Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Blackout

Gotham City
March 14, 18:09 EST
Team Year Four

"Dick, your work in my class has been excellent. You've had the top score in five out of the past six exams this year. But I can't help but notice that you're not fully engaged with the material. I think this course is too easy for you. Honestly, Dick, I'm beginning to wonder if Gotham University can offer enough challenges for you. With your test scores and achievements, you could have gone to any of the Ivy Leagues."

Dick shifted in his chair across the desk from his academic advisor and suppressed a sigh. He could have told Professor Monahan that. While many of his classmates spent the weeks after an exam cursing Monahan's name and trying desperately to transfer into other science courses, Dick was scoring over a hundred percent and drifting off during lectures, when he actually attended. It wasn't that he had anything against the course, but for the first time in his life Dick had the option of not showing up at school without raising any red flags. After all, what college freshman didn't skip out on a few lectures here and there?

The truth was, Dick hadn't wanted to go to college at all; he had far more important things to be doing than getting a degree he couldn't see the point in. But the disadvantage of being a child prodigy was that Dick was still underage. He'd graduated from Gotham Academy at 16 and whatever his own wishes were, he wasn't truly independent. He may have cast aside his mantle of Robin in favor of Nightwing, but he was still Bruce Wayne's ward and Bruce wanted him to go to school. After several bouts of impassioned arguments from Dick met with periods of stony silence from Bruce, they had reached an agreement, or more of a compromise: Dick would go to school until he was at least 18, at which time he could either complete his degree or drop out; the choice would be his.

Now Dick was 17, in his second semester at Gotham U, sitting in his advisor's office and being lectured on how he was too smart to be there, which he already knew, and gazing absently out the window waiting until he could leave. What he wanted to say to Professor Monahan was that yes, the course wasn't particularly challenging and he'd much rather be spending his time training or helping Kaldur, Superboy, M'gann, and other team members who were unencumbered with secret identities on more missions, and that in fact a college degree was next to useless in his line of work and that he was growing increasingly tired of keeping up a tedious double life.

What he said instead was, "I needed to stay close to my family."

"Of course," said Monahan, looking slightly shamefaced. "It must be a difficult time. Has there been any news?"

Dick's stomach sank. Of course he had known that Monahan would assume he was referring to his younger brother Jason's disappearance. No one in Gotham had managed not to hear how the second Wayne son had vanished, presumably running away one dark night, never to be seen or heard from again. But Dick knew the truth; Jason was dead, and he was never coming back.

"No," he said, looking back out the window where the Elliot Bridge's lights were just flickering on for the evening. "Nothing." More than ever, he wanted to leave. He was tired of talking about a future that didn't matter. If anything had taught him that he couldn't leave being Nightwing behind, it was Jason's death. He had to carry on the fight.

Monahan took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Regardless, Dick, I think you should transfer into a higher level science course. You clearly already understand the basic tenants of evolutionary theory, but I've got a great upper division class that takes a specific look at speciation of Northwestern Snipes—Goodness!"

Monahan was cut off mid-sentence as the power went out, plunging the room into an eerie twilight, illuminated only from the weak late-afternoon sun filtering in through the window.

"I'll call Larry, see if it's just our building or a larger problem," said Monahan, fumbling for his cell phone in the dim light. "Does it look like the rest of campus has gone out as well?"

From the 10th story window, Dick had a perfect view of not only campus, but downtown and the distant Elliot Bridge, all of which had, until moments before, been lit up in preparation for the approaching night. Dick turned back to Monahan, who was repeatedly pressing the "call" button on his phone to no avail. "I think it's more than just campus, professor," said Dick. "The whole city…it's dark."

Gotham City
March 14, 18:09 EST
Team Year Four

"So then Saterstrom says he doesn't think we've done the reading and pulls a freaking pop quiz on us. What is this, high school? I mean, aren't we above all that now? You'd think he'd have a bit more faith in us."

"Wally, had you actually done the reading?"

"You're kinda missing the point, babe."

"So that's a 'No,' then. Wally, it would literally take you about thirty seconds to do it. I don't see why you're complaining."

"Super-speed does not negate how extremely boring it would have been. And psychology isn't even a real science."

"Whatever, Baywatch. Listen, my bus is about to pull up." Artemis was standing on a curb in Gotham City, surrounded by three bags of groceries at her feet, and craning her neck to spot the approaching bus.

"Crap, Artemis, I didn't even ask. How's your mom? How's Gotham?"

Artemis jammed her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she stooped to pick up her bulging grocery bags. "Cold, dirty, and my bus was late," said Artemis. The bus driver glared at her as she clambered on board and struggled to swipe her metro card while juggling the three bags. "Home, sweet home." Artemis shouldered her way through the packed bus to the roomiest piece of aisle she could find, jammed between a business man in a suit and an old granny clutching a bag of recyclables. "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate public transit?"

"Only about a hundred times," said Wally. "Your mom doing alright?"

"More or less. I can't wait until I can get her out of that crummy apartment though. I had to go halfway across town just to find some fresh vegetables."

"California's spoiled you."

"Tell me something I don't know. Listen, Wally, do your stupid reading, okay? I'll call you tonight."

"Fine. Love you, babe."

"I love you too. Bye."

Artemis hung up the phone and readjusted her grip on the bags. It was March and the weather was in that awful period where the streets were flanked with melted and re-frozen piles of filthy snow and every gutter was filled with a sluggish stream of slush. Gotham was indeed dirty, cold, and unpleasant, especially after hauling around three heavy bags and getting dirty looks from her fellow passengers for talking on the phone while riding public transit. Artemis sighed. She wanted to be home in California, with Wally. But it was her mom's birthday this weekend. She didn't get out a lot, and with dad out of the picture and Jade off doing who-knows-what, there wasn't anyone around to celebrate it with her. Artemis and her mother didn't always see eye to eye, but out of all her family members, her mom was the only one to support her, both in becoming a hero and in retiring from it to go to college. She didn't deserve to be alone for her birthday.

Artemis was pulled suddenly out of her thoughts as the bus driver slammed on the brakes and the bus lurched to a halt, sending its passengers stumbling and screaming. Artemis grabbed the old lady by the shoulders, keeping her from colliding face-first with the metal support pole. Her groceries flew to the floor, their contents rolling every which way.

"Just fantastic," Artemis muttered as she bent down to collect her now slightly-trampled produce.

"Is everyone okay?"

"What's going on?"

"Who the hell taught you how to drive!?"

"Everyone, remain calm!" bellowed the bus driver over the hubbub. "There's been some kind of accident up ahead, and things might take a little while from this point on." All at once everyone started talking, shouting questions, and loudly complaining. The bus driver stood up, towering over the passengers, "Everybody, either stay in your seats, or exit the vehicle now."

Clutching her ruined groceries, Artemis wrestled her way to the front of the bus. "I think I'll get out here, if it's all the same to you."

"Be my guest," said the driver, yanking on the door release lever.

Artemis clambered off the bus and into chaos. A few car-lengths ahead of her, the center of the intersection was blocked by a taxi that had been t-boned by another car, littering the road with shattered glass. No one seemed to have been seriously injured; the two drivers were standing in the intersection shouting and gesticulating wildly at the stoplight. The lights in all four directions were dim and gray. She could see downhill toward the east for four traffic lights and another three to her right toward the south. None of them were on. It had been in the middle of rush hour and in all four directions there was a crushing gridlock. All around her horns were blaring and people were leaning out of their windows shouting. Above her, the electronic billboards had fizzled out and in the towering buildings on either side not a single office or conference room was lit. The only lights illuminating Gotham's quickly-darkening streets were headlights from the bumper-to-bumper cars; all the streetlamps had blinked out too.

"Shit," said Artemis, and made her way toward the sidewalk. She fished out her phone, thinking to call her mom and tell her she'd be late, but when she hit the "call" button nothing happened. She switched over to texting, but all her messages failed to send. Frustrated, and with the beginnings of a headache from all the blaring car horns, Artemis pocketed her phone.

Where was the GCPD, or an ambulance? Straining her ears over the cacophony, she could hear sirens, but they didn't sound like they were coming in this direction. Something wasn't right. The GCPD should have arrived to direct traffic and clear the accident. Slowly, Artemis did a 360. All around her, people were frustratedly punching the buttons on their phones and holding them up and out of car windows as though searching for a signal. Next to her, a taxi driver was furiously jabbing the dials of the cab's radio, only to get static on every station. Looking down to the water in the east, Artemis could just see the top of the Elliot Bridge, which had recently been decorated with a public art piece called "River Lights," a display of over 25,000 LEDs that created brilliant designs along the bridge's western span.

It was dark.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Reunion

Gotham City
March 14, 18:53 EST
Team Year Four

Artemis wandered, slightly dazed, down the boulevard. Every cross-street she came to was jammed with gridlock. As she has walked, she learned three things for certain; first, everywhere she went was without electricity. Second, all electronic communication systems were down. No phone calls, no texting, even the radios were out. The third thing she learned, as she experimented with her cellphone while walking, was that the internet was also impossible to access. It was like it had blipped out of existence.

There was no doubt in Artemis’s mind that this was no accident. A city-wide blackout she could have accepted, but no telephone, radio, or internet either? There was no way it was a coincidence. If you wanted to bring a city to a standstill and create mass confusion while you were at it, this was the way to do it; someone was behind this.

Drivers abandoned their cars and the streets filled with pedestrians trying to find their way home. Already, Artemis had been stopped five times by tourists who had no idea how to navigate Gotham without the aid of their smartphones. A lone mounted police officer was trying to maintain a sense of order as dozens of people crowded around her, demanding answers.

Artemis really should have gone home; her mother was probably worried about her, and this really wasn’t her job anymore. She and Wally were retired. But though it wasn’t her job to try and save Gotham anymore, she didn’t see why it should stop her from trying to contact those who should be. She didn’t have an earpiece anymore, and if even if she had, it probably wouldn’t have worked. But she knew where the Zeta entrances were.

Provided they were working, anyways. Artemis honestly didn’t know what to expect as she turned down the alley that housed the broken phone booth Zeta-Beam. On the one hand, Zetas were advanced technology and might have gone unaffected by the communications blackout. On the other hand, they might be just as useless as her cellphone was.

“I thought you were retired,” said a voice directly behind her.

Artemis jumped a foot in the air and whipped around into a fighting stance, sending her groceries flying for the second time that day. The figure grabbed her fists before she could throw a punch and yelped, “Cool it, Artemis, it’s just me!” Artemis squinted in the half-light at the person in front of her. It was Nightwing, formerly known as Robin, her friend and former teammate. He was wearing civvies, his signature sunglasses, and a self-satisfied smirk.

“Shit,” said Artemis. “You scared the crap out of me. Do you always have to sneak around like a ninja?”

“It’s my specialty,” he grinned, and released her fists. “And I have to say, I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into you here either. Aren’t you supposed to be in California?”

Artemis shrugged and looked ruefully at her scattered groceries. “It’s my mom’s birthday this weekend. I was going to cook her dinner tonight, but at this point I’m beginning to think that’s not gonna happen.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Nightwing, wincing at the strewn produce. “I didn’t mean to make you jump so much.” Artemis shrugged again. It’s not like there’d even be a working stove to cook on when she got home, anyways. “So I’m guessing you came over here to check on the Zeta-Tubes?” asked Nightwing. “Unless you make it a habit to wander around the seedier portions of Gotham when you could be at home with your family.”

“And I’m going to guess that they’re down, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing around in said seedy alley in your civvies,” she replied.

Nightwing scowled behind his sunglasses and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You guessed right,” he said. “Zeta’s down like everything else. No electricity, no internet, no communications. It’s possible the computers at the Batcave are still functional; we’ve got a generator and an independent network. But my wrist computer relies on external networks and the earpieces are nonfunctional, so I have no way of contacting Batman or anyone from the League. And I’m a few hours’ hike away from the Cave with no costume and no faster way to get there.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have my bow and arrows, let alone a costume, and I’m supposed to be retired,” said Artemis. It was getting dark and Artemis wondered how Nightwing could see anything with those sunglasses on, but she knew better than to ask. It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen her friend in nearly a year. In fact, the last time she’d seen him in the flesh had been at the second Robin’s memorial dedication. He’d gotten taller, she noticed, and even in his civvies she could see that his once thin frame was filling out with lean muscle. He was finally beginning to grow into his ears. “I’ve missed you,” she said, surprising herself.

Nightwing looked up at her and gave her a half-smile. “Missed me or missed the job?”

“Both,” she replied, giving him a half-smile of her own.

Nightwing’s grin broadened. “So, are you in then? I could use your help.”

A part of her wanted to say no. She was retired. It wasn’t her responsibility anymore. Gotham had a whole team of superheroes already. And she had no weapons, no costume, and no mask.

“Yeah,” she said instead. “I’m in.”

