Green Arrow settled behind the wheel of his custom-built car and buckled up as Arsenal slid into the passenger seat. The verdant-dressed driver slammed his foot on the gas and the aerodynamic car sped onto the street with a screech. "Wasn't so bad, right?" Green Arrow called to the seat behind him.
Arsenal shrugged. "It was fine, but I wish you'd let me in on the final action. I'm ready!" he responded. "Five's better than four, you know."
"Well aware, Speedy," Green Arrow said with a furrow. "But the Bats know those two cretins better than I do. They're very particular, Batman especially. Don't do what he says or mess up an order, and no telling what fury you may unleash."
"Robin called for me. I heard that much," Arsenal huffed.
"He inquired about you," Green Arrow corrected. "There's a difference."
There was a moment of silence, then Arsenal spoke again. "So what's the deal between Batgirl and the Boy Wonder? Are they, like, a thing?"
"I may have joked about it, but I don't know and frankly I don't care," Green Arrow responded. "I think they have a thing. They work well together and whenever they're near each other, they have this weird spark I used to share with… someone."
Green Arrow swerved around another corner and then swerved again onto an empty stretch of road that had been marked as under construction. "You'd do well to not get between those two. Focus on what you've got, you know? If they do have a thing, they're probably keeping it on the down-low professional reasons. Don't go getting up in their business. The Bats are scary."
Arsenal settled into his chair and gazed out the window, twiddling his thumbs. "Sure, sure. But she said they aren't involved and she's not that bad on the eyes, don't you think? She's got that mysterious allure."
"No, I've never noticed." Green Arrow's voice carried a warning. "She's in dark body armor and all you can see is her mouth. Half the time, she's swallowed up in her cape. Drop it," He flicked a switch on the dashboard and started to scan the police channels, eager for a conversation changer. "Besides, I thought you were already with someone?"
The younger man reclined a bit. "Yeah, I am. But things have been rocky lately. She's been somewhat disconnected... All I'm saying is Batgirl's a dish."
Green Arrow shook his head. "The hero gig isn't something you do to get a date, Speedy. In fact, you'll likely lose more than you'll gain, I'll tell you that much right now."
Arsenal frowned at the consistent use of his less-than-flattering nickname. "I know, but I can dream, can't I?"
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"If you want my suggestion: value the people outside of your costumed life as much as you can. Don't dream about the mask and cape too much. This is real life, remember? Not some fantasy. Things work differently here."
Back in the BatCave, Batman and Batgirl studied the image Robin had snapped of Clayface's containment unit. Something was definitely amiss with the readout displayed on the unit's LCD screen but whatever the exact issue was was not jumping out at any of the three heroes. Finally, it dawned on Batgirl what was wrong.
"Those numbers..." she realized, her brow furrowing as she analyzed the data on the screen, "They don't add up chemically. He's missing a massive but relational amount of substance. His mass and density numbers are incorrect by a factor of at least three."
"What does that mean?" Robin asked.
"It means part of him was left at the scene." Her fingers danced across the keyboard to bring up the base data on Clayface, confirming her suspicions. "But why didn't he retrieve it?"
"He must not have wanted to." Robin reasoned. "He must have left it on purpose. He probably realized that there was no way out of the mess he and Croc found themselves in, so he left some part of him behind. Perhaps some sort of ace up his sleeve." Robin moved to Batgirl's side and squinted at the image on the screen as if doing so would afford some insight into the meta-criminal's machination.
"And that would be?" Batgirl posed.
"I'm… not sure. I'd think Clayface would want to be all in one piece, but I could very well be wrong."
Finally, Batman spoke up. "He's released another scout."
Both charges turned their attention to their leader. "A what?" they asked simultaneously.
"A scout," Batman reiterated, his mind drifting back to the girl that Tim Drake, during his tenure as Robin, tragically interacted with years ago. "Effectively a of clone of himself, but in a different form. A spawn that has its own consciousness but shares a common goal. He's pulled something like this before." He crossed his arms and grimaced, his thumb pressing against his chin in thought.
