DISCLAIMER: This is an alt fanfic based on the television show/and comic characters in Birds of Prey. It's rated R for sex, violence and language; including a strange but not particularly violent occasion of non-consensual sex, as well as heterosexual sex.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Doppelganger
By ficmail2004

Part Five:

That Night

It was very dark in their bedroom—almost too dark, Dinah thought. And now there was not only darkness, there was a palpable sense of what she could only call something-about-to-happen. She didn't know what it was—but she felt like a swimmer with something dangerous moving toward her in water too deep for her vision. Her thought was interrupted as she felt Quinn shift, easing a kink out of her neck as she rested on Dinah's good shoulder.

Quinn felt it, too. Neither of them could sleep these days, settling for long hours of wakeful quiet interrupted by small naps through the night.

Since Dinah had been shot, Quinn had spent her days with the Joker but every night with her. It was both comforting and unsettling to be close to Quinn now. She'd stopped being snarky, was always affectionate with her and had taken care of her wound with tenderness, compassion and skill.

On this particular night they'd been awake and entirely silent for nearly four hours after getting into bed.

Dinah broke the silence, "You know, that was really nice what you did for that guy today."

"Who?"

"That guy Robert."

Quinn didn't answer and Dinah knew that Robert was long forgotten.

After another hour, Dinah heard Quinn say something, but the whisper was more like an exhalation of breath than expression.

"What'd you say, honey?" Dinah ruffled her hand through Quinn's hair.

"I said, did you hear that." Quinn's voice was still barely audible.

"Hear what?"

Quinn was quiet for a few moments before answering, "You didn't hear that voice, did you." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. What did it say?"

"Does it matter? It wasn't real." Quinn's voice was dead, wooden.

She exhaled again. It was almost a sigh.

"There's something really wrong with me, you know."

Dinah resisted the urge to sigh. "I know."

"Why?"

"I don't know why, sweetheart. But it's not fair."

After a few minutes without an answer, Dinah closed her eyes.

Quinn had settled into two gears in the past two weeks. It was as if holding the tension between the facets of her personality was too exhausting at this point and Dinah knew that she really no longer tried. She was either nearly fully Harley Quinn or a woman who laid on her shoulder wondering what and why and who she was. And Dinah didn't know which was harder to deal with.

Harley Quinn was erratic, violent, sadistic and sexy. Quinn was always sad—and her serious memory lapses left her continually bewildered, knowing there was something wrong with her but always forgetting she'd ever known what it was. And, although Dinah tried, both sides of the woman were closed to her touch—unreachable, unreadable.

Quinn interrupted Dinah's thoughts as she whispered quite audibly, "He's going to kill me you know."

Dinah could feel the cold chill of goose bumps on her neck.

"Who?"

Quinn giggled, "Geesh, who ya think? Work with me here."

Dinah smiled into the darkness. Every once in a while, out of nowhere, and sometimes for even a half hour at a time, the person she considered the real Quinn emerged. Usually in the dark and usually after hours of quiet.

"Uh…the Joker?"

"Bingo is your name-O."

"Why do you think that?"

"Sometimes a girl just knows things." She pulled Dinah closer. "I'm not the only one he's going to kill, though."

Dinah kept her voice carefully neutral because she'd learned that no pressure and no emotion worked best, "Oh yeah? Who else?"

Quinn thought about it for a few seconds. "I think it was…no…wait-a-second…it was right…there. What the fuck's wrong with me?" Quinn's voice was a frustrated hiss. "I'm so fucking stupid! It's not like it's rocket science! Rockets…rockets red glare?"

"Quinn, shhh," Dinah

Quinn swatted her on the stomach, "No, you donkey!" She sat up suddenly, her voice exasperated, "I mean, I know that I've been the queen of nonsensical non-sequitur lately but just hold on a second."

Dinah sat up beside her.

After a full minute, which seemed like an hour, Quinn whispered to the air, trying to remember…"Rockets…the…rockets' red glare…and…bombs bursting in air! YES! That's it! Bombs! Two of them. But not in the air."

Dinah felt like she was speaking around a thumping heart that was suddenly lodged in her throat. "Ohmigod. That's great, Quinn! Where?"

Quinn thought for what seemed like another hour, "Fffffuck it! I don't—I can't—I don't know!" She slumped back on the bed and her voice was disillusioned and angry. "I mean, maybe he didn't even tell me. He probably didn't but who the fuck knows. I'm sorry."

Dinah lay back down beside, gathering her into her arms. "That's okay, sweetie. That was fantastic. I'm sure you'll remember later."

"I certainly hope so. If not, I have no idea how this all is going to work out."

No shit, Dinah thought, but she said, "It'll work out. You'll see."

Quinn sighed and, as she often did, changed the subject mid-conversation, "You know what? I wish we were the same age—and had met somewhere else."

"Like a therapist's office?"

"NO!"

Dinah snickered. "Okay…you're on. We're the same age. How do we meet?"

"We're walking in New Gotham and we both come to a corner at the same time. You run into me and spill my coffee."

"Hey! I'm not that clumsy.'

"Uh—yeah you are."

Dinah smiled. She'd better enjoy it while she could.

"Okay, I spill your coffee."

"On my blouse. And you make it worse by trying to help me clean it up."

"Jesus, Quinn. I'm really sounding like the catch of the day."

"But I think it's cute. So I ask you if…"

They talked for the rest of the night.

The Next Day, Commissioner Gordon's Office

Helena wondered how long five people could possibly be expected to go over the same blueprints and plans. The venue for the dinner honoring Police Commissioner Gordon was, admittedly, large and not all that easy to secure, but for God's sake! They'd already been discussing the plans for an hour and although she'd passed bored going ninety 30 minutes ago, Barbara's father, Barbara, Bruce and Dick were still looking at them with the same interest. She watched, as everyone chipped their two cents in for the twenty-fifth time,

Barbara's green eyes flicker over the blueprints again…and again.

What a circle-jerk, she thought, as she turned away from the table. Although she would never have admitted it, if she were shown a diagram of a building, her ability to formulate strategy based on spatial and operational parameters was equal to Barbara's. The plan was as good as they were going to get without calling in the National Guard. She knew Barbara had already memorized the building and had come to the same conclusion. Unlike she, however, Barbara actually liked churning for a while.

Helena threw herself into one of the leather chairs in front of the commissioner's desk. But, because she was Helena, she wasn't exactly sitting in the chair. Her legs were hanging over the one of the arms and, as she watched them, she began to softly kick her legs, letting the drumming sound of her heels on the leather soothe her.

Only, it didn't for long, because the sound won her, simultaneously, one stern glance from a parent and one stern glance from a former-guardian. She scowled at them but she stopped.

Barbara thought for a few seconds before suddenly nodding, having evidently made up her mind. "I think that'll do."

Bruce frowned at the blueprints. "No. I don't think so. We need more men."

Commissioner Gordon's voice was tired. He was just as anxious about the event as any of them. "We don't have more men, Bruce—we have to send most of them out to the park. The concert, remember?"

"What concert?" Bruce and Barbara asked at the same time.

"U-2," Dick and Helena answered.

"And it's free," Helena, "so no offense," she nodded toward the older man, "but you should feel really loved if anyone comes to this damned thing."

"Helena!"

Jim Gordon laughed as he took a seat behind his desk. "At ease, Barbara. She's right. Who can compete with free—and Irish?"

Bruce was all business, "How many guests?"

"About 250 so far."

"I'm with Barbara—looks adequate to me." Dick was not only backing Barbara, he was trying to give Bruce some peace of mind—something he knew Bruce would never have until the Joker were back in prison—or dead.

"Adequate isn't good enough. I'll only accept foolproof."

"Well, you can't have it," Barbara's voice was gentle but determined, "this is as good as it gets."

"Not necessarily. I can hire more men."

She smiled up at him. "Oh, c'mon, Bruce. You know as well as I do that there's a point in every plan where too much complexity gets you in trouble."

Helena, Dick and Jim Gordon watched, all of them knowing that the final decision would be made by the two people discussing it.

Bruce looked at her for a long moment, "Are you sure?"

Barbara's eyes brightened, "Absolutely."

Bruce turned to Helena, who had decided to lounge with her eyes closed, her neck and head on the other arm of the chair, "You haven't said anything, Hel—what do you think?"

Helena pulled her head to an upright position and opened her eyes. "I think it was time to eat half an hour ago."

Bruce turned back to the desk, "Alright. One more time."

They all ignored the loud "OHMIGOD!" from behind them.

The Clocktower: That Night

Bruce and Barbara were seated in front of Delphi, going over their plans for the billionth time. Dick and Helena had disappeared to spar in the training room an hour before but suddenly crowded loudly into the room, flush with their exertion.

Helena leaned in and kissed Barbara on the check, then Bruce. "I just wanted to stop in after kicking junior's ass to say I'm taking a shower if you need me."

Dick made a scoffing sound in his throat and as Helena crossed the room, he caught her entirely unaware, flipped her over his shoulder onto her back, straddled her and pinned her arms next to her head.

Nothing on Barbara's or Bruce's face suggested that either registered this development.

Helena growled, "You, right now, are so very dead."

Dick looked down at her and laughed. "Funny, I don't see it that way."