Nightwing grinned. “Astrous. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Distraught

Gotham City
March 14, 19:02 EST
Team Year Four

“First things first,” said Nightwing. “Inventory.”

The two of them were standing in the darkening alleyway, surrounded by battered and abandoned produce. Artemis blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and made a face.

“I’ve got nothing.”

“You’ve got your fists and your reflexes,” said Nightwing. “Have you kept up your training?”

“Not quite as intensively as when I was on the team, but I still work out. You’re looking at one of Stanford’s martial arts champs.”

“Good. You’ll be able to give most people a run for their money if you can still spar like you did when you were on the team.” Artemis shelved the compliment away for later; it wasn’t every day that Nightwing praised just anyone on their hand to hand fighting technique. “As for me,” he continued, “I’m missing my costume, but I’ve got my utility belt, wrist computer, and earpiece. Not that the last two are any good at the moment,” he muttered.

“Utility belt is good, though,” said Artemis. “Why do you have that and not your costume?”

“I never go anywhere without the belt. You never know what might happen.”

“Ah, there’s that Bat paranoia again. I’ve missed it,” said Artemis glibly.

“Ha, ha. Come on. Let’s walk and talk,” said Nightwing and set out at a brisk pace out of the alley. “The first thing we’ve got to figure out is how whoever did this managed to…do this. A simultaneous system failure of this magnitude is unprecedented.”

“Could it be some sort of large-scale EMP pulse, like the one we used at the Cave?” asked Artemis, referring to the time she and Robin fought off Red Torpedo and Red Inferno at Mount Justice.

“Not likely,” said Nightwing, pulling out his iPhone. He hit the home button, illuminating the screen. “There’s nothing wrong with individual pieces of hardware themselves. They just can’t access any of the networks. I thought at first it might just be a result of the power outage—enough cellular providers could have lost power that the remaining functional towers were overloaded.”

“But a power outage shouldn’t affect the radios or your earpiece. Not to mention the internet.”

“Exactly. And not just those—telephone landlines aren’t working either, and those aren’t reliant on the power grid. It’s possible that whatever caused all this came from a physical attack somewhere—especially with the power grid. But the rest?”

“It doesn’t seem likely that someone could coordinate so many physical attacks.” said Artemis, understanding. “Could we be dealing with a hacker, or some sort of virus?” she asked.

“Maybe,” frowned Nightwing. “They’re both plausible. Whatever it is, it probably caused some sort of cascading effect. But I don’t know how whoever did this could simultaneously disrupt everything. Honestly, it’s like living in the dark ages,” he said, staring ruefully at his phone.

Artemis snorted, despite herself. “Isn’t it just my luck to end up with the technology addict during a technological catastrophe? You’re either going to be the key to fixing this or a pain in the ass the whole time.”

“I could be both,” he said, flashing a grin. Artemis rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the edge of her mouth from quirking up into the beginnings of a smile. “Whatever’s gone wrong, I think the key to fixing it is going to be getting back online,” he continued. “The only way to cause an internet failure like this is through software somehow.”

“Okay, but how are you going to do that? Internet’s down city-wide.”

“Just because internet’s inaccessible at the moment doesn’t mean it’s disappeared,” said Nightwing. “It’s like I said earlier; the Batcave’s security features may have protected the system from being corrupted. It’s possible I can get online from there.”

“And if not?” asked Artemis.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Regardless, getting to the Batcave is the first step.”

“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” said Artemis. “But there’s something bothering me. I was walking around the city for nearly an hour and there was no sign of the League anywhere. There’s no way that the Watchtower didn’t notice Gotham go dark. So why haven’t they sent anyone down? They have to know that the GCPD alone won’t be able to handle this situation.”

Nightwing frowned. “I’ve been wondering that myself,” he said darkly. “It is possible that this is just a side-effect of something bigger the League is already dealing with.”

“Maybe,” said Artemis, “but what if this is bigger than Gotham? Maybe the League isn’t here because they’re needed everywhere.”

“I’ve thought of that too,” said Nightwing quietly. “Look, Artemis,” he said, turning to face her and drawing her to a halt. Underneath his sunglasses his face was serious. “I want you to know that I trust you.” He scratched the side of his head and fingered the edge of his sunglasses. He was glancing downward, toward the ground while he searched for his words, but Artemis was distracted by a reflection caught in his sunglasses. There was something on the roof behind her…

“I don’t tell this to just anyone, but—”

“DOWN!” shouted Artemis, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him to the ground.  Gunfire pinged off the concrete behind where Nightwing had been standing. In a few quick movements Nightwing registered the gunfire and the shooter, then grabbed Artemis’s wrist and pulled her down a side street.

“Isn’t this just our luck,” said Artemis haltingly as she ran. “First a communications emergency, now a freaking sniper. How the hell did he know to target us?”

“Did you see who the shooter was?” demanded Nightwing, hurtling around a corner.

“No,” said Artemis, who was right on his heels. “Just a shadow in the reflection of your shades.”

Nightwing came to an abrupt halt and stopped Artemis from turning the next corner by thrusting an arm in front of her. He put a finger to his lips. Peering carefully around the corner, the two of them could see a pair of gunmen approaching down the alley. “This way,” whispered Nightwing, and set out down another side street.

“Mr. Grayson!” a voice echoed down the alley. “We know you’re here. Come out and we won’t have to hurt the girl.”

Artemis glanced at Nightwing, who had gone considerably paler. “Robin, what—” she said, unthinkingly.

Nightwing clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t call me that,” he breathed.

Artemis wrenched his hand away with a scowl, “Sorry, Nightwing—”

“No,” he whispered. “They can’t know who I am.” He grabbed her arm and towed her away only to pull her back behind a dumpster as two more armed assailants, a man and woman, approached from the other distant end of the alley.

“I don’t even know who you really are,” whispered Artemis exasperatedly. “I can take the two on the left if you get the two on the right—”

“No, you don’t understand. Listen to me,” he said, his grip on Artemis’s arm tightening. “I don’t know how, but I must have had a tail since I left campus—”

“Campus?” demanded Artemis.

“Stupid!” he said, ignoring her, “amateur mistake!”

“Hey!” she said and grabbed the sides of his head, forcing him to look at her. “Get traught, or get dead, remember?”

The agents were nearly upon them. It was act now or get killed; Artemis chose to act.

She sprang out from behind the dumpster; Artemis dodged a blow from a female assailant, swung her leg out and dropped, sweeping her opponent off her feet. Her gun flew into the air and Artemis caught it, then charged the male gunman. Her second opponent fired a few short blasts that Artemis avoided by feinting to the left and then going right, and then slammed the butt of her rifle against her enemy’s jaw with a resounding crack.

Artemis spun around. Her first opponent was just getting to her feet. Behind her, Nightwing was only just barely dodging his enemy’s punches. She didn’t have time to yell at him to get with the program though; her attacker was upon her. They exchanged blows while Nightwing backed himself further and further into a corner. At what appeared to be the last moment, he suddenly jumped up, lithely catching the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder and slamming his feet into the chest of his first opponent. The man fell backwards and hit his head on the concrete; he was out cold. Nightwing flipped himself onto the fire escape platform in an overly acrobatic move and fled to the roof, pursued by the second assailant.

Artemis tore her attention away from Nightwing to dodge a blow from her attacker. He was going to have to take care of himself for now. But what was he playing at? She knew how well Nightwing could fight. Why wasn’t he going on the offensive? Why was he running away?

Gotham City
March 14, 19:18 EST
Team Year Four

Dick flipped onto the edge roof, landing in a crouch before springing away again onto the tiles. He wasn’t worried about Artemis, he knew she could handle herself. He was worried about himself.

The gunman had called him Grayson. Which meant that somehow, he’d been followed since he was on campus earlier that day. How much had his assailants heard? But no, they couldn’t know he was Nightwing. If they had been close enough to overhear his conversation with Artemis, he knew he would have spotted them. Plus, if they knew they were dealing with two affiliates of the Justice League, they would have brought more reinforcements. That only left one conclusion; whoever these people were, they were after Dick Grayson, not Nightwing, and the most important thing was making sure they never connected that those two were the same person.

And Dick Grayson was certainly not known for his fighting prowess. At Gotham Academy, Dick had let bullies push him around for the sake of maintaining his secret identity; his only satisfaction had been that time he had embarrassed Bobby Bolton by soundly humiliating him in the gymnastics competition in gym class. But everyone knew Dick Grayson was a circus brat, and right now, that was the only weapon in his arsenal that he could rely upon. Dick Grayson the acrobat; it would have to do.

Dick sprinted along the rooftop as his attacker clambered onto the roof behind him. Without pausing to look back, Dick leaped and grabbed the vertical pole of an antenna, his momentum swinging him around in a 180 and his feet connected squarely with his opponent’s chest, knocking the larger man backward. Dick lightly leapt free and ran back in the direction he’d come. He wanted to get Artemis at his back; his attackers might buy a couple lucky hits from the acrobatic Dick Grayson, but he wasn’t sure how much he could really get away with before it became suspicious. But before he could reach the roof ledge, a new opponent appeared from the shadow of a chimney. Dick mentally scolded himself. It was the original shooter. He should have counted on a fifth attacker making an appearance.

“Mr. Grayson,” said the shooter, coming out of the shadows. He was a tall, heavily muscled man wearing a smooth, white mask. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to be accompanied by a bodyguard. I’d quite like to know how you summoned her after the blackout. But it’s no matter.”

“What do you want?” demanded Dick. Inwardly, he was relieved. If the shooter thought Artemis was a bodyguard, then he surely didn’t know Dick was really Nightwing.

“Revenge,” replied the masked man.

Dick blinked. Could he be wrong about the villain having discovered his identity? “Revenge for what?” he asked. Dick didn’t like the way the man was slowly approaching him and was mentally calculating how he could leap over the edge of the roof, grab the fire escape railing, and flip down to the ground. He knew he could do it, but he also wanted to know who this masked shooter was.

“It’s nothing personal, Mr. Grayson. But your—guardian—do you call him your father?” he asked, registering a flicker in Dick’s face, “Mr. Wayne. He made some disparaging remarks about our organization, and I’m sending him a message. It’s a shame really, you clearly have such potential. But Mr. Wayne snatched you away from us when you were young. Another one of his transgressions.”

Dick was slowly edging to the side, trying to get in the best position for his escape. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“We watch you at your hearth, we watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word about us, or we’ll send the Talon for your head,” growled the man, raising his gun. “I am of the Talon. And I’m here for your head.”

Dick had heard enough; he lunged for the edge of the roof as the masked man leaped forward, missing him by a hair. Dick pushed off from the edge of the roof, arms outstretched. He could see his target ahead of him, but before he could grip the steel bar a shot cracked loudly and Dick felt a piercing blow to his side. He screamed and fumbled the handhold. Desperately he grasped for the railing, but he’d missed his chance, he was falling…

Gotham City
March 14, 19:21 EST
Team Year Four

A shot rang out and Artemis took advantage of her opponent’s momentary distraction and swung a piece of steel piping she’d procured into her opponent’s stomach. Her attacker stumbled back and Artemis delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of her head; her attacker was down. Artemis looked around for the source of the shot. What she saw made her throat dry up.

Nightwing was lying on the alley floor, crumpled and bleeding. Above him, a heavily muscled man in a white mask was leisurely making his way down the fire escape toward Nightwing, an automatic rifle dangling from one hand.

“No,” breathed Artemis, and started running toward her fallen teammate. But she could see that she was too far down the long alley. The masked man would get there first.

“Apologies, Mr. Grayson,” the man said as he stood over Nightwing and trained his rifle point blank on his forehead. “It’s a shame it all had to end like this.”

“Hey!” screamed Artemis. The masked man looked up, startled, and barely blocked Artemis’s blow from the metal pipe, hissing in pain as it connected with his forearm, his firearm flying out of his grip. She didn’t give him a chance to go on the offensive, instead aiming a kick toward his undefended side. But before her foot could connect, the masked attacker hooked his free arm around her leg, sending her spinning to the ground. She caught herself from face planting, the metal pipe skittering out of her grip across the alley. Her attacker aimed a kick at her side, but she quickly pivoted her weight onto one arm, sweeping her legs under his and sending him flying to the ground as well. She used her momentum to swing her feet underneath her, but before she could gain the advantage the masked man sprung forward, his fists flying toward her. There followed a series of quick blows which Artemis barely defended; he was much larger than she was, and he moved so quickly that she couldn’t get into a solid stance to go on the offensive. Artemis realized that she couldn’t win this fight on strength alone. She needed her weapon back.

She allowed the masked attacker to force her back, letting him think he was winning. Finally, she spotted the pipe out of the corner of her eye, laying just a few feet to her right. Artemis feinted back and to the left, forcing her opponent to lunge forward, his left arm swinging toward her. But rather than block or dodge the blow, she ducked under it, somersaulting toward the fallen pipe and picking it up mid-tumble. By the time he turned to face her she was already on her feet, the pipe swinging toward his head.