"Great." Batgirl slumped into the main seat before the Batcomputer, a look of frustration crossing her covered face. "Squishy dingus spawned a smaller squishy dingus and it's likely roaming the streets. Assuming this... thing has his powers that means it can disguise itself as anyone. How do we track that down?"
Batman released a held breath and pressed a key on the keyboard, minimizing the image on the screen. "Drop it for now," he instructed. "Head home. I've got someone to check on."
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Clark Kent sat on the bus from Star City to Metropolis. It had been too long since he'd been in his home city and he felt it. A lot of the familiar buildings had been remodeled or flat-out removed. The bus passed a street corner that used to house a seedy bar. The establishment had been remodeled and transformed into a thrift shop.
Metropolis had always been the City of Tomorrow and always strived for continual progress. When he was in it, the city was alive and the change felt natural to the point he'd never really noticed it. But now, coming back as an alumnus returns to his or her hometown for a ten-year high school reunion, Kent couldn't help but feel distanced from the bustling city he'd once called home. Now, in the wee hours of the morning before the sun was even up, Kent was on a bus headed to his former place of employment: the Daily Planet. The building would just be opening but he had to see it. He had to know that at least everyone there was the same. While he was incarcerated, he'd let his thoughts drift to Perry White. Was he still a demanding and tough-as-nails publisher? What about Jimmy? Was he still low on the totem pole or was he finally more than just a glorified errand boy?
'Clark Kent' had been gone longer than his incarceration. Though he maintained a presence in the city as Superman during the Justice Lords, as Clark Kent he had been reassigned — by Superman — to lead a press team churning out various news articles covering the Justice Lords' good deeds the world over. It was the perfect cover for his increased Superman responsibilities: show up to a one-hour weekly meeting and then crank out an article once every month or so. Though he hadn't had time for much more than that, it was activity enough to keep 'Clark Kent' alive. He looked down at the spiral-bound notebook on his lap and couldn't help but smile. It was filled with unpublished articles and notes he'd managed to eek out in his free time between calls on the Watchtower. He had never stopped writing.
His thoughts drifted to Lois Lane. She had been vocal in her disapproval of the Justice Lords many times and he would be lying if he said she hadn't made him doubt himself. Maybe he had been a bit too hard, but Luthor had forced his hand. At the thought of his former adversary, his blood boiled and his disposition darkened.
Metropolis held many memories for Clark. Some were good, and some were bad. But as the bus pulled up to the closest stop to the Daily Planet and the hydraulic doors hissed open, Kent left those memories behind on the seat next to him and stepped into the twilight of a new day.
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Batgirl removed her helmet and became Kimber once more. She reverently placed the helmet back on its stand and then approached the Med-Lab where she had been laying helpless hours before. She brushed a gloved hand over a dried pool of blood and curled her lips inward as she dealt with the memory. A hand gently rested on her shoulder.
"You okay?" Curtis's voice was tentative and full of careful concern.
She turned her body to him but continued to stare at the table. "I almost died tonight."
"Technically it was last night, but yeah, you did. If Diana didn't patch you up so well—"
"She didn't patch me up." Kimber interrupted Curtis and removed her armored tunic. Again she felt his eyes on her body, analyzing her in a clinical way. She loved it. "She used some magic purple ray." She pointed to the area just below her sports bra where the bullet hole should have been. There was no mark, not even a scar.
"Amazing…" In awe, Curtis removed his gloves then reached out and ran his bare hand over where the wound would have been. Kimber felt a shiver ripple out from her belly through her body at his contact and had to bite her lip to keep from moaning.
Shit. Keep it together. She fought against baser urges. You need to take time to figure your feelings out and make sure this isn't just some temporary infatuation. And if it isn't, you need to end it with Mawk… If this is truly the direction you wish to go… Is this the direction you wish to go? She held her breath and nodded. "Yeah." Then she laughed. "You know, if you'd asked me two years ago if magic existed, I would have said 'sure' and not thought much of it. But now that I've had first-hand interaction with it, well…"
"Life-changing?"
