Author's Note: It was brought to my attention this past week that this series, this SMAV series has been going strong for ten years. Ten years. Wow, time certainly flies. Here's to another ten years because we are not close to being finished. Thank you, everyone, who has read and reviewed and stayed with us. Enjoy.

Mounting Tension

Jim Gordon was finding himself not cut out for retirement.

A simple statement. Short and to the point. He had always known that his time in law enforcement would end in one of two ways: he was killed in the line of duty or he retired. Personally, he had been banking on the first one.

An unwanted commissioner tapped by a mayor wanting to shake things up, having to navigate some of the most corruptive elements in the entire department, adapting to every new challenge and crisis the city threw his way, and it was a miracle he had made it through to the other side.

Let's face facts, he had been losing his touch. He had been falling apart. The department needed a commissioner who could keep it together and keep it running. He had stopped being that man that could do that. You had to know when it was time to step away.

Of course, that also meant that he wondered if maybe he had retired too soon. In what felt like a year, he had found himself more times than not waking up early, getting dressed, and heading out the door before he was able to stop and remind himself that he didn't need to do this. The former commissioner wasn't heading to work—he had none. Sometimes it would be when he was tying that damn necktie, and others he'd be halfway to his car.

Once he had gotten into the driver's seat, keys in the ignition. To think, he had swore that if he had ever lived to see retirement, sleeping in would be the first thing he'd do, making up for all the years' worth of missing hours. Now, Gordon couldn't even enjoy that.

So much had been happening, and he was nowhere near the center of the storm anymore. The itch to be involved, to do something was incredible. But it wasn't his job anymore.

It wasn't his responsibility anymore.

So what was a man like him to do with all his free time? That was a harder question to answer than where was the Joker this time. Reading the paper seemed to be a good start, get caught up with the funny pages…but his subscription had expired some time ago. So internet, that had to be a good option, right?

Going on walks when that hadn't panned out well followed. But where was he walking to? What was the reason? What was he trying to accomplish? It wasn't like he had a yard or a house to renovate. No home improvement projects, what about self-improvement? Cigarettes were a good start, might actually quit this time.

Then he ran out of ideas. Hmm, what was Barbara up to?

Gordon was proud of her. She was a chip off the old block. His daughter knew what she wanted and she went for it. With all the odds against her, one after another, there was another Gordon in the GCPD. Barbara may never be on the streets doing a beat, but he was more relieved with that. The last place he ever wanted her was the streets. He knew them too well, knew the dangers, and was more than happy that she had chosen forensics instead. Compared to the rest of the department, it was relatively safer.

And it gave him a reason to keep in touch with some of the old guard. Despite his gruff exterior, Bullock was keeping an eye on her. Anyone who thought that she was free game to stalk would have his former lieutenant down their throats. For anything else, Barbara would have to handle herself.

That didn't mean everything. Word about a new group of clowns had reached his radar, and in the interest of making sure his daughter was safe, he had decided to be cautious and make sure none of them had any thoughts about taking advantage of her. Armed both with a weapon and a car, Gordon had gone out of his way to make sure his daughter got home safely. And if he went out of his way to find reasons to make sure all was in order, well, he had the time, right? Barbara wouldn't begrudge him too much, right?

This League of Smiles was spreading panic throughout the city. All the stories online confirmed that at least. However, there was something about it, something off. As much as one would believe Gotham's most infamous criminal was involved, there was something lacking. A touch if you will. All the violence was random, which did fit in with the style, yet…

Think of him what you will, but there was a lack of showmanship. The Joker wanted you to know it was him. He gave you a fair shot to stop him, but futility always went hand and hand in his schemes. What futility was there with the League of Smiles?

Nevertheless, he was going out armed and making sure none of it touched his little girl. They would have to go through him first.

Last night was a big one, though. Those clownish maniacs went all-out in an assault on the city, but it still had some lackluster results. Yes, people had died, and each one was an insult, but shouldn't the numbers be higher?

There were other stories that were starting to make the media blitz, stories that were overshadowing the violence. Stories about monsters that appeared out of nowhere and went on rampages. Those had some numbers, a lot of injuries and a lot of stories about certain elements fighting back.

So far there were no descriptions regarding bats. Unlike the last time, Gordon was putting more attention to these monsters, whatever they were. Was it something unrelated? Or worse, connected?