He dropped instantly.

Though it seemed like it had been longer, the fight had lasted less than a minute, and they’d traveled only a few short feet from where Nightwing was still laying on the ground. Artemis shakily dropped to her knees between the two fallen men. To her relief, both were breathing. “Wing,” she said softly, “Nightwing, wake up.” She gently patted his cheeks in an effort to revive him.

“Artemis?” he wheezed. “Fell…ungghh.” He clutched his head with one arm; the other appeared to be broken.

“It gets better,” Artemis replied, masking her fear with false bravado. ”You’ve been shot too.”

“Where’s…Talon?”

“He’s out cold,” said Artemis, assuming he was referring to the masked man. “They all are. Come on, I need to stop the bleeding.” Artemis pulled Nightwing’s shirt away from the wound with shaking hands; it looked bad. Swallowing her anxiety, Artemis went over to the unconscious assailant and tore long strips from his shirt; let him freeze, he deserves it, thought Artemis. She wrapped them around Nightwing’s torso as tightly as she could, but the makeshift bandages soaked through with blood too quickly. “Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital,” she said.

“No,” he groaned, “I’ve…had worse…Batcave has…everything I need.”

“Yeah, well, the Batcave is too far away, and I don’t know how to get there” she snapped, and was surprised and horrified to feel tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She brushed them aside angrily. “And if I don’t get you somewhere, you’re not going to be around to give me more stupid directions that I don’t understand.”

“Okay,” he said in barely above a whisper. “I trust you.”

“Okay,” agreed Artemis. “Can you walk?” No response. “Hey!” she said, and slapped his cheeks lightly again, but Nightwing didn’t wake. “Shit! No, no, no!” Artemis sat in the alley, and all at once she was fifteen again and sitting in a busted and broken air vent in the Cave, watching her teammates die.

Get traught, or get dead. The thirteen year old Robin’s voice echoed in her head. She’d said those words herself only a few minutes ago to him, only now she had to get traught or it was Nightwing who might die. No time to think. No time to worry about what might happen.

Artemis hauled Nightwing over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and began to run. She didn’t even notice when his sunglasses slipped off his nose and clattered to the pavement behind her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Identity Crisis

Gotham City
March 14, 19:37 EST
Team Year Four

Artemis ran down increasingly widening but deserted streets toward what she hoped was a more populated area. As Nightwing had led her away from the Zeta-Tube and toward the Batcave they had entered an area of Gotham that Artemis was relatively unfamiliar with. It was truly dark now, and Artemis was relying on her inherent sense of direction to get her to where she wanted to be. Nightwing was draped limply over her shoulders, his blood sluggishly dripping down the arm she held in front of her in the fireman's carry.

Artemis came abruptly around a corner and found herself on a busy street. Busy may have not been quite the right word; the road was blocked with abandoned gridlocked cars, but the sidewalk was full of pedestrians attempting to reach their destinations. "Help!" croaked Artemis. She didn't know how far she had carried Nightwing, but she was sure it was far further than the prescribed 50 feet of the fireman's carry. "Please!" she panted, and slipped Nightwing down off her shoulders and on to the pavement.

There was a shout and a gasp, and soon a small crowd had gathered around Artemis and Nightwing.

"What happened? Were you mugged?"

"Give him some air!"

"Someone call 911!" someone shouted foolishly.

"He's been shot," gasped Artemis, catching her breath. "And he's losing a lot of blood. I don't know what to do." Nightwing was still breathing, but Artemis didn't know how much blood he could lose before things got more serious than they already were.

"What's going on over here, move aside!" came a stern female voice. A bicycle patrol officer pushed her way to the front of the crowd, then dropped down to kneel beside Artemis. "How long ago did this happen?"

"I don't know—ten minutes? Fifteen?" panted Artemis. "We were in an alley—there was no one around to help, I had to carry him here."

The officer instinctively reached for her radio, then swore and dropped her hand. "Is anyone here a doctor?" she called. No one spoke up. "Okay, here's what we're going to do," she said to Artemis. "Stay here with the victim and do your best to slow the bleeding. We've set up rendezvous points throughout the city to try and manage emergencies—I'm going to bike to the nearest one as fast as I can, and they're going to send an ambulance. Your friend is going to be alright ma'am, okay?"

"But the road is blocked, how's an ambulance—" But the officer was already gone, zipping away on her bicycle.

Artemis turned back to Nightwing, who was growing paler. Someone in the crowd handed her a thick sweater; Artemis bunched it up and pressed it as firmly as she could against the wound. Come on, Nightwing, she thought desperately. Please hang on. She became dimly aware of whispers coming from the small gathering of spectators.

"Is that who I think it is?"

"I can't tell, his face is all banged up."

"Are you recording this?"

"Hell yeah! I'm selling this to TMZ when everything's back to normal."

Artemis heard the comments and filed them away in the back of her mind. She couldn't focus on them right now though; she had to make sure that Nightwing came out of this ordeal alive. Her attention was intensely focused on the bullet wound in Nightwing's side. Would the officer be fast enough? And how could an ambulance possibly get here?

"Everyone, clear the sidewalk, move aside!" It was the bicycle patrol officer again, her voice booming over the crowd. "I need the area cleared! Move! Now!"

The spectators scattered as the sound of sirens began to grow louder. Artemis looked up from Nightwing to see a patrol car that had mounted the sidewalk and was blaring down toward her. It stopped short of where Artemis and Nightwing were and a patrol officer clambered out.

"What about an ambulance?" said Artemis.

"There weren't any at the rendezvous point. But the patrol car will get you and your friend to the hospital. Let's go!" she called to the new officer. Artemis found herself steered into the backseat of the police car with Nightwing sprawled on the seat, his head resting on her knees. "Keep applying pressure to the wound, ma'am. You're doing great," said the officer steadily. "I'm going to go ahead and clear the way for the car." Artemis nodded and swallowed, once again pressing the sweater into Nightwing's side. Soon, the car was moving along the sidewalk, sirens howling, and Artemis was alone with Nightwing in the relative darkness of the back of the patrol car, the only light coming from the flashing red and blue lights above them.

Artemis shakily looked Nightwing over. For the first time, she noticed that his sunglasses were missing, but he had a nasty looking bruise growing on the left side of his face. Right now, and with his eyes closed, he hardly looked different than he did with his mask on. Artemis cautiously looked up at the officer in the driver's seat. His attention was focused solely on avoiding inattentive pedestrians on the path ahead of him. Keeping one hand firmly pressed over his wound, Artemis cautiously reached inside Nightwing's coat to the inner pocket. Her fingers brushed the coiled metal of Nightwing's utility belt. Why hadn't he used it? She wondered. Especially after going on how important it was to be prepared. She slipped the utility belt out of Nightwing's coat with a silent apology and slipped it into her own pocket.

Next, Artemis tilted Nightwing's head and removed his earpiece, which was still lodged in his right ear, and then reached gingerly to his broken left arm and unstrapped his wristwatch, which was really his wrist computer in disguise. She slipped them both into her coat pocket alongside the belt, feeling like a traitor. She knew that Nightwing's identity was his most important secret; it wouldn't do for a nosy nurse to discover these items among his effects at the hospital, but it still felt horribly wrong to be taking them from him. She shook the doubt from her mind. Her mission for the rest of the night was clear to her; firstly, keep Nightwing alive. Secondly, protect his identity. If only she knew what it was, it might be easier to protect.

Her mind flitted over the odd comments from the spectators on the sidewalk, the way Nightwing had paled when the masked assassin had called his name. But he hadn't called for Nightwing, had he? It must have been his real name. What had he said? Mason? Jason? She couldn't remember. But that must have been the reason for Nightwing's cryptic warning about his identity and why he'd been fighting so poorly.

His real name. It seemed to Artemis like everyone knew it except her. Still keeping a firm pressure on the wound, Artemis did a final search of his pockets. She was hoping to find a wallet, but it seemed like Nightwing wasn't carrying one. So she continued searching until she found what she was looking for; Nightwing's iPhone. Artemis hesitated with her thumb over the home button. Nightwing had said he trusted her. But did that give her the right?

Desperate times, she thought ruefully, and pressed the button. Passcode or thumbprint required flashed the screen. Giving one last silent apology, Artemis pressed Nightwing's thumb to the home button and the screen bloomed to life.

"We're here, get ready to move!" called the officer from the front seat. Artemis quickly slipped the unlocked phone into her pocket alongside Nightwing's other possessions as a hoard of doctors and nurses descended on the backseat of the patrol vehicle.

As the door to the car was wretched open, Artemis was nearly blinded by the lights glaring from the hospital. She blinked her eyes furiously as she relinquished her hold on the sweater at Nightwing's side and clambered out of the car. The doctors had transferred Nightwing onto a gurney and were busy poking him with needles and checking his pulse. The team of doctors was shouting questions at her.

"What's his blood type?"

"Is he allergic to penicillin?"

"Is he taking any medications?"

"I—I don't know," stammered Artemis. "I'm just his friend—I don't know."

Artemis found that she was shaking violently. "It's okay, you made it," said a firm, warm, voice off to her right. Artemis felt herself being guided by the elbow into the cool, bright hospital. "Your friend's in the best care he can be now, okay? Take a seat. I'll get you a glass of water." The firm grip on her elbow guided her into a smooth pink plastic chair in the lobby of the hospital.

"Can you tell us anything about what happened?" said a second, male voice. "Who's your friend? It'll really help the doctors. They might have some records for him on file." A plastic cup of lukewarm water was thrust into Artemis's shaking hands. The water splashed over the rim of the cup onto the floor.

"She's clearly in shock," murmured the male voice.

"Just give her a moment," said the warm, female voice from earlier.

"No—No, I'm fine," said Artemis, and took a shaky sip of water. "How come the lights are on? Is the blackout over?"

"'Fraid not," said the female voice. Artemis looked over and saw that it was a middle-aged woman with soft brown curls and light brown skin. "Most hospitals are equipped with backup generators—and a good thing, too. But the internet and all communications are still down." She smiled at Artemis, not unkindly. "I'm Detective Hernandez of the GCPD, and this is Detective Buckley," she said, gesturing to a shorter, stocky man on her left. He was a white man with a blunt nose, black hair, and a ruddy complexion. "We've been assigned to Gotham General to take statements for anyone coming in involved with any crimes—muggings, harassment, or assault. We need to ask you some questions."

"First of all, your name?" asked Buckley.

"Artemis Crock," replied Artemis.

"And the name of the victim?" Artemis hesitated. She wasn't ready. She didn't know yet.

"Artemis," asked Hernandez gently.

"I—" Artemis started, unsure. Come on, Artemis, she thought. Stay traught. You got this. "I—I think I'm going to be sick," she said, jumping up. "Where's the bathroom?"

"Wait—" said Buckley, and taking her shaky hand in his, deftly swabbed under each of her finger nails, and then dropped the evidence into a plastic bag. "Okay," he said. "You can wash your hands now, while you're at it."

"This way," said Hernandez, leading her down the hall. "I'll be outside if you need anything." There was a hint of a warning in her voice. Don't try and run away, it said.

Artemis slipped through the door and walked over to the sinks, staring at her haggard reflection in the mirror. She was pale, clearly exhausted, and there was a smear of blood across one cheek. Artemis looked down; her hand was covered in blood. She lifted Nightwing's phone out of her pocket; the whole time since she'd gotten out of the police car, with the exception of when Buckley had swabbed her hands, she'd kept one hand in her pocket, her thumb tapping a steady beat on the glass of the iPhone to keep it from locking. Carefully, she pulled a length of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped the glass clean. Then, with one hastily cleaned finger, she went to the settings and disabled the passcode and thumbprint lock. Now she didn't have to worry about losing access to the phone. Then Artemis turned on the taps and began washing the blood off her shaking hands. Maybe she was in shock, after all.

When that was done, Artemis locked herself in the furthest stall from the door and examined Nightwing's phone. What could she use? Her first instinct was to check the buttons for social media or email, but she knew those would be dead. She halfheartedly hit the Facebook icon knowing it wouldn't work, only to be met with an endlessly turning wheel. She minimized the app and went back to the drawing board.

Artemis tapped the contacts icon, then hit the favorites:

Bruce

Alfred

Home

Barbara

Wally

Tim

It didn't surprise Artemis that Batgirl and Nightwing knew each other in their civilian lives, but Wally? Artemis glared at the name. Of course it would turn out that Wally knew Nightwing's secret identity all along. She'd suspected it before, but it still chafed that Wally knew what she didn't, especially now that she needed to know. Artemis pushed aside her frustration for the time being and looked at the remaining names. If Wally and Barbara were on Nightwing's civilian phone, then might Batman? Artemis would have bet money that she was staring at the names of at least some of what she and Wally jokingly called the "Bat Family" when no one else was around. But first names alone were useless. It occurred to Artemis that even if there were last names, it still might not be very enlightening. Odds were that she'd have no idea who Nightwing was even if she did find out his name.