"This whole experience has been life-changing, for sure, Curt." She swallowed. "But, it's the last 24 hours that have been especially revealing." She turned quickly and embraced Curtis. She wasn't sure why, she just wanted to hold him. "Thank you for saving my life, Curt."
Curtis was taken aback by the hug and stiffened. "I didn't. Diana—"
"Diana healed my wounds, yeah, but you're the one that got me here. You're the one that stabilized me. You're the one that saved me." She released him. "And for that, thank you."
The two were silent in the Cave for a brief moment.
"Are we going to discuss… You know, down there when we—"
"Kissed?" Kimber finished his sentence eagerly and her eyes fluttered to meet his.
Curtis nodded and averted his gaze.
"That's not something I'm ready to deal with yet." She walked away from the Med-Lab and into the Armory. She retrieved her Batgirl tunic as she went. "But I guarantee you that we will talk about it." She stepped out of the armored leggings in one of the changing stations and traded Kevlar for a loose hoodie and a pair of jeans. She emerged as a seemingly normal college student. "I'll catch you later?"
Curtis was still sitting before the Med-Lab in his uniform, sans cowl and gloves. He didn't move nor did he reply.
"Yo, Curt?" Kimber took a step toward him. "You good? You heard me?"
"Uh-huh, I heard." He waved to her and turned, a forced smile on his face.
Yeah, honestly it hurts me, too, Curt... "Don't… don't stay down here, you know?" Her voice cracked. Kimber took another step. "Go home and take a break from this stuff. Can't be healthy for you to be working during the day and then at night."
"Yeah, I'll get out of here. Probably go out to eat or something. Catch a movie, maybe." Curtis' voice sounded hollow; like his mind was preoccupied. "Maybe get a head start on renewing a certification for work…"
That boy could use a date. Or some sort of social interaction that isn't via his job or crime-fighting. Kimber clucked her tongue. "Hey, Curt? Uh, I'm kind of beat and feeling a bit light-headed, thinking maybe we could walk home together?"
He waved her off and pulled back on his gloves. "It's alright, Kim," he responded. "You get going. I'm probably going to hang back a bit longer. Maybe you should call your dad. Or Mawk. Pretty sure they both miss you."
Kimber sighed at the rejection. Probably for the best, yeah. She stepped out of the inner chamber of the 'Cave and then on a whim turned back. She watched Curtis for a time as he pulled on his cowl and adjusted his bracers. She blew him a kiss, but he did not see.
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Bruce rapped gently on the door to Diana's room.
"Come in," came her voice cooly from the other side.
The multi-billionaire opened the door a smidge and peered around the corner. "Diana, may I speak with you?" he asked in his rich baritone.
"Which voice is yours?" Diana answered his question with a question. "Which voice is really yours? I need to know."
Bruce paused for a moment and nodded with slow acceptance. "Diana." Batman's voice echoed through the room. Bruce stepped foot into Diana's chamber, only he wasn't 'Bruce Wayne' anymore. His back was held up and his shoulders squared. His jaw was set and his brow hard and low. Batman continued, "This is who I am."
Diana looked at her host and was shocked to see her former teammate's dark countenance naturally set instead of the cheery disposition that usually glowed from Bruce Wayne. She had to wonder how it was so easy for the man to lie to so many people. "Bruce…" She stood and rubbed a hand over his cheek. It felt like stone.
Bruce looked Diana over. She was still dressed in the black and yellow batsuit. It was a prototype nanofibre suit he'd been working on while Barbara was still under his employ. It was meant to be a sort of under armor for her when she'd go abroad but he'd never fully finished it. Resting on her forehead like a tiara was the simple domino mask Tim Drake used to wear.
"You took care of Batgirl." It was a statement of fact, not a question.
