Not so Delightful Fires

Alright, she had her schoolwork in her backpack…check. Did she have her purse…check. Was she dressed and ready for school…check and half-check. SPOILER ALERT: no one was ever ready for school.

Stephanie swung her backpack onto her back, the straps resting on her shoulders. There was a full length mirror in the corner of her room and she stood there, gazing into her reflection. She took a deep breath and let it out.

Alright, now she was ready to go.

Leaving her bedroom, she headed down the hallway that opened into the living room. She saw the familiar wide-screen TV on the wall, a number of speakers positioned underneath it—her dad's surround sound system. He wanted the movie-going experience in the comfort of his home, and damn it, he was going to have it. He was a Brown and Browns got what they wanted.

Though the lights were on in the room, neither of her parents were in there. Instead, she saw them at the kitchen table, on the complete opposite side of the living room. There had been a door frame put there to act as some sort of separation between the two areas, but it hardly mattered in Stephanie's eyes. The door frame was every bit ten feet, so you really couldn't call it a doorway.

The kitchen table was covered in papers, a laptop in front of each of her parents. She could see her mom, who was basically an older version of her. She had her hair pulled into a high ponytail and she was clearly still in her PJs. No way did that woman go out looking like a slob if she could help it. As for her dad, she just saw his broad back, his own blond hair short and neat. He was a TV personality after all, so he had to maintain that image. Sometimes, Stephanie wondered if he combed his hair in his sleep.

"We can definitely pay this one," her mom was saying as she held up one of the papers, a bill maybe?

"If we do that one, we can't fully pay off the electric," her dad countered.

"But the electric will let us do a partial. We can pay off the balance next month."

Oh, Stephanie saw what was going on. It was that time of the month again—bill time. For the last year or so, she saw her parents pull out their bills and spreadsheets and go over the family budget. Things had been a little tight lately; even she noticed it. Her parents really hadn't told her anything and she really hadn't asked. If it was something that needed to involve her, she figured her parents would let her know. So far, they hadn't.

Best as she could tell, it was something with the network that her father worked for. There had been a couple writers' strikes in the last couple of years, so that was always a pain. Maybe that was what was causing these monthly meetings with her parents.

"I'm heading to school!" she called out to her parents as she made a beeline for the front door. If she was lucky—

"Hold on there," her dad responded.

—damn it.

She stopped in front of the door, the blonde girl turning her head towards the kitchen table. Her old man had turned in his seat so that he was sitting in it sideways. He had a stubble on his face, which he would no doubt shave off later. He was looking at her, a glint in his eyes.

She knew that look all too well.

"Did you clean your room?" he asked her.

"Yes, Dad," she answered with an annoyed sigh.

"Make your bed?"

"Yes."

"Clean your bathroom?"

"Did that right after school yesterday."

"Did you take out the trash?"

"Last night, Dad."

"And where are you going?"

"School, Dad. I just said that."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Purple."

"And what is the capital of Assyria?"

"Depends on which year you mean."

A smirk appeared on her Dad's face. "That's my girl. You've passed the trial."

Goody. "Later," she grumbled as she gave a half-hearted wave. Turning back to the door, she opened it and left.

That was a daily thing with her dad, whenever he was home anyways. Since she was a young girl, he had been quizzing her nonstop. She had found it fun back then, but now, as the moody teenager she had become, it was annoying. When was her dad ever going to give up on those dumb quizzes? Knowing her luck, he'd be on his deathbed and asking her what the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow was.

She had Monty Python to thank for her eventual response.

Reaching the sidewalk, she began her journey to school. It was only a mile away, and she had a friend that would be picking her up a couple blocks over. Thus started the boring part of her day.

It had taken three months. That was from the moment it first started, not including all of the meetings with the architects, drawing up the blueprints, reviewing them, making changes, and so forth. Once those had been agreed upon, construction had begun. A few rooms had been destroyed courtesy of sledgehammers. Then came the actual building, the installation of electrical wires, plumbing, and so forth.

All of that work resulted in Bruce having a corner office and his previous one a couple of small conference rooms.

Change had been needed. His old office had been a crime scene and it remained a constant reminder of that until the demolition crews destroyed what was left of it. Bruce made certain his new office had all of the same amenities as the old one, plus a couple new ones. There was also a new security set up that had cameras in the office, all on their own private network in the event, say, the entire building lost power and someone tried to murder somebody in his office again.