But…Nightwing's secrecy didn't mesh with him having an anonymous civilian identity. Everyone else on the team had revealed theirs relatively easily. Artemis herself was so much of a nobody in real life that she could use her real name as her heroic alias and have no one connect the dots. Plus, there were the comments from the spectators on the sidewalk. Clearly, Nightwing wasn't a nobody.

Artemis closed the contacts and opened up the texting app. Texts may not be functional right now, but she could still read the history. The first conversation at the top was with Wally and it didn't reveal anything; it was limited to generalities and Wally's anecdotes. She flipped to the next conversation. It was with Barbara, and Artemis was embarrassed to read some borderline inappropriate messages. As Artemis scrolled she saw that that Barbara referred to him as 'Hunk Wonder.' Artemis raised an eyebrow. Apparently, the nickname translated into their civilian lives as well.

There didn't seem to be any clues within that conversation, so Artemis flipped to the next one. Tim. Again, Nightwing wasn't referred to by name. She scanned the conversation hurriedly, but it felt like the two of them were talking about something without ever naming the specifics. It was frustratingly banal.

Next conversation. Bruce. This one was even more vague and imprecise. It was as though the two of them were speaking in code. Definitely a bat, thought Artemis.

The next few conversations were useless; there was one short and slightly flirty exchange with someone that was saved as "Jules from Econ," and another with "Ashley—gymnast." Artemis raised an eyebrow. It seemed like Nightwing was a bigger flirt than she'd realized. But neither woman addressed him by name.

The last conversation was from somebody named Jason. It, too, was vague and lacking in specifics, and ended with Jason saying "See you soon, shithead."

She flipped back to the list of texts, but that was all. Except for the last conversation, which was over a year old, Nightwing clearly didn't like to keep old conversations around.

There was a knock on the door. "Artemis?" called Hernandez. "Everything alright?"

"Yes," called Artemis. "I'll just be a minute."

"Okay," said Hernandez, satisfied that Artemis hadn't attempted to disappear. "I'll be right outside."

Quickly, Artemis returned to the main screen. The only other place she could think to look was in the photos. She didn't have a lot of hope; something told her that Nightwing wasn't exactly a selfie sort of guy. And even if he were, she was relying on him being recognizable enough to already know his name. But she pressed the app anyway and began scrolling through the pictures.

There were several pictures of Gotham by day; they almost seemed like scouting pictures. Then there were a few of Barbara, taken when the girl was gazing at something out of the frame while the sun lit up her fiery hair from behind. Artemis smiled to herself. There were a couple group shots of the Team, though none in Mount Justice or the Watchtower, and none in their costumes. For all intents and purposes, they looked just like a bunch of teenagers, not like the crime-fighters she knew they were. Artemis continued to scroll quickly through the photo library, pausing only when she saw people in the photos. She must have scrolled past hundreds of pictures and was about to give up when she saw it.

It was…her. Her and that scrawny freshman who had ambushed her on her first day at Gotham Academy. But that meant…

All the pieces simultaneously fell into place. Nightwing's guarded secrecy about his identity. The whispers from the gawkers on the sidewalk. And the echoing shout in the alley from their assailant—he had shouted "Grayson."

Nightwing was Richard Grayson.

Richard-fucking-Grayson, Gotham's youngest celebrity. Foster son of…Bruce Wayne.

Artemis groaned and shut her eyes. No way.

"That little shit," she whispered.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: We'll Laugh About This Someday

Gotham City
March 14, 22:17 EST
Team Year Four

Artemis locked the phone and slipped it back into her pocket before exiting the bathroom and submitting to Hernandez's and Buckley's questions. Artemis figured it should be okay to tell mostly the truth; after all, the assailants had been targeting Richard Grayson, not Nightwing, but she was glad when the questioning ended. It set her on edge.

As Artemis sipped on a warm cup of coffee that Buckley had brought her, a doctor appeared at the door. He was a tall, black man of medium build, wearing wire-framed glasses and lightly holding a clipboard. Hernandez and Buckley stood and walked to him briskly.

"Grayson?" asked Hernandez.

The doctor nodded. "He's stable, but he probably won't be awake for some time yet. I'm afraid you'll have to save your questions for later."

"I understand," said Hernandez. "Let us know as soon as he comes to. We'll be around. And I'm sending an officer to keep watch outside his room. Somebody wanted this kid dead."

"Any of his family here?" asked the doctor, glancing around the waiting room.

"No," said Buckley. "We've got no way to get a hold of Wayne and we don't have the resources to send a runner."

"Can I see him?" interrupted Artemis. All three of them turned to look at her, as though they'd forgotten she was there. "I'm not family, but…" she shrugged.

The doctor glanced at her and sighed. "Normally, I wouldn't allow this," he cautioned, "But it's not as though anyone else is here. Come on."

"I'm Dr. Lawrence," he said as he led her through the hospital corridors. "I hear that you're the young lady who ensured that Mr. Grayson reached the hospital tonight."

"I…guess so," said Artemis.

"It's a good thing you did. Your friend lost a lot of blood. Without a transfusion, he likely would have bled out and died. You're lucky he didn't have a spinal injury after that fall, or moving him could have made things a lot worse, but as it stands, you should know you probably saved his life tonight."

Artemis nodded. She knew Dr. Lawrence was trying to be positive, but it didn't make her feel much better. Finally, he led her to a private room. Artemis inhaled sharply, and slowly let out her breath when she saw Nightwing. Richard, she mentally corrected. He was lying on a bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and IVs. There was a significant amount of gauze wrapped around his head and an ugly purple bruise was blossoming over the left half of his face. His left arm was in a cast. A sheet was pulled up over his legs and torso, covering the bullet wound and any other damage he might have sustained.

"It looks worse than it is," said Dr. Lawrence.

"Do you know how long until he wakes up?" she asked.

"At this point, we let nature take its course. But my best guess would be sometime before morning."

Artemis nodded, and sank into the chair next to the bed as the doctor left. She glanced around the room, which was larger than most hospital rooms and nicely furnished. So these are the perks of being Bruce Wayne's son, huh? she thought. Must be nice. She glanced again at Nightwing—Richard—and then away again. She didn't like seeing him so…helpless.

What Artemis really wanted at the moment was to go home. Her mother was probably worried. And she was tired, and she needed a shower. But Artemis knew that what Hernandez had said was right; someone had tried to kill Richard Grayson. And they would probably try again. Artemis would have liked to put more faith in the capabilities of the GCPD, but right now they were overwhelmed and understaffed. Artemis had no way of knowing where Batman or any of the rest of the Bat Family was or if they even knew that Nightwing was injured.

So that left Artemis to keep an eye on Nightwing and make sure he didn't get killed. She groaned and rubbed her tired eyes. She wished Wally were here. She needed someone to cheer her up, someone to bounce her ideas off of. But she was on her own.

So, what did she know so far? First of all, Nightwing was Richard Grayson. That fact kept bouncing around in her head and pushing aside other thoughts. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more obvious it became, the angrier she got. She couldn't believe she hadn't figured it out! He'd invited her to his birthday party, of all things! She'd watched as the little brat played spin the bottle. Of course he'd really been Robin. A part of her had even suspected it at the time, but as time went on and Artemis accepted that Robin wasn't going to tell her his identity, she also accepted that it didn't really matter. Robin, Nightwing, whoever he was—he was her friend and teammate.

Which was exactly why she shouldn't be so irritated about it now. If she allowed herself to examine her feelings honestly, she would first acknowledge that she was embarrassed that she'd never put the pieces together and that he'd clearly been teasing her with his identity through the years. And then she would admit that she was angry that Wally knew and she didn't. And then after admitting that she'd have to acknowledge that really, under it all, she was just so angry and scared that Nightwing apparently valued keeping his identity a secret more than he valued staying alive.

Artemis pushed those thoughts aside for now and continued with her mental inventory. So, Nightwing was Richard Grayson. Clearly, that meant that Batman was Bruce Wayne. Huh. It really was a Bat Family. Artemis already knew that Batgirl and Barbara were one and the same—though exactly how she fit into the picture, Artemis wasn't entirely sure. Artemis whistled softly through her teeth. No wonder the bats kept their identities so tightly under wraps; if you figured one out, it was far too easy to figure them all out.

But what had happened tonight? The masked shooter—he didn't seem to know who he was really dealing with. At least it was clear that Nightwing hadn't thought so; it was obvious now that he'd been trying to mask his fighting prowess. Artemis wracked her brain for what little she knew about Richard Grayson—he may have been a minor celebrity, but she was never one for tabloids. She remembered him vaguely as the rich kid whose dad owned the Wayne Foundation—she'd automatically avoided him for the most part because as a scholarship student she didn't like acknowledging that his father was essentially paying her way through school. But Bruce Wayne wasn't Richard Grayson's father—not biologically, at least. She felt a little pang of sadness when she realized that what she had always suspected was true; Batman really was Robin's only family, not just his partner. She couldn't remember the details of what had happened to Grayson's family, but she remembered hearing somewhere that he had grown up in a circus, in a family of trapeze artists. That explained the uptick on the acrobatics tonight then. Nightwing had fallen back on a skill he knew no one would question Richard Grayson having.

That left the masked shooter himself. Why had he sent a party of five assassins to take out Richard Grayson? Artemis could come up with a hundred reasons why someone might want to harm Bruce Wayne's son, but she had no way of knowing if any of them were close to the truth.

And then there was the blackout. Could this be at all related? But why would anyone black out an entire city just to assassinate Richard Grayson? That didn't make any sense. In fact, the blackout hadn't really affected the ambush at all, except when it was over and Artemis had no way of calling for help. But if things had gone the way the masked man had intended, it wouldn't have mattered if Artemis could have called 911 or not.

So, was the ambush unrelated to the blackout? Probably. But if it was, that meant that not only did Artemis and Nightwing have a band of mystery murderers after them, but they still had to figure out a way to end the blackout. But why hadn't someone else solved it by now? Where was Batman? And where was the League? Over the past couple hours Artemis had tried to hang onto the hope that help was on the way, but as time ticked by she was forced to acknowledge that Gotham—and she and Nightwing—were on their own tonight.

Gotham City
March 15, 00:08 EST
Team Year Four

Artemis kept watch over Nightwing from the armchair across from his bed. She spent the first hour attempting to piece together various mysteries about the Richard Grayson-Nightwing connection; the Team's mysterious mission to Bruges to investigate Haly's Circus, not to mention Robin's prowess on the trapeze. The timing of Jason Todd's—Bruce Wayne's second foster son's—disappearance, who had been presented to the media as a troubled teen who had run away from home, and the death of the second Robin at the hands of the Joker. And the mystery of how Batman was able to develop and finance all of his equipment—Artemis still couldn't get over the fact that he was an actual billionaire.

After that, she spent time sifting through the events of the day and trying to formulate a plan to end the blackout, with no luck. She simply didn't know enough for certain about the situation to come up with a legitimate theory or plan. She decided that their original idea—getting to the Batcave—was still their best bet, but she couldn't leave Nightwing unprotected, not to mention that she didn't even know where the Batcave was. Or how to get in. Or if she even had the technical knowhow to do anything even if she did access the Batcave and its system. Artemis groaned and rubbed her temples. Clearly, the 'get to the Batcave' plan was on hiatus.

After that, Artemis's mind began to wander as she grew more and more tired; she tried reading an article in one of the magazines that were in the room. She wrote a long text to Wally that she knew she wouldn't be able to send and then deleted it. Throughout the whole time, Artemis was alert for any sign of their attackers returning to finish what they started, but all was quiet. Finally, just after midnight, she heard a rustle and a barely audible groan come from the bed. Slowly, Nightwing cracked open his eyes.

Artemis set aside her magazine and stood over the bed. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," she said.

"Ughh," he said, blinking. "Where'm I? What happened?"

"You got shot," said Artemis flatly, "and smacked your head after falling from a fire escape. And then I had to carry your sorry butt to the hospital, where we are now."

Dick reached up with his right arm and tentatively touched his left cheek. "Ouch," he said, sounding mildly surprised. It was sometime around then he seemed to realize he was no longer wearing his sunglasses. He looked down as Artemis tossed his phone onto his bed, the image of him and Artemis on her first day at Gotham Academy shining up at him.

"We'll laugh about this someday?" she said, her voice somewhere between frustrated and resigned.

"Ha?" said Dick.

"I wish you'd told me," said Artemis, slumping back into the armchair. "Do you know what I had to go through tonight?"

"I'm beginning to form a picture," said Dick, picking up the phone. "Did you go through my pockets?"

