BATMAN: The New Continuity

When the clock-radio sounded its inconsiderate alarm earlier this morning, Jim Gordon had slapped the snooze button. When it sounded out again, he thought he had turned it off. When the alarm went off a third time, Gordon swiped the clock-radio off the night table, probably breaking it.

He needed a new one, anyway--that's what he told himself before drifting happily back to sleep.

Now, the phone was ringing. Relentlessly.

Groaning with loud disgust, Gordon opened his eyes, pushed up and rolled over, his legs over the side of the bed. He sat with his head bowed for two more rings, and when it was apparent that whoever was calling was intent on not letting the commissioner get anymore sleep. He picked up the phone. "Yes?" he asked, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to hide his irritation.

"Jim? Are you just getting up?"

Gordon was instantly awake upon hearing the familiar female tones. "Sarah? What's--"

"I tried the office, but they said you hadn't come in yet. You did remember about the show today, right?"

"Sarah, what--what show? What show are you talking about?"

Sarah Essen-Gordon exhaled with exasperation. "The talk show Mayor Grange and I are appearing on today at two. Town Meeting? Summer Gleeson hosts it."

"You're talking about that public relations machine, that pitiful excuse for a town meeting, where a different city official answers preselected questions from a screened audience?"

"No, Jim. Under Mayor Krol, maybe. Now, the show is on the up and up. Mayor Grange and I will be answering totally candid questions from--"

"What was I supposed to be doing?"

"Overseeing security?"

"Wouldn't the Mayor's office oversee the security? I've always provided the manpower."

"Jim, I want you to be there."

"Sarah, I have a job."

"So do I, Jim."

"Liaison to the Mayor. Sarah, I have a police department to run. Last night I arrested two gang members, and four Mexican smugglers of God-knows-what, all of which have yet to be questioned."

"Fine. That's fine. I guess I won't see you , then. The show's live; at least watch it for me."

"Sarah, it's not that I don't--" Gordon heard a dial-tone and held the phone away from his face, staring at it. Oh, the hell with it. He hung up the phone, then stood slowly. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and there was no point in trying. The commissioner walked over to his closet and pulled out his favorite clean shirt.

Drake Mansion, 10:50 a.m.

Tim had planned to sleep in when he heard the phone ringing. Mercifully, it stopped after only three rings, and Tim rolled over and went back to sleep . . . for about twenty seconds.

The loud voice of Mrs. McIlvaine floated up the stairs and stopped outside his door. "Timothy!! There's a telephone for you!!"

Tim released an extended groan, sitting up and staring ruefully at the telephone next to his bed. "I've got it!" he yelled, then picked up the phone. "Okay, hang-up, Mrs. McIlvaine." Tim didn't hear a click. "You can hang-up now."

"Hmmph." Click.

Tim sighed. "Hello?"

"Tim! Rise and shine, man!"

Tim put his hand to his temples. "Hey, Hud-man." Tim glanced at his clock. "It's not eleven in the morning yet; why are you calling me?"

"Testy in the morning, aren't we?"

"Yes, you know it, and that's why you said it. What's up?"

"Well, you know, I just thought that maybe you'd want to drive into town and . . . maybe do something."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Something? Like, what kind of something, Hudson?"

"I dunno. I'm bored! Maybe, go hang in the mall for awhile. Check out a movie?"

Tim glanced at the clock again. "Listen, Hud-man, I have plans already for today."

Hudson sniffed, feigning sorrow. "Other plans, Tim? Other plans? Oh . . . oh my God! It's--it's another--another man, isn't it? Isn't it?"

Tim laughed weakly. "I have to--I promised Ari that I'd take her shopping today. She called me yesterday."

"Well, did you tell her it was Sunday?"

"I did, actually. She told me that all the good stores were gonna be open, so I couldn't say no. Not without her getting angry at me, anyway. Again."

"Uh-huh. Well, maybe I could go with you two? I mean, maybe I could case the Gap while you two are over at Banana Republic."

"No, Hudson." Tim stood, nestled the phone between his head and shoulder, started for his closet. He opened it up and started rifling through his shirts. "Maybe, if you want to do something, maybe you should call Ives. Ten to one he's as bored as you are."

"I don't want to call Ives."

Tim grinned and pulled a light blue, short-sleeved button-up from its hanger. "You don't like Ives, do you?"

Hudson was silent for a long time. Tim pulled on the shirt, then shut the closet door halfway and moved to his clothes chest, pulling a pair of jeans from the top drawer and starting to step into the right leg. He stopped, tugging at his shirt. Why am I putting these on? I need a shower . . . great. Tim started taking off his shirt. "It's not that I don't like the guy, Tim. I mean, I love him, I love him--"

"--Like a brother," Tim interjected. "I know. You've told me."

"I just don't want . . . to be seen with him."

Tim pulled off the shirt and tossed it on the bed, beside his jeans. "You eat lunch with us."

"Us. Exactly. You're there, and Ari is there. Ariana. I'm not alone with him."

"What's wrong with being alone with him? He's a normal guy, same as me."

"Huh-uh. There's something different about Ives, Tim."

"Hudson, just because he wears glasses and combs his hair a little differently doesn't mean--"

"I think he likes me."

"What, likes you, likes you?"

"Yes. Just like that."

Tim smiled widely and shook his head as if Hudson were in the room with him. "No. Hud-man, believe me, Ives is most definitely not gay."

"Oh really? And, how might you know? You didn't, like, come onto him, did you?"

"No. Of course not. But, have you ever been over to the guy's house?"

"What do you think?"

"All right. Stupid question. But, anyway, Ives has got about twelve hundred nudie pictures on his computer, stashed away in hidden files all over his friggin' hard drive."

"Nude women?"

Tim sighed. "Yes, nude women. What'd you think, he's got covers of Fabio novels on there or something?"

"Well, those pictures--you never know--those pictures could just be his beard."

"What? What do you mean his 'beard?'"

"You know, that's what they call it when, like, when a gay guy is really gay, but he gets married and has kids, and gets hookers, just so that people won't think he's queer. 'Cause he's ashamed of it."

Tim shook his head and groaned. "You're crazy, Hudson. You're nuts, a whole damn treeful of nuts. Ives isn't gay. He's . . . he's just not. I can't think of any other ways to say it!"

Hudson was silent again for a long time. "What if it turns out that he is, though?"

"Arrrgh!" Tim brought his hand down frustratedly onto his bed. "Look, it's almost eleven. I have got to get a shower, and get dressed, and go pick up Ariana. Bye, Hudson."

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Tim? You think he's gay too, don't you?!"

"Hud--no!! No! Now, I have got to go, Hud-man. I'll talk to you later today, maybe tonight."

"Okay, fine. Later."

"Bye."

"Bye." Hudson hung up the phone. Tim did the same, set the phone back on the nightstand next to the alarm clock, and pulled off his underwear. He grabbed up his shirt and jeans, picked up a clean pair of briefs from the second drawer of his chest, and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, tested to see that the water wasn't too hot, and stepped inside. That's kind of strange, he thought as the water splashed hot against his skin, Spoiler, Huntress, Nightwing . . . I think that Robin's friends are more normal than Tim Drake's

2135 John F. Kennedy Drive, 11:32 a.m.

Jo Travis put her book down on the bed and slid off, her feet touching the floor. Her bedroom was a simple layout, built around the bed in the center, the night table next to the bed, a small window in the south wall, a vanity on the east wall, a closet and chest of drawers on the west. Jo walked over to her chest removed an old pair of cut-offs and a worn tee shirt. From the top drawer, a bra and a clean pair of panties. She walked across the hallway of her small apartment into the bathroom, where she stepped out of her cotton night gown and turned on the shower. She checked to see that the water wasn't too cold; it wasn't.

