A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

Chapter 6

For an instant, even Lady Shiva seemed to be frozen in disbelief. Then her expression hardened. "Have it your way," she snapped, preparing to tighten the wire.

But that instant was all Batman needed. He thrust back and up with his elbow, ramming it into her pubic bone. The garotte strained against his costume for a moment and a slashed line appeared in the Kevlar. Then, the narrow wire went limp as it was torn from its user's hand and it dropped to the floor. Shiva landed rather more heavily, but despite her obvious pain, she sprang to her feet almost at once.

Daredevil swung his billy-club at her chin and she rolled with the blow, then seized his arm and drew him over her hip.

Nightwing dashed to Batman's side. The Caped Crusader shook his head. "Never mind me," he rasped. "Get Shiva."

Knowing what the sonic weapon had done to Daredevil, Nightwing made sure he was facing his mentor, partly out of concern that Shiva's garotte might have caused some damage, partly so that the older man could read his lips.. "Are you sure you're...?" Nightwing's voice trailed off. Through the cut in the cowl's neck, he could see a sliver of dull metal. There was no blood.

"Gorget collar," Batman snapped. "Gave me some protection. I'm fine. Go!"

The problem was, he didn't look fine, but Nightwing knew better than to argue. He rose to his feet, just in time to see Lady Shiva fly backwards into a lab table. She recovered almost instantly. "You have been taught by the Chaste," she observed. "I am impressed."

Daredevil didn't react to the compliment. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his billy-clubs and advanced steadily.

Shiva surged forward once more, but as she leaped to do battle, she caught a flurry of movement and twisted away from Nightwing's escrima strike. Although she evaded the blow, she left herself too open to Daredevil's strike and sucked in air through her teeth as he smashed one club down hard on her right arm. As her arm lowered, he smashed his second club into her right shoulder.

At the same time, Nightwing drove one escrima stick into her left knee, the other into the ulnar nerve of her left arm. "I was taught that by Batman," he said, the friendliness of his smile belying the steel in his voice.

With a snarl, Shiva flung herself at him, earning a sideways stick to the throat for her trouble.

Daredevil gripped the back of her neck and, as she struggled to free herself, Nightwing extracted a small spray bottle from a compartment in his boot gauntlet. He squirted its contents in her face and she slumped.

Daredevil smiled. "WHAT..." his smile faded. "Sorry. Ear Damage. I'll TRY NOT TO shout. This IS ANNOYing."

Nightwing rested a hand on Daredevil's shoulder. "Batman?" he called. Then he remembered that Batman might not hear him. To his surprise, though, the reply came immediately.

"Nobody's coming," Batman responded, leaving the 'yet' unspoken.

Nightwing nodded. Then, remembering something that Daredevil had explained earlier about his talents, he pulled a small notepad out of one wrist gauntlet compartment and a miniature screwdriver set out of another. Using the smallest Phillips-head screwdriver he had, he set one corner of the tip to the page. It wasn't much of a stylus, but it should still be able to create raised dots, albeit not perfectly round ones. He reminded himself that he'd have to write backwards so that the Braille would be correct on the reverse side. Can you read this? he punched. He noticed that Batman was cuffing Shiva's wrists and ankles and nodded approval. They wouldn't hold her long, but they might hold her long enough. He passed the pad and tool to Daredevil.

For a moment after he'd accepted the screwdriver, the Crimson Swashbuckler looked perplexed. Then his fingers brushed the page and he smiled. Yes. Ink too, if that's easier for you, he wrote back.

This time, it took Nightwing a bit longer to respond. Security cameras might spot ink. Braille won't be as easy.

Smart, Daredevil admitted.

Quiet, too. Can you manage? Should we retreat?

Daredevil sighed. I hate to. But we're hurting.

Nightwing nodded. We haven't worked together long enough to... he flipped the page... anticipate each other's moves. That will cost us too.

This time, Daredevil's reply was swift. Yes.

Dick looked over his shoulder. Batman was back at the computer. He rose to his feet. "Uh... Batman. Daredevil and I have been—"

"No time for talk," Batman cut him off. "We need to get out of here and we have to assume that as soon as we're gone, Kingpin—or Baron and Baron, if there's a difference—will transfer these files elsewhere and wipe any trace of them from these terminals. Once I download the data, we're leaving. I don't want to hear any arguments."