"Yes I did and I'm not going to apologize about it," said Artemis, working herself up. "I'm still getting over the fact that I had to break into my friend's phone to figure out his name just so I could be interviewed by a couple of cops without either looking like a criminal or a crazy person—"

"Artemis—"

"And I can't believe Wally knows! He's never going to let me live it down, how long it took me to figure it out—"

"Artemis! Stop!" said Dick, cutting her off. Artemis fell silent, instantly feeling guilty for snapping at him.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Artemis, it's fine. Really." Dick leaned back on his pillows and closed his eyes. "First of all, I don't want you to apologize. It was a smart move, hiding my stuff. The last thing I need is some orderly putting the pieces together. And secondly," he said, opening his eyes, "I'm sorry. But if you've figured out as much as I think you have, you understand why we're so tight on security." Artemis nodded. "Honestly, if it were just me, I would have told everyone on the Team by now," he sighed. "But it's not. And if it's any consolation, I was actually about to tell you right before the Talon showed up."

"Wait—you were?" demanded Artemis.

Dick shrugged his good shoulder. "It's kind of hard to go to the Batcave on foot and not figure out that it's directly underneath Wayne Manor. So, yeah. I was. Plus, it was time. I've been dropping hints for years."

"Yeah, I've belatedly put all that together," said Artemis darkly. "Trust me, it's not making me feel very clever."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. If it makes you feel any better, I've dropped just as many hints to all the other original Team members. Nobody else has figured it out, or if they have, they're keeping it to themselves."

"Except for Wally," said Artemis.

"Wally didn't figure it out," said Dick seriously. "I told him, when I was twelve. He was the first other young hero I met, and for the longest time, he was the only person outside my family who knew both my identities. It's harder than you might think," he said, looking up at her, "hiding part of who you are all the time. I needed a friend."

The fight went out of Artemis then. "Yeah," she said, looking down. "I get it. And I really am sorry for snapping at you. I guess realizing that I'd actually been fighting crime alongside Richard Grayson came as a bit of a shock."

He gave a small laugh. "That's the idea," he said. "Nobody would guess. And it's Dick. Nobody who actually knows me calls me Richard."

"Wait—really?"

Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and a nurse blustered into the room, closely trailed by Dr. Lawrence.

"I see you're awake," said Lawrence, approaching one of the monitors attached to Dick. "How are you feeling?"

"Just dandy," quipped Dick. "I think I'll go run a marathon."

"I see your sense of humor is intact, then," replied Dr. Lawrence. "That's good. But be serious with me for a minute first."

Dick shrugged his right shoulder. "I feel like I've been shot and dropped on my head," he said.

"That's more like it. I'm going to have to conduct some tests and go over the details of your treatment now—if you'd like some privacy…" Dr. Lawrence glanced at Artemis.

"No, she can stay," said Dick, cutting off Dr. Lawrence. Artemis settled back in the chair again and nodded subtly at Dick. She didn't like the idea of leaving him alone just yet—not when there could still be people out there who wanted him dead. It seemed Dick was thinking along the same lines.

"Okay, then," said Lawrence. "Let's check for concussion." He took out a small penlight and shone it into each of Dick's eyes. Satisfied, he sat back on a stool and asked Dick a series of common knowledge questions. When that was done, he began to go over Dick's injuries and treatment.

"You've been lucky tonight, Mr. Grayson," he said. "You seem to be functioning at full capacity, so your concussion isn't nearly as bad as it might have been. As for your gunshot wound, the bullet pierced the muscles of your abdomen but didn't enter the abdominal cavity itself."

"That's good," said Dick.

"Very good," agreed Lawrence. "I can't promise you would be here right now if your internal organs had sustained any serious damage."

Artemis swallowed hard. They'd been lucky.

"In addition, you've broken your left radius and cracked three ribs on your left side." The nurse pinned a few x-rays up and Dr. Lawrence spent the next few minutes detailing the seriousness of the breaks and outlining the prescribed treatment.

"That all?" asked Dick when he was done, cracking a small, anxious smile.

"That's good. Keep up your sense of humor, Mr. Grayson," said Lawrence. "Now, I've got a pair of cops outside who want to ask you questions. Do you think you can handle that right now?"

"Bring 'em on," said Dick, leaning back on his pillows. Dr. Lawrence and the nurse left, and Dick shut his eyes for a few moments, his face betraying his exhaustion. "Artemis," he said softly, after a moment. "Thank you."

"Hey, what are friends for?" she asked quietly.

He smiled weakly without opening his eyes. "Before I get interviewed, we should exchange notes. How much did you tell them?"

"The truth, mainly. Well, the redacted version."

"Okay. So why were we in an alley together?"

"Old friends from Gotham Academy catching up. We got lost after the cell service went out."

"Wow. We must have terrible senses of direction."

"Hey, I was put on the spot," said Artemis.

"Alright. Anything else I should know?"

"In this version of reality, I am way better at hand-to-hand combat than you are."

Dick gave a short laugh, but his smile drooped as they heard footsteps coming from down the hall. "Round two," he groaned, and opened his eyes as Hernandez and Buckley entered the room.

"Mr. Grayson, how are you feeling?" asked Hernandez.

"Peachy," said Dick, though Artemis detected less humor in his voice this time around.

"I'm Detective Hernandez and this is my partner, Buckley. We were hoping you could tell us what happened to you tonight."

"Just start at the beginning, and tell us everything you can remember," said Buckley, taking out a notepad and pen.

Dick took in a deep breath, and began. His story meshed with Artemis's memory until the point where he disappeared onto the roof.

"I thought I could lose them if I climbed. Born in a circus, and all that…" he said ruefully. "But there was already someone on the roof waiting for me. He was different than the others, he was wearing a mask." Dick paused, took a breath, and said, "He said he was of the Talon."

Hernandez and Buckley glanced at each other quickly. "Did he say anything else?" asked Hernandez.

"Yes," said Dick, frowning. "He quoted that nursery rhyme. The one about the Court of Owls." He looked up at Hernandez. "And he said he'd 'come for my head.'"

"Do you have any idea why the Court of Owls would be targeting you, Mr. Grayson?" asked Hernandez.

"No," said Dick.

"Wait—hang on a minute," said Buckley, and abruptly walked out of the room. Dick raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Hernandez didn't acknowledge him. A moment later, Buckley returned with a pile of old newspapers he had apparently gathered from the waiting room.

"I swear I just read this an hour ago…" he said, shuffling through the pile. Finally, he pulled out a specific page. "Here we go. I think this might have something to do with it."

He placed the newspaper down on the table next to Dick's bed. Artemis leaned over to read the headline: WAYNE CALLS COURT OF OWLS A 'PLAGUE ON GOTHAM'

"Huh," said Dick. "I hadn't read that one yet."

"You're saying that Dick nearly got killed tonight because his foster father made a couple negative comments in a newspaper?" demanded Artemis.

"The Court of Owls has killed for less," said Hernandez grimly. "And I don't doubt that they'll try again."

"In fact it's surprising that they haven't come to finish what they started already," added Buckley. "I'd wager that this blackout is actually doing you a favor right now, Mr. Grayson. It's probably impacted their organization as much as it has the GCPD's."

"In other words," said Dick, "You're saying you don't think they've figured out where I am yet. How long can that really be expected to last?"

"Not long," said Hernandez. "Buckley, stay here with Grayson. I'm going to get backup. He's going to need a 24 hour detail watching him."

Hernandez walked toward the door, but before she could get there, a young woman with bright red hair strode purposefully into the room.

"Dick?" she demanded, rushing toward the bed. "What the hell happened?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Enter Barbara

Gotham City
March 15, 01:14 EST
Team Year Four

"Okay," said Barbara, once she, Artemis, and Dick were alone in the room. "Would someone like to tell me what actually happened?"

Dick was sitting up in bed looking at Barbara, his facial expression somewhere between relief and apprehension. Detective Hernandez had left a few minutes previously to go collect reinforcements from the GCPD. Buckley, realizing that Dick and Barbara had some things to talk through, had hurriedly excused himself and was standing guard outside, along with another officer who had been stationed there a few hours earlier. One burning look from Barbara was all it took to get him to leave the room; he didn't want to get on the boss's daughter's bad side, after all.

Once Artemis got over the surprise of Barbara's—known to her as Batgirl's—sudden appearance, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. She and Nightwing weren't alone anymore. They had a third hero backing them up. It was time to exchange notes.

"What Detective Buckley said is actually pretty much the truth," said Dick cautiously. "Artemis and I were ambushed by five assassins from the Court of Owls. One of them got the jump on me."

"And how exactly," said Barbara, crossing her arms, "did that happen?"

"If you're wondering how I managed to get away without a scratch while Mr. Martial Arts expert over here ended up with a gunshot wound and a concussion, the answer is he wasn'tusing any of his expertise," said Artemis.

Dick glared at Artemis. "Hey, that's not entirely fair," he said, looking back to Barbara. "I had to protect my identity. You know that, Babs."

"By nearly getting yourself killed?" asked Barbara. "God, honestly Dick, sometimes you're such an idiot."

"Look, I'm not saying I handled it as well as I should have. Clearly, I didn't," he said, gesturing angrily to the hospital bed. "Do you think I wanted to end up stuck here during a crisis?"

Barbara sighed, and rubbed her temples. "Look—I'm sorry, Dick. But you had me seriously worried."

Dick's glare softened. "Really, you were worried about me?" he asked, smiling a bit more roguishly than Artemis thought the situation required. Artemis rolled her eyes. "Actually," said Dick to Barbara, his smile dropping, "how did you even know to come here?"

Barbara sighed and slipped her bag off her shoulder and dropped it at her feet, then perched herself on the edge of Dick's bed. "I was out to dinner with dad when the blackout hit. Of course, he immediately rushes down to the station to try and organize things—and he brought me with him. Said he didn't want me out of his sight until he figured out what was going on, as if I haven't proved I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself by now," she said, rolling her eyes. "But ending up there wasn't an entirely bad thing—the emergency response rendezvous points were my idea. I've been working with dad and the GCPD all night on coordinating emergency response without any comms. That's actually how I heard about you—during a debriefing of the effectiveness of the system, someone mentioned that the network had been used to rescue a shooting victim. But it wasn't until a couple hours later that word filtered down to me that it was you."

"And as for the other thing," Barbara said, taking Dick's hand in hers, "of course I was worried." Her expression softened as she met Dick's eyes. He gently squeezed her hand back.

Artemis shifted and glanced away. This felt more intrusive than if she'd walked in on them kissing. It was clear to her that Nightwing and Batgirl had feelings for each other—feelings that they seemed to be mutually aware of. A few months ago, she and Wally had had a disagreement on whether or not Batgirl and Nightwing had something going on or not. Wally was firmly of the opinion that their relationship was strictly professional. Artemis grinned inwardly. Wally owed her twenty bucks.

Dick's expression shifted and he gave a small smirk. "Babs, I never knew you cared so much," he said jokingly, easing them out of the moment of seriousness.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked back at him. "Don't get too cocky, Boy Wonder," she said, letting go of his hand. "Don't expect me let you off the hook just because you're injured. And don't try to tell me that an Owl assassin getting the drop on you had anything to do with protecting your ID," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You got out-stealthed," she said teasingly. "You must be slipping." Dick opened his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off by Barbara before he could say anything, and left with a mildly annoyed expression on his face.

"What I am curious about, though," she continued, slipping off the side of the bed to stand in front of Artemis as Dick rolled his eyes behind her, "is how you're involved in all this. I didn't even know you were in town. And how did you manage to find each other after the blackout? "

Artemis quickly explained why she was in Gotham, how she and Nightwing had run into each other outside the Zeta-Tube entrance, and their subsequent ambush. She also summarized her journey with Nightwing to the hospital, which Dick was also hearing in its entirety for the first time.

"Oh yeah, and there also might be a video of you bleeding out on a sidewalk showing up online…once online exists again," added Artemis when she had finished.

"You're serious, aren't you," said Dick. Artemis nodded, and Dick leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. "As if this weren't embarrassing enough already…" he complained.

"I think the last thing you need to be worried about is your dignity, Grayson," said Barbara. During Artemis's explanation, she had moved to the window and was peering down at Gotham's eerily dark skyline, backlit from the moonlight reflected on the water of the bay. "We've dealt with the Court of Owls before. They will try to finish what they started," she said, turning away from the window. "And I really don't like you laying here like a sitting duck."

"I'd love to get Dick to a safer location too, but how?" asked Artemis. "For all we know, this Court of Owls is already watching us, waiting for a chance to make a move."

"If I know anything about how the GCPD operates, and I do, I can tell you that they'll want to move him to one of their safe houses as soon as he's strong enough to leave the hospital," said Barbara. "But it won't work. The Court of Owls knows more about Gotham than nearly anyone else. Odds are they already know exactly where any safe houses are, if they aren't waiting to ambush us again, like you said."

