Disclaimer: not mine.
Warnings: I guess the title is pretty self-explanatory
--Dodging the bullet is going to be awfully difficult today, Lane.
Lois entered the Planet alone. Today had been a reckless mountaineer needing aid in Denali. She hoped the cry for help was for real imminent danger, because having Clark by her side would have been great. As she made her way inside, she could feel all pairs of eyes looking at her.
--Maybe it is not such a bad thing that I didn't sleep at all. I almost feel numb, I don't think whatever Perry's gonna do will hurt that much.
Lois reached her desk, today annoyingly inside Perry's visual range. And he was already in his office, surely reading the press. Oh, boy. And no Jane Doe exclusive to raise as a white flag.
--Maybe Clark is right and our piece does th--
"Lane, my office!"
--Or not.
"Hold a sec while I--"
"Now!"
Great. Now the few pair of eyes in the bullpen attached to working people who didn't care about gossiping were also tuning in. Lois composed herself and tried to walk into Perry's office as casually as any other day.
But Perry wasn't looking as angry as any other day. He was serious and silent. "Close the door and sit down."
Lois did as asked, a lump starting to form in the pit of her stomach. If that alpinist from Alaska wasn't in agony she was going to hurt him herself.
"Yesterday I gave you the story of the year, Lane. And to help you get first hand information I sent you to cover a campaign act."
"Which I did," said Lois matter-of-factly.
"I don't recall asking you to become the news, and last time I checked, I wasn't suffering from Alzheimer, and not only that, Lois, but Cat informs me of a little detail you very conveniently diminished, as well as the rest of the press: that someone else who talked, apparently did not just, and I quote," Perry said reading the Daily Planet, "pose a few questions about Lex Luthor's program." Placing the paper on his table he looked at her. "And we do not have a single statement. Care to explain?"
"Nobody does have a single statement because she didn't want to talk, Perry."
"And I figure that's the poor excuse all the other reporters have given their editors. I sent you for a reason, Lane. Since when somebody not wanting to talk has stopped you from getting an interview?"
Lois tried to ease things, but she couldn't help feeling she was just giving him excuses, and that felt terribly wrong for her. "Clark went to get her, I had to talk to the press."
"Which gets me to ask you again when the hell did I tell you to lose it and feed the competence?!" asked Perry raising his voice.
Lois answered, equally tense. "I did it to divert the press' attention from her so Clark had a chance of getting that exclusive!" There was only so much she could take. But she breathed deeply and lowered her tone. "You think I enjoyed it? Any of it? Come on, chief, you know how much I hate being caught on the other side of the news."
Perry's tone also relaxed. "About that..."
"Look, I know I was completely out of line."
"You were. And for that you will apologize." Another pause. Then he looked at her. "In the exclusive interview you're giving Cat today."
Lois' heart had to be reminded how to beat again. Her lungs were not doing that good either. "What?"
"I sent two of my best reporters to cover a simple political campaign act. First fact: one of them loses her temper. Second fact: the other doesn't get the exclusive of the night."
"Two reporters? You threw the freaking bullpen out of the window, Perry. So much for it being a simple campaign act," said Lois.
"I assume we're talking about Grant."
"Hell yes."
"She went on her own accord, Lane, out of her working hours."
"Well, she had a press pass."
"Well," said Perry imitating her angry tone, "apparently you're not the only one skilled in that handy department, Lois. Like it or not, she earned that interview. Noon. Her office. And play nice."
Lois sighed and almost whispered shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "I can't believe you're doing this, Perry."
"You left me no other choice, kid. Don't think I'm enjoying any of this."
"Damn it, chief," said Lois looking down.
"There's one more thing Lois." Perry had his eyes closed, but opened them to look at her again. "Your reckless behavior compromised your legitimacy to lead the presidential campaign follow-up. "
Lois knew she was not going to like what Perry's next words.
"I'm taking you out of the byline and giving it to Kent and Troupe. If you are to place your name in any of the stories, it will be on third place. At least until the waters calm down."
Perry looked at Lois. She was devastated, he could see it in her eyes and thin closed lips. He felt sorry, frustrated and angry at the same time. "I'm sorry, Lois, but this is not a playground where you can beat the jocks with your punches. This is a paper. You fight with your words." Lois looked away. "Just be thankful that Luthor didn't sue the paper."
Lois left Perry's office without adding a single word, but moving slowly. Lex had finally come out of his lair and back into their lives like a furious elephant disguised as a fox. And he had just gotten started.
Ollie looked at the four messages showing in the screen: Batman offline. Oracle offline. Nightwing offline. Batcave offline.
"The computer could've said 'Whole Gotham branch offline' and we would've finished sooner," he mumbled to himself.
Ollie had also called Ella, but she had nothing. She'd talked about some encrypted files overloading her system, but otherwise she was in the dark too. Babs and Dick out of range was probably happy news for them. But it wasn't like Bruce not to answer any of the ten calls he had made in two minutes. If only to wish his death for being such a pain in the ass, Bruce would've called.
Chloe's old place wasn't far from the Queen Tower, and Dinah's bike eased his way through Metropolis' traffic. He was home within fourteen minutes.
