Disclaimer #1: DC
owns the characters. I make reference to certain details culled from the
following Trade Paperbacks: Batman: No Man's Land Volume 2, and Nightwing:
A Darker Shade of Justice, and recent events from
“War Games” and Birds of Prey. There is no intent to infringe on DC's
copyright. The lyrics below are from I Just Wanna Be Mad by Kelly
Lovelace and Lee Thomas Miller. Recorded by Terri Clark from her CD Pain To Kill copyright 2003 by Universal. Used without
permission.
Disclaimer #2: I'm
typing this story following the events of Catwoman #35. It may be out of
sync with continuity as soon as the next installment of War Games hits the
stands. If it is, please consider this as Elseworlds,
and enjoy!
A/N: If Babs can
use "Curtains 98" as her operating system in DC canon, she can use
"Norbert" antivirus in this fic.
***
I'll never
leave, I'll never stray
My love for you will never change
But I ain't ready to make up or get around to that
I think I'm right I think you're wrong
I'll probably give in before long
Please don't make me smile
I just want to be mad for awhile
~Kelly Lovelace
& Lee Thomas Miller
***
PART ONE
I figured Dick
would have told him about the gas regurgitants in the
steam tunnel, the seismic alerts, and the laser traps. No big deal. Every time
Norbert releases a new software antivirus, I take that as an indicator that
it's time to review and upgrade my other defenses. I hate surprises. I hate
guests who stop by unannounced—even if they're friends. I especially hate friends who figuratively and unexpectedly stab me in the
back while I'm literally talking to them, then blow me off like it's nothing,
and then stop by unannounced.
Funny,
really.
I designed my home security system with him in mind. Just this once, I wish it
hadn't worked. It's been a long night, and a longer day. I was irritable enough
when my alert system started blaring in my ear at 110 decibels barely an hour
after I'd finally tried to grab some shuteye. Back when I was Batgirl, I
mastered the art of getting changed quickly. Even now, with a wheelchair, I'm
still dressed in under two minutes. With my escrima tucked into the pockets of
my cardigan, I haul myself into my work area.
I'd yell at
him—except that the sight of him standing immobile,
cocooned from shoulders to ankles in reinforced Securus, a disgusted grimace on
his face, almost makes me burst out laughing. How do you like that? I
actually do have a system even Batman can't breach! Of course, there's
the small matter of my computer systems... Remembering that, I don't
feel like laughing anymore.
"What do you
want?" I ask him. Right now, the synthetic voder that I use to voice
my Oracle persona exhibits more warmth. Without giving him a chance to reply, I
repeat the last thing I said to him this afternoon, before he severed his link
with me. "You stole my system from me, Bruce." Now, reminded of that
fact, curiosity gets the better of me. "How did you do it?"
He struggles
against the fabric restraints. Good luck. That's the same stuff they make
seatbelts out of, augmented to make it more cut-resistant than usual. It'll
hold him for a while. Once he figures that out, he turns his head away.
"There was an... attachment... to a batch of file
backups I sent to you after the No Man's Land ended. Something I had created.
Norbert is a subsidiary of Wayne Industries. If their software could detect my
program, I would have known first."
God, no wonder he's
embarrassed. I can't believe this. "You sent me a virus?" At this
point, I think I might be able to snap the Securus. "You
infected my systems? I lean forward, and feel the tips of my escrima
sticks poke gently into my mid-section. Normally I wouldn't dream of laying
into a man when he can't defend himself, but this is Bruce we're talking
about. If he could defend himself, I'd be an idiot to attack him. Then my
eidetic memory recalls something.
"The
'extra attachment', Bruce? Would that, by any chance have been appended to
those criminal records you salvaged off of the bat-computer in the period from
just before the quake to the point when you went off to Washington? The ones
you asked me to route to GCPD and the DA's office after changing the protocols
so that they looked like they were coming from more official
channels?"
Not answering is
also an answer. Before I know it, the sticks are in my hands.
"How could you
do this to me?" Bad enough that Brainiac went through my
system to possess me, not so long ago. That I can almost take in
stride. He's a villain. I'm against him. In general, villains are... well...
hostile. Ergo, if they have the capacity to do so, they will indulge in
mind-control and manipulation when it suits their purposes. Par for the course,
and if I can't take the heat I've got no business in the kitchen. But Bruce... Bruce abused my trust in him to give him the
means to take over not only my systems, but also use them as his
backdoor into the GCPD's. Much as I'm trying not to draw parallels, they're
staring me in the face.