"Besides which, none of us are any good to Gotham if we end up in a GCPD safe house," said Artemis. "And I think Gotham needs as many heroes as it can get right now."

Barbara nodded. "What we need to do is get Dick to the Batcave. It's safe, secure, and only five people in Gotham know where it's located. Or six, now that you're in on the big Bat secret," said Barbara, smiling at Artemis. "Welcome to the club, by the way."

"Thanks," said Artemis, smiling grimly. She looked over to Dick, who hadn't said very much in the past few minutes. It soon became apparent why; he was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling gently.

Barbara smiled softly in his direction. "Right now, our job is to keep him safe and keep the GCPD from trying to move him to an unsafe location. The rest will work itself out."

Artemis raised her eyebrows and looked over at Barbara. "Really?" she said skeptically. "I never thought you were one for blind faith."

"Not at all," said Barbara. "But lucky for us, I've got a secret weapon."

Artemis blinked, then looked from Barbara's mischievous smile to her bag, which was sitting at the redhead's feet. "Please tell me you mean what I think you mean," Artemis said, looking back to Barbara.

Barbara picked up the bag and unzipped it by a fraction, revealing a sliver of black and yellow fabric. When Artemis looked back up, Barbara's smile was reflected on her own face.

"Not to mention that as soon as Batman finds out that Dick Grayson has been shot, he'll be here within the same hour," said Barbara, zipping the bag up again.

"But do you think he will find out with the Blackout?" asked Artemis.

Barbara raised her eyebrows and gave Artemis a look. "Trust me, if you'd worked with Batman as long as I have, you wouldn't ask that question. He's Batman. He knows everything. He'll find out, one way or another. I just hope it's sooner rather than later."

"Don't get me wrong, I'd love the extra help, but we can't just sit around and wait for him either," said Artemis.

"I wouldn't dream of it," replied Barbara, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "I'm going to suit up and take a look around. See if the coast is clear or not."

"I'll stay with Dick," Artemis volunteered, even though she knew she didn't really have another option. One of them needed to stick close to him, and Batgirl was more equipped to patrol outside since she had her costume. "Apparently, the bad guys already think I'm his body guard. Might as well keep up the illusion."

Barbara nodded. "I'll check back within the hour," she said. "If I don't come back before then, it means I've found our enemy. You know what to do."

Artemis nodded. "I'll keep him safe," she said.

Barbara spared one last look at Dick, who was still propped up and asleep on his pillows, and then walked out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Meanwhile

The Watchtower
March 14, 18:09 EST
Team Year Four

"Recognized: Wonder Woman-Zero-Three."

"Evening, Diana," said Captain Atom, looking up from his work screen on the Watchtower.

"And the same to you, Captain," said Wonder Woman, walking down the steps from the Zeta-Tubes. "Batman," she said, nodding toward the direction of the caped crusader. He grunted his acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the holographic monitor.

"Thank you, Aquaman," he said through the communicator. "Continue monitoring the situation. I'll send an alpha squad of Aqualad, Aquagirl, Tempest, and Miss Martian to assist in the situation."

"Acknowledged," said Aquaman's holographic image. "But things are moving quickly. I may be forced to take action."

"Do what you need to," said Batman.

Aquaman nodded and disconnected the feed as Batman turned and began typing away at the neighboring console.

Wonder Woman stood behind him and propped one hand on her waist, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You know, I arrived to relieve you of monitor duty, not to watch as you work," she said.

"We have a possible developing situation," replied Batman, ignoring the question. "Patrols from Atlantis have spotted unknown agents staking out major submarine communications cables that run across the Atlantic Ocean."

"Those conduits enable connectivity between North America and Europe and Asia," added Captain Atom. "Losing them would cause serious trouble."

"Who could be behind such a plot?" asked Wonder Woman, striding over to the monitor, which was displaying a map of the information pipelines across the Atlantic. "Ocean Master? Black Manta?"

"Perhaps," said Batman. "But we have no definitive evidence. Aquaman is ready to take an open stand against the trespassers, but we need to understand their larger motive. I'm sending in the Team."

Batman began typing in the command, but before he could call the Cave the holographic screen suddenly flickered and reverted to sleep mode, showing only the revolving emblem of the Justice League. Batman narrowed his eyes and typed a command into the keyboard.

"Error. Signal has been lost," said the automated voice of the computer.

"What in the world…?" said Captain Atom. He rushed over to another panel. "This one's offline too!"

"Batman to Aqualad," said Batman, pressing his earpiece. No response. He frowned, and switched frequencies. "Batman to Robin. Come in." Silence.

"Zeta-Tube network now offline due to unknown connectivity issue," announced the cool, female voice from the Zeta-Tubes.

"How could all of our communications systems fail at once?" demanded Wonder Woman, trying another console. "Are we under attack?"

"There's nothing wrong with the system itself," said Batman, rapidly scrolling through layers of code on the screen closest to him. "The problem appears to be external." Batman turned toward another console, but stopped in mid-stride, spotting a sliver of the earth through one of the long, floor length windows that looked into outer space. Usually, one could gaze down on the earth at night and see a delicate map of the world, lights tracing a gauzy spider's web from one city to the next. The Watchtower was currently drifting over Europe, and at this time Batman would normally expect to see the continent lit up amid the wash of darkness. But that wasn't what he saw.

"I think we have a larger situation on our hands," he said, staring down at the planet.

Captain Atom and Wonder Woman followed Batman to the window and stopped, struck momentarily speechless.

"Hera, help us," whispered Wonder Woman.

The entire planet was dark.

"We need to contact the rest of the League immediately," said Batman, jumping to action. "Without Zetas or comm-links we'll have to take the shuttle down and round up everyone manually."

"Even if we split up, that's still going to take too long," said Captain Atom. "Without power, I can think of a dozen emergency situations happening on the ground."

"You're right," said Batman. "Which is why we won't be the ones doing it."

Palo Alto
March 14, 15:09 PDT
Team Year Four

"Listen, Wally, do your stupid reading, okay? I'll call you tonight."

"Fine. Love you, babe."

"I love you too. Bye."

Wally listened to the flat click that indicated Artemis had hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table, tapping his fingers restlessly against the wooden tabletop and eyeing his laptop distastefully. It was sitting at the corner of the table, covered in a pile of mail and other detritus that had accumulated in the couple days since Artemis had been gone. Wally thought about clearing it off and opening it for about a solid five seconds, then stood up and opened the refrigerator instead. Inside, there was a gorgeous coconut-cream pie, purchased by Wally, for Wally, earlier that day.

"Come to papa," he said, sliding the pie off the wire rack of the fridge.

It was pi day after all. What self-respecting science nerd wouldn't eat pie on March 14th? And just because he no longer used his super-speed as a hero didn't mean he no longer had a super-metabolism to contend with.

Five slices later, Wally found his gaze drawn guiltily back to the computer. Sighing, he leaned over and pulled the laptop across the table, scattering the surrounding papers onto the floor in the process. He needed to download the assigned reading from the course website, but when he opened up his internet browser, he found himself staring at a little pixelated dinosaur and the message 'Unable to connect to the Internet.' Frowning, Wally checked his wifi settings, tried another browser, and even attempted resetting the router, all to no avail. After a few minutes battling his computer for internet access, he sat defeated in the kitchen chair.

"Guess that's a perfect excuse not to do my psych reading," he murmured, eyeing the computer thoughtfully. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But I bet Professor Saterstrom won't see it that way…C'mon, Brucely!" he called. The white Pit Bull sat up from where he'd been curled up on the couch, his ears perked. "C'mon boy! We're going for a walk!"

Central City
March 14, 17:24 CDT
Team Year Four

"It's about time you guys showed up," said Flash, who was busy shepherding alarmed-looking civilians away from what looked like a horrific car accident in one of Central City's busiest intersections. He had managed to get all of the crash victims out of the wreckage before the truck, which had flipped over a couple times after the collision, had caught fire. He'd quickly realized that none of the usual emergency responders were coming and had rushed the victims to the hospital on foot, and then raced back to snuff the flames out with a whirlwind before the vehicle could explode.

In between all of this, he couldn't fail to notice that all the lights in the city had gone out—causing the aforementioned traffic accident—and that none of the usual methods of digital communication were working. Realizing he probably couldn't handle all the emergencies that might crop up in Central City—and probably Keystone City too—all by himself, he had tried contacting the Justice League, only to find that his League communicator was also not working.

Which was why he'd been so relieved when he'd seen a League shuttle touching down not far from where he was herding civilians and to see Batman, Wonder Woman, and Captain Atom come out of it.

"Seriously," he continued, "I was a little worried when I couldn't reach you guys on the comm-link, but now that you're here—"

"We won't be staying," interrupted Batman. "And neither will you."

Flash paused and blinked at Batman. "Correct me if I heard wrong, but did you just tell me I wasn't going to stick around when my city is facing a crisis? Sorry, but—"

"What Batman means to say," said Wonder Woman, "is that the crisis is not only in Central City. Right now, the earth is experiencing a world-wide Blackout."

"We came directly from the Watchtower," added Captain Atom. "It affords a pretty good view of the situation."

Flash blinked once, absorbing the information. He had about a thousand questions, but he was also quickly imagining all the different scenarios that would be caused by a worldwide blackout. None of them were good.

"Where do you need me?" he asked instead.

Wonder Woman smiled at him. "I'm afraid we will need you everywhere, Flash."

"Right now, the world is experiencing not only an electrical blackout, but a total communications blackout as well," said Batman. "So far as we can tell, that includes all cellular communication, all radio signals, and all online communication."

"Wait—you're telling me the radios aren't working?" asked Flash. "World-wide? How is that even possible?"

"We don't know yet, but we have more pressing issues before we can address the root of the problem. At any given moment, there are approximately 3300 planes in the air, all of which just lost radio communication with their control towers. Many of them will be able to land using visual signals, but many of them won't."

Wonder Woman shuddered. "I don't like to think of how many casualties there might be as a result of this crisis from those in the air alone."

"We've also got to think about the over 400 nuclear reactors worldwide that just lost power," added Captain Atom. "And pray that enough of them are able to initiate a safe shut-down process."

Batman nodded. "Captain Atom, you're in charge of ensuring the safe shut-down of any nuclear reactors you can. It's a big task, but I'm afraid you're the only League member we have that's equipped for the job."

Captain Atom nodded, taking to the air. "I'll spread the word that all reactors should begin safe shutdown procedures while they still have backup battery power. If anything starts melting down, I should be able to detect it and head straight for it. Wish me luck."

Batman spared a moment to watch the Captain fly off, then turned his attention back to Wonder Woman and Flash. "We need to get as many of us in the air as possible, as soon as possible. We should focus on the most highly trafficked airports. Diana," he said, turning to Wonder Woman.

"I know," she said, briefly touching his arm. "Dallas or Atlanta?"

"Atlanta," he said. "It may be farther from our current location, but it's the busiest airport in the world. Get there as fast as you can."

Wonder Woman nodded and took to the air, heading southeast.

Flash watched Diana quickly disappearing into the horizon, then turned back to Batman. "So that leaves you and me," he said.

"Not quite," said Batman. "Because all our communications are down, most of the League members, much like yourself, probably don't realize the extent of the situation. They'll be focused on smaller, local emergencies rather than looking at the big picture. Right now, nineteen League members are on-world, including Wonder Woman, Captain Atom, and ourselves," said Batman. "There are also eight current Team members. They all need to be contacted and organized."

"Let me guess: I'm going to be doing the contacting," said Flash.

Batman nodded. "I'm afraid you're the only way we have of communicating with each other at the moment."

"Messenger boy may not have been what I had in mind when I became a superhero, but I can see the situation requires it. Where to first?"

"Like I said before, we need anyone who can fly in the air. Find them first. We still need people at the other major airports throughout the world; Beijing, Tokyo, London, and Dubai take priority. J'onn should already be in Chicago—he can cover O'Hare. Try to get someone to Dallas, LAX, Hong Kong, and Paris if you can as well."

"Got it—what about the rest of the League?"

"Aquaman and any of the Atlantian Team members may be able to assist Captain Atom if any coastal nuclear reactors begin to meltdown," said Batman, "but Aquaman is currently in Atlantis. Unless he comes ashore, we most likely won't be able to get in touch with him. And as far as I last heard, he's already busy—he contacted me shortly before the blackout to report sabotage on major submarine communications cables."

"Should I send Aqualad, Aquagirl, and Tempest to assist?" asked Flash.

"Consult with them and use your discretion—you'll have the most information out of any of us soon. Besides that, there are plenty of other problems that come with a blackout—besides all the traffic accidents that are bound to have happened, combined with delayed emergency response, there are still countless trains and subways that rely on electricity. Remaining League members can handle what problems they see fit according to their abilities. There are going to be plenty injured or stranded civilians, and possibly mass panic and unrest."