Barbara uttered a peeved, "Would you two please take it in the training room?"

Helena was so furious that she was beginning to see double and she really didn't know why that was. Well…actually, maybe she did. For one thing, he'd suckered her and that wasn't fair. And it certainly didn't help that he looked so goddamned pleased with himself.

Barbara and Bruce looked merely irritated.

What none of these four only children really understood was that Helena and Dick were simply practicing a rite of passage for all siblings. But even if Helena had understood, it would not have made a difference to her.

"I'm warning you, Dick. Get off me now."

Dick smiled down at her, "Oh, hell no. I'm not getting off 'til…Thanksgiving. Maybe even Christmas. Hey, Barbara! Can you wrap presents so Hel can open them with one hand on the floor?"

Nothing about this sentence was funny to anyone but Dick, who was evidently imagining the scene and finding it killingly hilarious.

Helena's voice was low and cool, "Christmas is coming early this year, Dick."

Dick was too busy braying with laughter to hear her but Barbara heard, and slid her glasses down on her nose. Uh oh, she thought, it's on.

Dick suddenly felt his hands lift slightly. He looked down at Helena, who had closed her eyes and was, yes, lifting him up. No WAY! He looked at the position of her arms. It was bio-mechanically impossible to move his weight at that angle.

But, no doubt about it, he was moving, ever so slowly, up. Even as it was happening he couldn't believe it. Nobody had that sort of muscle strength—let alone the unimaginable tendon, ligament and joint strength to—he watched Helena open her yellow eyes just as he was thrown into the air.

But he was too well-trained not to take the opportunity to run, Helena in hot pursuit, shouting "Ho ho ho, motherfucker!"

Barbara repositioned her glasses and she and Bruce listened to the cacophonous chase as they gazed at Delphi.

Bruce took a deep breath, then asked "What's wrong with them?"

The corners of Barbara's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly, "They're both physical people and they're anxious."

Bruce thought about this. "But we're both physical people and we're anxious."

"Yes, but we're also cerebral, so we just tie ourselves in knots internally."

He lifted his eyebrows in agreement and neither of them reacted to a tremendous crash, followed by a series of smaller sounds of impact.

After ten minutes, Alfred appeared at their sides. "Miss Helena begs me to inform you that she has committed an entirely justifiable homicide, and that after she bathes, she would like for you to join her for a dinner in Master Dick's honor, which will provide you all with an opportunity to mourn his premature passing."

Barbara smiled at her screen, "So—dinner in fifteen minutes?"

"Precisely."

Dick was not dead. Throughout dinner and to Helena's immense irritation, and despite the fact that he had a badly bruised eye and a cut lip, he still looked amused every time he looked at her.

After dinner, they tried to pretend to each other that they were relaxing.

It was 9:30 when they got a call they knew would come eventually.

Helena answered.

"Hello."

<Hi, Hel.>

"D!"

Everyone in the room shot to attention.

<Don't have much time. You know that bar O'Malley's about ten blocks from the tower?>

"Yeah."

<Meet me there in five. Come alone.>

"What's go—"

As Dinah hung up on her, every bit of levity in the room vanished.

Free for one half hour.

Dinah took a deep breath.

She hadn't realized, until the weight was off, how heavy it was.

And that it so easily didn't have to be. She was free—she could tell Helena—tell all of them that she couldn't do it—and they wouldn't ask any questions.

She was free. No one would drag her back. She would have to willingly walk back to Quinn in thirty minutes. She couldn't imagine that.

But she couldn't imagine leaving her, either.

Helena was there in four minutes and walked into the bar ready for anything. What she found was a fairly quiet crowd and Dinah sitting on a barstool. She crossed the room and sat next to her. Any impulse to say 'hiya, kid!' was doused when she saw Dinah. Although her face was as youthful as ever, all of the youth was gone from her eyes. She smiled but her eyes didn't.

"Wanna drink?" Dinah tossed down a shot of what looked, to Helena's practiced eye, like whiskey. She raised a finger at the bartender, he poured another and Helena motioned that she'd have the same.

Helena held her shot glass in the air. "Salut." Dinah tipped her glass up just enough to touch Helena's. "Salut."

After their shots, Dinah leaned forward and hugged Helena tightly.

As they pulled away from each other, Helena asked, "How'd you—"

"We're on a job. It's close and Quinn can handle it alone for about 45 minutes. She wanted me to come give you the scoop. Or what passes for the scoop."

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"You're really smoking now?" Helena gently punched her arm and said playfully. "Barbara's gonna kill you."

"Oh yeah?" Dinah, amused, lifted an eyebrow. "Fine. Tell her she'll have to get in fucking line."

Helena hesitated at this, at a complete loss for words.

She was so used to the energetic puppy Dinah used to be, that it was startling to be faced with such weary bitterness. She fished for a topic. "Hey—uh—how's the shoulder?"

"Good. Great. Go team meta-human, right?"

"Yeah…you look tired, D."

"I should. Neither of us has slept in days."

"What do you mean? Why?"

"Doesn't matter. Look, I only have a few minutes but what I have to say won't take long." She forced herself to sound more cheerful. "So what I wanna know is, how are YOU guys?"

Helena forced the cheer right back, "Well, you know—about the same. Bruce is brooding and taciturn, Dick is boyish and irrepressible, Barbara is smart and sexy, I'm…well, I'm just sexy and Alfred's…English."

Dinah smiled, leaned into Helena's shoulder and let the side of her head rest on Helena's for a few moments.

Then she sat up and returned to business. "Look, it IS going to be the night of the commissioner's dinner. There are two bombs but we don't know what kind or even if they're going to be in that venue. Either way, very small teams involved. Quinn knows he's planning to do some sort of execution killing so we can also count on small arms. In other words, not much better than nothing and everything's up in the fucking air."

"And that's the best she can do?"

The answer was firm. "Yes."

"Are you sure? I mean—what's—how is she?"

Dinah snapped, "How IS she? She's mentally ill, Helena. And if she had a psychic fever of 102 when you knew her, it's 106 now. She's redlining it every minute of the day—so that means she's alternately loving, affectionate and gentle or disturbed, disturbing, suicidal, sadistic and sarcastic—you name it."

Helena's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Jesus Christ, D. You can't go back there."

"Sure I can."

"No you can't! Do you really think you can trust her?"

"Probably not."

"So? No! You can't go back."

"Leaving her alone is not an option for me. Besides, she can keep it together if I'm there." Dinah stood up from her barstool. "We'll get the intel to you. But you're going to have to keep on your toes because it's going to go down to the wire."

Dinah took one last drag at her cigarette and stubbed it out, "And we're talking a matter of minutes. Which--hey—you gotta love when bombs are involved, huh?"

At the sight of Helena's somber face, Dinah reached, cupped her face in one hand and teased her, "To think I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are."

Helena did smile at this, "What? Hey—even Quinn can remember that."

Dinah shook her head. "Not anymore." She hugged Helena. "Tell Barbara thank you and that I love her. And tell everyone else I love them, too." She pulled out of the hug. "And I love you, too. No matter what, okay?"

"Okay."

As Helena watched her leave, she realized, in her sinking heart, that she didn't believe she would ever see her again.

Quinn was waiting on the street at the rendezvous time and was visibly shaken when Dinah rounded the corner, which the girl noticed.

"What? Didn't think I'd come back?"

"I wasn't sure."

"You think I'd leave my girl? You crazy or something?"

They both laughed as they walked to their car.

They were in bed before 11:30.

Dinah felt Quinn stir, then get up. "Where are you going?"

"I just realized what I have to do. I have to talk to him."

"Now? No! No you don't," Dinah sat up in the bed. "Really, you don't. Talk to him tomorrow."

"No. It has to be tonight."

She left without giving Dinah a chance to talk her out of it.

The Joker was seated in his office, thinking over the next few days—which promised to be…explosive! He cackled to himself and barely heard the knock on the door.

But there it was again. He frowned. "Come in."

The Joker was surprised to see Quinn enter—at this time—and in what appeared to be pastel colored flannel pajamas. Hardly the attire for her usual—

"Jack, I need to speak to you."

The Joker blinked a few times as he adjusted to what he'd just heard. She'd never called him Jack. Ever.

He looked at her closely. There was something different about her.

"Did you hear me, Jack?"

"Yes." He shook his head, "What? What is it?"

"You're planning to kill me, aren't you?"

Okay. Hmmm. This was sort of eerie—she looked so soft and she was speaking so gently.

She pressed, "Aren't you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you're predictable."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. That's right."

The Joker was more perturbed by this than he wanted to show. She looked so small and…normal…and she just kept staring at him—and, he realized as he shook his head to clear it, speaking to him.

"That's why I'm asking you not to force the issue—because I'll win."

The corners of his perma-smile lifted perceptibly. "Oh? You think so?"

She didn't answer him; she sat in a chair and looked at the wall. "You know, Jack, in all of our years together, we've never talked about our feelings. Mostly, of course, because you don't give a damn about mine and you—well," she shrugged, "you don't have any."

"But I have them." She turned to him. "Would you like to know how I feel, Jack?"

He blinked again, found himself speechless. He! At a loss for words!

