a juvenile delinquent, a kidnapper who had held his previous principal hostage, and a reformed killer on antipsychotics who would murder them all if he ever forgot to take his pill. He rather liked the last one, and consequently took his vitamins at lunch, sometimes waiting until just before the bell.
His name was Jason Todd, and he hadn't made a single friend in his three weeks at Midtown. He hadn't said more than ten consecutive words to anyone, not even to answer a question in class. He looked normal to the point of being contrived, with close-cropped dark hair and baggy clothes that made everything below his neck generic.
But one look into his blue eyes made anyone see the icy, impregnable wall he carried around him. It froze out anyone bold or kind enough to speak to him. He was never impolite, or short, or even dismissive. His voice hadn't changed its monotonous pitch since his arrival. But when he did speak, it was as if he did so from across a great expanse.
Jason endured the other students' whispers without a second thought. He could hear them all, thanks to his trained ear, and knew full well what they thought of him. He didn't care. In time, they would accept him or ignore him. Either way, it didn't matter.
Shouldering his backpack, he began the long walk home through the city. The backpack was mostly for show. He had gotten his homework done in first period. All of it. For every class. The rest of the day, he had taken notes with his left hand while his right hand had devised tactical strategies for repelling an invasion from Apokolips using any combination of three Justice League members. The Blue Beetle-Vigilante-Crimson Avenger combination was giving him some trouble.
Now he let his mind wander from the drudgery of schoolwork. His gaze rose into the skyline and its fantastic skyscrapers. Even after a month, he still liked to look at Metropolis's buildings. They were modern architectural feats unlike any other in the world. Certainly nothing like he had grown up with in Gotham City. Or anything like Jump City.
Thoughts of the West Coast city dulled his dull mood. He quashed them at once, and quickened his pace, regulating his eyes to the sidewalk. Forget Jump City. Forget fitting in. Forget about everything else. Just concentrate on the here and now.
As he left the dense grove of towers for the squatter, seedier Suicide Slum, the foot traffic thinned to a mere trickle. Most people were smart enough to steer clear of the Slum unless they had "business" or were too poor to live elsewhere. Jason was neither, yet resided in the Slum anyway. It afforded him a sense of privacy that few other places in Metropolis could offer.
At the moment, though, privacy eluded him in the form of a stunningly beautiful young woman who clicked behind him in Gucci heels and an off-the-rack skirt suit that she didn't quite fill out. She sped up to walk alongside Jason, tugging uncomfortably at the spaghetti-strap purse dangling from her shoulder.
"Excuse me, young man," she said, sweeping her dark hair back over her ear. Her brilliant smile outshone anything else in the Slum. It was as though she had been dropped onto the street from an entirely different scene. "Do you think you could direct me to the Daily Star? I'm running a bit behind, and—"
Jason saw her at once for what she was. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked faster. "You're eight miles off. You wanna turn back, quick," he said over his shoulder.
She somehow paced him in her tall heels. "Oh, goodness, is this the Slums? I'm not from around here. I came from Omaha for a job interview. With the Star. I'm going to be a reporter," she told him proudly.
It became clear that he would not escape what was to come. Sighing, he slowed down, and said, "That's nice. So you'd better turn around and start walking in the other direction."
Flustered, she continued to follow him, and said, "Oh, dear. I'm afraid all these big city buildings have me topsy-turvy turned around. What's the best way I can—"
Without warning, a burly man rushed past the businesswoman from behind. He wore a heavy jacket and a ski mask pulled over his face, and he broke the purse right off her shoulder with a vicious yank. "Thanks, lady!" he called back as he ran. He rounded the corner and disappeared into an alley. His cackle rang loudly from the narrow gap.
"Help! Thief!" the woman screamed, staggering back. She hugged her arms and sobbed, "Someone stop him, please! He's getting away!"
When she looked to Jason, her hysterics gave way to astonishment. Jason had leaned against the side of a dilapidated building with his hands laced behind his head. He stared up into the sky, pondering the shapes of clouds without any regard for her lost purse.
Her stomp clacked on the sidewalk. "Well? Are you just going to stand there? I just got mugged! Why don't you do something?" she demanded.
He sighed the sigh of the put-upon. "Why don't 'you' do something?" he countered in a bored voice. "Or better yet, just wait until Kon-El brings your purse back. He won't wait for me in that dead-end alley forever. He's not that patient."
The woman's mouth flapped wordlessly. She gaped at the teen, trying to form some kind of response. Then she shut her mouth into a tight line and narrowed her sapphire ire upon him. "Okay," she huffed, folding her arms. "What gave me away? I thought that was pretty good."
"Maybe if that was a fourth-grade production of 'The Sting.' Even then, I'd probably cast you as 'the tree.'" Jason leaned forward and grasped her wiry bangs. The woman didn't move as he tugged the dark hair off her head, revealing a long curtain of golden blonde locks that rolled down to the small of her back. "Plus, your wig is cheap synthetic. Next time try horse hair if you're on a budget."
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe I was just a cancer survivor with a wig. Wouldn't you feel bad then?"
Her eyes flashed as he pushed one of her sleeves up her arms, revealing long, silvery metal wrapped around her wrist. "A cancer victim with Amazonian bracers? Not likely."
The disgust on her face sharpened as he leaned back against the wall. Scowling, she turned to the alley down the street and snapped, "Conner, will you get out here already?"
Her purse snatcher stuck his head out of the alley, looking back with confusion. As he walked out, he peeled the mask back to reveal the handsome, earnest features of Superboy. "Aw, he spotted it? Weak. I was hoping he'd at least follow me around the corner before he figured it out."
"Then maybe you shouldn't mug people in the middle of May wearing a ski mask and a heavy coat. Also, muggers don't laugh like mad scientists," Jason said. To the woman, he asked, "Cassie, right? I've heard of you."