Batman paused and considered mentioning the numerous other problems he could foresee; water purification and recycling plants would shut down, and eventually water distribution facilities. Basic infrastructure, like food refrigeration and delivery, would also begin to collapse within a few days. There would doubtless be looting and riots.

But many of those challenges would only arise in the next few days. Right now, the League had enough on its plate; they'd worry about those hurdles when and if they came.

"Alright, I'll spread the word," said Flash. He was poised to start running and practically vibrating with anticipation. "I just have one question," he said. "Where are you going to be?"

"Gotham," Batman said, already turning away toward the shuttle. "I'm going to figure out who's responsible for all this. You know where to find me."

Flash nodded, though Batman wasn't looking to see it. When he climbed into the cockpit of the shuttle, Flash was nothing but a red blur disappearing over the horizon.

Palo Alto
March 14, 15:49 PDT
Team Year Four

A half hour from when he set out, Wally was securing Brucely's leash outside of a local coffee shop. "I'll just be a minute, Brucie," he said as he scratched the dog behind the ears. "I'm just gonna go in, download my assignment, and then we can get walking again!" Giving the dog a final rub behind the ears, Wally walked into the coffee shop, only to find that all the lights were out.

"Whoa," he said and blinked, letting his vision adjust from the bright afternoon outside to the dim interior of the café. "Dude, what's going on with the lights?" he asked as he approached the counter.

The barista turned toward him from where he was wiping down the counter. "Power outage," he said, tossing the cloth into the sink behind him. "Sorry man, registers are down and none of the machines are working. Unless I can interest you in a cold brew…?"

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks. I actually came here to use your wifi."

"Oh, yeah, that's not working either. Not really sure what's going on…I tried calling building maintenance but even the phones aren't going through. We're probably gonna close up soon if the power doesn't come back on."

"Huh," said Wally, who was looking out the window at the other shops along the street. He hadn't noticed before, but all the lights were out in them too. "Sorry, did you say the phones aren't working? Do you have a landline?"

"No, it's not working either. Really bizarre—"

"Thanks for the help, man," said Wally, turning away.

"Yeah, no problem," said the barista, blinking. Wally was already out the door.

Psychology homework forgotten, Wally untied Brucely and set out at a brisk walk toward campus. It was possible that there was some sort of local outage, but the fact that even telephone landlines weren't working was setting off alarm bells in Wally's head. As he walked he fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly confirmed that all texts, calls, and internet capabilities weren't working.

Chill, Wally, he thought to himself. It's probably nothing. You're just looking for a crisis where there isn't one. The power will come back on, just like normal, and you're gonna be feeling pretty silly in a couple hours. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Maybe he'd been hanging around with Dick too much, but he had a feeling he should trust his gut on this one.

After a few more minutes walking, he was climbing up the stairs of a two-story complex and knocking on the door of apartment 2B. "Zane?" he called. "Are you there? It's Wally!"

A moment later, the door was wretched open and he was face-to-face with a young Asian man who was wearing a zip-up hoody, had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and was hauling a bicycle under the other arm. "Dude, Wally, what are you doing here? Sorry, I've gotta run right now, I've got class—"

"Is your power working?" asked Wally, cutting him off. "Because I just walked all the way from my place, through town, and I'm beginning to get seriously worried."

Zane eyed him and leaned his bike against the edge of the balcony outside his door. "Yeah, my power's out, just like everyone else's. Why is that making you 'seriously worried?'"

"Have you tried your landline yet?" asked Wally.

Zane snorted. "Who has a landline anymore, Walls?"

Wally rolled his eyes, irritated. "Well I have, and it's not working."

"So? Power's out. It'll probably come back on in an hour or two, it happens. It's, like, ridiculously warm for March this year, even for California. Something probably overheated somewhere—"

"Dude, landlines don't go out when the power does. The internet doesn't go out when the power does."

Zane leaned back against the doorframe, eyeing Wally critically. "So, you're saying…?"

Wally sighed exasperatedly and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Zane, but this is all seriously fishy. Not everything should just break down like this. Not all at once."

Zane nodded, then snorted. "Heh. It's kind of ironic, huh? Total technology failure in the heart of Silicon Valley? I wonder if it reaches to Mountain View. I'd like to see the Googlers right now."

Even though he could tell Zane was being facetious, Wally paused to consider it. The effects of a technology collapse in the heart of Silicon Valley certainly could be really damaging, especially to the local tech companies. But to what end? Who would actually benefit from shutting down all the power and communications in the area? Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe Zane was right and it was just a normal power outage, with side-effects. No way did this reach all the way to Mountain View. Still…it couldn't hurt to check…

"Look, Wally, thanks for dropping by and all, but I've gotta go—"

"Sorry, Zane," said Wally, cutting him off again. "But I'm calling in a favor."

Zane narrowed his eyes. "Is this the 'thanks for driving me to the airport' favor?"

Wally shook his head. "Try the 'sat up with you all night and made sure you didn't choke on your own vomit after you drank too much tequila while trying to impress Stephanie Park and utterly failed to do so' favor."

"Damn. Okay, what is it?"

"I need to you take care of Brucely for a while."

"Seriously?" asked Zane. "That's what you're calling in the favor for? How long do you need me to watch him?"

"That's the catch," said Wally, passing the leash over to Zane. "I have no idea."

Star City
March 14, 16:37 PDT
Team Year Four

The blackout went past Mountain View. Way past.

After leaving Brucely at Zane's place, Wally had jogged home again as fast as was believably possible if he were observed by a stranger. Once there, he went straight to the closet in the bedroom that he and Artemis shared, pulled down a nondescript suitcase, now covered in a thin layer of dust, from the top shelf and set it down on the bed, unlatched, and opened it. Inside, there were a couple each of his and Artemis's hero uniforms, as well as his goggles, a quiver full of trick arrows, and Artemis's retracted compound bow and miniature crossbow.

Hey, not everyone could afford a secret underground headquarters to hide their hero gear in.

Wally hesitated for a moment before touching the contents of the case. He and Artemis were retired. Sure, he missed the hero-gig some days, the rush of the wind through his hair and beating the bad guys, but he and Artemis had given it up for a reason. Maybe it was because they were older, and maybe it was because they wanted different things out of their lives now. But really, it was because they realized that being a hero came at a price. Missing out on opportunities in their civilian lives, the constant secrets, the risk to their personal safety…the list went on. And sometimes that price was too high.

It had been too high for Jason Todd.

On some level, Wally had always known he might die as Kid Flash, but before Jason, the possibility never seemed so real. And, although Wally had a hard time admitting this part even to himself, it wasn't just the fact that Jason had died. It was the fact that he died so anonymously, unacknowledged and unmourned by the general populace. Within the Team, nobody even knew his real name except for Dick, Wally, and Barbara. Even in death, as a hero, Jason never had his own identity. He was "the second Robin." As a civilian, he didn't even have the dignity of being buried in a graveyard, or of having an obituary in the newspaper. No one outside of Wayne Manor or the Justice League was allowed to know he had died. It was almost too much to think about some days.

Wally had been the only member of the Team outside of the Bat Family who knew Jason outside of being Robin. Who'd met the wayward kid before he was stealthy enough that he could sneak up on Conner, who'd helped him with his Chemistry homework, who'd taught him pickup lines in exchange for creative swearwords. The fact that he was dead, had been killed so brutally, and had been so young, well…

If that wasn't a wake-up call, what was?

Maybe he and Artemis just wanted a bit of normalcy in their lives. Or maybe they were afraid. No, forget that. Artemis wasn't afraid; she didn't have a cowardly bone in her body as far as Wally was concerned, at least not when it came to being a hero. So maybe he was the only one who was scared.

Wally picked up a fold of yellow, brushing his thumb over the fabric. He shouldn't be opening up this suitcase at all. Retiring was a decision he made with Artemis—putting the uniform back on was a decision he should make with her too. They'd retired for a reason. Was he overreacting? Maybe. Probably. But something just wasn't sitting right in his gut about the whole situation. Maybe nothing would be wrong, but he'd rather go out and check and feel a bit foolish later than sit around at home telling himself that everything was fine.

Okay, sure, part of him was afraid of dying as a hero. But maybe the idea of doing nothing when the world might need him scared him more.

He would just take a spin around, see what he could see. If nothing else seemed suspicious, he'd come straight home, and the uniform could go back in its suitcase where it belonged. If not…well. He'd let future Wally worry about that.

His mind made up, Wally donned the yellow uniform and then, as an afterthought, found a backpack and packed Artemis's gear as well. While he was still telling himself that there probably wasn't a problem and he'd end up coming straight home, he had the nagging feeling that nothing was going to turn out quite like he expected. Artemis may be across the country in Gotham, but for a speedster that was just a hop, skip, and a jump away. He adjusted the straps on the backpack, pulled his goggles over his eyes, and took off.

Wally sped out of Palo Alto, heading for one of the hills that bordered the city. He had to admit, he missed this. The golden hills dotted with California live oaks whipping past him into a green and yellow blur. The sweet spring air rushing in and out of his lungs. The feel of the pavement, and then the dusty dirt beneath his feet. It felt good. He didn't get the chance to run, really run, very often now that he was out of the uniform. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it.

It was difficult to assess the extent of the blackout, as it was still the middle of the afternoon and he couldn't easily tell if the lights were on or off, so Wally ran to the top of a hill where he could see as much of Palo Alto as possible. Adjusting the settings on his goggles, he zoomed in and quickly determined that all the stoplights were out, which would make for some pretty interesting traffic as rush hour approached. Knowing that the outage was at least city-wide, Wally sped off, following I-280 through the hills that ran along the highway, overtaking the speeding cars in a yellow and red blur.

Maybe it was because of what Zane said, but he headed south first, pausing to look out over Mountain View. It only took him a few moments to conclude that in was blacked out too. Not good, thought Wally, the tension in his stomach tightening. He set out again towards the south, leaving the highway when it entered a more urban area. He sped past Cupertino and did a circuit of downtown San Jose, and even looped down Highway 17 as far as Los Gatos. Everything in the South Bay was out. Wally sped up the East Bay as far as Berkeley, then crossed the bay and stopped to look down over San Francisco.

Dark. The power was all out, everywhere.

Maybe if it had just been the power, he could have believed it was an accident, an unfortunate oversight on the part of the power company. Hey, bigger blackouts had happened before right? Maybe if the internet were still working, maybe if he could get a signal on the comm-link that Dick had given him for emergencies, maybe if the landlines were working.

But that was too many maybes.

And that's how he ended up standing on top of a hill overlooking Star City, less than an hour after he locked the door of his apartment in Palo Alto, feeling the pit of dread in his stomach grow larger as he looked down on another darkened city.

Whatever was going on, it sounded like a job for the Justice League. If the entire Bay Area going dark wasn't cause for them to come investigate, he didn't know what was. And since he'd bothered to don the red and yellow again, he figured his best shot at finding a League member to team up with would be coming to Star City, home of Green Arrow and Black Canary.

Now all he had to do was find them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Meanwhile, Part II

Mount Justice
March 14, 18:09 EST
Team Year Four

"Hmmm," said M'gann, flipping through her cookbook. "Do you think I should make an apple pie or a cherry pie? I have ingredients for both."

"Definitely cherry," said Zatanna from the living room, where she was sprawled on the couch flipping through TV channels. "I don't like apples very much."

"Conner, what do you think?" asked M'gann.

"Either's fine by me," he said shrugging. He was sitting in the armchair, staring at the TV, bored, but relaxed. It was Friday; there was no scheduled training that afternoon and they hadn't had a mission in a couple days. Kaldur, Garth, and Tula had gone out to the ocean to practice their sorcery technique, and in early March the water was still too cold for the rest of them to join them. Conner thought about going out to the beach anyways and stretching his legs, but it was getting late and the three Atlanteans would probably be returning to the Cave soon anyways. For now, he was fine sitting in the living room watching Zatanna flip through channels and talking to M'gann. It was nice to get a break, every now and then.

"Maybe I'll make both…" mused M'gann as she pulled out ingredients and set them out on the counter. "We can invite Nightwing and Batgirl over to help us eat them, if they aren't busy," she added.

"Yeah, 'if they aren't busy,'" remarked Conner. "Barb might come, but Nightwing? He's never not busy. We only see him anymore if we have a mission or training."

"All the more reason he could use a break!" declared M'gann cheerfully, setting out two pie pans. "Just tell him he has to come over for a 'Team bonding exercise.'" Zatanna snorted appreciatively from the couch, and settled on a rerun of Project Runway.

"Ooh, I know," said M'gann, rummaging through the cupboard for a third pie pan, "I'll make one for Raquel too! I'll drop it off later tomorrow and visit her and Amistad," she said, referring to their third absent teammate and her two-month old son.

All of a sudden, the TV signal cut out and Heidi Klum was replaced by static.

"Hey!" said Zatanna, sitting up, "Conner, I was watching that!"