Diana nodded, her face a mixture of sadness and confusion. "She was injured and I took a chance," she responded. "I'd watched my mother call upon the purple light as a child. I was fortunate enough to be found in the gods' good graces." Diana hoped he didn't catch the shakiness in her voice as she bent the truth and shivered involuntarily as she recalled the experience with Hera, Charon, and Asclepius. "I–I don't think I'll ever be able to do that again."
"Thank you." The phrase tumbled clumsily from Bruce Wayne's mouth in Batman's voice. That's the second time I've said that in the last twenty-four hours, he realized.
"I want to help."
"You have."
"I mean, more. I want to help more. I've always wondered if there was a way I could rebuild my reputation and pay back what I'd taken." Her hand stroked the symbol on her chest. "I think this is the way. You've kept this secret from me for so long – don't think we won't be discussing that – and now that I see why you were so invested in my rehab... I want to help."
Bruce looked at the Amazon. "No." His rejection was firm and sure.
"I'm not asking for your permission, Batman. I'm asking for your aid." Wonder Woman walked past Bruce Wayne.
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"Is that? No way!" A red-headed young man quickly approached the able-bodied doofus from Kansas. "Clark Kent! Wow!"
"Hey, Jimmy!" Clark gave a practiced weary laugh. "How are things here? I hope you've kept everything under control while I was gone?"
"You bet!" Jimmy Olsen readily shook Clark's hand. "It's been ages, it feels like! When the Justice Lords finally disbanded, we'd thought you'd've come home by the end of that week! But it's been over a year! Oh man, Perry's gonna flip!"
Kent caught a tinge of malice from Jimmy regarding the Justice Lords but managed to stow his irritation for the time. He'd worked with James for a while, so he knew what would be best. Superman was a hero. Superman would save. It was his purpose.
Jimmy led Kent to Perry White's remodeled office and cracked the door. Perry was on the phone ranting and raving to whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other line. The red-headed young man pointed excitedly to Clark over his shoulder but Perry just gave a quick nod and waved the two off before adjusting the phone to his other cheek.
"Well, that went well," Clark said.
Olsen shrugged. "Should have been better, Mr. Kent. Perry's been under a mountain of stress lately since Lois disappeared."
"Lois… disappeared?" Clark was surprised.
"Yeah, she's been on some assignment for the past few months. Some story she was following that started in Blüdhaven. Next thing you know, she's flying out to the Middle East. Haven't heard from her since." Jimmy trailed off. "But enough about me; let's hear about you!" He pulled out a chair and sat.
Clark blinked in confusion then realized he was standing at his old desk. His nameplate was still there and the same, if not a bit dusty, and everything was where he had left it more or less. Clark adjusted the glasses on his nose and sat. "Well, what's there to tell?"
"You were whisked away quickly under Superman's regime to work as a writer for the Lords, so obviously I want to hear about that!"
Kent reflected on his time a part of the PR team. "It was boring," he answered truthfully. Clark Kent never actually did much work as a writer under the Justice Lords. It was just a necessary story to explain his absence as he ran the world. Every month or so, he'd release articles about the Justice Lords with his name in the byline, but other than that, Clark Kent was effectively on sabbatical.
"Oh, bullshit!"
Clark raised his eyebrows behind his glasses at the profanity. "Language, Jimmy."
"Ah, sorry Mr. Kent, but you have to understand my disbelief. There is no way you don't have stories to tell about what went on behind the scenes of the Justice Lords!" Olsen's eyes were wide. "So one reporter to another: tell me somethin' good!"
Clark rubbed his chin as if trying to capture fleetingly distant memories and finally settled on one. "Alright, here's one I could probably share…"
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Kimber exited the subway car and emerged from the subterranean dock on the street. On this uncharacteristically bright morning, her mind was still clouded and dark. The night before was still playing back through her mind. Over and over. Everything about that night had been building over time, she had just been kidding herself. It was something she'd been ignoring since they'd met on the curb the day Winter Break started, but the first time she had to confront it was when the pint-sized former Robin had visited the 'Cave.