"My friends call me Cassie," the woman said archly, and stepped out of her high heels. She began working the buttons of her suit coat, and said, "You can call me Wonder Girl."
Superboy likewise undid his disguise. A black and red Superman shield lurked inside the gap of his coat. "Don't get pissy just 'cause he made us, Cass. That's what Tim does," he quipped.
Jason glanced around warily as the pair of heroic teens undressed on the street. He saw no prying eyes about, but that didn't mean there were none. "I'm afraid you're confused, meathead. My name is Jason. Jason Todd. You'd better be off looking for you pal—Tim?—at his house. In one hour. Try to be subtle."
Wonder Girl rolled her eyes again. "Oh, good. Secret identity shadow games." Glancing at Superboy, she added, "This is supposed to convince me?"
Superboy waggled his brows. "You know you miss it. C'mon, let's leave 'Jason…'" When he turned back, "Jason Todd" was gone. A sweep of the street with vision powers revealed no trace of him. "…alone," Superboy finished lamely, and closed his jacket.
Turning, Wonder Girl searched with her own powers of observation, which were less super, but keener. "Okay, that was a little cool," she admitted begrudgingly. "But are you sure about this guy?"
"Twelve hundred percent," Superboy said with a nod. He gestured to the alley, and added, "C'mon, let's go get undressed. I mean, into costume."
Smirking, she followed him toward the alleyway. "I know what you meant. Just keep that super vision to yourself," she said wryly.
"If I had supervision, this wouldn't be nearly as fun," he joked, and received a palm to the back of the head for his punny behavior. "Ow," the invulnerable teen said.
Little more than an hour later, Superboy and Wonder Girl descended onto the rooftop of a squat, squalid brown building that appeared to be just one notice away from being condemned. Most of the roof was empty space that had been swept meticulously clean, making this rooftop stand out from any other in Suicide Slum. That might have been the building's only redeeming virtue.
Landing at the building's edge, Wonder Girl cringed at the roof's only feature, a wiry structure made from rusting pipe whose walls were composed of cracking, yellowed glass. Many of the glass panes had been replaced with boards. If she had to guess, she would have thought the structure to have once been a small greenhouse. After decades of neglect, it was just an eyesore.
"People actually live here?" she asked Superboy, who landed behind her.
Before he could answer, a voice within the greenhouse said, "No. 'A person' lives here." A shadowy presence moved across the glass, emerging from the mouth of the structure as the teenage boy she had sought to trick on the street. He wore jeans and nothing else, leaving bare the sculpted muscle of his chest and arms. A thick circle of scarring marred his back and chest in mirrored spots, almost as if something had been driven through him.
"So," Superboy drawled, scratching his head as the teen padded across the roof on bare feet. "Can I call you 'Tim' now, or are you still 'Jason?'"
"He's not possessed, Conner," Wonder Girl said impatiently. "He's just theatrical."
"Tim will do fine, Kon-El." The teen stopped in the middle of the rooftop. As he spread his arms, he scrutinized the pair.
Wonder Girl wore all the trappings of a modern-day Amazon champion. Her armor had been molded into a red, sleeveless chest plate with the double crest sculpted in gold, leaving her midriff exposed. Leather armor hugged her hips and legs, and tapered into red boots. Spangles hung from her ears. Her bracers glistened with the colors of the waning day.
Superboy had changed his uniform since last Tim had seen him. In fact, Tim could hardly bring himself to call Superboy's clothes a "uniform." He wore jeans and sneakers, and a tight black T-shirt with the shield ironed on its chest.
Superboy caught sight of Tim's scrutiny and grinned. "You like the new costume?" he asked. "I wanted something a little simpler. More casual."
"It looks like you rolled out of bed at two in the afternoon and decided to fight crime," Tim said. He leaned to one side, and then rolled hard into a cartwheel that began his gymnastic workout. Flips, springs, and rolls carried Tim across the rooftop with preternatural fluidity. As he leapt through his routine, he asked, "So how did you find me?"
"What are you talking about? I'm the Teen of Tomorrow." Superboy slid off the edge of the building and sat on the rooftop with his back propped against the ledge. Wonder Girl followed suit, crossing her legs. "I flew into orbit and then listened until I found your heartbeat here in Metropolis. The whole thing took one minute, tops," explained Superboy.
Tim continued his workout. His skepticism flashed between flips. "So how did you find me?" he asked again.
Sheepishly, Superboy said, "I asked Batman. He didn't want to give it up at first, but I finally convinced him to tell me where you were." At Wonder Girl's sharp elbow, he added, "By having Clark convince him to tell me where you were."
That Batman could track him was no surprise. Tim had expected that, and had also expected Batman not to bother with him. But he had hoped to stay off Superman's radar for a while longer, if not indefinitely. "Superman knows I'm here," he said in mid-routine.
Shrugging, Superboy said, "Yeah. I guess he's just keeping a lookout for you, in case you decide to cape it up in Metropolis."
"Tell him not to worry." Tim landed on one hand and spread his body into a three-point star above the ground. His arms and legs hardly trembled under the strain. "That's not going to happen. Jason Todd is just here to finish high school."
Superboy shared a look with Wonder Girl. She appeared decidedly unconvinced, but nodded anyway. To Tim, Superboy said, "Well, actually, that's why we're here. We wanted to talk to you about something we're putting together."
"What happened to waiting for the League? Did they stick you on rotation with the Question?" asked Tim, upside-down.
Frustration kinked Superboy's forehead. "Haven't you been keeping up with what's going on, Tim? Superman and Captain Marvel tore apart four square city blocks over a stupid disagreement over Lex Luthor. Cadmus is making more clones. You know what that means," he said darkly.
"Not to mention what's going on in California with your old pals," Wonder Girl added.
Tim flipped to hide his expression. Hand springs carried him to the opposite side of the roof. "They're fine," he said.
