It was still early, and Julia was asleep. She'd taken an Ambien after they'd talked for almost two hours. Even then, long after it had occurred, she'd still been upset by what Aric had confessed when he thought he was pouring his heart out just to the woman he loved.

For Bruce Wayne's entire life, that part of it that hadn't died with his parents, Alfred Pennyworth had been the rock on which he found stability. Every confession, each mistake, big or small, broken bones, broken hearts, everything, good or bad, that had happened to him he had shared with Alfred. He couldn't imagine what his life would have been like if he'd had to go through all that alone, with no one to talk to, or lean on, or ask for advice; except that his life would have been miserable, and probably short. Bruce Wayne had made mistakes. So had Batman. It was just the scale of the incident in question that made it unique; and even that was only a matter of degree.

So one Pennyworth was still sound asleep, the curtains drawn against the rising sun, while another was awake and returning to the dining room, iPad in hand.

Alfred set the flat item on the table, the screen displaying an article about a deep crater. Bruce would have to take the writer's word for it's dimensions, and for the death toll. He realized that the photo must have been taken not too long after the event. Neither the crater nor the ejecta showing any signs of the vegetation that now covered the surrounding landscape. If a picture were taken today it would be overgrown with foliage. Bruce shuddered to think what would have happened if the KGB had built their secret facility in the heart of the city that over 300,000 people called home.

"It checks out. December 7, 1989. Epicenter, just east of Vologda, Russia. The final toll was 1185. There's some question how many of those were political assassinations that were just added to the tally. But everything else matches."

Bruce scanned the article, but he knew that there wouldn't be anything else of interest. Nothing about a single person being the cause. Nothing about a connection to..."

"What about the original thing? The prisoner release and the retaliation?"

Alfred's head was shaking before he spoke, so Bruce knew it would be a dead end. "Nothing. The prison break was covered up. The retaliation...it was before the Internet, and the families were spread out. They would have taken them away rather than murdering them in their homes. Disappearances of that kind were regular occurrences back then in the USSR. And anyway, who's going to report on something like that and risk their own family?"

Bruce hadn't slept well, not with the memory of Julia's grief playing havoc with his heart rate and blood pressure. Just thinking about it now gave him palpitations. He'd watched her sleep for almost thirty minutes before his eyes had finally closed. He'd woken up with a start and realized that he hadn't turned off the light. What rest he'd gotten after that had been disturbed by bad dreams.

His eyes returned to the giant hole in the ground in the former USSR. He reviewed the chain of events that led to it, and the deaths of almost 2000 people who ranged in ages from six months to 97 years.

"Kate doesn't know," Bruce said. "Not unless Trish told her. What do we do if she still doesn't?"

"It's not our secret to tell," Alfred said after thinking it over for a few seconds. "Besides the fact that it's ancient history, and there's nothing she can do."

"She can be there for her sister," Bruce said.

"She's doing that already," Alfred reminded him. "And if Beth thinks Kate should know then she'll tell her herself."

Bruce nodded in agreement. As families went they had more than their fair share of secrets. Bruce thought that Aric was allowed a secret or two of his own, even if one of them was a doozy.

Neither Barbara Gordon nor Meghana Chander had slept well either, and for similar reasons. Each woman was thinking about the other, and how a wonderful evening had blown up in their faces. It so happened that both women blamed themselves for that explosive ending to their brief affair. Which was what each of them believed was the result of the argument. In Barbara's case the ending had a familiar taste. Most people had a good sense of when they were being lied to. Meg had been no different in that respect. But in other ways she was unique. Barbara had never dated a detective before. She still wasn't sure whether she had dated one. A coffee date, some excellent sex. Their mutual connection to something seriously fucked up in the CPD. How it tied into someone trying to kill off a good chunk of North America. Put it all together and it still didn't add up to a relationship.

But when she combined the woman with the situation it placed her in more danger of being discovered than normal. Meg already suspected that she'd been at the scene. And while it was out of Meg's jurisdiction, she knew that the dark skinned beauty would latch onto it like a mastiff. She wouldn't let it go. Not unless Commissioner Gordon himself ordered her to drop it. Which would only confirm Meg's suspicions.

Best to end it quickly, she'd thought later, before I get too attached, and she gets too close.

Meg's thoughts on the topic were flavored by her own perspective. She didn't have a closet full of skeletons that she kept hidden. But she still had internal barriers that needed to be navigated if she wanted a healthy, long term connection of that sort.