Once bitten, twice shy after all.

His office now took on the appearance of a diamond, his desk situated at the far point. Two windows had been built into the walls, meeting right at the corner, so they appeared as one long window that bent at a ninety degree angle. To the left corner was a sitting area along with a refreshment cart. To the right was a more intimate meeting area, with a couple of chairs and a small table. One side was for business, the other for entertainment.

Of course, this wasn't a true diamond as the bottom corner had been flattened out, making the room more of a pentagon than anything. That was so that the doorway could be placed.

And it was this door that Lucius Fox opened, entering the office. "Good morning, Bruce," he called out as he closed the door behind him.

Bruce looked up from the documents he was reviewing. A number of venture capitalists had come out of the woodwork, trying to entice him on their latest and greatest get-rich-quick schemes. While these were normal parts of business, there had been a growing number of them lately, especially after it was revealed that he was helping to fund a new power plant for the city.

Was it a coincidence? Perhaps, but very unlikely.

"Have you seen this latest investment opportunity?" Bruce asked his right hand man. "It's not even trying to hide itself as a Ponzi scheme. I'm tempted to let the SEC know just out of general principle."

The older man grimaced. "That bad? Then you might not like the news I have."

What now? "What now?" he voiced his internal thought.

Lucius reached his desk, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite Bruce. "There was some commotion at Kyle's power plant. Apparently, some men were apprehended trying to commit some sabotage. They were trying to spread gas around the building materials, or so it was reported."

"Did they say anything?"

"Just that the plant should be a union job."

Oh, great, Big Labor was sticking its nose where it didn't belong. Bruce had to give Selina credit, she had picked her site well, just outside of Gotham's city limits where they weren't required to obey the city's labor laws. There was naturally the option for them to use unionized labor, but Selina had opted for non-union labor. Naturally, this didn't make the unions happy and they had protested the plant's construction on those grounds.

It seemed some of them wanted to take a more hands-on approach.

"Did they manage to damage anything?" the younger man eventually asked.

"Aside from spilled chemicals, it seems their attempt was cut short. Their security team had them restrained by the time the authorities got there, though some of them had odd injuries. I couldn't get more information on those injuries, but I have someone looking into it."

Bruce leaned back into his seat in thought. "I'm starting to think we need to get a progress report from Ms. Kyle, don't you think?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Lucius agreed. "Perhaps even an on-site tour to see just how far they actually are. Might even get us a closer look where these men were caught."

Well, that settled that. Bruce reached a hand to his landline, dialing in a familiar number at this point, ending it by putting the phone on speaker. The sound of the phone ringing filled the office for one, two, three rings.

And then an answer, "Selina Kyle," a distracted voice answered.

"Selina, it's Bruce," the billionaire greeted warmly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I have a favor to ask."

There was always a brief sense of accomplishment when a report was finished. Everything on forensics' side was done, and it was up to the detectives and the brass to figure out what to do with it. That accomplishment slightly faded as the next case had to be worked on, and as always ending with another report.

As much as TV might glamorize it, a lot of everything done in a police department was paperwork. The boring stuff. The kind of content only British comedians would dare to show in their movies. Barbara had known better than most what she was getting into; when her father wasn't stewing and groaning about City Hall or the newest member to Arkham's roster, it was all about the paperwork.

All the groaning still hadn't fully prepared her.

Still, it wasn't as bad as last year. It had taken months to get through everything, processing all the damages and the loss of life. Thank you, Johnathan Crane, for the mess. It was going to take a long time before any real charges could be leveled against him because processing the sheer magnitude of the hell he had tried to unleash was the true nightmare. This was exactly what everyone had needed.

Of course, explaining how he did what he did was another story. For whatever reason, Crane refused to talk, keeping his secrets. There was also something different about him; she hadn't met the man face to face, but she was around the detectives who were interviewing the self-proclaimed God of Fear. They had all mentioned how the lights seemed to be off and no one was home, yet, if you looked deep into the abyss that his eyes were, you would see the mind still in there, enjoying some sick kind of satisfaction.

He was a man with delusions of grandeur, Barbara knew. Knowing he knew something and could hold it over everyone else's head, the uncertainty driving everyone mad, perhaps with fear that it could happen again, it fit in line. Barbara herself knew the truth but that was from the Oracle side of things.