Superboy stood up. "They're not fine, Tim. Nothing is anymore. That's why Cassie and I want to start something of our own."
A triple flip flung Tim to the very edge of the roof. He landed on the balls of his feet with his heels hanging over the side. Light sweat glistened on his chest, which rose and fell with quickened breath. "And you want me to join?" he asked.
"No." Taking a deep breath, Superboy said, "I want you to lead. Put it together from the ground up, like you did before."
Tim rolled forward onto his hands, and then down from the ledge. He glanced past Superboy to Wonder Girl, who still sat against the opposite ledge. "What about you?" he asked.
Rising slowly, Wonder Girl joined Superboy at the center of the roof. "Honestly? I think this is ridiculous. Conner and I are more than capable of doing this on our own. He insisted that we track you down and hand our idea over to you. And so far, all I've seen is a gymnastic enthusiast with identity issues whose home smells like bird crap."
Her stern glare, combined with the long-suffering look Superboy gave her, made Tim laugh. "Well put. There's your answer, Kon. Thanks for dropping by," he said, and padded over to his greenhouse.
"Let's talk about this, Tim," Superboy said, floating after Tim in spite of Wonder Girl's look. "Burgers and fries at the Ace o' Clubs. If we all wear our gear, Bibbo might give us free drinks again. He loves the capes."
Tim pulled down a shirt hanging from the greenhouse door. "I'm retired, Kon. I wear cotton blends now," he said, and thrust himself through the shirt.
Superboy crossed his arms. "Bull. People like us never retire, Tim. We just step back to get our bearings, and then we get right back into the thick of things."
"No," Tim said. His face popped from his shirt with a pointed look. "People like 'you' never retire. You have too much power not to. People like me, however, go on to live normal lives. That's what's happening here. That's who Jason Todd is. He's normal."
"That's it? You don't have powers anymore, so you're just going to quit?" Superboy scoffed. "If that's so important to you, we can just find a vat of toxic waste to push you in. But the Robin I remember regularly trounced guys with super powers without ever needing his own to do it."
Tim stared at Superboy for a long, chilly moment. Neither spoke, Neither blinked. Then he turned and walked into his greenhouse, and slammed its door in Superboy's face. "What do you want from me, Kon-El? I don't do that anymore. I don't want to do that anymore. I put that life behind me."
Superboy grabbed the door, ready to rip it off its hinges to follow. Wonder Girl stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Don't. This isn't working, Conner. Let's go."
He lowered his hand in frustration. Speaking through the glass, he said, "We're staying at Clark's apartment. He's on some kind of deep space mission for the League, so it's just us. When you change your mind, you can find us there until tomorrow."
Bitter silence met his offer. Wonder Girl patted his shoulder again, and then leapt into the air.
Superboy was slow to follow her. Disappointment weighed him down on the roof a moment longer. He turned back and saw a shadow watching him through the yellowed greenhouse glass. It galled him to know that he couldn't help his oldest friend in spite of all the power he wielded. Perhaps because of that power.
A rare, devious thought crossed Superboy's mind. He called to Tim, "There's someone you should meet. Somebody new to the business. She likes to work the south side after midnight. Clark's been keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't hurt herself. He asked us to do the same while we were here. I think you'd like her, so I'm gonna let you do it tonight."
When no answer came, he lost the last of his smile. Only a sliver of his hope remained as he flew from the roof. "South side. Midnight. You can't miss her. But if you do, she might get into trouble she can't handle. That'd be a shame…"
The shadow in the greenhouse watched Superboy fly away. It gazed at the city into which the heroic pair vanished, a city that gleamed from afar like no other he had ever known. Its heroes likewise gleamed, rising like beacons into the sky. The shadow wanted nothing of that kind of heroism anymore. Curiosity or not, he had no interest in returning to that world.
Still, if Superboy expected him to play guardian angel for a fledgling hero, and he didn't, she could be hurt because of it, or worse.
"Damn it," he grumbled, and dug through his meager possessions for something to wear.
Twenty minutes past midnight, Tim hunched on a rooftop across the street from one of the sloppiest robberies he had ever seen. He watched in silence, suffering under the heat of his hooded sweatshirt. His only comfort came from knowing that the idiots moving through the broken storefront window of the electronics store were suffering as he did in their heavy caps and bulky clothes.
This was their second job of the night, at least since Tim had been following them. He guessed they had noticed Superman's absence in the last few days, and were making the most of it. The five-man crew carried boxed plasma screen televisions out in stacks to their idling truck, the back of which was already laden with swag. Soft chatter murmured between them, jokes and trade speak, most of which Tim was too far away to hear. They worked quickly and jovially, and loaded several thousand dollars' worth of merchandise inside of five minutes. Yet they kept going back for more.
Tim made no move to stop them. Despite living there for a month, Metropolis wasn't his city. He didn't feel the same attachment to it as he would have to Gotham. And more importantly, he knew these idiots would be caught soon enough anyway. Smash-and-grab style robbery had gone the way of dinosaurs and NutraSweet. The police would catch up with them, assuming Superman didn't get back and do so first.
The sight of another figure on the opposite rooftops interrupted his self-justification. Tim froze, crouching behind his roof's ledge, and watched the new figure move over buildings across the street. Like the thieves, this figure moved with amateur abandon, leaping and flipping toward the electronics store. As the figure passed the low moon, Tim saw a feminine shape trailing a long, scalloped cape, and knew he had found his rookie.
The rookie rolled onto the store roof as all five thieves exited with a new set of swag. Two of them wrestled with an awkward cart while the other three moved more boxes. They all stopped when the rookie leapt to the edge of the store's roof and spread her cape wide. It was a miracle they hadn't seen her sooner.
Caught in the streetlight, the caped figure's silhouette became a shapely, athletic girl wrapped in a form-fitting red and gold blaze. Her cape formed a pair of showy wings that flapped with her outstretched arms. Flowing blonde locks framed her smile and bounced around a yellow visor that masked her eyes.