And what scares me,
what absolutely terrifies me, is that Bruce's original War Games plan, in a
nutshell, was to have all organized crime in this city
answering to him. In other words, he would become, for all intents and
purposes, an uber-crimelord. And, no matter how much he insists that the
scenario was only meant to be implemented as a last resort, how did he plan to
take over the mob and stick to his no-killing policy? And did he really think
he could stroll through a sewer and come out smelling like a rose?
What he just did to
me was worse than what Brainiac did. I raise the sticks and wheel closer. It's
worse than what he did during the No Man's Land, when he took on a new Batgirl
without telling me. (
Is that why he’s
here, now? So I can throw another tantrum, and things can go back to the way
they were? Nice try. About the only parallel I can see, here, is that in each
case, I know I'm right to be furious. But that time with Helena... that time
with Helena, the truth is, that if he had contacted me right away, said
something like "Barbara, I've found out who was doing the tagging you
were wondering about. While I was gone, somebody stepped into the power vacuum.
Right now, she's an asset and I can use her, but I thought you should be aware:
She's calling herself 'Batgirl'," Yes, I still would have been angry.
Yes! It still would have hurt. But I would have understood. I remember that
confrontation. And I remember... what he asked of me, next. And what I
answered.
I lower the sticks,
still gripping them. If I need 'em, I've got 'em. "I was wrong," I
say in a voice so brittle I barely recognize it as mine.
He looks puzzled at
the apparent nonsequitor. Right.
He may be able to read body language, but my thoughts are still mine. At least
there's one difference between him and Brainiac.
"A long time
ago," I explain, "I said to you: 'I've always trusted you, and you
know I always will'. I was wrong." I have to keep my voice steady. If I
start yelling, he'll assume I'm just upset, and don't mean what I'm saying. I am
upset, but I do mean it. If he took what I said then to mean that no
matter what he did, I'd still be in his corner, he's about to find out just how
wrong he was.
He seems to shrink
a bit, although it could be that he's just trying to worm his way out of the
restraining bands. "Barbara," he says, and for the first time in
hours, the gravel is out of his voice. I close my eyes. No. No, damn it! Do NOT
do this to me, now. Don't lower your defenses and get me to empathize
with you.
"How could you
do this to me?" And this time, the hurt comes through loud and clear.
"If this is how you treat your friends, I think I could almost switch
sides." Are we even friends at this point?
"You don't
mean that."
"You're right.
I don't. Because unlike you, I don't see myself as the shadow
leader of a troop of organized killers!" Oh, good one Babs. You
don't even need the sticks to beat him.
"It... it
wasn't supposed to be like that."
"Just what was
it supposed to be like? Benevolent dictatorship? The mobsters running
"Orpheus is
dead."
"What?"
This is bad. Even furious as I am, I can see that. Orpheus is… was… the
lynchpin in this whole scenario.
"I'd sent him
a message to meet me on the Hill. Black Mask intercepted it. When I arrived, he
and Zeiss were waiting for me."
Only now do I
notice that some of the straps around his arms have bloodstains along the
edges. It looks like they've staunched the flow, anyway. That's good. It means
he's probably not going to bleed to death in my work area. Given the
earful I gave Dinah, before turning in, she would be totally within her rights
to ask me if I was sure he'd been bleeding before he showed up.
"I thought
Black Mask was dead," I say automatically.
"So did
I'm sorry. Too much
has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I can't deal with this right now. I
can't lower my defenses—at this point I'm too tired to know whether I mean my
security devices, or whatever restraint is keeping me from flailing out
hysterically with the escrima—turn on my system, and put in overtime for the
boss on an instant's notice as if I were the glorified secretary he's been
treating me like since this whole thing started.
I shake my head
slowly from side to side. "I can't, Bruce. I'm sorry. Not now. Not after
what you did."
He looks at me,
bewildered. "I need you."