Why did I have to say that? she wondered for the umpteenth time, why then? It could have waited. I could have waited until later before calling her out on those bruises. If she had...

Meg couldn't bring herself to even think the words, if she killed some of those men. But as far as blaming herself went, her mind continued to work. If Barbara had been there, if she'd seen Beth get shot. If she'd seen the aftermath, before Aric had done whatever it was he did. She'd have been upset. And all Meg had accomplished with her stupid fucking comment was to bring that scene back to the front of Barbara's mind. If she'd done the math at the time she'd have realized it was still too soon. Barbara's emotions would still be too raw, her emotional bruises just as sensitive as the physical ones. Meg hadn't seen Beth's wound, but she'd seen the blood on both women. She still could not believe that Beth was alive, and seemingly without a mark on her. Not on the outside at least. She had seen facial wounds, both in person and in photos. But all her personal experience had been with corpses. No blood spatter. No screaming. No sister trying to staunch the flow of blood while begging God not to take...If Barbara had been there, and Meg was convinced that she had been, she'd have seen all of that. She have watched Kate...the woman she thought of as a big sister, watch helplessly as her twin sister died.

I am so stupid, Meg thought, what did I expect? That she would make a full confession? I'm lucky I didn't come out of it with bruises of my own.

A least not physical bruises. The whole thing had left Megan Chander with more emotional bruises than she could count.

Like Barbara Gordon and Meghana Chander, Trish Walker and Kate Kane both slept poorly, and woke early. Neither felt the least bit refreshed. Their restless night reliving how close they came to losing Beth was only part of it. Each continued reevaluating their involvement in something that had become orders of magnitude larger than simply identifying three dead men. They had both also spent a fair amount of time thinking about each other. Trish's level of frustration was no more acute than Kate's. But Kate was the pace setter in this pursuit. Her frustration was tempered by the desire to avoid another pointless physical relationship. If someone were to ask Trish's opinion she would reply that there was nothing pointless about it. They were both adults. They were attracted to each other. Neither was currently attached. What was the point of any physical relationship except to bring pleasure to everyone (singular, plural, or polyamorous) involved.

Trish was also reviewing what she would say to Kyle when she called him. To explain why he should continue to pay her salary. Despite the fact that she had missed not one, but two return flights. And that the reason she hadn't missed the third one was because she had not booked it. And she had no idea when she would do so. Trish had no intention of leaving Beth and Julia now, not after everything that had happened. Her reasons for not leaving Kate were different. But that was something that she wouldn't share with Kyle Richmond. Her delayed return made another request necessary. If she wanted to be better prepared for another encounter with Fredo Giancona's men. Bill Van Dyke had gotten away, at least for the moment. There was zero confidence that the CPD could be relied upon to capture him. As she stared at the ceiling Trish had no idea what James Gordon would do next, or what resources he could call on. The woman who was in the next room, who Trish could hear was also not asleep, might know more. Laurel's boss would know more than that. Laurel had confided that she knew Kristen and James were strategizing almost hourly. She had also shared that neither of them knew of Laurel's nocturnal activities, and she had no intention of informing them. Trish took the unspoken directive to heart and vowed on a stack of whatever Laurel chose to take her secret to the grave.

Last, but not least, on her mind was what Aric had said to Beth. She had sat there looking out at the ocean while he poured out his deepest regret. She'd been numb to it all. Like her emotions, not finding a proper setting for what she was experiencing, defaulted to zero. Julia's reaction had been the opposite. She'd been as shattered by Aric's revelation as when Trish told her that Beth had been hurt. As she thought about it she realized that when Laurel had relayed the news to her about Beth she'd gone numb then as well. It had taken her almost half of the furious drive from Bill Van Dyke's house to Kate Kane's condo for her emotions to turn back on. She had people she cared about. Jess was one, Beth was another. The list went on. But she couldn't remember the last time she gotten bad news and been as upset as Julia.

Doesn't caring for people, loving them, mean I should get upset when something happens to them? she wondered. She did get upset, it just took time to kick in for her. A good reaction in the heat of battle, desirable even. Not so much in polite society. She'd never considered how Hank's training had changed her in those ways. Cold. Calculating. Not cruel exactly. Pitiless...maybe. She'd let people off the hook when she thought they'd deserved it. Like that idiot in the alley. Trish knew several people who would have been less forgiving.

need you to grab my large case and get it to Eddy at Richmond Air Freight, Trish texted to Jess. Tell him to tag it Diamond League, that way no one will even think about opening it. I need it here by Noon.