It all amounted to the same result. He would be keeping a close eye on Barbara and making sure she was getting home safely. Perhaps she wouldn't mind a guest spending the night, could make her some breakfast if his cooking skills hadn't gotten too rusty. Currently, he cooked for one on the regular, and getting the chance to do so with the only family he still had in Gotham was too precious to give up.

Oh no. His throat was tightening and starting to burn. Damn. Don't think…too late. Despite how rare it could be, the times he was able to share a meal with Sarah…

It still hurt. Even now it still Goddamn hurt. The memory, that damn painful memory, it always resurfaced, and he was back in his office, that bastard in the doorway, the gun at Sarah's head, and he was powerless to stop the pulling of the trigger. The gunshot still echoed, still caused a flinch to ripple throughout his body. Holding her, begging her…losing her…

The bastard was buried, hopefully rotting. There would be no further justice there. He would have to continue living, but how could he? How could he continue? What could he do that would make Sarah proud of him? To…atone for that failure. Til death do you part was supposed to be an age later. Not…not this soon.

Which was why he had to make sure nothing happened to Barbara. Gordon had already failed his daughter once, and she was crippled for life. Lucky or unlucky, take your pick, but the former commissioner would be damned if anything else happened to her.

Clowns, monsters, they would all have to go through him.

He would not lose another one.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Take one breath in. Hold it. Let one breath out. Repeat. Keep centered. Keep calm.

Repeat. Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos. Repeat. Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos.

This was an effort. The last time this had been an effort was when she was first learning how to meditate. A child who could barely stand on her two legs and was nothing short of a feeling machine had to learn how to calm her mind down so as not to invite catastrophe onto her hosts.

Mastery had come too late. It needed to return now. Her mind, as it was, was fraying. The mental barriers needed to be strengthened for tonight's planned onslaught.

Raven could feel exhaustion throughout her body, not just in her mind. So many days, so many times her defenses had crumbled. What was he doing to her? What did he plan to do to her? Obviously nothing good, but he would not listen when she warned him of the dangers. The stooge he had was too much of a chatterbox and was very, very inane. Could it be that she had finally seen the day she missed Beast Boy's chatter?

These were desperate times indeed.

In. Out. Azarath. In. Metrion. Out. Zinthos.

"A curious little phrase, you speak. I do like the cadence, though not enough to dance to. Do you perhaps know others? Mayhaps I will be able to hum along to it?"

He wanted music now with her as the lyricist. Just when she thought that whimsy was not going to involve itself.

These people, they were insane. Did they not feel…anything? Could they not understand the peril that not even their own selfishness could ignore? She knew what disasters could occur should her control break. A night in the Tower had been a prelude to that.

The only surprising element was that none of it was manifesting here. A construct should have been roaming this place by now. Yet, nothing. The confidence of the man who was directing this seemed not to be misplaced. Either that, or he was incredibly lucky. The thing about luck was that it always ran out.

Assert calm. Retain it. Breathe in. Azarath. Breathe out. Metrion. Breathe in. Zinthos. Breathe out.

It was still a struggle. The forces from within were warring against her. It wanted to come out. It wanted to destroy. It wanted to unleash wrath. It was as much a part of her as her own emotions were. Keep it within. Keep it leashed. There was—

Abruptly she tensed up. The battle within froze. Raven could feel it, something from without, gazing at her but not seeing. A presence, one mighty and dreadful, a pressure that weighed down and crushed, yet continued to search. There was a mind behind it. One that was zeroing in here, seeking.

It was him. She could feel him. He…wasn't finding her. But he wanted to. She had been hiding from him for years at this point. He wanted her, needed her, and would not rest until he found her.

Her powers. That's how he was doing it. A blip here and there would keep him from discovering where she was. Despite her responsibilities and duties with the Teen Titans, Raven had always made sure to keep the use of her powers at a minimum. With Dr. Fate warding the Tower, he provided a safe location that even a loss of control could be contained and hidden.

This place wasn't warded, though. The constant assault on her psyche and the manifestation of her might was allowing him the greatest opportunity to pin her down and perhaps worse, retrieve her.

No, he was not on this plain of existence. That's why he had minions and pawns. They would do his dirty work, preparing for his arrival, and the key to that…

His attention was going, moving elsewhere, which brought up the question of how he was unable to find her. A stroke of luck, perhaps? But it would only last so long. Like the man who held her captive, it would end. Unlike him, if her luck ended, then everyone would suffer.

