"YAAAAOOOOOWWWWW! What do we have here!?"

Amused, Robin put a hand on her hip, popping it out as she put the other hand above her head and artfully leaned against the doorframe. "What? This little old thing?"

"Little is right!" Franky exclaimed with a low whistle, exaggeratedly waggling his eyebrows.

Robin laughed at her husband's antics, dropping the ridiculous pose to cross the living room and peck the corner of his mouth. "Well, I suppose I have my answer as to if this dress is appropriately distracting."

"Babe, first off, you'd draw attention no matter what you were wearing," the cyborg said. "Secondly, in that dress, I could land the Sunny in the middle of this party, and no one will notice because they're too busy ogling you."

"Excellent."

Robin slipped on her red-soled, black, 4-inch strappy heels with one hand on Franky's broad shoulder for balance. They were a touch higher than she usually preferred, with the heel itself thin enough to snap under the right amount of pressure. But they were also a sleek and stylish status symbol, and Robin could always kick them off if needed. While wiggling on the right heel into a comfortable position, she noticed that John had paused the strumming on his new guitar to stare at her.

When he caught Robin grinning, John lowered his eyes and blushed. "You look nice."

Her grin widened at the bashful reaction; by her side, Franky cooed in delight.

"Alright, enough of that," John snapped, eyes still glued on his new toy. Of course, this was nothing new. He'd been so delighted when Robin presented him with the gift three days ago that it had been the focus of most of his attention -once he got over his shock.

Ultimately, the guitar and related accessories had been the easiest of John's requests to procure. It had simply been a matter of looking up the best music store in the city, getting an employee's opinion on the matter, and, after a bit of research on her own part to ensure the seller wasn't trying to rip her off, buying all John would need to continue his musical endeavors. While Robin would always prefer the piano or violin to the guitar, she could admit that the cherry red Squier Affinity guitar was beautiful.

"Shit," John hissed under his breath, popping his bleeding finger into his mouth.

"You know, kid, there's no need to rush back into it. Shredding your fingers into mincemeat won't help anything. And it's not like you don't have the free time," Franky said, concern slipping into his rough voice.

"Mmmfin," the teenager mumbled around the bleeding digit. He yanked it out, whipping the saliva off on his coat. "I just need to build back up my guitar callouses."

John scanned Robin over once more. "So what's all this about again? You spend years avoiding the public eye, so why are you flipping that on its head now?"

Robin's brown eyes met Franky's artificial blue, and a silent conversation passed between them.

Should we tell him?

I think so.

He might try to get involved.

I have no doubt he will. He's too much like us to sit by idly.

It'll be dangerous.

Would it be safer for him to know none of the specifics?

He'll probably still try to get involved, no matter how little he knows. And, as you love to say, knowledge is power.

"It's creepy when you do that, you know?" John asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He started to tap one out when- "Hey!"

Robin caught the cigarettes tossed to her by a hand sprouted from John's shoulder, crumpling them against her palm, and she put her hands on her hips. "John, we've spoken of this; there is to be no smoking in the house."

The teenager scowled. "Oh, come on! Smoking is where you draw the line? You don't send me to school! You let me have booze with dinner! And you are both involved in god only knows how much crime, but I can't have a smoke now and then?"

"You're right; we have few rules here. I don't think it's too much to ask for the ones we do have in place to be followed," Robin replied. She looked toward her husband. "Don't you agree, Franky?"

John turned his blue-eyed glare on the cyborg as if giving Franky a strong enough evil eye would lead to him getting his way.

Her husband, of course, found the sight amusing. "Don't look at me, kid. To each their own, but I'm not gonna go against my wife to stand up for your right to poison yourself. Hmmm… Then again, if I were to replace your lungs with cybernetic ones, you could probably-"

"Franky! You are not needlessly experimenting on our…" Robin trailed off.

They hadn't decided how to refer to their relationship with John, especially before him. On paper, he was their nephew, John Gerard, from Robin's estranged half-sister, Harriet. But to each other? That was still something for John to decide.

She swallowed and tried again. "You are not needlessly experimenting on John. Not until he's eighteen, at least."

"Oh, so I can get turned into the Bionic Man in two years, but not-"

"Six months."

John blinked. "What?"

