Chapter Text
“Hey.”
Barbara turned at the sound of Selina’s voice. Her shoulders were stiff with tension, but she managed to keep it out of her face.
Selina was leaning against the doorway at the top of the stairs, the light at her back leaving her expression in shadow. She cast a glance over her shoulder– for a moment, her delicate features were thrown into profile, her lush lips pulled down in a frown– before she stepped onto the landing and shut the door to the apartment.
“I wanna talk to you,” she said.
“Sure,” Barbara replied.
She’d been careful to keep her visits brief. Holly had chatted away at her between bites– about a girl she liked a few streets over, a new song by her favorite band, a blunt, shocking description of her abusive father which hit Barbara like a rogue wave– but Selina had stayed out of their conversations.
Barbara had accepted her silence. You didn’t get a cat to trust you by chasing it.
But she must have crossed an invisible line, because Selina was glaring at her with her feet spread in a ready stance, her arms crossed, her lip curled with distaste.
“I feed her just fine,” Selina said. “She doesn’t need your charity.”
“Ok,” Barbara murmured.
“It’s been a rough few days. Not safe to go out. Supplies are low.”
“I understand.”
“Oh, do you?” Selina challenged her. “Because you don’t look like you understand. Fresh dye-job, no jewelry, clean shoes you can run in if you need to. And you don’t sound like it either, coming over here with an ‘ultimatum’ from your friend, the ‘chef’.”
“He’s a butler, technically.”
Selina scoffed. Then her eyes widened, and she sneered, “you’re… serious. Are you kidding me with this shit? Coming into this neighborhood, talking about ‘butlers’?”
“Baking is more of a hobby of his,” Barbara explained. “But he’s really good.”
“So, what is this? Are you some bored little rich girl, playing dress up with the street urchins? You looking for a pity project?”
Fashion week is still several weeks away. Silver’s voice played in her memory, the playful words making Barbara’s stomach twist. I’ve been looking for a project to keep me occupied.
“I’m looking for an instructor,” Barbara said evenly.
“For what ? How to break daddy’s heart? Head back home with some bruises, a few track marks, a bad habit that will make your mommy cry? Or do you want to learn how to play a bad girl in bed –”
Barbara saw the kick coming. She blocked it with a forearm, dropping down a stair to keep her balance. It was a hard hit– solid and fast. But she could tell the other woman was holding back.
This was a test.
Selina lowered her leg as if nothing had happened. “So, daddy already taught you to fight, huh? That’s sweet.”
“My dad was a cop,” Barbara said. “But he wasn’t the one who taught me.”
“What do you need me for?”
“I know you can fight. I know you care about girls like Holly, who can’t. I want your help to teach those girls how to protect themselves.”
“I don’t have time for this bullshit–”
“Then what do you have time for?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Barbara held her ground. A few days ago, she would have cut her losses and run. But beneath Selina’s glare, she could sense a bitterness that ran far deeper than this single confrontation. “I’m curious. What’s your move? You said it yourself: it’s been a rough few days. Falcone is going down, and what’s left of his organization is scrambling. Are you going to ride it out from here?”
“That’s a dangerous name to throw around in this part of town,” Selina murmured, her inhuman stillness masking her anger. “Dangerous accusations, too.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Are you with Maroni, then? Is this ‘job offer’ from him?”
Barbara made a noise of disgust. “Of course—I have to be under someone’s thumb, is that it? Because I’m a woman?”
The frustration in Barbara’s voice caught Selina off guard. “Touchy subject?” She wondered, raising her hands.
“Sorry,” Barbara sighed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that in the last week– not your fault. But I guess two for three isn’t terrible.” She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as if her future was much better in terms of gender equality.
“Two for… hang on. You’re interviewing other candidates?” Selina demanded. “What the fuck?”
“Partners, actually,” Barbara said. “But, yes.”
“You’re crazy.”
“So you’ve said.”
“And you’re serious. You’re going after Falcone with these… partners. And your plan is… teaching street kids how to fight.”
“That’s… right.” Barbara blinked. She was surprised that much had gotten through Selina’s determined scorn.
“This still sounds like some idealistic rich girl bullshit.”
“There’s a fair bit of that involved, yes,” Barbara shrugged. “But idealistic rich girls pay well. And we won’t come after you with crowbars if you decide to quit.”
Selina shook her head, slowly, back and forth. “Crazy,” she muttered, so low that Barbara wondered if she meant it as an insult or a warning for herself. Then she shut her eyes. “Ok,” she breathed.
That was it.
Barbara stared at her, braced for another kick. It didn’t come. “When you say, ‘ok’, she ventured, do you mean—“
“I mean ok!” Selina snapped. “ Jesus .”