Before stepping into the shower, she caught sight of her face in the mirror. Jo was only twenty-nine, but looked at least ten years older. Bags beneath her eyes, premature wrinkles, not to mention a constant frown, all made her seem too old, too tired to be as young as she was.

It hadn't always been this way. In fact, it had only been this way for a few weeks. It had only been this way since her husband had been killed in the Treadmont explosion. Bernie Travis was a member of the city council, an architect. He had lobbied repeatedly for renovations to the Treadmont building in the months leading up to the attack, and failed. When Mayor Grange took office, along with four newly elected members of the town council, Bernie was ecstatic. Now, he told Jo, his pleas would be heard. The Treadmont was a forty-year old building that was filled with people. It was just barely up to code. Bernie and Jo had lived there for their entire marriage, seven years, and were thinking about starting a family.

"Not yet, Jo-baby," Bernie would say whenever children came up in conversation. "We have to fix this place first."

And Jo listened to him. She had confidence in her husband. But, Mayor Grange refused to support the renovation of the Treadmont, and the rest of the city council followed her lead, citing programs dealing with public housing and crime prevention as "of paramount importance above building maintenance."

Two days after Bernie's failed proposal to his fellows on the council, Jo had received a phone call from her mother. Jo's sister, Marie, had been suffering from a relapse of leukemia, and Jo's mother felt the end was near and was insistent that she come back home to Albany.

Jo had gone to Albany, she had watched her sister die, and on the way home, turned on the radio. The Treadmont building had been utterly destroyed, along with most of its residents. Of course, there had been survivors, and Jo held out hope for almost a full day before she was contacted by Bernie's parents: her husband was among the confirmed dead.

Strange. For the first two or so days after discovering her husband was dead, Jo was without emotion. There was no grief, no sadness. She spent her time looking for a new place to live, eventually finding the low-rent tenement where she now resided. She talked to her parents, and to her in-laws, listened to their grief, helped them through their pain, but felt none of her own.

Until that third day. When Jo awoke on the third day after hearing the news of Bernie's death, she was already crying. She took the phone off the hook, locked the doors, didn't even bother to call in sick to her job Nick's Electronics. Jo sat on her bed and cried until the next morning had come.

When Jo was done crying, she began thinking. There had to be a reason for Bernie's death, there had to be something that fated this to happen. For Jo, it all focused on the failed proposals to the city council. Mayor Grange had pompously disregarded the proposals for the very renovations that could have saved the Treadmont, and Bernie.

A final version of Bernie's proposal was still sealed in an envelope on the nightstand. He had been revising them the night before the explosion. His plans had been to mail the final proposal to a friend of his who was a county commissioner, but he'd left the envelope in the car. Now, Jo could see that those plans had been left in the car for a reason. They were all that she had left of her husband. He could never make people listen to him, but they would have to, now.

Nothing could be done to save Treadmont, or the people killed there. But, if Mayor Grange could be made to see what Bernie had planned, she could see for a fact that the deaths at the Treadmont building were needless, senseless, unnecessary.

Jo stepped into the shower and felt the water splash cold against her flesh. She thought of the tickets to today's Town Meeting with Summer Gleeson sitting on her night stand.

Mayor Grange would hear what she should have weeks ago. Jo would make her.

Gotham Heights, one mile from Gotham City limits, 12:11 p.m.

Ariana had been sitting quietly on the other side of the van for the entire trip up to this point. Tim had tried to respect this, keeping his eyes on the road, just driving. "Something wrong, Ari?" he asked finally. He couldn't help it.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just--no, nothing."

Tim took in a deep breath. She's acting weird again. "Ari, what is it? Come-on, I really wish you'd tell me."

"It's nothing. Let's drop it, please."

"It's not nothing. If it were nothing, then we'd be in the middle of some cutesy conversation right now. Tell me what's the matter."

Ariana sighed. "It's just that, things are different now. I mean, now, since you told me."

Tim smirked. "Uh-huh. How different. I mean, different how?"

Ari shrugged. "I--it's just, you're not just Tim anymore. Do you know what I mean? I'm seeing you in a different way, now."

"Is it just starting to sink in? I mean, that you're dating that Boy Wonder? That laughing boy daredevil?"

Ari looked at Tim incredibly and broke into laughter. "How can you just be casual about it?!"

Tim laughed as well, not sure how to respond. "Well, it's nothing abnormal to me. Not anymore, at least. I've been dressing up in a Robin costume and swinging through Gotham City for over two years now. I'm kind of . . . gotten used to it. You will too, and it won't take two years, either. Believe me."

"When did it get normal, Tim?"

Tim glanced at her, catching her eyes as they penetrated him. "Honestly?"

"I won't take it any other way."

"It was normal the first time I stepped off of a rooftop and swung overtop of buildings in the city."

"Really?"

"Yeah. See, until that night, I'd only worn the costume. But, when I was in action, when I went out and started that first patrol beside Batman, I knew that it was perfectly normal. It was what I was meant to do."

Ariana stared at Tim silently for a moment, but in a way she'd never looked at him before. She wasn't just going out with Tim Drake anymore; there was something so much more to him now. When she looked at him, it wasn't just with love or happiness, it was with what could only be called admiration. "Did you do it because of your mother?"

Tim watched the road intently. "No. No, I was already in training when . . . when that happened to Mom and Dad. That just encouraged me. But, no, that wasn't the thing that made me want to put on the suit."

"What was the thing?"

Tim shrugged, happy to be off of his mother as a topic of conversation. "Batman needed a Robin. I found out that his first Robin had become Nightwing--"

"Who's Nightwing?"

"The guy with the black suit with the blue stripe across his chest. The ponytail?"

Ari shook her head. "I've never seen him."

"Well, he doesn't quite get as much attention as Batman does. But, he's out there almost as much, and he does just as much good as anyone else."

"So, you found out that Nightwing was the first Robin . . ."

"Oh, yeah. So, anyway, I went and confronted Nightwing, told him that I thought Batman needed him, needed a Robin. He told me that he'd already moved on, you know? Nightwing had started his own life. So, Nightwing talked to Batman, I convinced them that I was worthy to succeed the last Robin."

"What happened to the last Robin, Tim?"

Tim cleared his throat, and began eyeing the road intently once again. "He was killed. He was . . . he was murdered by the Joker."

Ari looked at the road as well. She started nodding her head, but had no idea why. "He was killed. Oh . . . oh my God. Tim? Tim? He was killed?"

"Ari, don't worry, all right? Look, Jason--the other Robin--he was reckless, you know? He wasn't ready, he didn't obey orders, took too many unnecessary chances. Believe me, he's nothing like me."

"I just . . ." Ari began laughing to cover the tears that were on the way. "I just really didn't need to hear that! I mean . . . oh my God."

Tim sighed and slowed the van down. He pulled it off to the side of the road and brought the vehicle to a stop. "Ari, are we going to be able to have a good time today? Because, there really isn't any point to us going shopping on pins and needles all day." Ari looked at Tim, and the admiration was gone from her eyes. She was looking at him like normal again. "Ariana, I love you. Do you have any idea how much? I love you, and nothing is going to happen to me. Believe me, I have hands-on experience with what happens when you don't use your head. You know the Treadmont building explosion a few weeks ago?"

Ari nodded. "Uh-huh."

"I was there. And, I watched a kid be crushed to death, after I was this close to saving him. After that, I let my feelings get the best of me, and . . . well, something I would've regretted almost happened. I will never lost control again. Nothing's going to happen to me, Ari."

Tim put his arm around her, and Ariana scooted over and leaned on his shoulder. She let him hold her for a seeming eternity. After several minutes of comforting silence, Tim kissed her lightly on the forehead and put one hand on the steering wheel. "Come-on," he said, shifting the car into gear. "Let's go shopping."