"I will make you a deal. If you do not get caught smoking for six months, you can have one wish. So long as is feasible, we'll do our best to fulfill it," Robin explained. "Is that agreeable?"

"..." John's eyebrows drew together, eyes and mouth narrowing. Robin could almost see his thought process as he attempted to examine the deal from every angle. He was such a clever boy! "One month."

Robin grinned. She wasn't as skilled as Nami but could play the bartering game well enough. "Three."

"Six weeks."

"Four months."

"Eight- Hey, you went backward!"

Her grin widened. "Yes, I did. Would you like to reconsider my offer of three months?"

"... I see why you let her run the business side of things," John told Franky, who laughed. The teenager scratched at his stubble, eyes narrowing as he studied Robin again. "You said I'd win so long as I didn't get caught smoking, not that I couldn't smoke. Why?"

"Fufufufu, perhaps I just want to see you attempt to succeed?" Robin laughed. "Remember John, I've got eyes everywhere. You're welcome to try to sneak a cigarette on these grounds if you think you can beat my skills and Franky's technology."

.

.

.

"Fine, it's a deal," John said, letting out a long-suffering sigh. Then added, "This will be good practice for me. I'm worried I'm getting sloppy living here in the lap of luxury."

Robin fought back a giggle. "Looking forward to it."

Sprouting a manicured hand out of John's knee, she held it out to shake. The teenager grimaced but took it.

"So weird," he grumbled under his breath. Then John cleared his throat and gestured to Robin's dress. "You never explained why you're all dressed up."

"Oh, I'm attending a charity gala tonight."

The teenager wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Nicky used to go to those. Sometimes, he'd doll me up and make me go, too, so he could show me off. I hated all that snobbery but was able to nick lots of sparkly prizes off of drunk, rich gits."

At his words, Robin was stuck between vitriol at the mention of Necro and amusement when a clear memory of Nami carefully shimmying diamond necklaces and bejeweled pocketwatches off of various unpleasant nobles. The strangled grunt Franky let out made her think that he was similarly conflicted.

"Well," she said carefully, "I am attending this event in hopes of flushing out our would-be killer and the one who hired him."

John's eyebrows shot up. "I assumed you killed whoever it was. Even at the time, I didn't think it was a random shooting, even if this is Bludhaven, but there is something much bigger going on with the way you're talking. Or you think so, at least. "

"Right on all counts. Mostly. I intended to kill the man. Sadly, there was another assailant. I decided to retreat and gather more information instead of ending it then and there," Robin replied, lips twisting into a scowl. "If whoever hired the gunman to fire at us-"

"At you," John corrected. He reached up to massage his still-healing shoulder; the bandages were finally gone, but the area was still tender; new scar tissue was raised and purple-red, and the corresponding limb weak. "I just happened to be in the way."

An image of John's blood, red and hot as it pooled on the parking lot's gravel, flashed through Robin's mind. She wished she'd broken more of David Cain.

"For years, I've been out of the public eye. Almost no one knew what I looked like. Yet, not even a week after meeting the owners of two of the biggest companies in the world, I am attacked on one of my rare lunches in the city. Quite suspicious. One can only imagine how long the assailant was laying in wait, biding his time until an opportune moment," Robin explained. "But now I'm flipping the script, first by appearing at this gala and soon by appearing more in public. If another attempt is to be made on my safety, they will have to do it soon. Perhaps even tonight. We will see."

John scratched his stubble again, eyebrows knitted together. "...You think someone is trying to intimidate you, yeah? They could have killed you -killed us- easier and less messy in that parking lot. But they didn't. They wanted you to survive and be afraid."

"They could have tried to kill her," Franky corrected, earning himself a kiss on the forehead.

"Whoever it is, they must want your company," John continued. The boy was clearly in his own head, working out theories and ideas. "It makes sense. I've been busy and honestly never cared that much, but even I've seen the news about your company. You're new. Unknown to these old money slugs. But you're making money. You're changing things. The status quo doesn't like that; hell, they probably hate it more 'cause you're a woman. Maybe someone thinks they can scare you into selling your company?"

Another silent conversation:

The kid is good.

Agreed. How much should we tell him?

I mean, he's figured out a decent amount already. What's the harm of laying all our cards on the table?