"You boys are out awfully late for a shopping spree," she announced, and planted her hands on her hips. "Not that I don't appreciate a good sale myself."
Tim cringed at her statuesque pose while the thieves dropped their boxes. Jump and quip, Don't quip and pose, he groaned inwardly.
Only once the thieves had dropped their swag in favor of crowbars and knives did the young hero move. She dropped from the rooftop, landing in a crouch in front of them, her cape fluttering behind her. Standing, she brandished her gloved fists, and said, "Smart shoppers or not, you guys don't have what it takes to tango with the fabulous Flamebird! But I can see we're gonna fight anyway, so let's do this."
Two thieves came at her at once with crowbars. Their attack showed more forethought than their robbery, as they circled wide to flank the Flamebird. Tim could think of at least six different ways to counter such basic strategy.
Flamebird thought of a seventh. She leapt at one man, driving her knuckles through his teeth to put him down with one punch. It was a good hit, and dropped the man into an unconscious heap, but it also left Flamebird wide open to the man behind her. She caught his crowbar in the ribs as she turned to deal with him. The blow made Tim wince from across the street, and made Flamebird drop to one knee with a yelp.
"Bad luck, Tweety Bird," the thug said. His cohorts chortled as he raised his crowbar to split Flamebird's skull.
Even as Tim gripped the roof's edge to leap into intervention, he saw Flamebird grasp her glove. A cloud of pepper spray burst from her fist and engulfed the thug's face. He screamed and clawed at his streaming eyes before Flamebird's boot kissed him goodnight.
She rose slowly, clutching her side as the thug staggered to the ground. Her visored glare turned upon the remaining three. Her hand urged them forward with a waggle. "This could've gone easy," she said. "Now you're in for a fabulous ass-kicking. Last chance."
The three thieves shared a look. Then they charged her with a unified snarl, two crowbars, and a switchblade. Like the first two, they spread out to outmaneuver her solo act.
Flamebird had taken her hard lesson to heart. She strafed to one side, forcing the thieves to follow and line up. Her cape swirled around a spinning kick that belted one thug clean out of the fight. She landed in a deep crouch, and then sprang backward into a flip that flung her boot beneath the chin of the second thug.
By the time the third thief had circled around his insensate friends, Flamebird had drawn a clunky, frilled boomerang from her belt. "Taste birdarang! And also justice!" she cried, and flung her weapon.
The red boomerang missed his head by four feet. He watched it fly past, and then advanced upon Flamebird with a sneer, his switchblade flicking before him.
Flamebird stood her ground with a confident smirk. Then her confidence died when the boomerang came back, missing the other side of the thug's head by another four feet before thunking harmlessly against the store's door.
"Eheheh…" Flamebird chuckled nervously, scratching her head. "Wind must've caught it."
The thug's knife flashed at her. His clumsy stab tore through the middle of her cape as she swept to one side. With an angry shout, she sidled her hip to his and grabbed his arm, and judo-slung him into the wall. He bounced onto his knees, where he tried dizzily to rise. Her punt drove the idea out of his head, right alongside his consciousness.
Flamebird sighed and brushed her hands clean. From her belt she produced a handful of zip-cuffs, and bent to truss up the thugs. Her face twisted with pain, which she hid behind a gritted grin. "One bird call to the police, and you turkeys will just be another couple of caged canaries." Then she stopped and groaned, making a face. "Ugh. I'm sorry. That was just bad. You didn't deserve that."
As she zip-cuffed her punting victim, the first thug she had knocked out pulled his face from the blood pooling under his chin. He rose silently behind her, drawing a pistol from his waistband. Flamebird didn't notice him until the hammer of his gun clicked back. Her head whirled around, putting her horrified face squarely in his aim.
She froze at gunpoint, making the thug chuckle through the blood streaming from his broken teeth. "Stupid capes," he sneered.
A pair of worn sneakers slammed into his shoulders from above, throwing his shot wild. Flamebird yelped at the sparking ricochet that clapped on the streetlight next to her. Her rescuer landed on the thug's back, driving his face back into the bloodied street.
Flamebird caught only half a glimpse of the man that had saved her. His head and body were obscured by an unseasonable black sweatshirt. Blue judgment flashed inside his shadowed hood, stealing her breath, before the stranger flipped backward off the unconscious thief.
"Hey, wait!" Flamebird cried, and started to follow. Her ribs objected to the chase by bursting into flame beneath her suit. She gasped and clutched her side. The sound of sirens made her pause and reflect on the mess outside of the electronics store. None of the thieves would be moving soon, and it would behoove her to be not there when the police arrived—which would be momentarily, if the distant flash of red and blue was any indicator.
When she turned back, the stranger had disappeared without a trace. She couldn't follow him, even if her ribs would allow it. They already gave her hell for drawing the hooked line from her belt to twirl over her head.
"I gotta get a Flamemobile," she grunted, and flung her line at the rooftops. It hooked on her second try, allowing her to shimmy away into the night.
Half an hour later, Flamebird swung onto the rooftop of a ritzy penthouse suite, stumbling off the end of her line. A few deft tugs dislodged its hook, letting her pull the rope back into a coil, which she placed back on her belt. Each move she made she paid for with a twist of her face and a growing need for aspirin.
She crept across the high-rise yard, circling wide to avoid the heated pool's motion-sensitive lights. The apartment windows were darkened, as she had expected. Likely, her parents had long since succumbed to their nightly cocktail of highballs and sleeping pills. Flamebird could have marched an elephant through the pool without drawing their attention, but she didn't want to risk anyone else seeing her in costume.
Her skulking brought her to the pool house. Fumbling, she keyed the small building's door, and pushed inside with a sigh. Then she opened the door a second time to pull her cape all the way in after her. With a surreptitious glance out the window, she flicked the lights and moved inside.