Apartment of Dick Grayson, 12:43 p.m.

Bruce usually only needed about two hours of sleep to function normally, and if need-be, he could go several days without any sleep. This was the result of year upon year of discipline and training, both mental and physical. Dick hadn't exercised that part of his training for years, and now he slept in whenever possible.

This had all begun over a year ago, just before Dick returned to Gotham City after being ousted from the Titans. He had lost Kory, his life was in shambles, and his mental state wasn't much better. His psychiatrist had recommended as much rest and relaxation as possible, along with their therapy sessions. Dick didn't go to that shrink anymore, but he still slept in as much as he could, just because he could, and found that he liked it.

Nightwing was usually active until around two in the morning, therefore Dick Grayson was usually asleep until around two in the afternoon. Eight hours was recommended, so why not take four more? This was Dick's basic philosophy where sleep was concerned.

Dick most likely would have gotten five or six hours more than the recommended minimum, had the phone not rung. It did, though, loud and rude and inconsiderate as always. Dick heard it, and groaned, not able to believe what he was hearing. Must be Alfred, he thought, calling to see if I need anything from the supermarket because he's going right by their on his errands today . . . Dick yawned and tried to ignore the phone.

But it kept ringing.

Dick rolled over repeatedly, his head lying on top of the pillow, beneath it, above the covers, beneath them. The phone kept right on ringing. "Arrrrggghhh!" Dick screamed, finally standing. He had counted seventeen rings. He walked over to the foot of his bed and pulled an old pair of shorts on over his underwear, even though he lived alone.

Eighteen.

Dick waited for nineteen, and when it seemed that the phone was determined to ring until Dick either answered it or suffered a complete mental breakdown, he opened the door and walked out of his bedroom into the kitchen.

Nineteen.

Dick put his hand lightly on the handset.

Twenty.

Might as well end on a round number. Dick picked up the phone and brought it quickly to his ear. He listened for a moment. "Yeah. . . . This is Dick."

"Dick? Dick, oh God, I thought you'd never pick up the phone!"

Dick was instantly awake, and whatever color was in his face drained away and fell into an imaginary puddle on the floor. "Heidi? Heidi, is that you? What--what's wrong?"

Heidi Barrell cleared her throat nervously. "Um, I'm having contractions. I think it's . . . you know, time."

Dick's mouth dropped open like an unhinged attic door. "Time! Time?! Well, Heidi, why are you calling--calling me? I mean, we haven't--"

"I know, Dick, and I'm sorry. But, I can't get a hold of my mother, and Jack and I had just moved here. I don't know anyone."

"Well, Heidi, all I have is a motorcycle. I mean, I can't take you--"

"I already called a cab. I just . . . could you meet me at the hospital?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Which hospital?"

"I'm going to St. Arthur's on Stewart."

"Okay, I'll be there. I'll be there."

"Great! Um, I don't know how long this is gonna take . . ."

"Well, they can't exactly rush you, can they?"

"I really have to go!"

"All right, okay. See you--" Heidi hung up. Dick stared at the phone a moment, then remembered what he'd just been talking about and hung up. He ran back into his bedroom, almost diving into his near-empty closet. Oh, man, he thought as he was practically leaping into a pair of clean bluejeans, why couldn't she call an ambulance?!

The Mall, Wayne Plaza, 1:00 p.m.

Ariana was at a swimsuit rack, searching through hanger after hanger of one-piece outfits. Tim was standing several feet away, arms crossed, smirking. "That's ten minutes," he commented wryly.

"Shut-up!" Ari told him, smiling broadly. She pulled a bathing suit off the rack and held it in front of her. "What do you think? Would I look good in this one?"

Tim looked at the suit, then at Ariana. He raised both eyebrows. "Mmm-hmm." He held up his index finger as if just struck by an idea of stupendous brilliance. "But! . . ." Tim turned to the rack of clothes behind him, and pulled off a skimpy two-piece bikini. Handing it to Ari, he said, "I can see you in that. I . . . really can." Tim was nodding profusely, grinning like a cat.

Ari gave Tim a hopeless smile and threw the bikini playfully back at him, then put her one-piece back as well. "Even if I was comfortable enough with myself to wear something like that, my uncle would probably behead me if he saw me in it!"

Tim chuckled and hung the bikini back on its rack. When he turned back around, his face was more serious. "What do you mean 'comfortable enough with myself?' You're beautiful."

Ari smiled shyly, then turned away. "I'm not all that, Tim. Don't just, like, heap compliments on me."

Tim walked up behind Ariana and put his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and nuzzling her ear. "You are beautiful, Ari. And, I'm not just saying that. I don't think about you first thing when I wake up every morning because you're some ugly mutant dog creature. Although, if you were, it wouldn't change things." Tim mentally reread what he'd just said, then added, "But, you're not a mutant dog creature, so it's a stupid thing I said."

Ari laughed, and Tim smiled. "Thank you."

"You know," Tim said, his voice trailing off for a moment, "it's actually a lot better that you don't know how breathtaking you look. If there's anything I hate, it's a stuck up babe."

They both laughed. "Talking about anyone in particular?" Ari asked curiously.

Tim grinned and shook his head. "No . . . no, nobody in particular. Golly, do we know anyone like that?"

"Golly?! Come-on, Tim, I know you think that Erica is a priss-bitch."

Tim raised both eyebrows. "'Priss-bitch?' Is that some new slang term that you haven't learned me on yet?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that, you know, girls and guys speak different versions of the same language. There's girl English, and there's guy English."

"Ah-ha. So . . . where does body English fit into this thing?"

Tim laughed once. "Well . . . that's what you call . . . universal language." He kissed Ari on the cheek. She turned around and put her arms around his neck, and they kissed once on the lips. "So," Tim said, looking past Ari, outside the store, into the cavernous halls of The Mall. His eyes then returned to Ari's. "Where to now?"

Ariana thought about that for a moment, rolling her eyes around and finally focusing on the ceiling. "I want to check out County Seat--"

"Oooo," Tim interrupted, "denim!"

Ari couldn't help but smile at his charming childishness. "--then maybe go downtown?"

Tim nodded. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"Good! 'Cause I want to check out McCarthy's. They're open today."

"Is McCarthy's usually open on Sundays?"

"Nope. It's a sale today."

"Of course. What else would it be?" Tim put his arm around Ariana, and they left the swimsuits behind. How is it that all you girls know about sales? Tim mentally asked her. Ari didn't give him an answer, but then he wasn't expecting one.

Not really, anyway.

Gotham City Police Headquarters, 1:31 p.m.

Lieutenant Kitch was flipping through a stack of police reports when the telephone on his desk beeped. He dropped the report he was skimming through and tapped the speaker button. "Yes, this is Kitch."

It was Judy, the receptionist at Special Crimes. "Lieutenant, I have your brother on the line."

Kitch squinted down at the desk and massaged his temples. "Uh . . . all right, Judy. Put him through. Oh, and tell Officer Thomas to come in here in a few minutes."

"Yes, Lieutenant. You're brother's on line two."

Kitch nodded, and saw the light blinking next to the button labeled "Line 2." He stared at it uncomfortably for a moment; talking to his brother, Darren, was not one of the things Samuel Kitch liked to do particularly. In fact, it made him downright uneasy. After a full minute, Kitch picked up the handset and tapped the line 2 button--the only time he ever used the handset instead of the speakerphone was when his brother Darren called. "Darren? Yes, this is Sam."

"Sammy! How is it, big brother?"

Kitch cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Darren. Where are you?"

"Oh, um, the airport."

"Which airport, Darren?"

"Delford National. Can you come pick me up?"