If we say too much, he may try to take matters into his own hands.

True, but if we say too little, he'll know we're hiding things from him.

True. You lead, I'll follow in this matter.

"That's what we're thinking," Franky said, shifting in his enormous, throne-like custom armchair. "We're hoping Robin here can draw our enemies out."

"Seems dangerous."

"Most certainly. I welcome it," Robin said.

"I get why you-" John nodded at Franky "-can't go along, but maybe I-"

"NO!"

The teenager jumped at the twin shouts. His face scrunched up, anger and rejection starting to swirl in his blue eyes.

Robin cut it down with prejudice. "Kind as that offer is, you're still being looked for, John. We don't want you being recognized."

"I can disguise myself," John replied. He wiggled his fingers. "I just need a bit of glamor magic and-"

Now, it was Franky's turn to interrupt. "There is also a decent chance things will get messy tonight."

"How many times do I have to remind you both I've got magic? And this wouldn't be my first sticky situation."

Franky scoffed. "And you had magic when you got the hole blown in your shoulder. That didn't change the fact I spent over an hour scrubbing your blood out of our carpet."

John was frustrated now, his jaw set and brow furrowed. His eyes bounced back and forth between Robin and Franky as if trying to choose who was more likely to crack under his demands.

Eventually, the teenager sighed. "Toss me your necklace."

Robin's fingers trailed the purple amethyst and black pearl choker. "What for?"

"Let me see it," John repeated, holding out his hand. "I'm going to put a protection enchantment on in."

Silently, Robin unhooked the necklace with the hand that wasn't still holding the crumpled cigarettes and passed it over.

"The stereotype of enchanted amulets and rings exist for a reason," John explained. "Gemstones are excellent for storing the magic necessary for enchantments. Plus, they look pretty."

John's eyes flashed gold as identical energy gathered at his fingertips as he channeled it into the necklace. "Vitiosus tactus repellere!"

Robin and Franky shielded their eyes against the blinding rush of gold light that flared up as John worked his magic. When it faded away, the teenager was grinning like a satisfied cat.

"Here," he said, passing the necklace back. "So long as you're wearing that, if someone with bad intentions touches you, they'll be in for a might bad shock."

Franky's eyes narrowed at the niece of jewelry Robin slid back on her neck. "A wearable, magical taser, huh? Clever work."

John scratched the back of his neck, ducking his head. "It's not a perfect enchantment. It'll probably only work two or three times before the magic is drained. If I had longer to work with it or a proper enchanting table, it would be more powerful, but-"

A sprouted hand ruffled the teen's blond hair. "Thank you, John. This is very thoughtful of you."

"...Don't mention it," he said, ears reddening.

Franky snorted at the sight before turning his eyes back to Robin. "You're leaving us soon?"

Robin glanced at the clock on the wall. "Yes. I plan on making a specularly dramatic entrance, so my timing needs to be perfect."

"Will you be back tonight?" John asked.

"If all goes well," Robin replied. "If everything goes according to plan, I'll be back quite late with more information."

She kissed Franky and gave John's hair another ruffle before strutting out of the house, pausing only to retrieve a stylish black velvet overcoat from one of the hall closets. The night air was crisp with thin whisps of clouds dancing in the sky, occasionally passing before the bright full moon. It would make a lovely sight, especially over the ocean. Yet Robin did not pause to admire it; there was no time, too much to do tonight.

The first part of Robin's plan was to drive one of her vehicles to the office, where a rented limo would pick her up and take her to the gala—well after they picked up her date.

"Holy shit," Dick Grayson breathed, eyes wide as he hovered awkwardly at the opened door of the limousine.

Robin sipped from the tumbler of gin on the rocks, its ice cube clinking against the glass. "Are you going to stand there all night or get in? Decide quickly; we have somewhere to be."

The handsome young man slid inside the vehicle and settled onto one of the luxurious seats. The driver shut the door behind him before rushing back around to the driver's seat. Soon enough, the limo started moving again.

"Drink?" Robin asked, gesturing to the small bar. "I'm particular about my liquor and don't know what will be at this event, so I figured I'd drink my preferences while I can."

"From my experience? Wine and champagne that cost way too much money and don't taste all that good," Dick said. He shook his head."Sorry, I don't drink on the job."