The spacious pool house was furnished with a tasteful combination of leather and soft colors. A plasma TV larger than those the thieves had sought to steal en masse hung on the wall. Plush chairs and couches sat gathered around the lavish entertainment center, none of it appearing to ever have been used. A full, fully stocked soda bar waited for her at the back of the room.
Flamebird unclasped the cape from her collar and draped it over the bar. She pulled the visor off her face and tossed it aside. Then she unzipped her bodysuit and peeled its opening aside to reveal a black sports bra and black-and-blue ribs. She opened the mini-fridge under the bar and retrieved a cold pack, which she slipped into her suit and pressed against her ribs with a hiss.
Her hiss gave way to a contented moan. "Another stunning victory for the fabulous Flamebird," she groaned, and leaned heavily against the bar.
"That's what you call stunning?"
The voice startled Flamebird off the bar. She jerked her zipper up, closing her suit with the cold pack inside, and whirled around with a birdarang already drawn. Her throw sent the birdarang high and to the right of the hooded figure standing before her closed door. He reached up and caught it before it smashed through the window.
Shaking the sting out of his hand, the stranger said, "Take it easy, Miss Kane"
She gasped and fumbled for her visor, which she jammed upside-down onto her face. "Who are you? How do you know my name?" she snapped.
He lifted his hands. "I'm not looking for a fight," he said. Slowly, he reached up and pulled the hood from his head. Dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat. His face approximated a smile, as though he wasn't quite sure how to do so, but wanted to put her at ease. When she saw his eyes, she realized that this was her mystery rescuer.
"I guess you think you're pretty slick, following me back to my secret headquarters," she said bitterly, and yanked off her visor. "You got me. The fabulous Flamebird is really Betty Kane, teen socialite heiress and Metropolis's tabloid princess. Aren't you just the clever detective?"
His smile grew a touch more genuine. "I didn't know all that. I just read the last name monogrammed on the towels hanging outside. You could have said you were just staying here, or were one of the cleaning staff's kids. Lies are a big part of the trade."
Flamebird deflated. "Oh. …can I say that now?"
"I think I remember seeing your picture at a supermarket checkout," he mused. "You didn't really marry Bigfoot, did you?"
She blew an impatient breath and ducked down behind the bar. A soft zzzip and a rustling removed the extraneous lump from her costume's ribs. She stood again, her uniform whole and her expression arch. "I suppose you want a thank you, Mister…?"
He hesitated. Then he said, "Call me Tim." Frowning quizzically, he added, "How old are you?"
Now she hesitated. This young man, whom she was fairly certain wasn't a paparazzi, had been talented enough to save her, elude her, and track her. And he was strikingly handsome. "Eighteen," she squeaked indignantly.
"Minus three?" he surmised, making her blush. "And no, I didn't come here looking for gratitude. I came to…" He trailed off uncertainly, frowning. "I guess I just came to talk. Check on you after that nasty hit you took from the crowbar. Is that okay? I can leave if you want me to."
Flamebird eyed him cautiously, fingering her equipment belt. The tension in her body lessened as she said, "No…no. You did kind of save my life. I guess if you wanted to mess me up, you wouldn't be here for a face-to-face. But I don't do interviews, savvy? Flamebird is trés privé, monsieur."
Tim approached the bar with a cautious gait, more for her comfort than his. He set her birdarang on the bar, and said, "I'll keep that in mind. Though the tights are trés aventureux, oui?"
Another blush matched her face to her curvy tights. "You never answered my other question, Timmy-boy. Why are you here? Or are you some kind of super hero stalker? Because that won't fly, let me tell you. I get enough of that in my other life. Where I don't get to use violence to solve the problem, as opposed to here. Hint."
"Not a stalker," he said, sitting at the bar. "Even though your stalker would say pretty much the same thing. But I'm actually here because a…friend asked me to keep an eye on you."
She rolled her eyes. Two diet sodas made their way up from the mini-fridge, one of which she slid to Tim. The other she opened and half-drained in one swig. "Great. Superman by proxy. I appreciate that he wants to look out for me, but I don't need him always going all life coach on me. And I definitely don't need him sending a stand-in to do it for him." She glanced over the top of her can, embarrassed, and added, "No offense."
"None taken," he assured her.
She drained the rest of her can as she watched him tentatively sip his. A curious expression followed the crumpling of her can. "Wait," she said. "Why are you following me for Superman? Who are you to follow me for Superman? I thought his crowd all wore the shield, not black hoodies."
"I'm…" Tim wasn't sure how to answer that. He batted his can back and forth on the bar top in thought. "I'm…I was in the business," he decided. "Got out of it a while ago. Like I said, this is just for a friend. I doubt you'll see me again."
"That's too bad," Flamebird said, unaware that she was staring. At Tim's glance, she fought the blush burning up her neck, and quickly changed the subject. "Um, listen, Tim? I'm basically basting in this suit, so…could you turn around or something?" She reached for the split mirror behind the bar, which she began to open to reveal a hidden cabinet.
Tim took his soda and moved to the couch, keeping his gaze well away from the bar. "Sure."
She pulled her clothes from the cabinet and laid them over the bar. Her zipper growled slowly as she inched it down her uniform. "No peeking," she said, only partly meaning it. But Tim kept his gentlemanly eyes averted as she squirmed out of her tights. A pair of running shorts and a V-neck replaced the skintight golds and reds. "Okay," she said, gathering her uniform onto a hanger. "You can look."
He glanced back over the couch. Then he gaped.
The cabinet behind the mirror housed a hook upon which she hung her uniform. It had a pile of equipment sitting in the bottom. The rest of the cabinet was filled with newspaper clippings, magazine covers, pictures, sketches, and pin-ups, all drawn from a common theme that struck a chord in Tim to drown out Flamebird's voice. He blinked at her moving lips, and asked, "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I said, 'Do you like my collection?'" Flamebird swept her hair back and smiled dreamily at her staggering collection of images in her secret cabinet. Dozens of masked eyes stared back at her, making her swoon. "Isn't he the coolest? I would give anything to meet Robin."