Nightwing fought the urge to laugh. "You won't. I was expecting to get one from you, though..."

Batman refused to rise to the bait. "Watch Shiva," he grunted. "And the door."

In the control room, the man in the white suit and ascot glowered. "It would be helpful to know what is going on," he stated.

The technician winced. "They're not exactly mugging for the cameras, sir," he admitted. "When they were talking, we could lip-read. Well, partially, at any rate. But whatever they're doing with a screwdriver? It's obviously some sort of communication, but even inside the room, we'd need a good light source to read it. I'm sorry, sir. We're blind."

The Kingpin sighed. "How... ironic."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing that need concern you, Charles." He shook his head. "I suppose I'd best make my way to their destination to deal with them myself. Notify me, should they go anyplace else."

He rose ponderously to his feet and moved deliberately toward the door, barely registering his underling's acquiescence as he did so.

Batman rarely swore in Gotham City. Alfred knew how to monitor and, if necessary, interrupt his radio communications, the better to reach him in an emergency. The first time that the elderly butler had heard profanity pass Batman's lips had been the last. It hadn't mattered that the punk he'd been interrogating had been the worst kind of scum. It probably wouldn't have mattered that the punk had sworn first (Batman knew that Alfred hadn't bought the 'He started it!' excuse when Bruce had been six, and he wouldn't buy it now). He'd come home to find the supper dishes in the sink. He still remembered Alfred's scolding.

"I will concede, Master Bruce, that you are indeed too old to have your mouth washed with soap, as would be fitting. However, you shall spend the next fortnight washing the dishes to my satisfaction. And should you not rinse them thoroughly, you may well find yourself ingesting soap, after all."

It would have been laughable, had Alfred not been serious—and had Alfred not used the voice override codes to ensure that the Batmobile would be off-limits to him until the dishes were done. The one saving grace had been that, at the time, Dick had not yet come into his life. He knew his son well enough to know that Dick would never have let him live it down.

However, when time was of the essence and, instead of gaining access to the data he'd hoped, he encountered another security screen, perhaps the cause was sufficient. He'd had every intention of copying the data and removing all traces of his presence in the system. Unfortunately, there wasn't going to be time for that. He pulled out a small toolkit of his own and attacked the computer housing. He'd extract the hard drive and look it over at his leisure later.

It was too dangerous to stay here any longer. He looked around and glowered. There were no windows in the lab, which meant that they would need to find another way out. As soon as the hard drive was safely tucked away inside a belt pouch, he glanced over his shoulder at his companions. "Let's go!" he snapped.

That was when the massive steel door of the lab came smashing down like a tower of building blocks.

All but forgotten, Lady Shiva smiled. Kingpin's entrance had provided her with just the distraction she needed to get free. Carefully, she slid her manacled wrists down the length of her legs and over her feet. It would have been a good sight easier had her feet not been cuffed as well, but she managed it. From there, it was a simple matter to work a lock-pick out of her jacket lining.

She was only mildly annoyed to discover that the lock on her handcuffs was as stubborn as the enemy who had closed them on her wrists. She enjoyed a challenge.

The only question in her mind was whether to clean up what was left of the three costumed crime-fighters after her employer was through with them, or escape to deal with them another day.

First things first, though, she reminded herself. She worked a second lock-pick loose and made a new attempt at getting her cuffs open.

The computer file hadn't done him justice. Wilson Fisk was nearly 400 pounds of solid muscle that masqueraded as fat beneath a full-cut white suit and dark green ascot. "Congratulations," he rumbled. "It's rare that I need to involve myself with such petty annoyances," his lip curled in scorn, "as tourists. If the truth must be told, I'm rather surprised you've found the leisure time to visit New York," he sniffed. "Have things settled down in Gotham City? If so, perhaps it is time to consider expanding my operations into that market."