Breathe in. Breath out. Azarath. In. Metrion. Out. Zinthos. In…

It wasn't often one arrived to an appointment and both parties were there at the same time. Usually one arrived before the other.

Today was unusual in that regard.

Bruce arrived at the restaurant right as Selina did. It was only for lunch, but it was apparent the blonde woman was one for appearances. She was sharply dressed, no doubt the dress was right out of a fashion catalog. It hugged her body in all the right places. She even had those large frame sunglasses that were all the rage with socialites.

Bruce had come in business casual, meaning a button-down shirt and slacks. Clearly he had underdressed for this.

"Bruce!" Selina greeted him exuberantly. "I'm so glad you called!"

Well, to be more exact his personal assistant had called her personal assistant and set this lunch up. Details, details.

"Well, I simply couldn't get you out of my head since the last time we met," the dark-haired man replied, an easy smile on his face. "And then I remembered the weekend was right around the corner and this would be an excellent way to see you."

"Oh, are you hunting me now?" she coyly suggested.

"Or placing myself at your mercy, your choice."

Before they could continue their greeting, the maitre'd appeared. "Reservation," he asked pointedly.

"Wayne, party of two," Bruce immediately responded. The man looked at his list—a rather odd thing since it was midday, but then an establishment like this wanted the image of exclusivity. They had to keep up appearances from opening to closing.

"Ah, this way, Mr. Wayne." The maitre'd plucked up two menus and led the two into the restaurant. They were soon seated at a table draped in a white tablecloth.

The moment the maitre'd walked away, they restarted their conversation. "This is fancy," Selina remarked, though her tone was devoid of humor. "Where did you find this place?"

"A few years ago with friends," Bruce shrugged. "It was all the rage when it opened, but as you can see, they only allow select clientele."

"I see."

"As much as I would like to keep our banter up, there is something I need to speak to you about," Bruce said then, earning himself Selina's attention. She even took off her designer sunglasses and set them on the table, revealing her green eyes. "It concerns your proposal."

He definitely had her attention. "I didn't realize we were going to be talking business," she quipped as she situated herself in her seat.

"Oh, this is just advanced notice for you. It won't take long." Bruce made certain to keep his eyes on the woman. He wanted to see every response she made from verbal to nonverbal.

Naturally, the matter had to be postponed when their waiter appeared. They were quick to get their drink orders off before resuming. The absent way Selina rattled off an order for a coffee indicated she was far more interested in what Bruce had to say than getting a beverage.

"So I spoke to Lucius, as I told you," he began. "We want to hear your pitch as soon as possible. We were thinking first thing Monday, eight in the morning."

Selina raised an eyebrow. "You weren't kidding about that part, were you?"

"Do I look like the kidding type?" he responded, a smirk on his face.

"Considering your reputation…" she trailed off.

Bruce stared at her, losing his smile. "My reputation is much worse than some idiot womanizer; you know why. You came to see me in jail after all."

It was to Selina's credit that she recognized her misstep. Being accused of murder had a way of destroying a lifetime's effort. The news media was still convinced he was involved and not just a victim of an effective frame job. "You're right," she said softly. "I'm sorry to bring that up."

"You weren't the one that put me in there; in fact, you were one of few people that thought I was innocent. That bought you some points with me, which is why I want to hear your plan. If it's clear you've done your homework on this, then you'll be leaving Wayne Tower with a check in hand."

Selina actually purred upon hearing that, her lips widening into a pleased smile. It was this hum that came from deep within her throat. Bruce actually liked it. "Who knew my little visit could be so rewarding," she mused, her eyes lighting up with anticipation.

"You have to stick the landing, of course, but you already have one foot in the door," Bruce reminded.

"Oh, you can count on that. Cats are known for landing on their feet."

That…seemed an odd observation. "I take it you're a fan of cats."

"Oh, most definitely," Selina quipped flippantly. "Felines of all shapes are my friends. I can remember going on a school field trip to the zoo and getting to pet a lion. None of the other kids got to, they were too scared."

"You were quite brave," he observed.

"I'm always brave. Why else would I be seen in public with a man like you?"

"I'm hoping you mean I'm devilishly handsome," Bruce joked, but his tone was low, indicating he was giving a warning.

"Handsome, charming, a mouse that I get to play with," she listed off.

"Another cat metaphor?"

"Like I said, felines are my favorite animals."

Damian didn't want to do it. He had gotten this far without help, much further than he had with it. He would be damned if he slid back to more comfortable surroundings.