That's when he saw it.
Ollie never nosed around Dinah's things, but something told him it would be wise to break a rule this once. Barbara had installed a private line on all co-workers' cells to be in constant contact with them. Dinah had kept it after she left the Birds. It was also linked to all Bat family members. The small screen of the phone showed a big number of lost calls from that private line. All from the same person, up until one hour before.
"What's going on, Bruce?"
Taking Dinah's cell, he pressed re-dial and waited for Batman to take the call.
It had taken Dick almost an hour to make the copy, and right afterwards he went to the Clocktower, figuring Babs and Bruce would be there. Instead, he found it silent, the door locked.
Sometimes Barbara was so focused that she not just loss track of time, but muted the world around her, and whatever she had found on Luthor, seemed to be pretty big.
"She's not in there."
Dick turned. Bruce was standing there.
"You stored the files?," he asked.
"Yes, the data is secured."
Bruce stepped out of the shadows and Dick looked at him. The cowl covered most of Bruce's face. The purpose, apart from concealing his face protecting his identity, was to instill fear in his enemies. The way Batman moved, blending with the gothic and dark Gotham's urban landscape, using the shadows and the darkness, was one of his weapons. An important one. His mouth, always serious, and the way he modulated his voice completed the package.
Dick realized he was not talking to Batman, Bruce had not changed the voice. He noticed something else. His mouth. It wasn't plain serious. It was contained.
Dick swallowed.
"Where's Barbara, Bruce?"
"She's in your bedroom."
"Bruce, what's--?" Then Dick saw the crimson stain on his costume. "Bruce, you're bleeding!"
Dick approached worried to check the extent of his wound, but Bruce's hand blocked him.
"It is not mine."
There was something else hiding behind that cowl. Dick then did something he had never done before.
His right hand reached for the edge of the mask under Bruce's right eye, and he pulled it upwards. Bruce didn't move, he just closed his eyes. Dick took out his own mask and looked into Bruce's eyes. Once they opened he saw the slightly red sclera.
"I'm sorry, Dick."
The deafening silence was broken by the sound of Dick's footsteps turning, walking first, running afterwards.
Their home was silent.
"Babs?"
He called her, but all he got was silence. Deafening and painful silence.
With fear slowly and mercilessly taking over, he approached their bedroom. The door was ajar, and by the darkness inside he could tell the blinds were down.
His pace suddenly slowed down, as if he had heavy stones tied to his body. Trembling, his hand reached the door and pushed it open.
A hand leaned on his shoulder as he closed his eyes as hard as he could. Maybe if he didn't let himself see, the vision would disappear.
Bruce spoke softly. He couldn't see his face, but his hand noticed the tension in his body. "She was already dead when I got here. I couldn't do anything."
Dick swallowed hard and opened his eyes again. It wasn't a dream. The tears blurred his vision, but she was there.
"What happened?," he managed to ask.
"Stab wound on her stomach." Bruce noticed Dick wincing. "I made the report for the police with all the evidence forensics might need and," he paused for a second, "I recreated the scene in the bathroom. I moved the body from there so her father wouldn't see her..." Bruce found it hard to talk. "They trust me, they won't ask questions."
Bruce had thought of everything. The Clocktower would be concealed from all eyes, Barbara's secret would be preserved. Dick saw her wet hair, as if she had been on the shower when it happened. He shook his head, he didn't want to think of all the things Bruce had surely meticulously done after he found her and--. No, he couldn't think about that.
"I have to call her father, Dick."
Dick heard Bruce, but his eyes were fixed on Barbara. Finally he was able to move. And he did, towards her. He didn't even hear himself talking back to Bruce. "Do it."
So still, so pale. He kissed her cold lips and couldn't hold it any longer. His legs failed, all strength drained out of his body from the leeches of pain. His arms grabbed Barbara as he wept, his face on the sheets covering her body. "I'm sorry Babs, I'm so sorry."
Bruce kneeled by his side. "It wasn't your fault, Dick."
Dick suddenly raised his head, but not to look at Bruce. He stood up and turned.
The hand holding Barbara's was the last part of his body he moved when he stepped towards his nightstand. That same hand took the alarm clock. That same hand threw it strongly towards the window, glass shattering at the force of the blow. That same hand turned into a fist towards the blinds, repeatedly, careless of the pain and blood.
Bruce moved and tried to hold him. "Dick," he said, but he wouldn't listen. "Dick, stop it. You've cut yourself. Dick, Dick!"
Dick stopped, hoping the pain he was feeling in his cut arm would numb his inner one.
"She hated those blinds. She hated those blinds."
Author's note: a necessary evil. This was one of those chapters where I really wish I was more talented in writing. Last scene could've been much better...
Music:
The Cinematic Orchestra 'To build a Home' Dick enters their home and finds her. All his world crashes in front of him. He had it all and he's just lost it.
And with this, the rest of the music is no longer spoilery, so as soon as I can, I'll post a link for you to download the whole Link Playlist in my profile (today if I can): hope you also enjoy the music. Thanks for keeping reading and for the reviews!