Robin leisurely popped one of the olives into her mouth. "Is being my escort to a charity gala a 'job'?"

"Well, you did say that being present at public events alongside you was part of my job with your company. I figured this qualified." Beautiful blue eyes traced the contours of Robin's throat as she swallowed another sip of gin. "But… If you don't mind me saying, this is definitely one of best jobs I've ever had."

'Officer Grayson, if you can bring the charm to the gala, you'll be more than worth the money I'm spending on you,' Robin thought, flashing the young man a coy grin. "I can already tell I'll enjoy this partnership immensely."

'How can a woman spend so much money on a party and still refuse to serve proper meals?' Bruce thought as he eyed one of three large charcuterie tables.

His stomach growled, and he fought the urge to scowl at the array of tiny meats, olives, cheeses, and bread slices. Seeing one of the many polished blonde socialites eyeing him, Bruce pulled on his standard dazzling smile and nodded toward the table. "Great selection."

The woman smiled back and put a small hors d'oeuvres of uncertain makeup on a tiny gilded plate before moving on. Bruce sighed internally. This was his fault. In the decade he'd been attending Penelope Pemberton's annual charity gala, there had never once been proper catering. After the first two years, Bruce had gotten in the habit of eating before he went but three business meetings, a parent-teacher conference at Tim's school, and an emergency call from Leslie Thompkins that turned out to be her excuse to corner him and forcibly administrator this year's flu shot meant he'd only just had time to change clothes and reapply the make-up covering the bruises on his chin before the entire circus got started.

Eyes bore into the back of Bruce's neck, and he fixed the smile back into place, tugging at the bruises with the kind of dull pain only achievable through precise administration of aspirin. On top of all the obligations of Bruce Wayne's busy schedule, there were his nighttime duties. These days, it consists of trying to predict which high-end target Black Mask will hit next. Add that to trying to figure out who was stealing all the avocados and hummus from every grocery store in Gotham and a series of mysterious deaths involving lawyers seemingly chewing through their own tongues while in locked rooms, and Bruce was lucky to get three consecutive hours of sleep a day. He'd barely had time to work on the John Constantine case.

'Lucius is supposed to be here tonight. Maybe I can convince him to sneak out of here after the important bits to get a nice steak dinner.'

The hairs on the back of Bruce's neck rose, and his deeply engrained sense of danger prickled as someone approached from behind. Instinctively, he tightened his grasp on the tiny knife to spread one of the soft, fancy cheeses.

"Ah, Bruce, I thought I'd find you stuffing your face at the snack table."

Bruce let a sigh substitute for the groan he wanted to let out, and he turned to see Lex Luthor striding toward him, one lady of each arm. The sight of the women, at least, perked up his spirits.

"Lex Luthor, you are a selfish, selfish man for keeping these two to yourself," he said, accepting a quick embrace from Vicki Vale before gallantly kissing the back of Lois Lane's hand.

Both women looked lovely, though neither were dressed in the strappy, low-backed style of dress they (and most of the women in high society of Gotham and Metropolis) usually favored for this type of event. Penelope Pemberton's unspoken dress code was evident in Vicki's floor-length, emerald green dress with its one long sleeve frame by a matching, long mesh shoulder cape, as well as Lois' floor-length, long-sleeved wrap dress, whose royal blue sequins caught the light from the many crystal chandeliers up above them.

"Well, there was no way I was going to leave anyone looking that good in the waiting to get in through the usual channels," Lex said, hand low on Lois' back.

His position slightly behind her meant he didn't see Lois grimace at the touch.

"Such a kind thing of you to do, Lex. Can I interest any of you in this delicious feast?" Bruce asked with the socially acceptable amount of sarcasm, gesturing to the glorified Lunchable spread behind him.

No one took him up on the offer.

Lois sauntered up to his side. "You know what I'm interested in, Wayne? Information."

"Never a moment's rest for you, is there, Lois?" Bruce chuckled. He eyed how the fabric of her dress hung artfully from her slender frame, wondering where she hid her voice recorder. "Where is your less attractive half, by the way? You two are usually joined at the hip. Did you manage to escape him?"