It's hard to tell if
the next sound that comes out of my mouth is a laugh or a sob. "You need
my systems, Bruce. But you don't need me. Not really. You proved
that, this afternoon. You can handle this whole city all by yourself, isn't
that right?" I spin the chair around. "Close the window on your way
out." He'll get out of the Securus eventually. He's Batman, after all. And
if not, well, maybe I'll invite Selina over for breakfast, and tell her to
bring a camera. Ha.
I'm past the living
room, and halfway down the hall to my bedroom when he tosses a miniature CD-Rom
onto my lap from behind me. I will not let him see how much that startled me, I
think, as I wheel around to face him. Not just that he got loose already, but
that he snuck up behind me without my noticing.
"Analyze
it." He says, quietly. "It will show you how to locate and block my
way into your systems." He turns his back on me, shoulders slumping. Poor
posture. I've got a mind to tell Alfred on him. "It... will not... happen
again."
I'm stunned. That's
about as close to a groveling apology as I've ever seen from him. I think back
through the years I've known him, the things I’ve seen him through. Jason. Bane. Cataclysm. No
Man's Land. Luthor's attempt to frame him for murder.
Athena's attempt to plunge Wayne Enterprises into bankruptcy.
His (feeble) attempt to cope with my dad's retirement, for
that matter. Does he let himself get sucked into some abyss because he
trusts us not to let him rot there? I'm not sure I want that
responsibility. But... I've been doing this job for
too long. And I know... I know that I can't walk away, not really.
"Go home,
Bruce," I say firmly. "Get some sleep. I'll try to do the same."
He turns back to me. I hope I'm doing a good job at keeping my face
expressionless. "Or don't. Do like you always do and run yourself into the
ground. Right now, it really doesn't matter to me." He hesitates for a
moment, then nods curtly and starts to sweep off down the hall. "But if
you contact me maybe ten hours from now," I project my voice enough so that
it carries to him, "I won't terminate the link." Which
is more than he deserves after the way he’s been acting.
He stops for a
moment, and half-turns to face me, then turns back
toward the living room. Something makes me call after him: "Bruce?"
And when he stops, I add quickly, "Just now? I lied. It does
matter." And that's the truth.
At the end of the
hall, he pauses, just long enough to call back "Good night, Barbara."
Then he's gone.
Whoo boy! Part of me still
wishes I'd clobbered him with the escrima when I had the chance. Wait a second.
Did I just go one on one against Batman... and win? ‘Good night,
Barbara’, he said. Notwithstanding what's going on outside, right now, I
actually think I'm having one.
*****
PART TWO
It’s
all unraveling. The more I try to hold it together, the more it comes
apart. Taking control of the airwaves
was necessary. For the damage to be contained, it is essential that I direct
GCPD forces, at least for the short-term. Akins could not accept my
proposal. Perhaps, that was not wholly
unexpected. Over the course of the last year, I have done little to build a
working relationship with the man… but I thought Jim would see things my way. Irrelevant. Even if he had, what good would it
have done? He no longer has the authority to turn his men over to me. But
still, he should have understood.
When
Akins refused me, I had little option but to bypass him entirely, appeal
directly to the officers already facing the… fallout… from a contingency plan, which
should… never… have been implemented. Had I not done so, had the majority of
the GCPD not willingly fallen into line, the cost would have been immeasurable.
But… could I have found a better method of launching my appeal than overriding
Barbara’s network? I knew when I initiated my link that the action would have
consequences. I may have underestimated their severity. Time was of the
essence. I do not always have the luxury of explaining my actions. It was
necessary to use her systems to interface with GCPD’s; therefore I used them.
The cost of that action, however, is proving higher than anticipated. Oracle’s reaction has been… extreme. Sulking is out of character for her. As much
as the time that it would take to discuss matters would best be spent elsewhere,
if there is one thing that I have learned from Jim, it is that issues such as
these… issues involving trust, cannot be permitted to
fester.
And if she refuses to understand? To restore her father’s
confidence in me, it was necessary to offer him my secret. That worked another time in the past, as
well, when mistrust threatened to divide the Justice league. Mistrust I played
no small part in fomenting. However, Jim’s daughter already knows. I remove the small CD-Rom from my utility
belt. A peace
offering, of sorts. I would not
create a virus without creating a counter for its effects. And if, in order to
continue our professional relationship, it is necessary to hamper my
effectiveness in some small way, I am prepared to impose this limit.