"Well, I'll tell you. Every day, no matter which way I turn, all I see is a flat grey expanse of Godforsaken bitterness. And I do mean Godforsaken in the literal sense."

She let her head tilt slowly to one side. "You see…God has forsaken me, Jack. Nothing I will ever do can change that. And do you know how that makes me feel?"

She didn't get an answer.

"Sad. And lonely."

He stared as she moved her head, tilted it the other way, speaking very softly, "I'm in pain, Jack. Did you know that? I'm sad. I'm lonely. And I'm in pain. Do you know how all of that combined makes me feel?"

She stood and crossed to his desk. "Do you?"

"No," he whispered.

Her eyes wandered rather aimlessly over his face, his body, "It makes me feel terribly…terribly desperate."

She seemed to be having trouble focusing, but had no trouble speaking, "You're an evil…evil man, Jack Napier." He found that he was a bit breathless at her approach. He hardly knew what she was looking at now—she was tilting her head back and forth as if to steady it.

Then, suddenly, she was looking directly into his eyes. "But you're not sad. And you're not lonely. And you're not desperate. But I am. And that makes me," she whispered as she placed one finger on his chest, "more dangerous than you."

She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, "'Night, Jack."

It wasn't until he exhaled as she left the room that he realized he'd been holding his breath.

Evening, A Few Days Later

The Joker watched from across the expanse of his staging area as Dinah and Quinn sat side by side on top of a low table, holding hands and laughing at whatever they were saying to each other.

Quinn, Quinn, Quinn.

He'd been thinking for days, trying to come to some sort of conclusion about what she's said to him—every bit of which had rung truer to him than any spoken sentiment he'd ever encountered. So few people ever told him anything that he didn't want to hear, and for good reason, that it excited him in a strange way.

Of course, she'd been right. He'd wanted to and, as she'd evidently been able to tell, had planned to kill her as soon as the big job was over. There were a hundred little drearily domestic reasons to do it—most of which amounted to the fact that he didn't like being tied down and, after all, it was much easier to kill a girlfriend than to break up with one. And then there was, of course, the one big reason—a reason that was underscored by the presence of her little dark-haired psi-powered-trick-princess Dinah Wayne.

His thought was interrupted by Quinn's merry laugh and the scowl in his eyes seemed to be magnified by the fact that it could never reach his face. It was possible that she might really understand him, he thought grimly. Harley Quinn. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what that said about him. But, because he was by nature a cheery guy he didn't mope over this any longer than it took to think those few thoughts. He looked across the room at his long-time lover. She was so familiar to him—and yet, now he felt unsure.

What was that idiotic song she liked so much? 'What a Difference a Day Makes?'

I'll say, he thought.

Now he knew it was possible to look at a person you'd known for years in an entirely different light from the basis of one ten-minute conversation. The hair on his neck suddenly stood up again as he watched Quinn and the girl hop off of the table and cross the room. He remembered Quinn's warning—was it possible? Was she really more…

As they left the room, he realized afresh how very small they were, snorted to himself, and dismissed the thought. No! Of course she wasn't!

Clocktower

At the same moment, Barbara and Helena had been having for the last 30 minutes what most parents would tell their children was a disagreement, not an argument. But It was the sort of disagreement that never fooled children for one moment, phrased in increasingly tense and pleasant tones, ever increasing politeness and clenched smiling—all the hallmarks of a disagreement that was actually a tremendously civil knock-down-drag-out.

"You'll be more help with the perimeter than on the inside," Barbara stated.

"No," Helena countered calmly, "I'm riding with you and I'll be by your side the entire time."

Barbara's voice was ominously calm. "Tactically, given your talent for intervening in the situations we're likely to encounter, that's out of the question."

Bruce and Dick, who'd arrived for dinner, and Alfred, who was preparing to serve it, all suddenly wished they were anywhere out of earshot.

"I don't care, Barbara. I'm not leaving your side."

"That is just not an option."

Helena had reached the limit of her very small reserve of calm. "I don't give a flying fuck, Barbara, whether you think it's an option or not. It's what I'm going to do."

Barbara's face assumed its best Oracle expression and her tone was Oracle's, as well, "No. You're on the perimeter. And that's an order."

Everyone's, except Barbara's, eyebrows crawled toward their hairlines at this.

Barbara was startled to see the sudden feral yellow of Helena's eyes before the young woman answered, coolly, "You know what? I'm going to take an hour to decide how I feel about that."

She stalked toward the balcony and disappeared as suddenly as she usually did.

Bruce, Dick and Alfred watched as Barbara stared after Helena, nodded as if to a question that hadn't been asked, then scrubbed over her face with both hands. When she finally looked at the others, she chuckled dryly though her eyes were red, "Well! Ready to eat?"

Before Bruce or Alfred could reply, Dick said, "You're such a—why do you always do that, Babs?"

He strode toward the balcony and disappeared.

Barbara sighed as she turned to look up at Alfred. "Don't take it personally, Alfred. I'm sure dinner's great."

Neither Alfred nor Bruce smiled. Barbara sighed again, "Wow. Tough room."

Dick knew Helena almost never went very far when she was having an argument with Barbara. She was too attached and too protective to put much distance between herself and the Clocktower.

Sure enough, he found her sitting on the roof of a building about two blocks away. She didn't turn as he approached but greeted him, "Hiya bro."

He took a seat next to her and leaned over slightly to bump her on the shoulder. "How ya doin'?"

"Great. You?"

"Okay."

"Why aren't you having dinner, man?"

"Couldn't eat. Too pissed off at Barbara."

Dick was amused to feel Helena flinch at this—God! She was such a sucker! She was insanely pissed off at Barbara, too, but cringed at the possibility that anyone else could be.

"Go eat—I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Screw that. I'm not hungry."

Helena heard a strange tone in Dick's voice, turned and looked at him, and saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Fuck you. Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at you. She's wrong—you're right and I'm sticking up for you."

Helena digested this for a few moments before answering, "Actually, she's probably right. It's probably better that I stay on the perimeter. I'm just being too—"

"That's not the point—my problem is the way she talks to you. You're not her fucking kid, for God's sake."

Helena turned away, the muscles in her jaw twitching, and Dick knew he'd hit a nerve.

After a few moments, she replied, her voice low and cool, "She doesn't mean it when she talks to me that way."

Dick's voice was serious this time. "Then why does she do it so much?"

Helena's jaw twitched again, "I guess it's a hard habit to break. I mean, after all—she was my guardian for a lot of years. And Oracle is sorta Huntress' boss."

"No, she's not."

"What? You're telling me Batman wasn't Robin's boss?"

"Well, yeah, sure. But he's not Nightwing's boss."

"Okay, maybe—but you're telling me Bruce doesn't ever forget—and treat you that way?"

Dick started to answer, then stopped. She had him there. He couldn't count the number of times he'd had to remind Bruce that they were both adults now. He sighed, "Maybe that's what it's like to have parents—no matter how old you get, part of them must always see you as a child."

Helena snorted her assent, "I guess we'd have to ask Barbara about that. She's the only one of us with a living parent." Even as she said it, she remembered she was wrong. She had a living parent.

"Alright—I know—I have Bruce, but he's not exactly a parent, is he?"

"I don't know about that. He thinks about you—and always has—more than you'd probably believe."

"Go eat. I'll be there in a few—and I'll handle it later."

Dick could tell that now she really wanted to be alone, so he leaned over, pecked her on the cheek and stood up, "Remember, I'm on your side."

As Helena smiled up at him, Dick was struck, yet again, at how beautiful her eyes were and at how well he knew them, since he'd known them since the day he'd met Bruce Wayne.

Since Dick had disappeared, then reappeared at the Clocktower, Barbara had been sitting with the stern reverberating disapproval of Bruce and Alfred. Every attempt on her part to start conversation went nowhere. She wondered at some length if this were how Helena felt during the many instances where she'd gone off half-cocked and had incurred the wrath of everyone in the room. She wondered if Helena were ever this confused about what, exactly, she'd done.

"She'll be here in a few—and ready to eat." Dick said as he smiled at Alfred. Alfred nodded and moved toward the kitchen. Dick didn't even look at Barbara as he crossed toward Bruce, so Barbara decided to follow Alfred into the kitchen and make herself a much-needed drink.

As she entered the kitchen, Alfred was re-heating the serving plates. He turned toward her, "A drink, Miss Barbara?"

"Yes—but I can make it."

"I will make it. Scotch, neat, perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you."

She watched as he made the drink, then asked, almost under her breath, "What did I…how am I wrong here, Alfred?"

Alfred turned, handed her the drink, and cleared his throat. "Would you like for me to speak as your butler or as someone who's known you for most of your life?"

Barbara levelled her eyes at him, "The latter, please."

"Very well, Barbara."

As he took a deep breath, Barbara realized she was suddenly nervous—he'd never called her just Barbara in her life.

"You have always had the habit, during times of stress, of treating Helena as a sort of child employee, who has neither the right nor the experience to bring anything to the table. And, of course, the entire time Dinah has been away has been a time of considerable stress for us all. Consequently, you have fallen completely into Oracle mode with Helena, a fact that has alternately dismayed and irritated everyone around you. Everyone, that is, except Helena, whom it alternately devastates and enrages."