"Kent doesn't like these kind of things. Small-town upbringing means not being a fan of crowds, I guess," Lois said. Her blue eyes narrowed. "And don't try to avoid my questions. My sources tell me that tonight's event will be the first known public appearance of someone special."

"Don't keep us in suspense, Lois," Lex said, his tone smeared with haughty arrogance.

"It's someone both of you have recently made the acquaintance of: one Mrs. Nico Franks."

As a choir, Lex, Vicki, and Bruce all made the appropriate noises of surprise and shock. Internally, Bruce kicked himself for not double-checking the guest list before he came today. He wondered if Lex felt the same way.

"Brucie! You never told me you met the East Coast's most elusive billionaire!" Vicki pouted and smacked her clutch against his chest. "How rude!"

"Ouch! Be careful, Vicki. You know I'm delicate."

Lex opened his mouth, undoubtedly to make some passive-aggressive 'joke' or other, only for Vicki to speak up again. "So, what is Franks like? I think you two are the only ones who have met her outside her company."

Bruce opened his mouth… then paused. He thought back to every detail he remembered about the tall, dark-haired woman. Her secretive smiles and the hints she let slip about her life beyond Thousand Solutions. It had been over a month since they met, and, despite his digging, Bruce still hadn't learned much more about her. Nor had any of the dozens of encryption software and decoding methods he'd tried made any headway on translating the files Lex had stolen.

One thing was certain: Bruce had yet to find one person outside of Bludhaven who'd ever had face-to-face communication with Nico Franks. He hadn't found a single childhood friend or former classmates, and definitely no parents, either living or dead.

'The problem isn't so much that Nico Franks isn't who she says she is, it's that I can't find any record of who she was.'

The thing about death is that physical death and death in the eyes of the various cogs and systems that make up society, are two entirely separate things, with one being far slower than the other. People stayed on mailing lists, tax forms, and logged into social media for years after their deaths. They got emails long after they were cold and buried. Even if Nico Franks' previous identity had 'died,' there would still be some record of whoever she was.

"She was a beauty," Lex said easily. "Older than my usual type, but I don't think there is any party in the world she could walk into without making heads turn."

Lex wasn't wrong. The woman was gorgeous, no denying that. Yet that wasn't the first word that came to Bruce's mind.

"Impressive. I found Mrs. Franks impressive," he admitted. "Not just for her business sense either. Nico Frank's entire manner was impressive. Looking at her, you could tell she's lived a hard life and still come out on top. Mysterious too. She talked to Lex and me all afternoon but didn't say much."

.

.

.

"That's a little overdramatic, Bruce," Lex said. Then, after a moment, he added, "But, I will admit, Franks did seem like she called us in already knowing she wasn't interested in partnering with our companies, let alone selling hers."

Lois' red-painted lips curled into a feline grin. "Well, boys, you're certainly making me hope even more that Franks will show up. She sounds like a woman I want to get to know."

"You and me both," Vicki chuckled. "Lois, would you like to go to the drinks table with me before the circus starts?"

"Why, I'd be delighted," Lois replied. Then, arm in arm, the two strutted off, heads bowed together as they surely engaged in the quiet chatter that only women in the same profession could engage in.

"Ever wish you could listen to what the ladies say when they talk like that?" Luthor asked. His posture was relaxed; slightly slouched, and his hands were in the pockets of his surely custom suit. Between that, his polished Italian shoes, and the cufflinks that each cost more than the average car, he looked like a picture of wealthy privilege.

'Not that I can judge,' Bruce had the self-awareness to admit. He undoubtedly looked the same.

"My father always said that a wise man stays out of women's private conversations," Bruce replied. God, he hated when this man stood so close to him; it made every muscle in his body tense as if anticipating an attack. "Honestly, I'd be a little scared to learn what they're saying."

"And it's that kind of thinking that led your father to go into medicine instead of politics," Lex said, smacking Bruce on the shoulder like it was a friendly joke. He leaned closer, and Bruce fought the urge to punch him in the throat. "What do you think the chances of Franks actually showing up are?"

As much as he would rather be doing anything but engage in conversation with this man, the question was -on the surface- mundane enough that it would be hard to dodge.

"Hmmm," he pressed his lips together. "I can't think of any reason Mrs. Franks would suddenly decide to make her public debut now. But then again, she contacted us out of the blue for that meeting. There has to be a reason for that."