Kitch groaned; this was what he'd been dreading. "Darren . . . I have a job, you know. I cannot just take off whenever I feel like it."

"Yeah, big brother, but--but I already have a place to stay! You can just drop me off at the Crowne Major!"

"What do you mean when you say a place to 'stay?' I thought you had an apartment already? Darren . . ."

"No, Sammy, it isn't what you're thinking. I just need to stay in the hotel until Friday, 'cos the current, um, resident hasn't left yet. He needs a few days to clear out. That's all." Kitch breathed silently into the phone. "Come-on, big brother. I just need someone to come pick me up. I would call a cab, but . . . well, I'm still not over Cal."

"Cal? Isn't he the guy you went out with three years ago? Isn't time you got over that one, Darren?"

"Oh, but Sammy, he was the one, big brother! I mean, I had plans for me and that boy!"

Kitch exhaled uncomfortably. "Fine, Darren. Fine, I'll be right there. Um, give me about a half hour, and I'll be right there."

"Great! Thanks a bunch, big brother. You're a real life saver!"

"I'll bet." Kitch hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. Why me? he thought as he stood and walked around his desk to the coat rack. He grabbed his overcoat and left his office. Kitch walked across the squad room and started down the stairs, but he was in no hurry.

WWGC Studios, 1 Broadcast Hill, Studio 21, Town Meeting with Summer Gleeson, 1:59 p.m.

"Twenty seconds, Summer."

Summer Gleeson brushed a lock of red hair out of her face. How could the make-up guy have missed that? She cleared her throat, straightened her back against the chair.

"Ten seconds, Summer."

Summer practiced her famous smile; she'd done it so many times over the years that she didn't even need a mirror to tell whether it looked good or not--it always looked good. On the stage beside her sat Gotham's new mayor, Marion Grange. On the other side of Mayor Grange was Sarah Essen-Gordon, the liaison between the police department and the mayor's office. Also on-stage was Councilman Arthur Reeves, the man who had spearheaded Mayor Grange's election campaign last fall. The studio was packed, as was always the case with Town Meeting shows, with incredulous and wrathful citizens.

"Five, Summer . . . four . . . three . . ."

Summer took in a final breath and put on her incomparable smile as Camera One's red light flashed on. "Good afternoon, Gotham. I'm Summer Gleeson, and welcome to this special Sunday edition of Town Meeting."

The show's theme music started up, and the audience watched the opening montage, consisting of split-second clips of Summer and some of her famous interviews over the years, intercut with shots of audience members laughing, yelling, pointing, even some asking civil questions. When the opening sequence, which took about thirty seconds, was finished, the shot switched to Camera Two, which was in the middle of a pan from the stage to an audience member, for the hour's first question.

The first question came from a short black man, his gray hair just beginning to fade away from the top of his head. When he spoke, his voice had the gruff earnestness of a blue-collar man who, for whatever reason, was fed-up. "Yes, ah, Ms. Mayor? I'd just like to know what's goin' on with these--with these parking fines. 'Cos, you see, I've been noticin' that they seem to, ah, rise by a few dollars every few weeks. See, about a month, two months ago, they was twenty-five dollars. Then, they went up, they was twenty-seven, then up to thirty. Now, they's up to about thirty, thirty-five. In just a few months! I wanna know what's goin' on, Ms. Mayor."

Mayor Grange cleared her throat. "Well, sir, that's a good question. It's a question I'm sure that a lot of your fellow Gothamites are--er, would like an answer to. But, I'm afraid I'm not the best person here to answer it. If Councilman Reeves would like to . . ."

Arthur Reeves smiled at the Mayor, making sure that the friendship he held with the mayor was communicated to everyone who was watching in the studio, and across the city. "Why, certainly, Mayor Grange. Sir, I and my colleagues on the city council were actually waiting--well, hoping would be a better word--that someone would ask the question you just did. So, thank you."

The man who had asked the question looked expectantly at the councilman. "Well . . . ? You have a explanation?"

Reeves grinned. "Why, yes I do. You see, sir, Gotham is the largest city on the east coast. We have a population of approximately fourteen million people living here, and as a result, we incur numerous expenses. However, in recent weeks, what with renewed activity by the so-called 'underworld,' numerous acts of arson, and of course the unfortunate incident at the Treadmont building, these normal expenses have been severely inflated. We have to clean up the mess, sir. And, the mess just got a lot bigger, a lot faster, than we in your city government had anticipated."

"You mean to tell me that I--You know what? Nevermind. I'm through dealing with you people!" The man sat down abruptly, mumbling something about " . . . better start doin' some better damn anticipating . . ."

Councilman Reeves flashed a practiced PR smile at the rest of the audience, then folded his hands to await the next question.

A round, middle-aged woman stood next, and the grip in charge of the boom-mike didn't get to her in time, so the panel on-stage missed the first few words of her query. " . . . these darn tourists in my store! Can't you raise taxes or something?"

Sitting quietly in the middle of the fourth row, hands folded, waiting patiently, was Jo Travis.

McCarthy's Department Store, 2:19 p.m.

Ariana stepped out of the dressing room and presented herself to Tim, who was waiting with arms folded on a wooden bench outside the dressing room door. "Well? What do you think?"

Tim looked her up and down, then regarded the floor at her feet thoughtfully. "It's a suit," he said, looking up at her, a smile just barely noticeable on his face.

Ari watched him anxiously. "Yes . . . it is. And? Do you like it?"

"Well . . . I don't know," Tim said slowly, standing. "It looks good. I mean, if you're going to church."

Ariana shot Tim a disappointed look. "Oh, come-on. You really hate it, don't you?"

Tim tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. "No! No, I couldn't hate it. It's just a little . . . plain, that's all."

Ari put her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not a model, Tim."

A large grin spread over Tim's face, and this time he didn't fight it. "You could be, you know."

Ariana hit Tim gently on the arm, the turned back to the dressing room. "I'm gonna change out of this . . . suit, then we can go somewhere else. I know you must be getting bored, sitting around in the ladies section."

"You could say that." Tim folded his arms and leaned back against the wall next to the dressing room door. Waiting for Ariana, Tim's eyes began to wander. Since there wasn't much else to look at in a department store, his line of sight basically hopped from clothing rack to clothing rack.

Tee-shirts.

Blouses.

Levis jeans.

Calvin Klein jeans.

Jordache jeans.

That was when Tim spotted her. His heart-rate nearly doubled, his muscles stiffened, his eyes widened. Oh my God . . . no, no, no . . . Tim was looking at Stephanie Brown, the Spoiler. The Spoiler was another Gotham vigilante, one who was definitely lacking the support of Batman. In fact, if Robin was caught with, or anywhere near her, that alone could be reason enough for a reprimand from Batman. How is it that she always knows the most uncomfortable to show up?

Stephanie/Spoiler didn't know who's face was beneath Robin's mask, and Tim wanted it to stay that way. Right now, Stephanie was looking through the contents of a rack of denim jackets near the middle of the ladies section listening to something on a set of Sony headphones, but she was facing in Tim's direction--this was not a comfortable feeling. He heard Ari starting to open the dressing room door, and grabbed the knob. Pulling it open the rest of the way, Tim promptly put his arm around Ariana and led her somewhat forcefully towards the toy section.

Halfway there, Ari planted her feet and pushed away from Tim. "Stop pulling me around, Tim! I never even got a chance to put this dumb suit back!"

Tim looked at Ari's right hand, which still held the suit she'd been wearing by its hanger. "Oh, well . . . uh, I'll buy it for you! Really, I loved it on you! It really brought out your . . . figure."

Ari rolled her eyes. "But I don't like it! It makes me look fat."