The stalker shoe was on the other foot now, and it gave Tim an awful shiver. He saw pieces of cape tacked to the back of the cabinet. A whole birdarang hung from pegs, this one far more advanced than hers. Tim knew, because he had designed it. What looked to be a lock of black hair was taped to the inside of the cabinet doors, which she brushed with her fingers, making Tim cringe and check his scalp.
He made a mental note to bring kryptonite to his next meeting with Superboy.
She plopped down on the couch with a new soda, propping her legs on a lacquered coffee table that likely cost more money than the sum total of Tim's possessions. "Sorry. I can be kind of a Robin freak, I know. But he's just…hot! You know?" she asked.
"Not…really…" Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "So, uh, Flamebird…"
"You're sitting in my living room, pal," she said wryly. "You might as well call me Betty. Come to think of it, you might be the first person I've had up here, ever. And a cute boy to boot. Go me." She sipped her second soda through a smirk at his obvious discomfort.
"Sure. Betty." His mouth hefted her name like it was a barbell, heavily, uncertainly.
Betty smiled. "There. Now we're friends. So," she said coyly, tracing the rim of her can with her fingertip, "You're retired, huh? Who did you used to be?"
"Excuse me?" he said too quickly.
"You can't tell me you hang out with the 'S' crowd with a handle like 'Tim,'" she scoffed. "Somebody that can move and sneak like you do? I see you in a dark sort of color scheme. Blacks, grays, a shadowy cloak. You've got this broody forehead that just screams for a mask," she said, and framed his face with her hands.
Tim withdrew into an embarrassed silence. "It doesn't really matter anymore," he mumbled.
Betty dropped her hands. "Sorry," she said, chagrined. "Sometimes I can be really…" She waggled her hands, bugged her eyes, and stuck out her tongue. "Y'know? I guess it's why I don't get much company. Any company."
"The tabloids tell a different story," he said charitably. "Clubbing all night, sailing on yachts, living the lifestyle of the rich and famous. At least, that's what I skimmed."
"All a lie," she said airily. "Wealthy dilettante Betty Kane is just a mask I wear by day to hide my true, mysterious, altruistic alter ego." As she flourished her soda can, she noticed a laugh being held in check behind Tim's tight lips. "What? What's so funny?"
"Inside joke," he said, and sipped his soda until his smile dissipated. His gaze drifted back toward her open cabinet. Ignoring the scads of creepy Robin adoration, he examined her fiery costume. It had no armor, no Kevlar, and only a rudimentary utility belt. Its cape couldn't stop bullets. It was bright enough to attract all kinds of attention, and simple enough to kill her for it. "Can I ask you something, Betty?"
"Only if I get to ask you something, Tim," she said. "But guests first."
"Why do it?" He gestured to the empty Flamebird hanging in her cabinet. "Why throw yourself into this business without any real help? No offense, but you don't seem like the type. And you're awfully…green," he said.
Betty's gaze joined his at the cabinet. Hers, however, did not linger on the costume. "I think the word you're looking for is 'lousy.' And yeah, I guess I am." She sounded as though she had expected the question since learning his name. Shifting in her seat, she thought, not about what to say, but about whether she could bring herself to be honest, both with herself and with a stranger. Finally, she asked, "You know that lie I told you I'm living? Swimming pools and movie stars?"
"Like I said, I just skim them in the checkout line," Tim said.
Her mouth dipped. "Well, it didn't used to be a lie. I used to be a real Metropolis pop princess, a child of privilege. And I've never had to work at anything in my life. Ever. I don't mean, like, 'work for money' work, though I never have. I mean, like, whatever I try, I'm just good at. You name it, I've tried it, and I can do it well."
"And you're modest, too," Tim deadpanned.
Betty shrugged. "Call it arrogance if you want. When I was thirteen, I was correcting my professor's calculus work on the board. At fourteen, I got my black belt in karate after practically sleepwalking through every lesson. By fifteen, the US Olympic Gymnastics team started calling and sending gift baskets. I've never had to really work at anything."
Tim shrugged. "Okay. So what happened?"
Turning backwards on the couch, Betty draped herself onto the armrest and sighed wistfully at her pictures and pictures of Robin. "He happened," she murmured, and veiled her eyes in daydream.
A career's worth of memories whirled in Tim's mind, searching the faces and masks he had met. "You…and Robin?" he asked, confused.
"I wish. I'd give my left arm just to meet him," Betty said. She sank back onto the couch with cat-like bonelessness and gazed up at the ceiling, her mind far from her body in the throes of imagination.
"I remember the first time I saw it. I had just gotten home from a fashion show, or a charity event, or some bullshit, and I turned on the TV while I was whitening my teeth before I hit the clubs. And there was this bizarro alien attack on the West Coast. And I remember thinking, what's the big deal? Metropolis gets invaded, like, eight times a year, and you don't hear us bitching about it.
"But then I saw him," she said, her voice growing husky. "No one had ever gotten good footage of him in Gotham City, so I'd never really saw him before. But some schmuck with a camera caught Robin fighting this freaky orange alien girl. He was…wow. Just wow. And he moved like…wow! I watched him fight, and I just knew I had to meet him."
Tim's face became the embodiment of incredulity. "You live in a city with Superman, and the one hero you wanted to meet more than anyone else was Robin? I know I'm saying this to someone who dresses in tights and flings herself off of buildings, but you're crazy."
"Any invincible idiot can throw a blanket around his shoulders and fight crime," Betty said to Tim's staunch, silent disagreement. "But someone like me? My age? Who could do what I did, only better? It was love at first web search. I found out everything I could about him. I read every article, every eyewitness blog, clipped every picture. I even planned a trip to Jump City just to sneak onto his island so he'd catch me, and I could meet him.