Then she turned on her heel and stomped across the landing. With her hand on the doorknob, she rolled her head back to glare at Barbara. “Full pay, flexible hours, and if I get even a whiff of anything weird, I’m out. Got it?”
“G-got it,” Barbara sputtered.
“Oh. And you still owe Holly those cookies. Chocolate chip. No nasty raisins. Kay?”
There was a muffled cheer from the other side of the door.
“Kay,” Barbara said.
Selina stormed back into her apartment without another word and Barbara raced down the stairs, giddy with success.
–
He answered on the first ring.
“Alfred!” Barbara gasped into the cracked receiver of the battered, graffitied public phone. Although she’d waited until she reached the train station, it still wasn’t a friendly neighborhood for a long chat.
But she’d make time for this. He deserved to know.
“I’m so glad I caught you, I wanted to tell you first–”
“Ms. Smith,” Alfred cut her off, his polite answering-the-phone voice suddenly drenched with alarm. “Are you alone?”
That brought her up short.
“I– yes,” she said. “I’m alone. What—?”
Again, he couldn’t wait for her to finish. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I have an urgent message. Have you seen the evening’s paper?”
“I– no,” she stammered, glancing around the entrance to the station for a newspaper rack. “What happened?” Her thoughts flew to her father. To Essen, and the other officers on their team, facing Loeb’s desperation and Falcone’s fury.
She thought of Bruce.
“Mr. Dent gave an interview,” Alfred said.
“Harvey Dent?” Barbara echoed, her mind reeling through all the other times she’d seen him in the news— as Two-face. Escaping from Arkham. Burning down buildings. Holding the City hostage.
But that was in the future.
A future she wanted to avoid.
“What’s the message?” Barbara demanded.
“Master Bruce has gone after him already. He hopes you will join him as soon as you can.”
“In costume?” Barbara asked. It was after 8 pm, but still light out. Batman belonged to the night. It was part of the reason why they hadn’t been much help during the initial drug seizure.
“Yes,” Alfred said, his voice tight.
“Ok. I’m going.”
“Do you need your—“
“No,” Barbara said, clutching the receiver to her cheek. “I’m not suiting up. But I’ll find him, ok?”
“Very well. Please, be safe.”
Training Day Bust Gains New Defender
Wednesday, July 2
By: Vicky Vale
This special report comes after another day of shocking revelations related to the Training Day Bust. See page three for a summary of the case so far.
This morning, our team sat down with a key player in these events: Assistant District Attorney Harvey Dent.
“I’ve been a bit busy,” the strapping ADA said with his signature winning smile, referring to the grueling days of back-to-back court appearances. “But when I heard what Loeb was saying, I knew it was time to speak up.”
Dent was referring to the allegations against Lieutenant Gordon for mismanagement of the initial investigation. Gordon’s conduct was defended by others, including Sargent Dan Turpin of the MPD.
Dent took Turpin’s sentiment one step further: “When the GCPD diverts resources from an active investigation to target its own detectives, it jeopardizes the results and ultimately the security of our citizenry. I expect better more from our officials, elected and appointed— and the people of Gotham should, too.”
With arrangements completed and sentencing imminent, last-minute disruptions have sought to weaken the City’s case: as of Tuesday night, several defendants have obtained representation from some of the most high profile criminal lawyers in the City.
“I’m not surprised,” said Dent, “and I’m not intimidated, either. These cases are bulletproof. Whoever is putting up the funds for the defense must see that. They’re scared, and they should be— because they’re next.”
Bold words from Mr. Dent, but so far, the DA’s office has risen to the challenge. It remains to be seen whether they can win success at trial, too– or if internal opposition will get in the way of justice.
—
Her teeth ground together during the long train ride across town. She had snagged a copy of the paper inside the station, and even before she got to the meat of the interview– a boastful, brazen saga of Dent’s early career, peppered with thinly-veiled illusions to certain ‘bad actors’ due for a ‘polishing’– she’d understood Bruce’s and Alfred’s alarm.
Harvey Dent was serving himself up like a sacrificial lamb. A smarmy, grinning lamb, lounging on his altar.
Just like before.
Barbara had been a kid when it happened. Her knowledge of the Long Halloween came from archives and second-hand accounts. Now, visions of sizzling yellow acid swam through her head as if she’d been right there, at the scene of Two-face’s origin.
It was happening again. Too soon. Too fast. The inevitable future, swerving back onto its tracks like a jostling train car, all her best intentions exploding in her face—
Or Harvey’s.
No, she counseled herself. It wasn’t too late. She was playing for high stakes, but she wasn’t alone. That was the whole point of this– her experiment with Silver, Essen, and Selina. Bruce, strolling into the police station to pass the financial records off to her father. The two of them, facing the dark Gotham night, together.