"Ariana, you weigh one-oh-five; nothing can make you look fat. Now come-on. Let's go pay for that, then we'll hit the Toys 'R Us."

Tim took Ari by the hand and led her towards the checkouts. "Why are we going to Toys 'R Us?"

"I dunno. Check out the action figures, maybe?"

"Action figures? What? Why are you being so weird all of a sudden." Ari's face suddenly went cold. She moved close to Tim, whispered in his ear. "Is it something to do with Robin? Did you see something wrong, Tim?"

Tim looked at her, then gave a subtle nod. "Umm-hmm."

Ari's jaw dropped open. She moved close to Tim, putting her arm around his waist. "What is it?" she whispered to him. "What'd you see?"

Tim grimaced as he saw Stephanie Brown approaching them. He turned Ari around, and thankfully, when he looked back, Stephanie was moving towards the exit. Something about the way she was walking caught Tim's attention, though: Steph was moving swiftly, purposeful. She glanced behind her once, then moved straight for the door.

Ari was looking where Tim was. "Steph!" she yelled out. "Stephanie Brown! Hey!"

Stephanie was already outside. Ari crossed her arms and regarded the door, a perplexed look on her face. "Must've been those damn headphones she was wearing," Ari said, turning back to Tim, her face once again a portrait of deep concern. "Now, what was it?"

Tim took in a breath, then nodded towards the door. He didn't like to be revealing so many of Robin's secrets so soon, but from the way Stephanie Brown was walking, something had to be up. "She's it," he said.

Ari looked at the door, then back at Tim, not quite sure what she had just been told. "Who's it? Steph? Tim, what about Steph?"

Tim shook his head. "Nothing. Do something with that suit; we have to go. Now."

Ari looked around quickly, dropping the suit she was carrying into a recycling bin at the edge of the checkout area. Tim took her hand, and they moved quickly towards the main exit. Once outside, Tim stopped and looked in the direction he'd seen Steph go after walking out the glass doors. He spotted her straight blonde locks far down the sidewalk; she was nearly running, the and sidewalk in this section of town was practically empty, especially today, Sunday. Tim watched, walking quickly down the sidewalk to keep Steph in his view as she continued down towards wherever she was going. She stopped suddenly and looked around her.

Stephanie jumped quickly into an alley between buildings, disappearing from sight. Tim tightened his grip on Ari's hand. "Come-on. We need to get to my van." Tim and Ariana ran back up the sidewalk, past the front entrance of McCarthy's, to where Tim had so expertly parallel parked his van. He ran right around to the back, letting go of Ari's hand and fumbling his keys out of his pocket. Somehow, when he wasn't wearing the Robin costume, Tim couldn't move as expertly as he would've liked; he almost dropped the keys before he could get the right one into the lock. He found the right key, slid it into the lock, turning it and pulling open the back door of the van.

He looked behind him, where Steph had disappeared. Rocking indecisively back and forth on the balls of his feet, Tim finally started off towards where he's last seen Stephanie Brown. "Ari," he said before breaking into a sprint, "look under the spare tire panel and get me the cloth sack in there. Hurry!"

"Oh, okay! Okay!" Ari jumped into the back of the van. She pushed the spare tire to the side and took hold of the handle attached to the metal panel beneath it. She pulled the panel off, and found the sack Tim had been talking about. "Tim!" she yelled. Tim didn't answer. Ariana looked behind her, and saw Tim sprinting into the same alleyway Steph had disappeared into. She grabbed the sack, hurriedly locked up the fan, grabbed Tim's keys, and took off herself down the sidewalk.

She spotted Tim in the middle of the alley, climbing up a fire escape. "Tim!" He stopped and held out his arms.

"Toss me the sack!"

Ari ran up just below the fire escape and lofted the sack into the air. It reached an apex several feet short of Tim's outstretched arms and fell back to the cold, wet asphalt of the alley. Ari grabbed the sack and readied for another throw. "A little harder, Ari."

"Sorry, it's heavy!"

Tim nodded. "Three guesses what's in it."

"Oh my God . . . I didn't break anything, did I?"

"Don't think so. Throw now, please!"

Ari threw it up towards him again, but again the sack fell short. Tim smacked the railing of the fire escape. "Harder, Ariana!"

Ari bent her knees, brought the sack down almost to the ground, then sprung upwards, propelling it up past Tim, over his head. He waited for it to start back down, caught it, then started quickly back up the fire escape. "Ari, just wait for me at the van! Do some more shopping!"

Ari crossed her arms and watched Tim until he reached the roof of the building and disappeared. "Sure . . ." she said. "I just go shopping." Her words were dripping as if just dipped in sarcasm.

Tim bounded onto the roof, but there was no sign of Stephanie Brown or the Spoiler. He quickly dropped the cloth sack onto the roof and tore it open, revealing the Robin costume inside. He practically ripped off his own clothes, and started hurriedly into the green kevlar tights.

Having been Robin for over a year and a half, he was in full costume in less than a minute. As soon as his utility belt was clipped into place around his waist, Robin started towards the opposite edge of the roof. Looking down in the alley on this side, he saw no sign of Spoiler. Looking around, though, something else caught his eye. Bundled in the corner of the building were a pair of jeans, a Gotham Knights sweatshirt, and a set of Sony radio headphones.

Robin knelt down and looked through the clothes. They smelled of perfume. Hmmph . . . she must've been wearing the Spoiler costume under her clothes. Her thighs did look a little chunky suddenly . . . I guess now I know why.

Looking up, several rooftops over, Robin spotted a cape fluttering in the gentle breeze that was a constant on the rooftops of Gotham City. He removed a small telescope from a utility compartment on his left sleeve and aimed it at the cape. Ah-ha . . . It was the Spoiler. She was on the roof of the Braddock Building, getting ready to leap onto the next rooftop, that of WWGC Channel 8, Broadcast Hill. Robin stored his telescope, then ran and leapt onto the roof of the next building.

Either Spoiler had noticed Robin and was waiting for him, or she had run into some sort of obstacle, because she wasn't moving, just circling around a spot on the WWGC building's roof. Robin caught up to her swiftly. Spoiler was examining a skylight, kneeling and eyeing the lock. Spoiler's mask covered her entire face, and her head was further covered by a purple hood. Robin could only see her eyes, and they were drawn narrow with concentration. After Robin had been there for almost a whole minute, Spoiler gave him a brief glance from over her shoulder. "Oh. Hi ya, sweetie."

Sweetie? Robin gritted his teeth and ignored the remark. He knelt down beside her and gave the lock a good look. "So, what is it that brings the dread Spoiler out in the day?"

"Well, obviously the same thing that coaxed Robin out of hiding."

"I'm only here because I spotted you bounding along."

"Really? Are you serious? You haven't heard what's going on in there?" Spoiler nodded down at the skylight. Robin looked at the skylight, then back at Spoiler. He shook his head. "I just heard it on the--I just heard that some psycho is holding the mayor and an audience hostage in Studio Twenty-one. I was around, so I figured I'd stop by to save the day."

"Oh, that's what you thought?"

Spoiler looked back at Robin and nodded. "That's exactly what I thought." Robin shrugged at Spoiler. "I guess you have other plans, eh, Boy Wonder?"

"I don't like it when you call me that, Steph."

Spoiler waved her arms wildly. "No!" she exclaimed in an excited whisper. "No, I'm Spoiler! Come-on, if I knew your real name, I'd still call you Robin!"

"Well, you will never know my real name, so you'll have to call me Robin. Now, get outta here. I can handle this until the police get here."

Spoiler stood and folded her arms. "You really think the cops will be able to handle it?"

Robin stood and folded his arms as well, although mocking the Spoiler wasn't entirely intentional. "Come-on, Spoiler. Of course the cops can handle it. You underestimate the G-C-P-D."