Alfred placed a hand on Barbara's shoulder, "Helena is a grown woman every bit as competent and intelligent as you are in her own way. You have developed a very bad habit and, although it's understandably ingrained from the facts of your past, it has become insulting. You must break it, young lady. And immediately."

Barbara blinked her eyes. Wow. Even her father had never put the smack down on her like that. Maybe that's what grandfathers were for. She took a few moments, then nodded her head. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Do you require anything else, Miss Gordon?"

Back to butler.

"No, Alfred. That will be all."

Twenty minutes later, Helena reappeared, looking as if nothing had happened. She spoke lightly as she moved toward the dining room with everyone in her wake, "Man, I'm starving! Alfred, whatever it is, it smells great—let's eat, crime-stoppers!"

As Bruce and Dick took their seats, they began, offhandedly, to discuss something that was clearly meant to give Barbara a few seconds to speak to Helena, which she took.

"Helena, look—I'm really sor—"

"We'll talk about it later."

"But I—"

"I said," Helena intoned firmly, looking into Barbara's eyes, "we'll talk about it. Later."

As Helena spoke, Barbara recognized the tone, the very words, she'd used with the younger woman countless times in the past, and as she felt the mixture of frustration and panic they invoked, she knew she had more apologizing to do than she'd realized.

As Dinah felt Quinn's lips brush over her neck, she thought for the hundred thousandth time that civilian life was certainly going to pale to this. She and Quinn had been making out a lot more, mostly at Dinah's insistence—and mainly because the more Quinn touched her, the more she seemed to remember whose side she was on.

Quinn pulled away from her, "Better quit there, darlin', or I'm not going to be able to stop."

Dinah smirked as she ran her hand over Quinn's stomach, then around her waist, pulling her closer, "I think you're holding on to a very antiquated age bias, Ms. Quinn. "

Quinn smiled, then nipped Dinah on the cheek. "Be that as it may, the buck stops here."

Dinah threw herself on her back on the bed. "Quinn! You do know what's going to happen, don't you? I'm going to leave this situation so keyed-up, I'm going to fuck the first person who'll put out for me!"

Quinn giggled. "So? What's wrong with that?"

"Hello?! High school? You know what my options are going to be? Football players!"

"Surely you have cheerleaders, too." Quinn purred.

Dinah grinned despite herself, then narrowed her eyes, "You know what? You're a tease."

Quinn's eyes widened, "Oh my God—oh my goodness. Not that! Never that! Call me a psychopath! Call me a murderer—but not a…a tease!"

Quinn giggled insanely before continuing, "You listen to me, baby. I've teased more cocks than you could wrap your mind or mouth around."

"Eww!"

"You started it. If you can't stand the heat, stay out—"

"Yeah, yeah. I was just kidding."

"Me too, though not about the cock-tease part."

Although they had been kidding around, Dinah felt her stomach sinking suddenly. She'd come to understand that, with the very real sexual jealousy she felt for Quinn, she could only kid so much. She waited a few moments before continuing, "I guess you wouldn't be talking about the Joker here, right?"

Quinn stiffened as if struck. Obviously, this had been a blow Dinah hadn't realized would be below the belt. Quinn shrugged it off and smiled smarmily, "No, I wouldn't. But here's a lesson, Dinah darling. You don't tease the people you actually want."

Dinah swallowed hard. "So, from that, I can infer that you don't want me, right?"

The young girl could not decipher the look Quinn gave her before turning over in the bed and replying to the wall. "I'm tired. Of everything and everybody. Go to sleep, kid."

Dinah turned the other way, muttering, "Fine. Fuck you, too."

But Quinn didn't answer.

Dinah felt tears sting her eyes.

Fuck her.

FUCK HER.

She gently rocked back and forth on her side, her thoughts wanting her to move but knowing she had no place to go.

'Cause If she ever made it out of this fucking hell-hole, what the fuck then? Go back to being the baby in the Clocktower and being fucking zipper-girl at that fucking high school? She wasn't 'that' now. Not anymore. She didn't know what she…

She'd had to immerse herself so completely in this experience that she didn't know what to think, or feel. What was right? What was true? Who was she, now that she was physically, hell—in every possible way—entirely out of context?

She heard her heart pounding in her ears, behind her eyes, which made the room seem to throb as she stared at the wall. She tried to breathe deeply, but she knew it didn't matter. She was going to die—she knew it. She was going to fail and Barbara would die and Helena. Bruce, Dick and Alfred would hate her.

The last few nights she'd lain awake knowing this and feeling so panicked that she felt her heart would beat out of her chest. Textbook panic attacks. And of course, she'd felt that way off and on for many weeks, but then she'd done what she'd always done in her mind to calm down. Although she'd never played softball or baseball as a kid, she imagined hitting ball after ball right outta the park. Smack! Home run. Smack! Home run. Thwack! Home run.

But now…now, the only thing that made her feel better, the only thing that calmed her, was to imagine destroying every last goddamned thing, and killing every last person in this shit-hole of the Joker's. Everything and everyone but Quinn, whom she would have and whether Quinn wanted it or not.

So…she breathed deeply and concentrated…played out this fantasy to the end and it calmed her, as it always did. And then she cried, quietly, as if her heart were breaking, because it was.

Barbara woke up feeling as tired as she ever had in her life because she hadn't really slept at all. She had, rather, stayed parked in her mind's garage, engine idling in a strangely irritating half-sleep. She opened her eyes and found herself looking into Helena's eyes. Which was startling, because Helena had insisted on sleeping on the couch.

Barbara began to speak, realized she was croaking, then cleared her throat before yawning as she asked, "I'm sorry about—" She stopped, remembering Helena had told her she didn't want to talk about it, so she settled for, "Couldn't sleep either?"

Helena spoke through an answering yawn, "Nope. But I enjoyed watching you pretend to sleep for a while."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you're cute when you doing what you're obviously not really doing—and even cuter when I can tell you think I don't know."

Barbara raised herself up on one elbow, rested her head on her hand. "What does that mean?"

Helena rolled her eyes, "Ohmigod. You're kidding, right?"

"No—what? Name one time."

Helena rose, matched Barbara's position, to answer her, then looked down at the comforter as if deep in thought, murmuring, "Gee whiz, there're…so…many, I can't…"

This earned her a play-smack on the hand from Barbara, who chuckled as she said, "You're full of shit. Name just one."

Helena looked up at her, her eyes alight with amusement.

"Okay, how many times do you think you've acted all angry-like after something I've done on a sweep and undressed me with your eyes at the same time you're yelling at me?"

Barbara's blush was her only response.

"And I promise you, you pull out Oracle with me all the time." Helena's tone was teasing, "I think it's cute, though. I do! But c'mon! You don't think I can tell what you're thinking?"

"I would imagine it must be boring for you to live with someone who's so predictably transparent."

Helena realized the woman was misunderstanding a vital point. She reached forward and took Barbara's hand. "Barbara, you're not transparent at all, darlin', and half the time I have no idea where your mind is. "

"Oracle, though, is a different matter. I can read her like a kid's book. So when you get all discombobulated and try to be all 'stern and Oracle' with me off-comm, at home—which you do more than probably realize—I have to admit sometimes I'm laughing my ass off inside."

She hesitated before somberly adding, "Though actually I'm usually feeling about 15 years old and like I'm getting busted by my guardian Barbara again. Which sorta hurts my feelings."

Barbara's face was serious, "I do that a lot?"

Helena was gracious, "Not 'a lot a lot'—but more than you probably think. And especially more so since this Dinah/Quinn thing started."

"I'm sorry, honey. I guess when I'm worried, I do go into Oracle-mode."

"Yeah well, that's probably just one of the hazards of having crime fighting alter-egos." Helena moved closer to Barbara and took her into arms and hugged her before resting her head on her shoulder.

"I think you're right, and you certainly deserve better than that from me." Barbara sighed before she continued, "can we talk more about this after the gig? I don't think I can concentrate on anything else right now. Just know that your message has been received and that I'll really try to change because, more than anything, I want us to be okay."

Helena pulled away to look at Barbara and her smile was beatific. "Oh, we're okay. It's just been on my mind lately and it suddenly seemed like a good time to clear the air a little."

Because Helena had no way of knowing Alfred had already read Barbara the riot act, she couldn't know that Barbara had watched and been moved by how kindly the younger woman had skirted around the subject, had appreciated how much slack Helena had given her and how easily she'd let her off the hook. She also couldn't know that Barbara had a new, surprised, respect for how much kinder, and more tolerant, her partner was than she.

They lay there for a few minutes, then Barbara offered, "Wanna make out?"

Helena thought about this for a beat, then said, "Nope."

"Me neither."

"Why do you think that is?"

Barbara tousled Helena's hair. "Because danger is sometimes sexy; foreboding never is."

Helena knew exactly what she meant.

The Next Afternoon

Just before lunch, Quinn joined the Joker to go over the plans for the Commissioner's Dinner. After he'd finished briefing her, Quinn's smile was brittle.

"But Puddin', I thought you said there were going to be explosives!"

"There are—just not…there."

"Where then?"

The Joker pulled her into a hug and as he pushed her away again, he slapped her on the ass, and said with a sing-song voice. "I'll never tell-ell—I'll never—tell-ell."