The
Clocktower is dark as I approach. Can
she be sleeping? At a time like this? On the other hand, the current situation has
now persisted for over twenty-four hours, and I cannot say with certainty how
long she had been awake prior. She has
been irritable—more so than I would have expected. And although there is
information—important information—that I need to relay to her, and soon,
perhaps it can wait for morning. What I need to do next, may be best
done without her knowing: I hacked my way into her system in secret; I’ll
remove my access the same way.
From
what Dick said, Barbara has mined her habitat with security alerts and traps.
Some require voice activation. If she is asleep, I can discount them. The automated defenses include gas, laser beams,
and seismic alerts. I suppose I should be grateful that Pettit and his men
demonstrated their effectiveness.
Because of their blundering, I know better than to attempt to gain entry
either via the underground tunnels, or via the roof. Most likely, the window through which I
usually enter would be the wisest choice.
As
the grapnel finds purchase, and I swing to her windowsill, I try to ignore the
stream of pain that runs along my arm and shoulder. Knife-wound.
Probably needs stitches, but from what Batgirl said, earlier, I might want to
avoid the clinic until Leslie has matters under control. Apart from not needing
another confrontation, she has her hands full right now with wounded civilians…
Interesting pattern. During No
Man’s Land, Jim sent one Batgirl to me with a message telling me—in no
uncertain terms—that my help was not required or appreciated. Now, Leslie is sending a second Batgirl to
relay what is essentially the same message.
Then, too, I was so focused on my goal that I rationalized the use of…
questionable means to achieve it. And today, I hijacked Barbara’s systems.
That probably wounded her more deeply than accepting an interloper using her
old codename. Am I truly surprised at her reaction?
I’m
on the windowsill. The landing was a bit heavier than planned, but no lights
have been turned on. Likely she didn’t
notice. I examine the glass and frame. Yes, she has it wired. I feel one corner of my mouth pull
upwards. Should any typical cat burglar
attempt to scale the side of this building, break in to this apartment,
he—or she—will have my deepest sympathies.
I cut the wire, and ease the window open cautiously. The sensors in my
cowl lenses pinpoint the laser security beams.
Like the wiring on the window, they’re narrow, almost invisible if you
don’t know what to look for. It’s almost as though she wants an intruder
to gain entry so that she can teach them the error of their ways. I’ve seen Barbara angry, I think as I step
over the laser beams, taking care not to break them. Maybe Matches Malone could
get a friendly warning out on the stree—
The
broadloom should not have sunk quite that much when I took that last
step. I realize that just as an alarm starts blaring. It almost masks a faint
sound—like a vent sliding open. But from where? I
can’t dodge if I don’t know where it’s coming from—and the acoustics make it
impossible to pinpoint. The room shifts from near absolute darkness to blinding
light in a tenth of a second—too fast for the cowl lenses to compensate, and I
close my eyes—as something heavy and pliable wraps itself around me, pinning my
arms to my sides and forcing my forearms slightly behind my back. Some kind of
fabric, I register, as it encircles my legs. I struggle experimentally against
it, not committing any real force to the exertion. Strain too much and I’ll
knock myself over. There’s some give to the material, but nowhere near enough.
It’s probably a polymer of some kind.
I
realize that I’m no longer seeing a field of vermillion through my closed
eyelids, and that the alarm has stopped. Cautiously, I open my eyes. That… may
have been a mistake. Barbara is sitting
in front of me. And she does not appear to be in a good mood.
“What
do you want?” she snaps.
For
one instant, I think about responding as Nightwing might have, just to catch
her off-guard. Right now, I think I want to get out of this mummy-costume if
it’s not too much trouble. Is she… trying not to laugh? Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“You
stole my system from me, Bruce.” Oh, yes it will. Fine.
If it will clear the air between us, I’ll apologize. She’ll probably accept it,
as long as she believes that that’s all I did with her system. As long as she doesn’t ask…
“How
did you do it?”
Wonderful. I struggle
against the restraints, trying to enable the circular blade housed in the tip
of the middle finger on my left glove. My right still holds the CD-Rom. She
watches me, patiently. She can’t see what I’m doing, but she can see I’m stuck.