"If the Gotham Police were so great, you and me wouldn't even exist! Well, you know, as Spoiler and as Robin."

"Spoiler, let the cops handle it. They've got a lot riding on this one; the mayor is in there!"

WWGC Studios, 1 Broadcast Hill, 2:32 p.m.

In front of the WWGC building, Commissioner Gordon jumped out of his car, along with Lieutenant Kitch. Five other units were behind them, and SWAT was on the way. "Sarah's in there," Gordon said as Kitch was unfolding a blueprint of the WWGC building on the hood of Gordon's car.

"Sure you should be in charge of this one, Jim? Maybe you're too close to it."

Gordon gave Kitch a stern look. "No, Samuel. I'm staying right here. There is no one better to take charge of this one than me. Now, please don't ask me that question again."

Kitch nodded, and from then on was all business. He finished unfolding the map and began tracing a route with his finger. "There's a fire exit right behind the stage in Studio Twenty-one. We can send our guys in there, maybe catch this crazy by surprise."

The commissioner shook his head as the other officers began to gather around the car. "The gunman--"

"Gunwoman, sir," a female officer corrected.

Gordon regarded her with mild annoyance. "I consider gunman to be a gender-neutral term officer. If it offends you, I suggest you move past it and press on." Gordon took in a breath, looked back to Kitch, and continued. "The gunman left the show's life video feed running. It's obvious she wants to send a message of some sort to us. Or, if not the public in general, to someone at least. At any rate, she's got the mayor at gun point, backed up against a wall. She insists that if anyone comes in, or if anyone tries to leave, Mayor Grange won't be walking out of that studio."

"What kind of gun?"

"I couldn't get a good look from the video feed, but it looks like something very small. Maybe a Derringer," offered the female officer Gordon had just reprimanded.

"Well, that might go a little ways towards explaining how she got the weapon past security," Kitch stated, then regarded the building blueprint with raised eyebrows.

"Dammit, Sarah, I'm coming," Gordon whispered to himself. He cleared his throat, looked at the building, then back to Kitch and the officers. "We need to get someone inside there. Now."

2:39

Picking the lock on the skylight had been easy enough, now the question was, what to do now that they were inside. The skylight was over the WWGC NewsCentre, which crowned the building, and brought millions of Gothamites the news at noon, five, and eleven o'clock. The studio wasn't being used right now; on Sunday there was no Five O'clock News broadcast. The place was darkened, but there was enough light that Robin didn't need to use his night vision lenses. Spoiler was behind him, apparently satisfied for the moment that Robin was tolerating her presence.

Robin walked up behind the cameras and turned on one of the video monitors. "What are you doing?! If the guards hear that TV--"

Robin looked up at Spoiler with annoyance. "I think that security is occupied with other things right now, Steph. Now, think: if whoever is holding that studio hostage let them keep the video feed running, I can find it on T-V. Town Meeting is a live show. That is the show, right?"

Spoiler nodded. "Uh-huh. That's it."

Robin began flipping through the channels. "Ah-ha," he whispered when the frightened image of Mayor Grange appeared. And, there was a voice, too.

"Okay, okay, now zoom out! Let them see me!" The camera obeyed, widening out to show Mayor Grange being held by a woman at gunpoint. The woman's gun was small, most likely a Derringer, Robin deduced, squinting at the screen. The woman with the gun looked directly into the camera. "I want all of Gotham City to listen! My husband was killed in the Treadmont explosion! The same thing that made your fines go higher! Now, it's time for payback! Everyone wants to go after the people who set off the bomb, but no one thinks to take it any farther! Mayor Grange, and that slime on the City Council--" The woman took the mayor in a chokehold and waved the gun in the direction of Arthur Reeves, who, along wit Summer Gleeson and Sarah Essen-Gordon, was huddled in the corner of the stage. "--are as responsible for the death of all those people, and my husband, as the man who sent that bomb!"

Jo Travis pointed to her empty seat in the audience, and spoke to the man who had sat beside her. "Sir, could you look on my seat there? I was sitting on a little package for the mayor, here."

Robin bit his index finger. Another bomb, was his first thought. A man appeared on the TV, carrying a sealed business envelope. He handed it timidly to the woman with the gun, then ran back off-camera, presumably back to his seat.

Jo Travis waited until the man was seated again, then opened the mayor's shaking hand and closed it back around the envelope. "Open it," she ordered venomously. The mayor obeyed, tearing open the envelope. "Don't you tear it, either," Jo cautioned.

Mayor Grange nodded. "All right. All right." She removed a stapled stack of papers from the remnants of the envelope and began flipping through them.

Jo Travis poked the muzzle of her small gun into the mayor's back. "I want you to read it, bitch. You read it. Every last page!"

The mayor nodded timidly and turned back to the first page. She began to read, her frightened eyes moving slowly from line to line.

Robin sat back on the floor, watching the monitor with his chin on his fist. Spoiler was kneeling behind him. She leaned forward on his back. "Don't do that, please," Robin asked, looking back at her. Spoiler stood and crossed her arms.

"So, what do we do now?"

"Did you hear the sirens outside? The cops are here." Robin exhaled frustratedly. "I'm tempted to just let them handle it all the way."

Spoiler cocked her head to the side, regarding Robin with anticipation. "But . . . ?"

"But," Robin relented, "we're already here. So, we might as well--"

Spoiler held up her hands. "We? I'm sorry . . . did I just here you refer to us?"

Robin looked down ruefully at the floor, shaking his head. "I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm not gonna get you to leave here. So, I might as well use you, as long as you're here."

"That was mean. Use me?"

"We are not partners, Spoiler. In fact, I'm only here to keep you out of trouble! If you would've kept a lower profile, I'd never have seen you, and you could've come in here and cleaned house all by yourself--and probably gotten arrested, by the way."

Spoiler moved and sat down on the floor beside Robin. "What now? The mayor isn't gonna be reading forever, you know?"

"I know. The question is, what's the gunman--"

"Gunwoman."

Robin stopped and looked down at the floor again. "From now on, gunman is a gender neutral word, all right?" Spoiler gave a reluctant nod. "The question is, what's the gunman going to do when the mayor's done reading?"

"Before we answer that question, here's another one: what are we gonna do?"

Robin rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger, watching the mayor's frightened image on the TV monitor. "I don't know . . . gimme a minute."

2:53 p.m.

Gordon smacked the hood of his own car, hard. "Dammit, we can't just go crashing in to the rescue! The mayor, her liaison, and a member of the city council, not to mention about four hundred innocent people are trapped in that studio, and if someone breathes wrong, any one of them could die. We need a plan, a logical, low-risk course of action." The commissioner glared at Sergeant Braddock, leader of the SWAT team, who was gripping his automatic rifle, ready to charge in at a moment's notice. "Braddock, can you use that brain in your head for something other than target finding? Think!! We need to go in there, and we need to know what we're doing!"

Lieutenant Kitch had been silently listening to other people's suggestions for the past several minutes. Now, he looked up at the building, his face a portrait of stone concentration. "Jim, I don't think that woman wants to hurt anyone." A news van had arrived several minutes ago, and several officers were standing around a television monitor, watching as the mayor of Gotham City read through a stack of papers handed to her by the gunman. Kitch parted the officers and stood with the commissioner in front of the TV. "The mayor's only begun to read whatever that is. The gunman is adamant that she read the entire thing, fully."

Officer Bobby Henreid, who had been working at the computer terminal in his car, came striding over to the commissioner and Kitch, holding a computer printout. He handed the paper to Gordon. "Sir, I just got an I-D on our gunwoman."