His voice grew stern again, "That's a 'day-of' piece of information. Too many cooks spoil the broth."

"But…Puddin'," Quinn moved right back to his side, slid one hand toward the zipper in his pants, "surely you can tell me."

He grabbed her and threw her on her back on his desk, looming over her, "why do you want to know so bad? Or, shall I say who, exactly, wants to know?"

He was dragging her pants off and undoing his, which made her head throb as she looked at the ceiling. Fuck! She hated how much she—

She inhaled sharply as he moved and his face was suddenly leering over hers, "WHO wants to know?"

She could never think straight when this was happening—who was it who wanted to know? Who?

She looked up into his eyes and ran her hands through his hair. He was such…a…brutal man—and she hated him but she really—

"WHO?!"

She whispered, "You. Harder."

He cackled as he bent closer. "What's this little plan called again?"

She gasped. "Divide…and…conquer."

"That's right."

She grabbed the cloth on the back of his shirt, pulled him tighter. He laughed again—what a pushover--she was almost there…he pulled away slightly and looked at her as he said, "And you know who's going to be divided?"

She felt hardly conscious at this moment, only vaguely nodded her head no. His leer seemed omnipresent, then he leaned in to whisper as he moved, "Dinah Wayne—from that Bat-Daddy of hers."

As Quinn felt her brain nearly explode with her climax, her eyes flew open.

Batman!!

Minutes later

A very pale Quinn entered the kitchen as Dinah was fixing sandwiches for their lunch. Dinah recognized with growing trepidation that she was being kept rather ostentatiously out of the loop in the final preparations for the Commissioner's Dinner gig. She really didn't know whether it bode well that Quinn seemed to be, to some degree, back in the Joker's good graces and whether that had anything to do with the previous night's unpleasantness. Either way, disgusting as it was, there was nothing she could do but wait, play the good little housewife and make lunch.

Quinn pecked her on the cheek and hugged her. "I'm sorry about last night."

Dinah shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. I heard you crying."

Dinah turned to her, her face stony. "So?"

"So, I'm sorry that I can't give you what you want. It doesn't mean I don't love you."

"Yeah." Dinah turned back toward the food. "Whatever."

The girl felt, rather than saw, Quinn start abruptly as she looked at the cheese Dinah had just placed on her turkey. She stared at it, transfixed, for a few seconds and then said almost inaudibly, "declaration of independence."

"What?"

Quinn was speaking to her sandwich, "when, in the course of sandwich events, it sometimes becomes necessary for an ingredient to dissolve the bands which have connected it with another."

Dinah's heart leaped into her throat—not this, not now! Her voice was suddenly pleading, "Quinn? Are you—"

"Am I what?" Quinn turned to Dinah as she lifted the cheese off the turkey, "I don't like Swiss on turkey."

Quinn looked into Dinah's anxious eyes and burst into laughter as she put the cheese on another plate, "Honest to Pete, Dinah, look at your face! I was just kidding."

Dinah was too absorbed in her own thoughts to see the pinched, pale look in Quinn's features, noticed only kindly humor in her eyes, and grinned despite herself. "That's not funny, crazy-woman!"

"Yes it is, baby, and you know it." Quinn laughed feebly and kissed her again.

Dinah growled as she poured two glasses of water. "I'm still pissed off at you."

Quinn tilted her head to one side, "I know—but you still think I'm cute, right?"

Dinah rolled her eyes, then relented with a smile, knowing that these would be the few happy-ish moments this day would contain. Yet another thing this experience was teaching her—just like Quinn, she could be murderously angry, violently aroused and wretchedly happy with the same person, all on the same day, and sometimes even in the same hour.

Robert placed the box he was carrying softly on the ground, stood up and stretched. No wonder people led a life of crime—the straight life was so much harder on the back. He lit a cigarette and retraced his steps to the truck, one of many, that he knew held hundreds of back-breaking boxes that he'd be carrying or dollying a tremendous distance over this field.

He cursed himself—he'd let a girl—that Dinah girl—get to him. As he approached the truck, his sense of honor made him admit to himself that it wasn't just that Dinah girl, it had been that Quinn woman and that Joker…freak who had scared him straight. He wondered whether and how long this change of heart would last. On one hand, the pay sucked and it was killing his back—on the other, it was sorta nice to drive somewhere and have a cop slip behind him in traffic without panicking. Not to mention all the cops that were surrounding this workspace.

He thought again about the paycheck he'd be getting at the end of the week and cursed softly. He took another drag, tossed the cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out. As he picked up the butt, a thought came to his mind unbidden—maybe his father was right—maybe he did need to go back to school.

Jesus! Where did that come from?!

He'd found, as young an adult as he still was, that it was a particularly galling part of growing up—to find out that your parents had been right—about a lot of things.

He walked up the ramp into the truck and was met by two strange workmen: They'd placed a large box on a handcart for him.

"Where are Pete and Kenny?"

One of the new workers replied, "Comm needed them on rigging prep—so they sent us over."

As Robert maneuvered, he looked the two men over again—they looked familiar. Where had he seen them?

"Do I know you guys?"

The other man looked at him with cold eyes. "No. You don't." The answer was not just an answer—it was an order. He wasn't to know them, even if he did.

A liquid thrill went through him. That's where he'd seen them! In another staging area—these were the Joker's men!

Robert shrugged, "My mistake." Whatever this was, he didn't want to be on the wrong end of it, so he played dumb, "Hey—what kind of audience are they expecting?"

"They're thinking at least 750-800,000, easy—or as many as the Park will hold."

"Damn! That's huge! Pretty ballsy in this day and age."

"Uh huh. Sure is." The man's face was expressionless.

Robert chuckled nervously, "Well, better get to it!" As he took the handcart and wheeled the box down the ramp, he noticed he'd smudged the paint on the black hard-case, freshly stencilled paint that read:

U2.

Robert had finished his work for the day and was walking through the park just as a corpulent man walked past him, braying into a cellphone.

"Yeah, the fire marshal already approved them. Honest to God, they're just fireworks! You act like none of us have done this before."

The man listened to whatever answer he was getting before his face softened a bit, "Yeah, well, I know you're nervous, but there's no reason to be. You'll see. Everyone's going to have a great time. It'll be amazing."

The man's conversation disappeared into the other noises of the park as Robert continued walking. He had every reason to believe things were not going to go well, but he felt a morbid desire to find out just how badly things were going to go. Not that he wanted to be on the bad end of it—he just knew that the presence of the Joker's men had to bode badly for the concert-going experience.

He hesitated as he thought about whether he should attend the concert or not. He had the equivalent of a backstage pass and it would be a shame not to use it for U2. He'd been quick enough to get out of the Joker's way once; surely he could do it again?

The Morning of Commissioner Gordon's Appreciation Dinner

"I'm telling you, it's never what you think it'll be, Barbara. He always goes for something that surprises you."

"You're kidding."

Barbara's answer was so deadpan that Dick almost smacked his forehead. Barbara was the last person on Earth who needed a helpful warning about the Joker.

He turned toward Helena, whose expression and tilted head said, "Duh, dipshit." Okay. Maybe she didn't need any advice either.

He looked around the room, then down at the table, then stood up and started pacing. He, or rather Nightwing, was going be outside the venue—at the periphery of the event. It would be tactically unreasonable to have all of them in the same room. Which made him nervous. They were all nervous. The bait of Barbara had to be offered in a convincingly vulnerable way or the rat wouldn't enter the trap. They were counting on having a bigger trap than the rat's but were well aware that, while planning to trick and surprise the Joker, he was planning to trick and surprise them, too. This, however, was what they'd been waiting for and he felt almost nauseated by the desire to have the evening over and done with.

Even after the seemingly millionth iteration of their plan, Bruce was still not satisfied. They were used to his brooding but this something else. His mood was almost a physical presence—like having Bruce, Batman, and perhaps Hamlet's ghost in the room at the same time. Although Barbara had as good, or better, reason to be anxious, it was Dick and Bruce who were giving her heart palpitations.

"Bruce, Dick, for the love of God, please sit down."

Dick sank into a chair. Bruce didn't. "I can't, Barbara. There's something I'm missing."

"You aren't missing anything—except the chance to relax before this evening."

Bruce exhaled slowly, then went outside.

"Wow. I think he's literally worn a path in the floor," Helena observed.

As soon as her last word left Helena's mouth, Bruce reappeared, retracing his steps excitedly. "That's it. I knew there was something else!" If they anticipated an explanation, they realized they weren't going to get one as they watched him stride toward the elevator, saying over his shoulder, "I'll see you there—time and places as planned."  With that, the doors closed and he disappeared.

"Okay. Bye, Bruce," Barbara offered dryly to the vacant space.

They looked at the elevator and each other but didn't even bother to make a conjecture about his departure. They had no idea where he was going but knew that he'd show up exactly as planned for the event, dressed as formally and impeccably as always. As they would all be.