Yet, he felt his hand was being forced. He should be out in the streets, making his father proud. Instead, he was stripped of that dream, his birthright, all because he wanted to help. It wasn't right; it wasn't fair! He shouldn't be punished for doing what was right!

His hand found the phone. It dialed the number. The receiver pressed against his ear, the dial tone ringing.

"Head Development Corporation, how may I direct your call?" came the response.

Yes, Damian was calling his mother. No, it wasn't as pitiful as it sounded. It wasn't.

"This is Damian al Ghul," he said into the phone receiver. "I would like to speak to my mother."

There was only the briefest of pauses, then, "One moment, my prince."

There was only silence then. Had he been some peon, irritating music would be playing, but he was not some lowly, easily forgotten—

"Good morning, my son," his mother's voice suddenly interrupted, her tone calming, soothing. "It is so good to hear from you."

It only served to bring Damian's frustration boiling up to the surface. "Mother, you must speak to Father."

"Whatever for?"

"He is being completely unfair! I was only trying to help him last night and now he has forced me away from his side to…to…practice."

There was silence before his mother spoke, "Damian, you will need to begin at the beginning. I am woefully ignorant to your plight."

Damian scowled. Oh sure, now she didn't want to meddle in his life. He knew she was keeping her assassins nearby, always observing him. She knew damn well what he was talking about, so this attempt at pretending ignorance was irritating him further. If she wanted to play this game, fine, he would play it. "Father finally took me out on patrol and everything was going perfectly. Then he gave me menial tasks, ones unworthy of my skill, but I performed them as he instructed. But then we were attacked by these monsters and when I tried to help him, he told me I was being disobedient and would not allow me out on his next patrol!"

The indignity and injustice of—

"So, he grounded you, is that it?"

His scowled deepened. "Yes, Mother, were you not paying attention to what I said?" He was not in the mood for cavalier responses when his future was at stake! Of all people she would understand the best.

There was more silence, but Damian could have sworn he heard soft chuckling. Perhaps he was only hearing things, but he was not amused if he was hearing laughter at his expense. "I don't see what you think I can do about this situation, Damian," she eventually replied to him. "I have no sway over your father. You are in his care, by your own decision may I remind you. You must follow his commands."

Was…was she taking Father's side?!

"Bullshit!" Damian exploded. "That's—"

"Damian, language," his mother interrupted him sternly, cutting off his pending tirade.

The boy clamped his jaw shut, his teeth practically melding together as he clenched them together. "You have more influence than you pretend to have," he eventually gritted out.

"You overestimate me, my son. If I had as much influence as you claim, you and I would have been living with your father long ago. Recent events have proven this quite plainly."

She was referring to the mad scheme Lady Shiva had committed, one fully supported by his grandfather. It seemed of everyone that had been tested by it, his mother had failed her end.

"You have chosen to live with your father at this time," the woman continued. "And that means you will live by his rules, no matter how unfair they may seem. If your father has come to the decision that you need more training, then I fully stand by that decision."

"But Mother!" This was not happening. This could not be happening!

"If you are that desperate to perform your craft, you may return to your home with me. That is your current option if you want to patrol this city. Otherwise, you need to improve yourself in the eyes of your father, and there is no telling how much time that will take. The choice is yours."

Damian paused at that. To thwart his father's will, he would need to return to his mother, which was a step away from his ultimate goal. It would be an admission that he was not worthy of being at his father's side, something the Usurper would no doubt gloat about. He would be damned if he gave that bitch any more standing in his father's eyes.

"I don't think I will be leaving," he eventually said, his tone much more subdued. Shoulders once proud and defiant slumped in defeat.

"As you wish. It was very good to hear your voice, my son. Please, do not hesitate to contact me as often as you wish. I miss you dearly. We can even meet during the day if you so desire."

Visit with his mother while he lived with his father? That seemed quite tempting, he had to admit. "I will consider that, Mother. I must go now." Quickly, he hung up the phone before he could be swayed further. He did not want to admit it, but he was strongly entertaining that offer.

How long had it taken for him to finally be in his father's home? Far too long in his opinion. He was finally here; yet, forces were conspiring to lead him back to the familiar surroundings of his mother. He couldn't let that happen. Already, he could see the Usurper's influence over his father weakening the longer he was here. Why else would Father allow him on patrol? He needed to be here to cement his position.

After all, he was the true heir to his father's mantle.