Gordon took the paper, reading over it quickly. "Jo Elizabeth Travis?" His eyes lit up as he saw the name. "Wait . . . is she any relation to Bernard Travis? The city councilman killed in the Treadmont explosion?"

One of the officers who had been watching the monitor turned around. "She did say that her husband had been killed in the Treadmont incident."

Gordon nodded. "So, what's she after? Revenge?"

"No, I don't think so," offered Sergeant Braddock. Surprised, Gordon turned to the sergeant, hands on his hips and ears open. "Councilman Travis had proposed renovations to the Treadmont building several times in the months leading up to the tragedy. That's most likely what the mayor's reading now, her husband's plans."

Kitch nodded. "All right, Sergeant. So, what's she after, if not revenge?"

Braddock looked at the image of the mayor, then around and up at the WWGC building. "Maybe . . . relief from her grief. Some closure."

"Well," Gordon said, walking past the sergeant, then turning around and regarding him, "I knew you could use that head of yours for something. If you thought like that more often, you might be a detective by now."

"Nah, Commissioner," Braddock said with a shrug, "I love beating people up too much."

"Therein lies your problem," Gordon mumbled low to himself as he leaned over the building blueprints on the hood of his car. "Now," he said out-loud, "I say we position Swat at this fire exit behind the stage, and keep them apprised of the situation inside. Once the mayor is done reading whatever she's reading, I think that the former Mrs. Travis will let her go, maybe even try to leave. Once the mayor is clear, Swat goes in, secures the room, takes our gunman into custody."

Braddock turned to his SWAT team and yelled to them in a gruff voice, "Sound good to you, boys?!"

The team responded with nods and muted expressions of enthusiasm. "We're ready, Sarge!" one of them exclaimed.

Sergeant Braddock looked at Gordon. "Just say the word, Commish."

Gordon waved his hand towards the building. "Go to it, Braddock. Tell your men to take their positions outside of . . . fire exit number three, and wait until signaled before entering."

Braddock nodded enthusiastically, then waved his men onward. They marched into the building. Gordon watched them go, then removed his glasses and massaged the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Wagering awful heavy on a hunch, aren't you, Jim?" Kitch asked with concern.

"We have to do something, Lieutenant. And, I'm certain that this is the right something. When the time comes, we just have to let Braddock and his men do their jobs."

"Right. You're right, Jim."

Kitch walked back to the TV monitor, standing behind the officers assembled there. He crossed his arms and watched on intently. Commissioner Gordon leaned back against his car and watched the building, as if he were expecting it to do something, take some action. We're coming, Sarah, he thought, closing his eyes, bowing his head. Just stay still, and we'll be right there.

3:02 p.m.

"The ventilation system?"

Robin nodded and then pointed to the ceiling. He and Spoiler were now in Studio 22, one floor above where Jo Travis was holding Studio 21 hostage while the mayor read her late husband's proposal. "See? All the studios are basically the same, just different sets. They all have ventilation systems running along the ceiling. See there, above the rafters?"

Spoiler removed a flashlight from a pouch in her belt and examined the ceiling of the studio. "Uh-huh. I see it."

"All the vent systems are interconnected, so that the ventilation goes all over the building. We climb in here, crawl down one floor, and we can wait for a chance to do something right in the studio."

Spoiler was still eyeing the rafters. "Yeah, yeah I see what you mean. We could just perch up on those rafters and wait for . . . whatever."

"We're already inside, so me and you will have a better shot at surprising the gunman than the police; they'll have to burst in."

"Right. Let's get going." Spoiler removed a grappling hook and line from her belt and tossed it up to the rafters. The hook found a secure mark, and the line hung securely from it. Spoiler began to climb, but felt Robin's hand on her shoulder.

"Unh-unh. I lead." He tugged on her line, and the grappling hook fell down from the ceiling. Spoiler caught it just in time to keep it from clattering to the floor. Robin pointed to the far wall of the studio. "Look, brainiac." Spoiler looked to where Robin was pointing; an iron ladder ran up along the wall from floor to ceiling, meant for use by the lighting crew when spotlights were needed for whatever show was being put on. Robin gave Spoiler a slightly amused smirk, then started for the ladder.

"Well . . . sure," Spoiler covered, "let's just take the obvious route."

Spoiler followed Robin up the ladder.

3:10 p.m.

With nothing to do except wait, Ariana had climbed into the van and turned on the radio. When Tim had been gone for about thirty minutes, a news report had interrupted the latest Alanis Morrisette single, filling Ari in on what was happening just down the street at the WWGC building. This only compounded her already worried state.

Ari left the van and took off down the street. When she reached a point within several hundred feet of the WWGC building, a uniformed police officer stopped her, taking her by the arms and pushing her back, gently but firmly. "Sorry, Miss. You can't go any closer."

"But, I just need to--"

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you in there. It's a real tense situation in that building right now. Now, we're doing everything we can. If you can hang around here, but keep your distance, I promise I'll let you know what's happening. Well, as soon as we find out anything, that is."

Ari nodded. "Okay. No, I'll go back. Thank you." She turned and started slowly back for Tim's van. She made it more than halfway before she started crying. Ari climbed back into the van's passenger side, closed the door, and leaned her head on the dash board, counting the times she heard her own tears splash against the vinyl.

And, she turned off the radio.

3:15 p.m.

The ventilation system twisted around the ceiling of Studio 22, then dropped straight down and curved horizontal again, abruptly beginning its windings around the ceiling of Studio 21. Robin and Spoiler had reached the edge of that drop. The vent system was constructed of thin sheets of aluminum, riveted together. If struck, it would make a resounding thud that would announced Robin and Spoiler's presence to everyone in the studio, setting into motion a no-doubt unfortunate course of events.

Robin peered down; the drop was approximately twelve feet, from the ceiling of Studio 22 to the ceiling of Studio 21. He thought at first of pushing against the sides of the vent shaft and slipping down inch by inch, but the aluminum sides would most likely pop at the seams from the pressure. The best bet seemed to lie in attaching a line somewhere, and sliding down on the cord. Robin felt along one of the seams that connected the aluminum sheets to one another. He found a rivet, and promptly reached into his belt.

He removed a knife-like device, only instead of a sharp blade there was a very thin rectangle of metal. Robin slipped the metal under the edge of the rivet and pried it up almost a quarter-inch. Already seeing what he was planning, Spoiler handed Robin a length of cord from her belt, with a slip-knot tied at the end. Robin took the cord, acknowledged Spoiler with a nod, then slipped the knot over the rivet. He pushed the rivet back down over the knot with his thumb, tugged on it for security, then gripped the line with both hands and began to slide down to the bottom of the vertical shaft.

"Watch me, and when I'm down and in the tunnel and out of your way, you can start down." Robin slid down. "Don't worry about your rope, no one will ever see it."

3:22 p.m.

Commissioner Gordon walked up beside Kitch and focused his eyes intently on the monitor. The mayor had been reading through the papers handed to her by Jo Travis for nearly ten minutes. She finished the last page, then slowly brought the first page back to the front and presented the papers to Jo. She took them, then threw her husband's proposal across the stage; it landed at the feet of Councilman Reeves. "Now, you read it! Carefully!"

Reeves began flipping through the papers, giving them a superficial once-over. Jo pointed her small gun in the councilman's direction. "I said read them, Goddammit!!"

The councilman looked up at her, somehow managing to maintain his calm. "I thought I'd give them a glance first before I get more in-depth."

Jo considered this a moment. "Fine, whatever. Just . . . you'd better read it!" Jo then turned back to the mayor, pressing the muzzle of the gun up against Mayor Grange's forehead. "What d'ya say, Mizz Mayor? Are you sorry?"

Mayor Grange managed to move past her fear for a second and insert a tone of spite into her reply. "Sorry for what? I've done nothing--"

"You say you're sorry!! Right now!! You read the plans, it's your fault that he's dead!!"