One Week Earlier

Actually, planning evening wear for the event hadn't been as easy as it might have been. Barbara had found it difficult to find a dress that was formal, would cover the Kevlar vest she'd be wearing, and not make her look like she was wearing Moms-R-Us. Wayne Corp. scientists had taken a lot of the bulk out the vest, but it remained a vest and difficult to dress around. So she was stuck with choosing a dress that was a great deal more matronly than she would have liked. She didn't mind particularly—she was in no mood to be shot by the Joker again and knew that crime-fighting sometimes had fashion consequences.

Helena did not know any such thing and wouldn't have acknowledged it if she had. She'd tried on many dresses for Barbara's opinion and had gone into the bathroom to change because she felt Barbara would be able to concentrate more fully if not watching her taking off her clothes multiple times. She did not tell Barbara this—she told her that she wanted each dress's effect to be all-at-once visually.

They were on the fifth dress, which Helena felt really good about. She stepped out of the bathroom, twirled around and asked hopefully, `Whaddayouthink?"

Barbara's eyes widened, "Oh. My. God."

"Good?"

"Only if Bruce's having an aneurism is good."

Helena stamped her foot. "Damnit! You're kidding, right?"

"No. I'm not. Look—you're the one who said you wanted something Bruce would approve of."

Helena had actually said that she wanted something that she could move quickly in yet not so skimpy that Bruce would feel awkward seeing her out of the house in it. As Helena had voiced this apprehension to Barbara, the older woman had smiled inwardly, thinking that only a few months before, Helena would never have taken her father or his feelings into consideration.

"Look how modestly it's cut! What's wrong with it?" 

"Nothing, honey—except the material is a bit sheer, don't you think? I mean, it's cut modestly because you can see right through it. "

"You can see through this?"

"Look in the mirror."

Helena eye's widened much as Barbara's when she turned toward the full length mirror. Evidently it was stealth material—it certainly hadn't looked like this in the light of store or the bathroom.

She raised an appreciative eyebrow. "Wow. Not bad, Kyle." She turned, looked over her shoulder, "Not bad at all."

"When you're through admiring yourself, go try on something else."

"Look—you can see my tattoo!"

"Yes. I see that, sweetheart. Run along and put on some clothes."

A certain tone in Barbara's voice made Helena look down at her with a smirk.

"Barbara Gordon. Are you saying you really want me to put on some clothes?"

Clearly, Barbara wasn't as transparent as Helena's dress. "Actually, I'm saying the sooner we find your dress, the sooner we can get you out of it."

Quinn lay in bed mulling over some of the particulars of the entertainment they would be providing that evening. She felt clearer than she had in weeks. She'd kept one of Barbara's injections for this day—a secret even from Dinah. She hadn't told Dinah because she wanted the girl to be hyper-vigilant where everyone was concerned, even with her. Quinn had gotten up and used the injection in the middle of the night. If this were going to be her last day on Earth, she'd spend it sane.

She'd gone back to sleep and had woken up an hour previously but didn't want to wake Dinah. The girl needed as much sleep as she could get before their evening's work. She touched Dinah's hair softly. One way or another, this night would be the end of their time together. She would never again wake with this person next to her and just as likely never see another morning at all. Quinn looked at Dinah's soft, peaceful features and felt even sadder than she'd imagined. She sighed and turned her mind to the issue at hand. Crime, and crime-fighting for that matter, was no place to be sentimental.

The big bang was going to be a really big bang and the mathematics of that was unquestionable. She had calculated the amount of explosives that had gone out of the staging area. Wherever it was going off would cause massive damage and/or loss of life. That amount of explosives would evaporate the venue where Gordon's dinner was being held. It had to be somewhere else, because that would be entirely unlike the Joker—to blow the dinner up would mean he'd miss Barbara's fear and pain. As well as her family's and Batman's. No.That wouldn't be her Joker.

The Joker. She thought about how very strangely the world had turned out for her, after all. Strange that she'd fallen for Jack all those years ago, stranger that Jack was planning to kill her, strangest of all that she was going to betray him. Just like Julius Caesar.

Et tu, Brute?

You too, Harley?

You too?

U2.

Oh. Shit.

Dinah heard the faraway sound of someone calling her, then felt herself jostled forcefully. She sat up like a shot. "What!? Let's go!"

Quinn's eyes were as big as golf balls. "The bombs! I know where they are."

Dinah felt a surge of adrenaline course through her, "Where?"

"Somewhere at the U2 concert. Think about it—there'll be more than half a million people there."

The girl thought about the ramifications of that. "Of course. Has to be—that would be perfect. We have to tell the Clocktower now."

"There's no way. Even If we can get to a houseline, it'd be bugged."

"Aren't there any cells that work down here?" 

Quinn thought for a few seconds. "He has one that he uses in his office but that's still questionable. Get dressed and go keep him company and I'll see what it looks like."

"What about tonight?"

"This doesn't change anything about tonight. We have no choice—he may not stage something like this for another year. We've both got to stay with him or the gig's up. The folks in the Clocktower will just have to split up when we get them the news."

As Dinah hurried to dress, Quinn felt a chill as she remembered the name of the Joker's plan—Divide and Conquer.

Quinn would have been surprised to know that the Joker was, even at that moment, still having second thoughts about killing her. He weighed the pros and cons for the fifteenth time that morning.

Pro: 1. V. funny, 2. Fantastic in bed, 3. Ruthless, 4. V. smart 5. Crazy as batshit

Con: 1. Crazy as batshit  2. Feels like wife 3. Annoying amount of civility shows through 4. Blonde psi-princess potentially dangerous  5. V. secretive. Secretive about big things. 

The pros and cons were even up to the last point but that point was the capper—the thing that tipped the scale over to the `have to kill her' side.

Because, if Quinn was sleeping with Wayne's daughter, she had to know the big Wayne secret. Not, of course, that he didn't know it—just that he knew she hadn't known he knew it. And after she knew it, and hadn't told him, that meant she was capable of keeping almost anything from him. He could also tell she hadn't told Dinah that he knew it, which was doubly deceptive. Batman's civilian identity. Surely she knew he must know it—she couldn't be stupid enough to think that he was that stupid, could she?

Sure, he'd had to sit in Arkham Asylum for a few years before it'd come to him—and in a Eureka! moment as pure as surely any such moments in history. He'd cackled wildly, doubled over in mirth at his years of idiocy. It was the purest sort of empirical deduction: 1. Batman was some lantern-jawed justice freak. Check. 2. Bruce Wayne, a lantern-jawed billionaire, seemed always to be nearly everywhere anything was about to happen. Check. 3. As soon as things got sticky, Bruce invariably disappeared and Batman appeared. Check. 4. He'd looked at Bruce Wayne's build and his face/eyes; and encountered Batman again and again and looked into those dark brooding blue eyes…

He cackled again at the memory. The people working in the staging area turned toward him and although he, naturally, continued to smile, the look on his face made them turn back to their work immediately.

After having given it more thought, he'd decided that he and Bruce must have had, over the years, an implicit sort of gentleman's agreement between them. Bruce had to know that he'd find out eventually. He'd probably also known that the Joker wouldn't dream of blabbing it to anyone when he did find out. Perhaps, after all, they truly understood each other on a level most people couldn't appreciate. Maybe that's why he'd never killed Batman, although he'd had the chance more than once. Then again, for some people, hurting the people around them was far more brutal than actually killing them.

The result of the bungled Barbara Gordon caper and his imprisonment had surprised him at the time. He'd known it would hurt Batman, but he hadn't counted on how much. Barbara was, for some reason, so important to Batman that he'd disappeared for years after she'd been shot and had only resurfaced after his nemesis had escaped. No Joker, no Batman. Maybe that was it. They needed each other. He had to admit that crime would be far, far less satisfying without Batman around. Almost too easy. Maybe crime-fighting was too easy for Batman without him around.

Who knew? He only knew that there were no circumstances he could imagine in which would he kill Batman. He would hurt him as badly as he possibly could, would happily make Batman wish himself dead, but he wouldn't kill him. He knew Batman felt the same way about him. The Joker also recognized that he'd have the advantage forever because, while Batman only wanted to capture and imprison him, he considered everyone connected with Batman fair game for as rough as he wanted to play.

He really could hardly wait for the excitement to begin. A movement across the room caught his eye. Speaking of excitement.

"Dinah darling! How are you this morning?"

Dinah was walking toward him, smoking her morning's first cigarette. "Great, Bozo, how `bout you?"

"On top of the world. I've never been married, thank God, but I imagine this is what the lucky groom feels on the day he's to be wed."

Dinah play punched him in the chin then took a seat on the table the Joker was leaning against. They watched as the men continued their preparations.

"Just like a wedding, it's such a production when you think about how so little actual time is spent during the ceremony itself."

Dinah took a pull on her cigarette. "Is that how you think about it? As a ceremony?"

"Of sorts. Where's our girlfriend?"

"Getting dressed." 

"Ah. Speaking of dressing, I took the liberty of stealing a few dresses for you to try on for tonight."

Dinah's heart leaped up in her throat. "I'm not wearing a dress. I'm working."

"I know. Working your father."

"But he'll know something's up as soon as I show up."

"I want him to know something's up."

"Hey, JACK?!"

They both looked up to see Quinn walking across the staging area waving a cellphone. "What's up with this phone?"

The Joker's voice was as smooth as silk, "Why do you need a phone, lambie-pie?"