Tim Drake had insulted her physical appearance and she, as a crass joke, asked Curtis for his opinion on her breast size. He'd played it off well, pointing out that Mawk would be better at answering that question. And he was right. But she'd felt hurt at his initial pause. She found herself seriously asking herself, Does he really not like them? It was a surprisingly sexual thought regarding someone she thought of as 'just a friend', but it wasn't the last one. She'd suppressed the thoughts and continued her relationship with Mawk.
She'd had conversations with Curtis regarding Mawk and the lack of communication, but she knew the truth: she was just as culpable as her boyfriend. Mawk may not have been texting her as much, but she wasn't exactly reaching out either. She would even blow off opportunities to go out with Mawk in favor of heading to the 'Cave. To visit Curtis. All of that, the weeks – hell, months – of denying the obvious culminated with the breakthrough realization on the roof last night: she was in love with Curtis.
As she allowed her mind to admit it, she faltered in her step and felt a stinging in her eyes. Her father had been right: she'd jumped into a relationship with Mawk too hastily. Afraid of losing someone she liked, she had deceived herself into believing she loved him. It was selfish of her, a way to stay stable and comfortable, to stay in control. She didn't love Mawk any more than a best friend. She wasn't sure she ever did.
With an exasperated sigh, she unhitched her bicycle from the station bike rack. "Get your head together, Kim," she whispered to herself. "Stop thinking about Curt and straighten out things with Mawk. You know what you have to do." She donned her bike helmet and pushed off from the curb into the decrepit bike lane.
As she began to pedal, her mind drifted back to when she'd first encountered Bruce Wayne and a sarcastic wish crossed her mind. I sure wish I could get hit by a car again. Her life had been consumed by murderers, supervillains, and prison breaks, yet it was her love life that stumped her. I can tangle with a muscle-bound luchador no problem, but this...
She turned a corner and rushed by a deli and flower shop. The shoppers looked happy and content. She blocked out their happiness and pedaled harder. Now I see why Batman blocked relationships out. This stuff is stupid hard! As she exerted herself, a bead of sweat dripped down her nose and landed on her lower lip. Subconsciously, she licked her lips: an action that carried her mind back in time. Before she knew it, she was reviewing the three most important kisses in her life.
Her first kiss had been with Mawk, early in her high school career. He was a hunk of handsome man-flesh and it would have been dishonest to say she didn't have a crush on him back then. There had been a spark at that kiss, but was it from him, or was it just because it was her first kiss? The line was blurry. A horn blaring drew her back to earth and she swerved in time to dodge a taxi cab barreling through a red light.
The second kiss that mattered was a different kiss – a kiss of wilted flowers and stale valentines. Of a relationship unraveling out of control. Automatic and artificial. No passion and no heart. But she could feel the heat from Mawk. He still cared and loved her in some sort of way. It was a one-way spark: he wanted her and she wanted out. She pedaled harder as if trying to outrun her thoughts.
Then there was the third kiss – the one with Curtis. It was The Kiss. The one she'd only seen in romance movies and read about in novellas. The spark burst like fireworks in that elevator. All the passion she'd been lacking for so long washed over her body like a cleansing wave; like a first breath in the countryside after a long car ride from the city. With Curtis, she could be herself. She could trust him. If it wasn't for the circumstances of that night, she might have—
Shut. Up. She had to remind herself that Poison Ivy was still lobotomized and incarcerated within Arkham; otherwise, she would have blamed the former chemist for her wandering mind's frustratingly lustful fantasies. She needed to focus, especially with what she was about to do.
Kimber screeched to a stop in front of an apartment building and locked up her bike with her helmet. She hastily ascended the three flights of exterior stairs but each step felt heavier than the last. She may have been unconscious for a portion of the night but she had garnered no lasting rest from it. Now she was nearing two days without sleep. She was exhausted, physically and mentally.
On the third floor, she walked down the hall and stopped in front of a dented red door with a tarnished knob. Her fist raised. It was time to face her feelings and the truth she'd been avoiding for far too long. She knocked on the apartment door.