Flanking Batman, Nightwing readied his escrima. Daredevil mirrored him with his billy-clubs. Out the corner of his eye, Nightwing noted that his mentor was still hurting from the previous attacks, but only because he knew what to look for. Batman was an expert at masking pain and fatigue. The grays and blacks of his costume added a certain gravitas to his bearing. The cape helped, too. And when he spoke, his, "You are more than welcome to try," betrayed no hint of weakness.

"Of course," Kingpin added, "my path will be far easier with your elimination. But I will be sporting. I believe that in baseball, it is the visiting team that bats first? You may proceed."

Nightwing tensed. He didn't like this, not one bit. It was his experience that most opponents who were this confident in their victory usually had very good reason for being so. He was more than a little relieved when Batman gave a slight nod, almost a bow, reached into a belt compartment, and came up with another smoke bomb. He passed a breathing mask to Daredevil.

"Another time, perhaps," Batman replied blandly. Then he lobbed the smoke bomb. "Move!" he barked. "Go!"

Nightwing grabbed Daredevil's forearm and gestured toward the doorway, knowing that the other man would be able to navigate through the smoke. For a moment, he thought his new companion would balk, but then he shrugged off the hand and complied. Nightwing's eyes narrowed. Daredevil was going a lot more slowly than he had before. He might be doing it for Nightwing's benefit; if he smelled the chemicals, he could probably guess what Batman had done and know that Nightwing would be following. He might also be more hurt than he was letting on. Nightwing filed his observations away and followed. There were no guards in the hallway when he caught up. He considered for a moment. Then he shouldered his way into one of the other locked rooms and was relieved to spot a large window at the far wall. He wasn't sure whether there was time for any kind of finesse. Instead, he lifted up a desk chair and hurled it through the glass.

Even though he was expecting the alarm, it was still loud enough to startle. "Come on," he urged Daredevil. Then he mentally kicked himself, remembering that Daredevil was still temporarily deaf. Evidently, though, his hand gestures had worked. Daredevil's billy-club line snagged a flagpole across the street. Nightwing aimed his grapnel for the guardrail on the roof of the same building. It was an older one, with excellent handholds and it only took him a few moments to reach the rooftop. Daredevil joined him an instant later.

That was when he realized that Batman wasn't with them. "I'll kill him," he muttered.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

Nightwing sighed and fished out the note pad again. I'm fine. You?

Daredevil shook his head. Balance shot. Inner ear thing. Had to really focus to make it out. Can't do that all the way home.

Nightwing considered. We're near my hotel. I can lend you civvies. You okay to get home? Can I drop you off somewhere?

Unexpectedly, his companion smiled. You can. First though, can you make a call?

Batman was glad that his companions hadn't argued with him, nor checked to make sure he was with them. Fisk needed his full attention and, while Nightwing could probably hold his own in the fight, Murdock was in worse shape. Best to have Dick get him to safety.

"Or maybe," he growled, "now is the time." He charged into the smoke cloud and rammed his elbow where he thought the big man's solar plexus should be. His eyes went wide and he gritted his teeth. It felt like he'd just run the joint into a concrete wall. His opponent grunted but barely even swayed from the impact.

It occurred to Batman that he might have sent away the others too soon.

Foggy Nelson was just getting ready for bed when the phone rang. He checked the time and fought down his apprehension. In his experience, telephone calls after 11PM seldom brought glad tidings. Since finding out what his best friend and partner did when he wasn't in the office, Foggy had found himself dreading late night phone calls more. He was Matt's emergency contact, after all. With what Matt did, Foggy knew that sooner or later, there would be an emergency and he would be contacted.

He looked at the caller ID. 'Private number' told him nothing besides the fact that it wasn't Matt's phone. Steeling himself, he picked up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Nelson?" The voice on the other end sounded cautious but confident. Maybe it wasn't bad news...

"Yes?"

"This is... uh..." In his mind's eye, Foggy envisioned a pained smile. "Um... this is Nightwing. Daredevil said I could call you."

...or maybe it was. "What's happened?" he demanded sharply.

Nightwing sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. He's okay. Mostly."

If that was supposed to reassure him, it was doing a lousy job. "How mostly?"

"We were working together tonight. Someone used sonics. He got an earful."

As Foggy listened, he slowly felt his trepidation begin to drain. From what Nightwing was describing, the situation was more of an annoyance than anything else. "Where can I meet you?" he asked finally.

"Lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Battery Park. I'll be waiting with him."

"Drawing stares from horrified bellhops, I'm sure," Foggy muttered.

He was rewarded by a laugh on the other end. "We'll both be in civvies. Well, in my case... I'll be in disguise, but it'll be a civilian disguise." Nightwing sounded apologetic. "I'm not exactly a celebrity when I'm out of costume; more like... well, 'famous by association'. But you knowing what I really look like risks your finding out about some of those people I'm associated with, and connecting some dots I wish you wouldn't, so... yeah. Disguise."

Kidding around with Matt was one thing. Foggy had never thought that banter would come easily to him with another costumed crime-fighter. But he heard himself groan and reply, "You're one of those people famous for being famous, aren't you? Like Perez Hilton?" and he was rewarded by another laugh.

"Not really," Nightwing replied with amusement lingering in his voice, "though I guess it depends on whether you're asking me or that guy who writes the Bugle editorials."

Foggy replied with a chuckle of his own. "I'll be there in about a half hour."

"We'll be waiting."

Dick ended the call. He'll be here in a half hour, he wrote on the complimentary hotel stationery. He passed the page to Matt. They had tacitly agreed that writing notes to each other was better than risking getting booted from the Ritz because Matt's shouting was disturbing the other guests.

Matt traced the impressions of the pen on the page with his fingertip and nodded, but he was frowning. Shouldn't Batman be back by now?

Dick sighed. Yes. I'm hoping he's just taking a rooftop tour because he knows I'm going to give him hell for this when he gets back and he hopes if he delays his return long enough, I'll be asleep. Hey. Wait. You're his lawyer. Maybe you can yell at him. He might listen to you.

Matt chuckled. Believe me, I'm planning to. Kingpin would have been hard for the three of us to take down if we were fresh. The shape we were in? I hope Batman's as good as they say. Otherwise...

He is, Dick replied. That doesn't mean I'm not going to worry until he shows up. As always. He rolled his eyes, as he added, How does it go? Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...

Matt smiled, but the smile fell away quickly. I think I'm about to be on the receiving end of some of that hell you mentioned. Foggy worries about me almost as much as you do Batman. He hesitated before adding, At least, by the time my hearing comes back, he'll probably have calmed down. Let's head downstairs though. I don't want to keep him waiting.

Dick nodded. Then, because he wasn't sure that Matt registered the motion, he wrote, Just give me a minute to put in the color contacts and pull on a wig.

He headed for the bathroom to make use of the mirror. He emerged quickly with golden-brown curls and hazel eyes. All set, he wrote, as Matt got up expectantly. He looked at his watch. It had been over an hour since they'd left Baron and Baron. Dick tried to push away his worries. Bruce was fine. He was always fine. Almost always. Usually. The hell with it; when he turned up, Dick was going to kill him...

Over an hour earlier...

Wilson Fisk always felt invigorated after a good fist fight. He tended to avoid them since it was bothersome cleaning bloodstains out of a white linen suit, but he didn't mind an occasional indulgence. He glanced down at the battered figure in black and gray and stooped, reaching for the cowl. He paused, shook his head, and smiled at his folly. Whoever it was under that mask, their face would mean nothing to him. It wasn't as though he knew many people in Gotham on sight. And after the job his fists had done on that face, it was unlikely that he'd recognize it with the cowl off, even if he did know its owner. He looked to Lady Shiva, who had finally managed to work herself free. "I hope you aren't going to be tiresome and fall on your sword over a lost fight," he said.

She sniffed. "Hardly. You didn't seem to need my help, so I didn't interfere. There's no shame in losing to a man of his skills. Though, of course," she added, "there would have been more glory in winning." She bowed.

He returned the bow gravely, turned, and walked over to a wall intercom.

"Charles, I'm afraid I've made quite a mess in the lab. Send a crew in to clean up. I'd appreciate it if they disposed of the trash I've left on the floor, as well." He ended the transmission on his employee's confirmation and headed for the door. When a groan escaped from the prone figure on the ground, Kingpin stopped to deliver a final, savage kick to the man's ribs on his way out.