And, as far as she knows, I’ll stay that way until she decides otherwise. I try
shifting position again… the blade is spinning, the
strands are parting, but so slowly. What is this stuff, anyway?
She’s
still waiting for an answer. I could
lie, but if I’m right, my performance this afternoon has already impacted her
trust in me. No. I have to level with
her, and hope for the best. Her skills are that essential. Especially now. "There was an... attachment... to a batch of file backups I sent to you
after the No Man's Land ended. Something I had created. Norbert is a subsidiary
of Wayne Industries. If their software could detect my program, I would have
known first."
I
don’t need Batgirl on hand to ‘read’ body language. I can tell the precise
moment when the import of what I’ve just relayed to her sinks in. "You sent me a virus? You infected my systems?"
She bends forward, and I see the outlines of her escrima in her pockets. Does she sleep with them under her pillow?
Would I truly be surprised to find out that she does?
The
blade should not be taking this long to cut through the bands. Band. It’s one continuous piece. Cut it in one spot, and the
entire cocoon should fall to the ground. Fast. Please. Any second, now,
she’s going to make the connection I do not wish her to—
"The 'extra attachment', Bruce? Would that, by any chance
have been appended to those criminal records you salvaged off of the
bat-computer in the period from just before the quake to the point when you
went off to Washington? The ones you asked me to route to GCPD and the DA's
office after changing the protocols so that they looked like they were coming
from more official channels?"
No.
Don’t ask me to confirm that. I see her pull out the escrima and realize that I
already have.
"How could you do this to me?" She demands.
I don’t have an answer for her.
Not one she wants to hear, at any rate.
When I first developed these contingency plans, it occurred to me that I
might one day need access to various communication systems, local and
otherwise. When the opportunity
presented itself, I used the means available.
I never planned to implement the takeover, but when it became necessary,
I did. So, if I’m so sure I was right, why didn’t I tell Barbara to hack me
into GCPD’s communications net and onto the airwaves? She’s trusted me enough in the past to lend
me that sort of assistance, when warranted, with only a token show of
resistance. But this time, it would have
been more than a token show. I… know… this. And the reason that I know
this is because… I can’t help wondering whether Jim was right. Whether the idea of asking Akins to cede control of the police to
me temporarily was flawed from the start. The idea of
‘Batman-as-Urban-Legend’ appears to be a thing of the past. Does that mean that
I now have to make my presence known in the most public way possible?
Barbara is still waiting for an answer. The only one that I can
give her, now, is an apology. I open my mouth to say—
“I was wrong.”
What? The sticks are out of her hands, on her lap. Is she…
No, I realize, as Barbara continues. Whatever she means by that, she is
definitely not apologizing.
"A long time ago," she continues, “I said to you: 'I've
always trusted you, and you know I always will'. I was wrong."
Harsh
words, but I cannot truly call them undeserved. They have no difficulty
penetrating these restraints. My blade,
on the other hand, is only about halfway through the strap, now. I’ll need to check it, later. Whatever this fabric is, it might blunt the
knife before it’s finally severed. I try another tentative tug. No luck.
I
look away. This is ridiculous. When the cowl is off, I have no problem
apologizing for taking the last
She
squeezes her eyes shut and wheels backward a few inches. I’ve upset her that
much?
"How could you do this to me?" She asks. “If this is how
you treat your friends, I think I could almost switch sides." Did I inhale
a lungful of Crane’s fear gas somewhere along the way? Oracle as an enemy is not a laughing
matter.
More to reassure myself than for any other reason, I
state calmly “You don't mean that."
She opens her eyes again, and they are blazing. "You're
right. I don't. Because unlike you, I don't see myself as the
shadow leader of a troop of organized killers!" Instead of the
escrima, she’s attacking with words.
Personally, I’d prefer the escrima.
“It... it wasn't
supposed to be like that." Wasn’t it? The goal of the plan was to
take control of the mob. It was incomplete when Stephanie appropriated it and
set it in motion, but how was I going to get the guns away from them?
Barbara’s not buying it either. “Just what was it supposed
to be like? Benevolent dictatorship? The mobsters running
She slowed down for a moment, there. Something distracted
her. I need her to calm down. I need to
jolt her back to earth. So, I relay the intel
I had to give over. “Orpheus is dead.”