"Then I started thinking. Who was I to hunt Robin down? Even if I found him, he's a big-time hero, and I was just some spoiled brat. For once, I was a nobody to someone else. And let me tell you, that's a really freakin' weird feeling for a girl who has separate closets for her shoes and socks," Betty said.
"That's when it hit me. I could jump I could swing. I could fight. Who else would Robin like better than a super hero just like him? He'd flip over a hot babe who could battle injustice at his side, right?" she asked with a grin.
Tim swallowed hard, feeling much like a proverbial Frankenstein faced with his demon. The thought of holding so much sway over someone he had never met felt like a heady super power all its own, and one more dangerous than any he could ever imagine. "You became a hero to meet Robin?" he asked weakly.
She nodded. "Totally. I put together the suit and cape, made my own birdarangs, the works. The hardest part was the name. Something hot that played on the 'Robin' vibe. But inside of a month, I had everything together. I started stepping up my gymnastics and my karate until I felt ready, and then I hit the town. I figured once I saved enough lives, I'd get my name in the paper, and bam! Rookie hero runs off to Cali to join her destined bird of a feather to fight together. Maybe even more," she said, her look sinking slyly.
Nausea sloshed in Tim's stomach. He set his soda aside and grasped his forehead, overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness of Betty's story. She was a little girl playing dress-up. She was a child with a crush on a shadow. Why on Earth had Superman let her continue? She was going to get herself killed, and probably kill several other people in the process. "Betty…" he said, wondering how to confess the truth without crushing her utterly.
Betty went on as if she hadn't heard him. "And then I had my first night out. I found a mugging. Caped Crusader One-Oh-One stuff, right? Some bozo had dragged an old lady into an alley. Seriously, she looked like she was almost forty, and she was wearing this awful pantsuit that made her butt look huge. This bruiser, he was trying to keep her quiet. It looked like he was trying to get her jacket off, maybe turn this into something worse. Yeargh.
"So I swung down, cape blazing behind me. Announced my name, posed, worked the goods." She mimed the pose, thrusting out her chest and chin. "Guy pulls a knife on me. I get scared. So I beat the tar out of him. I mean, I really let this guy have it. Probably needed spelunkers to pull his boys out of his crotch afterwards. 'Nuff said. I totally saved that old lady, and…"
She drew her long legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, staring at the wall. "And there was no cheering crowd. No News Nine. No fanfare, no medals, no keys to the city, no spaceship from the Justice League to offer me a spot in their starting lineup, no plaque, no reward, no paparazzi, no pictures, no attention, no anything, no nothing! The lady was so scared that she ran without even saying thank you.
She smiled. "And it felt great!"
"…it did?" Tim asked, looking up.
"For the first time in my entire life, I did something that mattered to someone besides me. I saved a life. I can save lives." Her hands flexed in absent thought. "Just knowing that is a thousand times cooler than…anything. Even meeting Robin! Well, maybe not that much cooler," she amended with a smirk.
The Frankensteinien dread in Tim's stomach lessened as he looked upon Betty in a new light. He tried to remember how he had felt clinging to the top of that bus in a stolen cape and mask all those years ago, speeding to avenge the death of a father he'd barely known. Hadn't his reasons for getting into this business been just as wrong as hers? It felt like a lifetime ago.
"Yeah. I suck at this right now," Betty said firmly. "But I'm getting better. And I can help. Even if it's just one person. If I can help, I have to. Otherwise I'm just wasting space again. That's what I told Superman when he tracked me down, and now that's what I'm telling you."
Tim glanced back over the couch at her heroic altar. "What about Wonder Boy?" he asked.
Betty smiled to herself. "I don't plan on tracking him down, if that's what you mean. Nobody's seen him in months anyway. I hope he's okay. But if I ever did meet him, I'd definitely tell him what he did for me, and how he turned my life around." Her smile widened as she added, "And then I'd try to grab his butt. Rawr!"
Her playful growl became a yawn. Tim glanced at the clock and remembered too how hard it was to schedule a night life like hers in the beginning. He stood, pocketing his empty can to hasten his exit. "It's late. You should get some sleep. I know how much a double life takes out of you, especially with a couple of cracked ribs."
Covering her mouth, she said, "A boy running out on vixen wild child Betty Kane. I must be losing my touch."
He managed a small smile. "Thanks for the drink, Flamebird. Keep fighting the good fight."
As he walked to the door, Betty stifled her second yawn to say, "I never got to ask my question." When he stopped, and turned to face her, she asked, "Why did you quit?"
Tim stared for a moment, lost for an answer he could put to words. Four faces floated behind his eyes, right where they had remained since that moment in S.T.A.R. Labs, when he had realized what he had to do. Another of those moments struck him now.
"All the right reasons, I guess," he said at last.
The yawn defeated Betty, exploding from her mouth in victory. She screwed her eyes shut and gingerly stretched the kinks out of her back. "Well, I hope you drop by again, Tim. Maybe next time you'll actually tell me something about yourself."
She opened her eyes. Tim was gone. Her door was still secure, and hadn't made a sound.
"Huh. Cute boy. Slightly creepy," she said to the empty room. She collected her can and recycled it behind the bar, and stopped in front of her uniform. Her favorite poster of Robin hung on the cabinet door, staring back at her wistful smile. Glancing to either side, she gave the photo a quick kiss. "One of these days," she promised, and closed the cabinet.
Wonder Girl crept across the apartment's carpeted living room, navigating by the city light pouring through the enormous bay windows overlooking Metropolis. Under normal circumstances, she could have stood there, in her pajama sweats and T-shirt, and stared at the city all night. That night, she had something else on her mind, and crossed the windows without a second look.
"Conner," she hissed to the lump of blankets on the couch. "Conner, wake up."