Speaking of, Tim and his Teen Titans were back where they should be, though by all accounts, they weren't going to be completely free of Titans. Some months ago, there had been an announcement about an expansion of the T.I.T.A.N. Initiative. At least three more Towers were under construction, and thanks to her in via Tim, she knew where they would all be. Yes, there were some people unhappy about, but there were hundreds if not thousands of online forums gushing about it, wondering what had prompted the expansion and of course who would be part of it.

Good luck with that. Many of these new Titans were liberated from some secret organization with its own delusions of grandeur and happened to have no place to go. The Justice League would have an official announcement about it all in a couple more months. She had the inside scoop but would be keeping mum. She was good at doing that by now.

When it came to keeping secrets, there sometimes was that feeling of guilt. Duping people she didn't know, who cared? Her colleagues? Maybe a little. She was starting to get to know them, had even gone on a few outings because a, why not, and b, the cover story that was her day job. Sure, it meant less time as Oracle, but she was figuring that out. That was a bonus from the whole Crane situation, finding ways to remain consistent and relevant as her online persona.

However, if there was one person she felt the most guilt towards, it would be with her father. Each passing year, it grew. Being Oracle meant spending less time with him. Now that he was retired, he could finally be Dad of the Year, but it was such crappy timing. Barbara still appreciated her father, thus the guilt.

That was one last kernel of positivity that could have come from that whole ordeal. It had been a few years, but she could see that spark of life back in her father's eyes. His energies had a direction now.

It was in private investigating.

That's right, you heard it here. Former Commissioner Jim Gordon was a private eye nowadays, opening up his own firm and everything. His name alone had brought in some customers, but that was just for the first couple of months. The novelty, like with everything else, wore out. This was why it was so lucky for him that he had a daughter like her.

Consultation with the GCPD was a bit of a lucrative contract. Always a case by case, but there were detectives in the department more willing to get their evidence from the former commissioner than, let's say, a certain vigilante. You could also bet a certain vigilante had also taken notice. Important evidence always seemed to be in the place her father needed to look for it. More like a whisper voice in the dark and he would know where to go to keep it pristine. Still, it was another pipeline for the Network and its incorporated vigilantes to get shit done.

More than once had Harvey Bullock sung her father's praises, but she had a feeling that the detective knew where the evidence really came from and just preferred to keep a blind eye and let her father take all the credit.

Barbara was proud of him. She was. He was at least doing something that made him feel he was helping this city again, and she wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth.

But the fight was never ending. There would always be crimes, one more massive scheme to upset the balance, and an unending river of paperwork without end. That so much time had passed since the last crisis was a bit of a boon.

But it was holiday season. Holiday season was always a busy time. Sure, there were the robberies, the burglaries, and the scams galore, but there were also domestic disturbances, suicides, and mental health emergencies for which law enforcement was the first responder. Christmas was a tough time, perhaps the toughest non-crisis scenario.

Don't even get started about Black Friday. No one talks about Black Friday here.

It was the early days of December, snow was falling, and the nights were getting darker. So naturally the season was starting off with a gangland shooting.

It had been a long time, perhaps too long, since word of a crime family had trickled into not only the department, but forensics especially. Barbara was aware of the Calabrese, both their current operations and their historical ones. Her father had been setting up a task force to start bringing the fight to them, Batman would make requests here and there about fronts, but killings had oddly been few and far between.

There were bodies in the morgue, autopsies ordered naturally, so activity in the department was picking up as well. The young Gordon was not going to be caught with her pants down this time; since the last time she had been making provisions that would allow herself to keep being Oracle and keep the Network on task.

A shooting was only the beginning, and surely Batman was already on the case. What came next, who knew, but the one thing nobody wanted was a mob war. Not again.

This time she was ready.

If only Dad could see her now.

The chilly breeze made Stephanie huddle into her jacket. It was that time of year again, when the weather began to threaten the falling of snow. Stephanie wasn't a big winter girl; she was more of a hot girl summer type. Give her sun, beaches, and short shorts any day of the week.

For now, she just wanted to get indoors. Thing was, she wasn't anywhere near her home. Nope, she was heading into the bad part of Gotham, her friend Harper at her side. Tonight they'd be breaking out the thermal gear so that they didn't freeze up on the rooftops.

Dad would definitely not approve of that. Her mother too, for that matter.