She gave Jess Laurel's address and told her that Beth was doing well. Which was true in the physical sense at least. Trish had never had half her face shot off and then healed as good as new. She had no idea how that fucked with someone's head, but she assumed that it was a biggie. And that Beth would need time to come to terms with it.

They were all going to need time to do that.

"The Indiana State Police found Bill Van Dyke at a truck stop on 90 East near South Bend. Single gunshot to the head. Right side. His badge and ID were in the glove compartment. He still had his wallet and $10,000 cash. And five burner phones."

James Gordon listened to the captain in charge of Hill Street Station as he continued to describe what the ISP had relayed to him.

"They're still going over the scene. They asked me to confirm that Bill was right handed. Plus all the usual bullshit in suspected suicides."

Did he have any debts? Was he depressed recently? Did he work for a fucking mobster who had him killed to shut him up? Bill might have been right handed. But the right hand side is also where someone would sit if Van Dyke had arranged to meet that someone and was stupid enough to let them into his car.

"How far along 90 East? Heading towards the airport, or away from it?"

"I can ask. But why would he be heading to the South Bend airport? And if he was, why would he change his mind and kill himself?"

Because he was running for it. But he made a mistake. He trusted someone he shouldn't have.

"Let's wait for CSI to get back to us. Thanks Bobby. I know this is going to hit your people hard."

"Thank you, sir. We'll keep it together, but it's gonna hurt. He was a son of a bitch, but he was our son of a bitch."

Jim Gordon hung up one phone and picked up another. The one with the orange piece of electrical tape with the words Kristen Wolf written in marker.

Bill Van Dyke's body was discovered at a truck stop near South Bend. Apparent suicide. More details when I have them.

He didn't expect a response. Not at this hour. Not unless she was sleeping as badly as he was.

got it. Keep me apprised, was the almost immediate response.

Guess none of us is sleeping all that well, he thought.

John Dorazio had picked The Claridge House because it was close to Kate Kane's condo and it was less than $300 a night. It also happened to be less than $100 for the one night that he planned to stay there. And since he was paying cash, it was within his budget. Fredo was on the run it seemed, as was Bill Van Dyke. They had four of his men in custody, well, sort of. Anyway, they were off the streets. They had the names of two more. If that pair didn't do a quick runner they would lose their chance forever. John didn't think he could recognize either of the men who had tried to kill him. But it was worth a look at the guys nabbed in Van Dyke's house. If they didn't feel like talking he could always hand them over to his two bodyguards. Which reminded him that he needed to call the State Attorney's office and see if they thought he still needed protection. Not that he didn't appreciate having the two women around, but...

Torture. Jesus Fucking Christ.

He still hoped that Laurel's use of the word was just shorthand for beat the shit out of them until they talked. But he still had an image of two men being waterboarded, or worse. He'd seen what happened to men that betrayed the mob, or were even suspected of doing so. He'd seen the three men who had been pulled from the river. He had no doubt he would see more bodies of that type before he put in his papers.

Never in a million years would I have guessed that they were capable of something like that, he thought before reconsidering. OK, maybe he wasn't quite that surprised. Each of them individually gave off a serious predator vibe. He could see it in their eyes. They way Helena turned her head as she surveyed her surroundings. Sandra moving like she was made from some strange fluid that only appeared to be human, something that could strike in any direction without warning. And together...it sent a shiver through his skin just thinking about it. But torture - the deliberate, emotionless infliction of pain, the total disregard for suffering, that didn't ring true with what he saw in his brief exposure to them.

Fredo Giancona had people like that to spare, men who would do anything, and feel nothing afterwards. Those people John had more than a passing familiarity with. Dead eyes. No soul. Both women's faces had been professionally blank. But their eyes had been just as alive as the rest of them as they radiated confidence and vitality.

He'd gone to sleep thinking of them. Helena and Sandra. Nothing he would ever admit to anyone, given the nature of those thoughts, and the difference in their ages. But everyone was entitled to a fantasy life. And John was a man, just like any other. And anyway, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

He slept like the dead, and so did not see the text message from Jim Gordon until it was several hours old.

Van Dyke dead. Single gunshot, right temple. Indiana State Police have him. My office, but no rush. He's not going anywhere. Noon. Bring your lead detective. I'll provide lunch.

Something told John that he was going to need a better excuse to see Helena and Sandra again.