Grange was in a tight chokehold; she had to tug at Travis' arm for enough air to clear her throat and speak. "Those . . . plans would not have stopped the explosion . . . they--they were--"

"Liar!! You lie!!" Jo Travis glanced sharply at Councilman Reeves. "You tell her! Tell her my husband could've saved our home!!"

Reeves glanced at the first page as if he were reading it for the first time. He shook his head negatively. "I . . . from what I see, these are just plans for superficial renovations."

"No."

"Re-wiring . . . re-plastering of walls . . . new lighting, new elevators . . . these would certainly have improved the standard of living for the residents, but they have nothing to do with the structure of the building. I'm . . . I'm not an architect, but these wouldn't have prevented the damage caused by the Treadmont bomb in any substantial way."

"NO! No! No! You lie!! All of you, you lie!!"

Reeves leaned forward. "Didn't you ever think that there was a reason why we voted down Bernard's plans on several different occasions?"

"You killed him! You! You did! You . . . you killed him!"

Jo Travis' hand was shaking wildly; her gun was jerking from side to side. Seizing what might have been her only opportunity, Mayor Grange wrenched the woman's arm away from her throat and dove off-stage. Immediately, Jo turned to the mayor, screaming. As she waved the gun around, the men and women who had been trapped in the audience cried out and brought their hands and arms to their faces.

Gordon took hold of a walkie-talkie, and was about to order the SWAT team to burst in and take control of the situation, when he saw Sarah leap up from her seat beside Councilman Reeves and charge the gunman. Things were happening so fast. The next instant, from out of nowhere, Jo's gun arm jerked upwards. She squealed, as much in surprise as in pain, and her gun fell to the stage steps. Sarah bent down, snatched up the gun, then shifted her weight and swung her leg around in a roundhouse kick, clipping Jo's shoulder.

Jo Travis spun around, and Sarah caught her with a right fist flush across the jaw. Jo collapsed to the stage steps, the same spot where her gun had been a moment ago. Sarah saw the thin cord leading up from Travis' wrist. She followed it with her eyes, and saw that it was tied off at one of the rafters. She shook her head, and couldn't help but smile with gratitude at her unseen assistant.

Even though it was pointless, Gordon gave the go-ahead for SWAT to go in. Sergeant Braddock and his men stormed the studio, evacuating the audience, assuring the safety of the mayor, the councilman, and Sarah, the smiling, surprised hero of the day.

Three minutes after SWAT went in, the mayor and company came out the front exit of the WWGC building. They were followed soon by a flushed but fine Summer Gleeson, who waved to the police officers assembled, then allowed an on-scene medic to give her a quick examination.

Sarah was headed towards a police van with Reeves and the mayor. Commissioner Gordon saw her and instinctively started in her direction. He reached her, took her gently by the arm. Their eyes met, and it was as if it were the first time they'd looked on each other. Gordon felt the urge to pull her to him, to kiss her, hold her, let her know how much he loved her, how very much he missed her during their estrangement. At first he didn't, he just looked at her face. She returned the look, staring deeply into his eyes. Oh, to Hell with it, Gordon thought spitefully as he pulled Sarah to him. Their lips met; they kissed, and that too was just like it had been the first time.

Jo Travis was last, led outside and into the SWAT van by three of the team's members. She was still protesting, still screaming. It just wasn't fair . . . it just wasn't fair.

No one paid any attention to her.

3:40 p.m.

Robin hit the roof of the WWGC building running. Spoiler climbed out of the skylight after him. "Hey, Boy Wonder!"

Robin slowed, then stopped. "Better go home, Spoiler. I'm done here."

"Where're you going in such a hurry?"

"I'll see you later, Spoiler. I'm sure."

Spoiler shrugged. "Maybe next time, we can actually do something."

"It's not action, action, action all the time, you know! A lot of the time, us costumed crimefighters end up waiting for something to fight."

"Like today."

"Just like today. Now, I've really gotta get outta here." Robin took off, leaping from roof-to-roof until he reached the place he'd started at. He bundled up his clothes, then dropped down into the alley. Spoiler gave him five minutes, then started back that way herself.

3:45 p.m.

Tim had the cloth sack beneath his arm. He sprinted down the sidewalk to his van. Thankfully, Ari was still there. Oh God . . . has she been here this whole time? She was asleep, her head resting on the dashboard.

Tim climbed in behind the wheel, turning the engine on, but leaving it idle. His first instinct was to wake her, but then he thought better of it. If he woke her up now, there would be questions all the way home. Tim shifted the van into gear and pulled out into the street. After they'd been driving for a few minutes, Ari's eyes fluttered open, and she looked lazily up at Tim. "Tim? . . . When did you--"

"Shh," he said, gently pulling her back to the seat, where she laid her head back and to the side. He caressed her cheek gently. "We'll talk later, Ari. Just . . . sleep now, all right?"

Ari was apparently too spent to argue; she relaxed and slept the rest of the way home. When they reached her house, Tim carried her inside and laid her gently on her bed. He kissed her on the cheek, carried on a few minutes of polite conversation with her Aunt Natty, then left.

He felt like a nap himself.

St. Arthur's Hospital, 4:36 p.m.

Dick had been in the waiting room for almost three and a half hours.

He was nowhere near falling asleep, although he was tired.

Beside him was an expectant father who had managed to sneak in a flask of whiskey. He had drank the entire contents of the flask in the space of two minutes, gulping it. Now, the man was clearly affected by the alcohol. Since Dick was the only other person in the room, the drunken father-to-be focused all of his conversation in Dick's direction.

"I love my wife . . . ya unnerstan . . .?"

Dick just nodded. "Yes, pal. I sure do."

"You ever been in love 'afore? Ever?"

A grin spread over Dick's face. He looked at the man, who was obviously incapacitated by his drink, and leaned forward in his chair. "Yeah. Yeah, you know, I have been in love before."

The man's eyes widened. "Oh yeah? What . . . was . . . her name?"

Dick almost started to laugh. "Her name was Kory. Well . . . that's what I called her."

"Yeah? Was she pretty? A pretty girl . . . pretty girl . . ."

"Oh, she was beautiful . . ." There was a wistful tone in Dick's voice. Of course, he was also aware of the absurdity of his situation--confessing the details of his love life to a drunken man about to be handed a son or daughter. "She was beautiful, all right. She was a Tamaran princess."

The drunk man looked at Dick with skepticism. "I think that's bullshit . . . you ain't never been in love with no Tamalaralan princess . . . Tama . . . Tamaran . . . where is that, anyway? S'at one a them islands? Like, where Haku comes from?"

Dick laughed and shook his head. "Nah, pal. I think it's a little further away than that."

"How'd you meet her, anyway? That . . . that Tama--that princess?"

"Well, we were both part of--"

Dick looked up suddenly as a nurse opened the door and stuck her head into the waiting room. She looked at Dick. "Are you the man who came in with Mrs. Barrell?"

Dick stood and straightened out his clothes; he'd been sitting for over three hours. "Yes. Yes, I'm him. . . . I mean, yeah, yeah. I brought her in."

The nurse nodded. She opened the door wider. "Can I see you in the hall, please?"

"Sure." Dick started out into the hall. He looked at his inebriated companion, who had passed out in the few seconds that had passed since their conversation. Dick joined the nurse out in the hospital hallway. "What is it? Did she have the baby?"

The nurse shook her head, and Dick could feel his heart, ready to drop like a stone at the next word. "The baby's fine, sir. It's a boy."

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled wide, laughed. "A boy? She had a boy; that's great!"

"But it's the mother, sir." Dick's smile faded as quickly as it had come. "There were some complications . . . "