"So after the idiot decided the best place to let his dog drop a deuce was right in front my door for the third time," Harper was saying, her story about one of her inconsiderate neighbors who couldn't be bothered to walk their dog outside for bathroom time. "I decided to mess with their heater. They've been complaining to the building manager every day for the last week. And every time they check it, it works perfectly fine. Not once have they checked the circuit breaker, the morons."

"You know, I do feel bad for the dog," Stephanie responded. "It's not its fault its owner is a douche."

"Yeah, but the dog has a thick coat. They're doing just fine." There was a smirk on Harper's face. "I'm just waiting for someone to let it slip to the guy that I know how to fix stuff. That's when I'll stick to 'em."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, they'll demand I fix whatever is wrong with their heater, and I'll kindly tell them that I've already got a long list of people that I have to see first. They want to get bumped to the top of the list, they gotta stop with the dogshit, or pay me a small fee to jump up the list."

"...you do realize that racketeering, right?"

"I ain't offering them protection from getting robbed by me, Steph."

"The concept is similar though," she countered. "You're asking them to pay you to stop messing with their heater."

There was silence. "Well, when you put it that way…" Harper trailed off before shrugging her shoulders. "I've already filled up my karma quota for the next few years. I'm certain me doing this can be made up with a few more busted carjackings, and stopping the latest Arkham escapee from trying to take over the city."

That was hard to argue. Despite Harper's preference for blue and purple in her hair, she was a really gray person. Then again, she had to make a living for her and her brother while going to school and then beating up bad guys in the neighborhood as a vigilante. That couldn't have been easy.

Case in point, up ahead was a basketball court, one the two girls walked by every day to get to Harper's place. Usually there were a bunch of guys playing basketball, no matter the time of day. While that was certainly the case today, even from where they were, Stephanie could see a lot of the guys there were milling around, some in small groups, others staring…

Oh crap, was that an ambulance?

Not just an ambulance, but a couple cop cars too. There were red and blue lights flashing, which earned the attention from both of the girls.

"Don't tell me there was another shooting," Harper groaned as they drew closer. "This place is becoming a damn hot spot lately."

And that was another reminder that Harper didn't live in the best neighborhood. When Stephanie had first come over to the Row residence, she had been shocked at the squalor and crime that invested the area. To Harper, that was just life. That had been a rude awakening for the suburbanite.

As they drew closer, the two were able to stop near a couple of police officers, each talking with a couple of the basketball players. They were nodding their heads, writing down what they were being told in shorthand on small notepads. The players were animated as they talked to the cops, gesturing with their arms wildly. As the girls reached the chain link fence that surrounded the court, they really couldn't hear what was being said.

"Let's go check the ambulance," Harper said quietly as they continued walking, slowing their pace as they watched the scene, just like any rubbernecking passerbyers would. Stephanie just nodded as they headed towards the corner of the court, taking a turn, which brought them right near the ambulance.

Fortunately, the back of the ambulance was in their direction, and they saw the EMTs rolling a gurney towards it. There was a young man strapped to it, a blanket draped over their body. His eyes were closed, either because he was resting, or he was unconscious.

Shoving the gurney up against the bumper of the truck, the two EMTs then moved to the foot of the gurney and lifted it up, pushing it into the truck. The head of the gurney slid inward, the front wheels collapsing and swinging up into the underside of the gurney. The two EMTs then manually pushed the back wheels until they joined the front wheels under the gurney before shoving it completely into the truck.

Harper grabbed onto the blonde girls' arm. "Did you see his face?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Yeah, she had. When the EMTs had raised the gurney, she had gotten a good look on the man's face. She wasn't certain if it had been a tattoo, or a brand, or what, but there had been a word printed on him.

It said ABUSE.

Stephanie nodded as they continued to walk by, still rubbernecking. "Yeah. Was that a tattoo?"

"No idea. It was strange though, right?"

"Yeah. Think we should tell the captain?"

"Oh yeah." Harper began looking around the area. "Maybe we can get a security camera or a traffic camera that can give us a better idea of what happened."

"We could contact Oracle to see what the police reports will show," the blonde girl added. "Assuming they get filed before nightfall."

"Heh, look at the brains on you, Blondie. All of that homework isn't for nothing."

Stephanie snorted. "Not everyone can finish their homework at school."

"Not everyone is a genius at an inner-city hell school. Now chop-chop, let's get you home to finish that homework and then we can go meet the captain."