Quinn's voice was smoother. "I want to order a pizza, Puddin."

He threw his head back and cackled. "For breakfast! That's so like you," he said to Quinn. He turned to Dinah. "Maybe you've noticed that? Imminent danger always makes her hungry. "

Quinn reached the table, tip-toed up to kiss him on the cheek, smashed a kiss onto Dinah's mouth and turned so they were all facing the same way. "So, what about it?"

"Sorry, my dear. I think it's best that we stay electronically incommunicado today."

"Fine. Send someone out."

"Alright. I'll do that while you help Dinah decide what she's wearing to meet Daddy tonight."

Quinn didn't bat an eye. "Oh? So we're showing Wayne some of our cards right away?"

"It would be helpful if he were out of the way, don't you think?"

"I suppose so. What's she going to say that'll get him out of the way?"

"If she tells him where our two little bombs are, he'll really just have to do something about it, won't he? I'm sure you've both noticed that he can't keep his nose out of other people's business."

"You have a point."

Quinn could, without looking at her, feel Dinah's anxiety rising over the thought of what the Joker might know about Batman. Quinn's mind worked at light-speed. So—he wanted to get rid of Batman—and presumably Nightwing if there were two bombs. Leaving she, Dinah and Helena to protect Barbara from 50 armed men and the Joker. Well, well. Goddamn, he was good.

"I'm starving, Puddin."

That Evening

Clocktower

They were all going to be on comm; the miniature size of the equipment would make its effective range fairly short but within and just without the building would be all they really needed. Part of their plan was to leave too few people guarding two of the entrances so that Joker could infiltrate the building relatively easily. They were counting on the fact that the Joker very rarely held hostages and had always felt it somewhat beneath him to stage a bloodbath he'd have to watch. Not that he minded bloodshed—he just liked it wrapped in a surprise or something unusual. The unusual would not include shrieking dinner guests begging for their lives. They assumed that robbery would not be the motive—that grabbing Barbara and getting something out of Bruce via his faux-daughter Dinah would be the actual targets. 

Helena and Barbara stood while Dick walked around the Clocktower testing their transceivers and speaking test phrases into their ears. After they'd done the last bit of preparation, they sat quietly for a couple of minutes. Helena had chosen sleek black pants with a scandalous top that was covered, for the most part, by a sleek black jacket. There had been literally no dress she'd consider wearing that Barbara thought Bruce would approve of. This was probably better anyway.

Barbara didn't look at all as if she were bundled in the most hi-tech ballistic protection on the planet. She looked surprisingly slender and fashionable, if a bit modestly patrician.

"I think we're ready. What do you think?"

Helena and Dick felt less sure of themselves but stood up, ready to get going.

As Barbara rolled toward the elevator, she said, firmly, "We'll be back in five hours. All of us."

"God willing." All three of them whispered it under their breath.

Joker's Lair

"Well, Dinah my dove, don't you look pretty?" The Joker offered as she entered the staging area. He was dressed in a dark green tuxedo and was adjusting his tie. Later in the evening, when Dinah and Helena saw each other, they'd be stunned by how similar their outfits were.

"You didn't like the dresses I got you?"

"I did—but a dress doesn't really go with how I'm feeling tonight."

Quinn walked into the room in her full Harlequin regalia.

"You don't feel like a dress either, Harley darling?"

"I thought this would be nice—for old time's sake."

"That's my girl—sentimental to the bone." He kissed her on the cheek as his men began to file into the staging area. All of them wore tuxedos; masks were hanging at their necks and they had shouldered their weapons.

"Hello, boys!" The Joker turned between the men and the women—"No reason not to keep the look of the evening formal, is there?"

He turned toward the women. "Dinah. I'll tell you the exact location of the bombs in the van. You'll enter the room, go directly to your father and give him this location. After you do this, you will immediately disable the security cameras in the room; they are located over each entrance and exit. When we see the cameras go black, we'll enter the room. When that happens, wait for further orders. Quinn, you'll stay with me."

"Always, Puddin'," Quinn purred.

This was it. Dinah felt her mouth go dry. "Don't we need to know where we're taking Barbara Gordon?"

He looked down at her and his eyes were very cold. "Who said we're taking her anywhere?"

It was unfortunate that the evening was going to be spoiled, Commissioner Gordon thought as he looked out at the crowd. It was really a lovely affair. The mayor, the governor and both senators were here. That probably wasn't wise—but Batman was very sure that they weren't targets. They, had of course, been told of the possible danger but the fact that it was an election year wouldn't let any of them back down once the mayor insisted on going. The mayor was in a tight race and any bit of derring-do, followed by press coverage was likely to help. Bruce Wayne was there, of course, sitting close to the stage with a table of Wayne Corp. guests.

Gordon had been working the crowd, going from table to table as his guests ate. He went to the front of the room, climbed the few steps to the low stage and took a seat at the table of honor. He noticed that Barbara and Helena had barely eaten a thing. He looked down at his plate. Come to think of it, he wasn't very hungry either.

Barbara smiled at her father, leaned over and kissed him. She had been talking to Dick and Bruce during the evening and no one beside Helena had seemed to notice she was talking to her own neck.

Forty-five minutes after the beginning of the event, they all heard Nightwing's quiet <Okay, guys. Here we go.>

A couple of minutes later they watched as Dinah appeared at the entrance, looked over the crowd and walked straight toward Bruce's table.

Bruce stood to greet her, and kissed her on the cheek. "Dinah. So good to see you." She smiled up at him and whispered through her smile. "Two bombs. Under U2's stage, Central Park. Must be disarmed simultaneously. He said you should go stage right." She continued to smile as she reached for his arm and slid his sleeve up to reveal his watch. "You have 19 minutes."

Bruce merely muttered, "Copy that?" to his transceiver. He heard three affirmatives as he watched Dinah point to the exits in turn. All three watched as the security cameras crumpled, one after another, into useless metal on their platforms. 

They watched from the floor and the stage as the Joker's tuxedoed masked-men fanned into the room. The speed and overwhelming force of the intrusion were astonishing.

There were shouts and sharp screams of alarm that hushed immediately when the Joker and Harley Quinn entered the room. The hush that fell over the room was ominous.

Broken only by the Joker, "Let's get this party started!"

Helena's eyes were yellow before she could blink twice. She'd never seen him in person—this tall, leering freak who had murdered her mother, who'd crippled Barbara. As she gripped the sides of her chair, she could hear it cracking. Barbara patted her with one hand and whispered to her but never took her eyes off The Joker. "Helena, remember, our main objective is to get everyone out of here alive."

Barbara felt her partner force herself into some semblance of calm. They both saw that Bruce's back had become a steel rod and that it was only superb self-control that kept him in his seat.

"Commissioner Gordon, it's so nice to join you on your special night. I'm sure you appreciate my dropping in like this."

"Joker—you scum!" Although the Commissioner had expected to see the green-haired bastard, he hadn't counted on being so angry. As always, he tended to feel freer to act than others in similar situations, primarily because Batman was always around to get him out of the scrapes he walked into. He jumped down off the stage like a man half his age and strode toward the interloper.

The Joker clucked at him, "Temper, temper, Jimmy boy. This can all be over in a few minutes. I'll just need your daughter for a while."

"Over my dead body!"

"That could so easily be arranged."

"Dad!" The Joker and Gordon turned toward the stage. Barbara was pale but she looked meaningfully and encouragingly at her father. "Don't. Just—don't. I'll go."

The Joker laughed, "Ah, Barbara, we meet again!" His smile became brighter and more mocking.  "You might not actually remember our last little encounter, except of course, for the lingering after-effects."

With a snarl, Jim Gordon lunged at The Joker, only to be unceremoniously knocked flat and cold with one punch.

Helena would have been over the table if not for Barbara's cool hand on her arm.

The Joker looked down at his work, then up at Barbara. "See? That's what you get from sitting in management instead of working in the field. Poppa's a little rusty." He bent over, touched the older man's face, then stood. "No worries. Didn't even break his jaw."

He crossed immediately to the table where Bruce was standing, Dinah behind him. The room was utterly silent.

"Bruce Wayne. We meet again."

Bruce's face was inscrutable but his tone was cordial, "Yes. Good evening."

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be, Bruce? Tempus fugit and all that jazz."

"You're never getting out of here." The muscles in Bruce's jaw flexed as if he were chewing on nails.

"We'll just have to see about that." The Joker made a great show of pulling up his sleeve to look at his watch, then back at Bruce. "You really need to be running along. Shoo, little billionaire, shoo!"

Bruce gave the Joker a look that would melt titanium, turned and crossed the room toward the exit. The Joker called after him, "You should probably take that someone special with you, Bruce! It's a two-man job."

It didn't take three minutes before Batman joined Nightwing on the roof of the building. "Jesus, Bruce. We're going to be cutting it sorta close, aren't we?"

They were already moving as Bruce replied, "No more than usual."

Robert was enjoying the U2 concert as anyone could when expecting something bizarre to happen at any moment. The crowd was into it and it was difficult not to just relax and enjoy the music and the night. The fire marshal estimated the crowd at 700,000 and it certainly looked like it. From backstage, all Robert could see was an ocean of humanity. Although he was on call to do any grunt work too crappy even for the roadies to do, he hadn't had to do a thing except listen and watch.