The press of his cowl against her forehead. The murmured thank you on his lips.
Her first stop was the underground garage where she’d stashed her Batgirl gear. She had told Alfred the truth– she didn’t don her cowl— but she did slip into a short black dress, complete with an over-the-shoulder purse large enough for her grapple gun, a few smoke pellets, and little else.
Then she hailed a cab to Silver’s building.
The door attendant- Summer Gleason's father- was too professional and loyal to Silver to answer Barbara’s questions directly. However, Barbara’s genuine concern– and the fact that she’d spent a good deal of the last week glued to Silver’s side– must have tipped the scales in her favor.
No, Silver wasn’t in. Which was bad enough.
Yes, Mr. Dent had picked her up within the last hour. Which was far, far worse.
But not unexpected. Barbara pressed a note into his hand with Sarah Essen’s number, along with a generous tip, and ran out of the door in her stiletto heels. She’d need them, where she was going. Silver St. Cloud was a creature of habit. There were only so many bars in the City that were glamorous enough to tempt her inside.
Five blocks later, she seethed internally as the bouncer’s eyes roved across her body, taking in her short, flared skirt, her heaving chest, and her suspicious lack of a date; but she kept her man-eating smile fixed in place until he finally let her in.
Bingo.
In the dim, smoky air, Silver’s hair shone like a beacon. Of course, she had to be platinum blonde. Seated at the best table in the room. Ever the center of attention.
Barbara stomped toward her.
“Why— Barbara, dear,” Silver blurted, her body language broadcasting discomfort. Barbara wondered for a moment if she realized how much danger she was in— then Silver’s dark eyes roved to Harvey, and Barbara realized she was only reacting to Barbara’s bad manners.
“Can we talk?” Barbara asked, undeterred.
There was a moment of struggle behind Silver’s careful mask, but ultimately, her impeccable manners won out. “Of course. Please, join us. What a lovely surprise.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll explain later, ok? But right now, I need you to listen.”
“Certainly. Can I get you a drink?”
“No—“ Barbara began, but Harvey interrupted her.
“Oh, come on, Barbara— can I call you Babs? Loosen up a bit, eh? Have a drink with us.”
Barbara shot him an impatient glare. Getting Silver out of here was her first objective, but his turn was coming— then she registered his lazy, crooked smile, his half-lidded gaze, and the flush in his cheeks. Her eyes widened with outrage.
“Are you drunk?” Barbara demanded.
“Just a bit,” Harvey gave a big, exaggerated shrug. “Helps to soothe the sting of rejection.”
“Rejection—?” Barbara glanced back at Silver, whose discomfort had given way to guilt, and put two and two together. “You dumped him? Just now?”
“As gently as a heap of feathers. I was half-buried before I realized I’d taken a fall,” Harvey sighed, draining the rest of his glass.
Or, he tried to. Barbara swatted it from his hand and caught the glass before it shattered on the floor. “Now is not the time to wallow,” she hissed at him.
“Barbara—“ Silver made a choked sound of surprise. “What’s this about?”
“When, may I ask, is the right time?” Harvey whined, shooting her a bleary, defiant gaze that reminded her, improbably, of Holly.
“When we make it out of here alive,” Barbara snarled.
Harvey pouted.
Silver raised a hand to her lips. “My god, Barbara– what are you saying?”
“Silver, listen to me. Get up and go to the ladies room. Pick a stall, and wait until Essen comes to get you.”
“Essen? Is Sarah here with you?” Silver glanced around, her eyes wide with confusion.
“No, not yet. But, she will be. Just— get down!” Barbara hollered, shoving sideways into the table and bowling all three of them onto the floor as gunfire erupted at her back.
She’d been waiting for the scream of tires, the sudden shuffle of intruders— but as more shots rang out, cutting through the shrieks and bellows of other patrons, she registered that the gunmen weren’t in the bar. Not yet. They were just outside, on the street.
Something else must have drawn their fire.
Which meant—
The bar shook as a heavy old car smashed through the entrance, splintered wood jutting from its grill like jagged teeth. Over her shoulder, Barbara caught a glimpse of a man’s face at the wheel, his eyes wild, the barrel of his rifle arcing down toward her—
A dark shape slammed onto the steaming hood of the car, a scalloped cape cutting off her view.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Harvey Dent whispered, almost reverently. “He’s… real?”
Silver was silent. Barbara put a hand on her shoulder and felt the other woman trembling with fear.
“The ladies room,” Barbara said, trying to catch her gaze. “Silver? You need to go. Now. Can you hear me?”
The car pitched like a ship at sea as it was struck from outside. Batman had kicked in the windshield and disarmed the four men inside, but a new arm was thrusting through the wreckage of the outer wall, and there— through another hole, the shining metal eye of a gun—
BAM.