That checks her. “What?”
I nod, soberly. “I'd sent him a message to meet me on the Hill.
Black Mask intercepted it. When I arrived, he and Zeiss were waiting for
me."
She
thinks for a moment. When she speaks again, her tone is almost normal. “I
thought Black Mask was dead.”
“So
did I,” I admit. “Apparently, when the mob shootings
started, he had himself set up in a position to take the greatest possible
advantage." The straps are starting to slacken. Another minute or two and…
what is she saying?
"I can't, Bruce. I'm sorry. Not now. Not after what you
did."
My
city is burning. I’ve lost at least one ally tonight—permanently. Possibly another—I don’t know where Stephanie
is, right now—that’s another matter needing my attention. But, I can’t leave
matters like this. Unresolved. It’s not lost on me
that Barbara has managed, in the course of five minutes to apologize twice, for
things for which she is not responsible. While I…
“I
need you.” I need you on my side, now, because you, and Dick, and Tim, and
Alfred, and Cassie were there the last time I thought I could go it alone. I
was wrong. And I’m wrong, now. And I don’t know how to make it right. And I
don’t have time to make it right. But, as much as Dick may be able to get me to
open up occasionally, you… you, and to an extent, your father are the ones least intimidated by the costume. And I
have come to rely on you to tell me when I retreat too far from the person that
I should be. Now, especially now, I need that.
She
laughs, bitterly. “You need my systems, Bruce.
But you don't need me. Not really. You proved that, this afternoon. You
can handle this whole city all by yourself, isn't that right?"
No! That’s not at all right! I want to shout it, but I need a
minute to get this burning lump out of my throat. And in that minute, she’s
already turning the chair around.
“Close the window on your way out.”
As she exits her work area, the band finally parts. I look at the
mini-CD, still intact through this past ordeal, then
steal down the hall after her. When she’s halfway to her bedroom, I toss the
CD, overhand, and it lands in her lap.
Startles her, but she does a good job of hiding it as she spins back to
face me.
“Analyze it,” I say, hoping I’m not issuing a challenge. “It will
show you how to locate and block my way into your systems.” And I still,
haven’t apologized. Words.
Empty words. Meaningless.
When I told Stephanie that Robin was Tim, I never—but I should have. He said
that there was no way that I could make things right, and I took him at his
word… but my failure to try then does not absolve me of my duty to act now.
The words ‘I’m sorry’ are meaningless. But ‘it will not happen again’ that…
sounds better. So I say those words. I can’t face her when I say them, but I
say them. From her sudden intake of breath, I know it has an effect. For an
instant, I think it may be enough, but then…
“Go home, Bruce. Get some sleep. I'll try to do the same." I
can’t pick anything up from her tone. It
may as well be her Oracle-voder. I turn around, trying to read her eyes. I
can’t tell unequivocally, but something seems softer. "Or don't,” she
adds. “Do like you always do and run yourself into the ground. Right now, it
really doesn't matter to me." Her eyes might be softer, but her
voice more than makes up for it. I want to tell her again that she doesn’t mean
it, but this time, I am very much afraid that she does. I’ve failed. Again. I tried. But I failed. I nod acknowledgement and turn
back the way I came.
"But if you contact me maybe ten hours from now," she
adds, when I’m barely within earshot, “I won't terminate the link."
I look back. Strictly speaking, that’s not committing her to
anything beyond basic courtesy, the next time I call. I can’t really blame her.
I abused her trust, hijacked her systems and used them to remote-hack the
police and entertainment media, then attempted to break in to her home office.
As much as I wish it would, an apology and instructions on how to keep me out
of her system in the future may not be sufficient. But… what else can I give her? She already
knows who I am under the mask. There really isn’t anything else I can offer to
her as proof of how much I value our… alliance.
I continue down the hall, almost not hearing when she calls my name
again.
“Bruce? Just now? I lied. It does
matter."
As the words penetrate, I feel as if, just for a moment, a weight
has been lifted. Tomorrow, I’ll look at
the morning paper, see the reported extent of the carnage… and probably an
opinion piece lambasting costumed vigilantes smack in the middle of page three.
But for tonight…
“Good night, Barbara.”
Closing the window behind me, I think to myself, that at least one
of us should have one. And she deserves it.