'And, as much as I hate to admit it, I think you were right about Franks never intending to sell her company or partner with us. She just wanted to look us in the eye.'

Luthor grunted in agreement. "I tell you what, if she does show up, I wonder who she'll bring for her plus one? I hope it is that recluse of a husband of hers. After all, he's the real brains behind the company's success."

"If Nico Franks shows up, I dare you to say that to her face."

"So cruel, Bruce, willing to throw me to the wolves like that."

Bruce grinned, teeth polished white and ready to bite. "What can I say, Lex? Maybe I just don't like the competit-"

Whatever else he would say was lost to the choir of gasps and excited chatter. As if on synchronized swivels, Bruce and Luthor's heads both turned toward the ballroom's entrance where, in a black and purple dress so shear and tight that it was bound to give both Dr. and Mrs. Pemberton a heart attack, Nico Franks stood tall.

On her arm, looking every bit a rich older woman's well-kept boy toy, was Bruce's eldest son.

"Well," Luthor choked out, the sight before them clearly just as surprising to him as it was to Bruce, "that answers my question about her plus one."

Bruce said nothing, and, for a moment, enemies stood side by side as they took in the spectacle before them. While only some would have recognized Nico Franks on sight, the guest list for this annual gala was more or less the same every year; being a new face alone was worthy of attention. Being a new face that looked like that, in a dress like, with the former ward of one the richest men in the world? Altogether, it more than warranted the attention Nico Franks' arrival was drawing.

He considered approaching. On doing the Brucie Wayne, Billionaire Playboy Party Dance for the crowd. There weren't as many people with cameras in the ballroom, but there was enough that a photo of the three of them would make the front page. He could also use it as an opportunity to separate the two. Neither Franks nor Dick would make a make a scene if he tried, Bruce was sure of it. Franks was too smart; she wanted to control how she appeared to others too much. As for Dick… As tense as their relationship was -and it had been even more rocky than usual ever since the incident with John Constantine and Nick Necro- his son was no fool. He knew the importance of public appearances.

But, in the end, Bruce didn't have to. After about five minutes of answering questions from the small crowd of the elite press and socialites (Franks' manicured hand constantly touching some part of Dick, either the crook of his elbow, his forearm, or his shoulder. It made Bruce's jaw clench.), Franks scanned the crowd, her warm brown eyes fixing quickly upon Bruce and Luthor. With a grin and a wave in their direction, Franks slipped away from the crowd and approached with Dick beside her.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Luthor," she greeted, a gentle mask of pleasant professionalism fixed firmly in place. "I'm glad to be met with some familiar faces this evening. I must confess the thought of facing my first public appearance alone was quite daunting, even with the assistance of my friend here."

Franks nodded at Dick, who flashed a quick, tight grin of his own before her brown eyes slid back to Bruce. "Though… I suppose you two already know each other."

Dick and he locked eyes and, despite the fights and distance, old familiarity let a plan of action snap into place.

"I'm just surprised you managed to get my boy here to agree to come to the gala," Bruce said, forcing a laugh. He turned to Dick, "Didn't you swear to never come to one of these… How did you put it? Self-ritchous circuses of extravages and ego? Ever again?"

Dick's lips quirked upward. "Definitely one of my more poetic descriptions. I guess those creative writing classes in colleges paid off at least a little, huh?"

Even with the grin and easy manner, the young man's words were laced with the phantom barbs of an old, private argument.

"Richard here has agreed to be my company's liaison with the BPD for a program we are running," Franks explained. "And part of his duties in the position is to make a few public appearances. However, admittedly, in this case, the invite was extended more for my benefit. I was aware he'd been to this sort of event before and was hoping he could help guide me."

Dick started to reply, but Bruce spoke first. "Well, the good news is you'll have several guides tonight. Lex and I would be thrilled to tell you who is who and who to avoid getting caught in conversation with. Though, don't expect either of us to be able to protect you from those two ladies."

He pointed over Robin's shoulder to where Vicki and Lois were rapidly approaching; twin looks of determination on their faces "-

The woman chuckled and reached out to grab a flute of champagne from a passing server. "I'm looking forward to it."