Only force of will kept him from playing the air guitar a couple of times and it was during one of these urges that he saw one of the roadies motioning to him. He walked over quickly and the roadie cupped his hands to shout into his ear, "Get under the stage and see if there's anything weird going on under there." The hair on Robert's neck stood up. He shouted back at the roadie, "Why? What's going on?" The roadie was in no mood to shout, "The sound man is picking up some electrical interference." Robert screamed, "Probably something on stage. I don't hear anything." The roadie looked daggers at him.  "He does, motherfucker. Get under there and check it out."

Robert took a flashlight, climbed down off the stage, pulled a heavy drape aside and walked underneath. The stage was 10 feet off the ground, so he could easily clamber through the braces holding the stage sections up and together. The sound of the crowd and the music was bizarre from below, muffled but insanely loud; he only realized how loud when he heard the volume of the muffled sound. Must be why all the roadies were wearing earplugs. Note to self, he muttered, as he walked toward the front of the stage.

He didn't need his flashlight for what came into view as he walked forward. On either side of the stage, they were lit up like pinball machines and cheerfully labeled Bomb 1! and Bomb 2!. He would have thought it was a joke except for the fact that they also looked so highly engineered and plugged into the stage itself. He didn't have enough spit to swallow as he moved forward a few steps and read the counter, 18:05:54, watched it spinning with a speed that took his breath away.

His first impulse was to run like hell. Yeah. Every man for himself.  He pulled at his hair as he ran out from under the stage. Shit. Shit. Shit. No. He couldn't do that. But he couldn't tell the roadie—the roadie'd pull the band and…everyone would—what to do? What to do?

He ignored the roadie waiting for him, looked wildly around the stage, then felt and did something he'd never done in his life. He flushed with relief at the sign of a policeman and ran to him for help.

Batman and Nightwing's comms had shifted to police radio as they moved through the night air. They heard the call for the Bomb Squad as it went out.

Bruce broke in on the police channel. "This is Batman—Nightwing and I are on our way."

The voice on the other end of the line sounded uncertain and frantic. "Yes sir—but we have a bit of a problem—if we don't evacuate, we could lose a lot of lives. But nothing short of an emergency's going to move `em. We demand an evacuation, we might lose just as many if they panic."

Bruce thought for only five seconds. "Don't tell them. We'll be there—we'll defuse the bombs."

They could hear the officer's blood pressure spike, "Don't tell them. But that—Jesus! Are you sure, sir?"

"Absolutely."

But no pressure!, Dick thought, as he heard this. Despite his experience, his heart began pounding wildly and he looked at Bruce as they swung from building to building. He could see nothing but Bruce's body language, which was extraordinarily relaxed. He knew this meant that he was extraordinarily stressed. His hands suddenly felt very cold against his cable.

"Now, everyone! I'd like you all to step down from the stage except for Ms. Gordon. Line up down here against that wall."

Barbara smiled thinly at this command from the Joker and her tablemates hastened to clear the stage. Everyone except Helena.

The Joker cocked his head, "You too, cutie-pie! Harley, go up there and keep Ms. Gordon company. Dinah, please help that young lady down."

The two women leaped up on the stage and took their places next to Helena and Barbara's chairs.

Helena's eyes stayed on the Joker and she shrugged Dinah's hand off her shoulder. "I'm not going ANYWHERE, scumbag."

"Your bodyguard?" The Joker's question was for Barbara.

"Among other things," Barbara replied.

The man thought about this for a second, threw back his head and cackled. "My God! Isn't anyone heterosexual anymore?"

Commissioner Gordon chose this moment to sit upright, felt his jaw and looked around the room.

The Joker kept his eyes on the stage but sang out gaily, "Mornin' Sunshine!"

Jim Gordon was feeling just as belligerent as before. "You're never getting out of here, you bastard."

The Mayor felt he really should offer something if this was going to be worthwhile, "You'll be in prison tonight!"

"Oh? I wouldn't count on that. Over the years, I've found Gotham's police force woefully inept, inane and inadequate."

"Perhaps. But I don't think you'll find the National Guard as easy to deal with."

The smile on the Joker's face lifted higher. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Mr. Mayor. The Posse Comitatus Act makes that, as they say in French, a non-non. Nobody has that authority except…"

He smacked his forehead as he looked down the line of guests, where Governor Jenkins was standing. "Except me," finished the governor helpfully.

The Joker scratched the side of his head with his gun, then cackled. "Oh well!"

"How do you plan to get out of here?"

"Well, we have all sorts of just-in-case plans." He put his hand to his ear with dramatic flair, "Listen—there's one of them."

The guests heard the approaching sound of a plane—and then a helicopter—a big helicopter.

"What do you know about Blackhawk helicopters? I wonder if the Guard brought theirs? I hear ours."

This became instantly apparent as the plane and helicopter buzzed the building, drawing heavy gunfire from the police and soldiers outside the building. This caused many shouts of terror as well as the instinctive shrinking of everyone inside.

"That's my ride! Now—these nice gentlemen are going to escort you outside, where you'll be safer."

No one moved, the guests clearly considering the matter a 'worse of two evils' situation—everyone looked at each other questioningly.

"Hey! Listen up." Everyone turned toward Quinn, who was shaking her head with wonder. "If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. Doesn't anyone ever prepare for their hostage crisis? Okay! Hostages—this is a hint—that's you!—have only one job: to follow the instructions of…" she waggled her gun in the air for emphasis, "the people with the guns. So. Let's move it. Governor, Mayor—oh—and let's not forget the senators," she said with a smirk, "why don't you brave civil servants show these nice folks how it's done."

The brave civil servants did not, actually, appear to be feeling particularly brave but they dutifully marched forward. The masked henchman started moving everyone from their tables toward the exit in the far center of the room.

"Sorry about dinner, folks,"Joker offered as they filed past him, "but I can promise your next meal will be the best you've ever had. Nothing whets the appetite like a near-death experience." 

Under the orders of their captors, the guests began to file outside very slowly and in an orderly fashion. As they emerged from the building, they were astonished to find everything, as far as they could see, glowing super-bright green. In fact, the passing plane had dropped a fluid that could most appropriately be described as slime onto the building and everything and everyone around it. The helicopter had covered the plane, drawing fire from the bright green policemen and soldiers with bright green guns.

The Joker's helicopter pilot hadn't expected the Guard but whirled back into position and watched as the dark figures walked out into the green world below. He knew the Guard was even now scrambling helicopters for him but he decided he probably had the three minutes it would take to grab The Joker off the roof. 

In their relief to reach safety, not one of the hostages noticed that, slowly but surely, the masked men had placed their weapons and masks on the ground, placed their gloves in their pockets and filed outside with the rest of the formally dressed guests. The Joker had bought tickets for all of them.

Batman and Nightwing swung as close as they could before hitting the ground running, approaching from behind the stage. They hadn't anticipated the sea of people who'd be behind the stage and each foot they gained seemed to take disastrously long. The people, packed together tightly, moved as quickly as they could out of the way when they realized who was barreling through them. As they passed, the people continued to watch them, wondering what the hell was going on.

As the two men moved through the security barrier, they saw a knot of policemen, who visibly exhaled as the two arrived.

One of them jumped forward and pointed to Robert, "this guy found them—they're under there at the front of the stage."

"Good job. Relax, everyone. This will soon be over." Batman said this as a matter of form, though it was, in a sense, true. One way or another, it would soon be over.

Batman and Nightwing slipped under the stage and rushed toward the blinking devices.

"I'm on the right, according to instruction." Batman said, feeling his throat tightening.

As each moved forward, they could see the time spinning dizzyingly fast 0:38:15.

Shit.

Okay. Each looked at their bomb. Both had a yellow and red wire ostentatiously displayed on top, with the same instructions in small print over them.  

            "To disarm, pull the yellow wire. For optimal results (i.e. absence of dismemberment, death, mass carnage), wires must be pulled at the same time."

Batman could feel the sweat running down his face under his mask and watched the seconds rushing by as he thought. Pull yellow wire. Too obvious—so pull the red wire? Or, perhaps, he'd be expected to think he's going to be fooled so he should actually pull the yellow wire?

Nightwing's heart was thudding behind his eyes as he thought at the same time. Pull yellow wire. Too obvious—so pull the red wire? Or, perhaps, he'd be expected to think he's going to be fooled so he should actually pull the yellow wire?

They looked at each other.

"Ready?"

"Yep"

"Okay. On three."

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

Batman pulled the red wire.

Nightwing pulled the yellow wire.

And the bombs' counters stopped.

As they emerged from under the stage, the two men looked as if they hadn't a care in the world. "Alright. That's done, officers." The policemen's shoulders fell, and they all shouted their relief.

Batman continued in his usual stoic tone, "Have the band cut the evening as short as you think they can. Get the people out of here as quickly as humanly possible, then bring the bomb squad in. No one else goes under there.

Robert jumped as Batman clapped him on the shoulder and almost smiled but not quite. "Your vigilance is appreciated."

"Now we're needed elsewhere." As the two masked heroes departed, Robert and the policemen all thought the same thing.

Wow.

Part 6

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