The lump mumbled as it rolled off the couch. Superboy thrashed out of the blankets on the floor, still wearing his rumpled jeans and T-shirt. His eyes opened one after the other, and took a few seconds to find her. "Cass? What's up? Trouble?"
She sat down on the couch as he pulled himself back onto the cushions. A pensive expression tugged her features toward her lap. Her hair sat in a tangled mess around her neck. "No, nothing like that," she said, wrapping herself in her arms. "I just couldn't sleep."
A sleepy grin split Superboy's face. "Clark's big ol' bed got you feeling lonely? Want some company?"
"You wish," she snarked.
"Night and day, babe." A throw pillow struck his face.
Wonder Girl picked up the other pillow and hugged it to her lap. "I just…I've been thinking a lot about what happened this afternoon. That Tim guy, he's…different than how you said he was. I almost felt like he was picking me apart with his eyes, like a dissection. I don't like it," she said, and shivered.
Superboy sobered immediately. "Tim went through some really hard times last year. I'll admit, it doesn't look like he got through it without some major baggage. But I was there for some of it. It was bad, Cass. He still needs time to work through it. Help, too. That's why I think bringing him on board will be good for everyone."
"But as leader?" Wonder Girl asked. "I know what he's done, Conner. And I know he's your friend, and it's sweet that you want to help him. But from the way you talk, you act like we can't do this ourselves. Like we need him."
"Well, we do," he said matter-of-factly.
She sighed impatiently. "I don't think we do. For gods' sakes, he doesn't even have a power anymore. You and I are powerful enough to do this on our own. And we're smart enough, so don't even start," she told his impending interruption, closing his mouth. "I know it seems like a huge deal, and it is. But we can do this. You and me."
Superboy frowned. "Cass, it isn't that at all. It…" He struggled for an explanation as she waited patiently. "Okay, it's like this. Let's say there's a guy with a gun, and he shoots at us. What would you do?"
"You're kidding, right?" She asked, and searched his face for signs of the joke. He remained unusually serious. Tapping her bracers together, she said, "I'd block the shot. You could probably just stand there, maybe even eat the bullets if you wanted to. What's your point?"
"What if there're civilians nearby, and they catch the ricochet?" Superboy said. "What if the gunman uses explosive rounds? Or kryptonite bullets? What if it's a mind control ray?"
She scowled. "Well, you didn't say any of that."
"Exactly," he said, "because I didn't think of it. My first thought would have been to take the shot too. Because I can. But someone like Tim can't."
"Which is exactly why he shouldn't—"
"Which is exactly why we need him," Superboy insisted. "One bullet can put Tim down for good. So he has to eliminate the gun before it can fire. He has to outthink the guy with the gun before the guy pulls the trigger, or draws the gun, or even thinks of drawing the gun. Tim has to think three steps ahead just to survive. He has to think like that every hour of every day to keep himself and everyone else alive. And he does."
Slowly, begrudgingly, Wonder Girl began to understand. "And you want to apply that kind of thinking to us."
He shrugged. "He's done it before. Honestly, it's what I've always admired about Tim. He runs around with nothing but a cape, a stick, and a rope and fights the same guys we fight. It's like he turned thinking into a super power, only it's not as lame as it sounds. If there's anyone I trust to pull my cloned bacon out of the fire, it's him. Next to you, natch."
Wonder Girl smiled and leaned in toward him. Her lips pursed ever so slightly, brightening his drowsy eyes. "Why, Conner Kent, you semi-smooth talker. Check out your big brain, going all reasony on me."
"Don't feel bad. I'm logicked like a horse," he said, tilting to meet her halfway.
Both teens jolted apart at the utterance of a third voice from the kitchen. "You're making me blush, Kon-El."
Superboy's vision cut the darkness and saw Tim standing in the kitchen doorway. A backpack bulged behind Tim's shoulders. The hooded intruder might as well have teleported in, for all the good Superboy's senses did him. Glancing at the disturbed and de-mooded Wonder Girl, Superboy snapped, "Damn it, Tim. Really? Now? Not, like, two minutes from now? Or, I don't know, twenty?"
"Might as well be 'never' now, farm boy," Wonder Girl muttered. She kept her glare leveled on Tim, who strode into the living room. His features were veiled in the shadow of his hood. Crossing her arms, she said, "You look like a lazy burglar."
"The costume will get better. I packed light," Tim said in a rusty Gotham Growl. He stopped on the other side of the coffee table. "This thing you're putting together? I'm in. Let's get started."
"What about retirement?" Superboy asked smugly as he stood.
Tim matched Superboy's smile with a stony glower, one he intended to mask in white and black once more. The glimmer in his eyes burned away the last vestiges of Jason Todd. Jason was a nice place to hide. But Tim didn't deserve to hide. He didn't deserve that life. And even if he did, he could never live it for real.
"People like us don't retire," he said. "It's time to make a difference again."
To Be Continued
What I'm about to say will sound like pure fabrication. The few of you who recognized her before Googling her just now will never believe me. But let me say it anyway: I have been waiting years to use Flamebird in this story.
The concept of Flamebird was too cool to pass up. During my research into this story (yes, I researched Titan lore, which raises me to some new, untold level of dork, I know), I came across Betty Kane, the once Batwoman and fourth-string Titan wannabe. For those of you who don't know, I've kept her origin story here relatively the same: she was a talented young athlete who loved, loved, LOVED Robin, and so became a super hero to meet him. She tried out for the Titans and failed.
And I knew from moment one that I (being the manliest Robin fangirl around) had to bring in Flamebird. So I have. And I'm enormously amused by the result. It wouldn't be duplicitous of me to predict that we'll see more of her someday.
But in the meantime, let's return to our plucky heroes in yon Compound of T, eh? I believe we left young Raven in a bit of a pickle. Well, lucky for her, she gets a whole story arc to work it out. Stay tuned for A Love Story, beginning next week. Hope to see you there!