"Don't look at—" started Conner, but was interrupted when all the lights in the Cave cut off. After a second, there came a low hum from the hangar and the lights flickered once, and then were replaced by a low greenish glow that indicated the Cave was now running on emergency generator power.

"—me," he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Zeta-Tube network now offline due to unknown connectivity issue," said the automated voice from the Zeta-Tubes.

"That can't be good," said Zatanna, springing up from the couch. M'gann was already flying out of the kitchen and toward the hanger, her pie ingredients forgotten on the kitchen counter.

"Kaldur, come in, we might have a possible security breach," said Conner, keying his comm-link as he raced after his two teammates. "Kaldur? M'gann, I'm not getting a response on the comms!" he called out.

"I'll link us up psychically now," said M'gann. "Kaldur? Tula? Garth?" she called out telepathically.

"We're here," came Kaldur's steady voice through the mind-link. "What's happening?"

"Possible security breach," said M'gann. "Power's out, comms are down, and the Zetas have been compromised."

"Do not rule out the possibility of an attack, but be advised that we are not the only ones affected," said Kaldur.

"All of Happy Harbor has gone dark," added Tula, a note of awe in her voice.

Conner, Zatanna, and M'gann exchanged glances. While a localized power outage alone might have explained the lights going out, it didn't explain the Zetas malfunctioning. They still needed to tread carefully.

"It's possible that the Cave is the source of the outage," continued Kaldur. "If there is a saboteur inside, he or she may have caused a power surge that has affected all of Happy Harbor. Tula, Garth, and I are outside and ready to provide backup should you need it."

"Acknowledged," said M'gann.

They reached the entrance to the hanger and paused as Conner scanned the room for heat signatures. He glanced at Zatanna and M'gann and, still using the mind-link, said "I don't see any heat signatures inside, but people have gotten around that before."

"I'm going in," said M'gann, her features blurring and camouflaging as she drew up her hood. She took a deep breath and paused for the briefest of moments, and then phased through the door. M'gann had just begun to master density shifting a few months prior, and the technique was still relatively new to her.

There were a few tense moments of silence as M'gann did a sweep of the hanger. "It's all clear in here," she said after a minute, "unless we have an invisible saboteur. But I don't detect any mental presences."

Zatanna and Conner opened the door and cautiously entered the hanger as M'gann shifted out of camouflage mode and lowered her hood. "Laever tahw si neddih!" cried Zatanna at the empty room, but nothing happened. "Hey," she said, shrugging as Conner and M'gann glanced at her. "Better safe than sorry."

Mount Justice
March 14, 18:46 EST
Team Year Four

A half hour later, all six of them were gathered in the mission room. After determining that there was no saboteur, at least that they could find any evidence of, they had attempted to figure out what exactly was wrong with the Cave's power system and if the blackout in Happy Harbor really had emanated from a power surge in the Cave or if it was the other way around. They also tried reaching out to the Justice League but found that not only their comm-links, but also all communications from the mission room weren't working, nor could they access the internet. They'd spent the past thirty minutes running tedious system check after system check, and after all the tension of a possible breach of security, Conner thought the whole thing was pretty anticlimactic. He'd been ready to fight, and instead was stuck in the Cave surrounded by teammates who were quibbling over useless pieces of technology. He scowled.

"This doesn't make any sense," said M'gann, for what must have been the tenth time. "A power outage shouldn't affect communications like this. And before the power cut out, we lost the television signal. A localized power outage couldn't cause that."

"Not to mention the internet," added Tula. "And it doesn't look like any texts or phone calls are going through," she said, holding up a cellphone she had borrowed from M'gann.

"What concerns me the most is our inability to contact the Justice League coupled with the failure of the Zeta-Tubes," said Kaldur, frowning. "It suggests that this blackout is somehow targeted at us."

"But if we were under attack, wouldn't we be…under attack by now?" asked Garth. They all glanced at each other. He had a point.

"Ugh," said Zatanna, shifting her stance and rubbing her temples. "This is ridiculous. You'd think the Justice League would have tech support or something," she said irritably.

"I think Nightwing is the League's tech support," remarked M'gann lightly, running another system check on the nearest computer. "Or Batman, but I've never been brave enough to askhim to help me when I can't get my computer to work." M'gann smiled at Zatanna, the comment evidently meant to cheer her up, but Zatanna only scowled in frustration.

"I've had enough of this," said Conner. They'd been standing around for the past half hour poking at computers that weren't working, and he was getting fed up. And he had a headache.

"Me too," said Zatanna, surprising Conner a little. Usually when he stormed out in a bad mood, nobody else wanted to come with him.

Conner shrugged and walked over to Sphere, but before he got there, Kaldur placed a hand on his arm, holding him back. "I will not stop you," said Kaldur, "but I must request that you try to stay within M'gann's psychic range. We haven't yet ruled out the possibility that we are under some sort of attack. Without our comm-links, I'd rather not risk you running into trouble without the ability to call us for back-up."

Conner scowled and shook off Kaldur's hand. "I'm not making any promises," he said, and stalked off toward Sphere.

Conner whistled for Wolf as Sphere shifted into Super-Cycle mode, but frowned when Wolf didn't appear. "Wolf!" he called, and whistled again. After a moment, Wolf trudged around the corner toward Conner, a low growl rumbling from his throat. It was clear that the growl wasn't directed toward Conner or anyone else in the room, but seemed to be a general growl of unease. "Hey," said Conner. "What's going on?" But Wolf only shook his head back and forth, then shook out his whole body, and jumped into the front seat of the Super-Cycle. Zatanna was already in the Super-Cycle, eyes closed and massaging her temples. Conner shrugged again. Normally, he might have been more worried about Wolf's odd behavior, but right now he was having trouble focusing. His headache was getting worse and he just wanted to get outside, figure out what the trouble was, and maybe punch something in the process.

Kaldur rejoined the rest of the group as the Super-Cycle roared out of the Cave. His eyes fell on M'gann, who had a small frown on her face and was biting her lip as she watched the Super-Cycle fly away. Sensing his eyes on her, M'gann glanced over at Kaldur and saw her concerned frown reflected on his face.

"He hasn't stormed off like that in such a long time," she said softly, so only Kaldur could hear her. "I mean, he still gets impatient, that's just the way he is, but…" she sighed.

"I know," said Kaldur. "I had noticed that Conner has been less impulsive ever since Superman took him under his wing. This behavior is not like him…at least, not recently. Zatanna, too, is acting out of character."

"I don't sense any psychic intrusions…" said M'gann uncertainly. "Maybe it's nothing. They both just seem really irritated."

"Perhaps," said Kaldur, uncertainly. "And perhaps there is something larger at play."

Rather than improving his mood, Conner was feeling just as irritated as he had in the Cave now that he was out of it. His headache was still persistently pounding behind his temples, and between him, Wolf, and Zatanna, the tension in the Super-Cycle was nearly palpable. Circling high over Happy Harbor, they could see that the town was quickly being engulfed by darkness as the sun sank below the western horizon, but to Conner's annoyance, there didn't actually seem to be any emergencies or conflicts on the ground that indicated trouble. He tried listening to see if he could hear anyone saying anything that might indicate that the power outage was caused by sabotage, but could only hear normal conversations and people mildly wondering when the power might come back on. Happy Harbor itself was a small town, and there didn't even seem to be any emergencies caused by the blackout. Traffic generally wasn't that congested, and commuters seemed to be doing just fine by treating the intersections with malfunctioning traffic lights like stop signs.

All in all, there was nothing that indicated the blackout was nefarious or by design. And why would anyone target Happy Harbor for a purposeful blackout anyway? The only thing worth attacking in the town was Mount Justice, but Mount Justice wasn't under attack. Conner would be inclined to think the blackout was just a coincidence, if it weren't for the Zeta-Tube shut down. And the fact that no radio signals were working. And that the internet seemed to have blipped out of existence…okay, so it wasn't a coincidence. Couldn't be.

Conner shook his head in frustration. If only his headache would go away.

"Ugh," said Zatanna after a few minutes of silence. "Thanks for letting me come along. I needed to get out of there. My head is killing me." She said the last sentence under her breath, and if it weren't for Conner's super hearing, he probably wouldn't have heard it over the roar of the wind and the Super-Cycle's engine.

Conner glanced back at Zatanna, noticing for the first time the expression of discomfort on her face. He'd been so wrapped up in how he was feeling that he hadn't fully registered how strange Zatanna was acting. It was unusual, but then again, so was his headache. He was half Kryptonian and could withstand a sledgehammer to the face, if it came to it, without so much as a lingering twinge. He didn't get headaches, not normally. So why was he having one now? And combine that with how Zatanna was acting…

"Zatanna?" said Conner, considering. "When did your headache start?"

She looked up at him, one hand still pressing into her temple. "I really started noticing it when we were in the hanger trying to get the comms to work." she said slowly. "Why?"

"Because I have a killer headache too," said Conner slowly. "And Wolf's also been acting strange since the blackout started."

Zatanna looked back at him, catching on to what he was implying. "Our powers have almost nothing in common," she said. "What could possibly be affecting just the two of us and Wolf but no one else on the Team?" she asked.

"I have no idea," said Conner, steering the Super-Cycle back toward Mount Justice. "But I don't believe in coincidences."

Star City
March 14, 16:02 PDT
Team Year Four

Now all he had to do was find them.

As Wally raced through the streets of Star City, he was beginning to wonder if finding the city's heroes would be easier said than done.

"Stupid superheroes and their stupid…secrets!" panted Wally as he skidded to a stop on a sidewalk. He knew that Green Arrow had some sort of secret Arrow…bunker…or something somewhere in the city, but he had no idea where it was. He was beginning to understand just how much the Justice League depended on their comm-links to get anything done. Half the League didn't trust other members with their secret identities, and even if you did know who they really were under their masks, it didn't mean they advertised the locations of their various secret headquarters. How were you supposed to find any of these people in a crisis without a comm-link? How had the Justice Society done it back in the day? But even they had radios to work with.

So maybe Wally knew that Green Arrow was Oliver Queen. Hell if he knew where to find him. Let alone Black Canary.

"Hey, is that Flash Kid?"

"What's he doing here? Isn't he from, like, Nebraska or something?"

"I didn't know there still was a Flash Kid."

"It's Kid Flash!" said Wally, looking around at the small group of onlookers that had gathered around him. "Seriously, I've been around for years. How long does it take you people to get it right?"

"What's going on?" asked one woman, ignoring his outburst. "When's the power going to come back on?"

"And are things really so bad that they have to send in heroes from Nebraska?" added a teenager sarcastically.

Wally suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Okay, first of all, I'm not from Nebraska, and second of all, even if I was, why do you gotta say it like it's such a bad thing? And third of all, I don't know when the power will come back on, but I can tell you that I and the rest of the Justice League are working our hardest on the problem and in the meantime, you should all make your way home as quietly and calmly as possible. Please." The last point was a bit of a white lie, but Wally didn't care. He just wanted these civilians out of his hair.

But rather than convincing them to go away, he was actually beginning to attract a bit of a crowd. Before he could attract any more unwanted attention, Wally zipped between the bystanders and was three streets down and in someone's side yard before they could shout for him to come back.

Wally leaned back against a wall and groaned in frustration. "Come on, KF," he said to himself. "Get your head back in the game." He couldn't believe how rusty he was. Okay, forget finding the arrow cave or whatever it was. GA probably wasn't even there.

If he wanted to find Green Arrow and Black Canary, he just had to go to where the trouble was.

Which again, was easier said than done. Because trouble, in varying degrees, was kinda everywhere right now. Traffic accidents, kids stranded on their way home from school once the busses and subways stopped running, theft (stranded drivers stealing bicycles to make their way home, while others jacked tires and other spare parts off of abandoned cars), and he was betting that there were at least a few people already raiding grocery stores for supplies and rations. But as much as his hero instincts were telling him to nab every thief and vandal, he simply didn't have time to focus on every little thing right now. He needed to contact the Justice League through Black Canary and Green Arrow, figure out why the Blackout was happening, fix it, and then be home by morning. That was his ideal plan, at least. He could help GA and BC catch petty thieves after the lights were back on.

Wally skidded to a halt again. He thought he heard something...sirens? That was something. In a city that didn't have an organized emergency response system, sirens were definitely something to pay attention to. And it didn't sound like they were moving.

He turned his head, searching for the source, and then changed directions headed toward it.

He was met with a scene of pure chaos.

Wally would find out later, once all the injured and dead had been removed from the scene, after the sirens stopped wailing and the police were able to survey the damage, after all the heroes who had worked nonstop through the night to pull survivors from the wreckage had gone home, (heroes who were cops and firefighters, but also civilians who had helped even though they didn't have to), that it had all been an accident, one of those tragedies that never should have happened. There were procedures in place for this sort of thing. But even in the best of circumstances, it only took one or two things going wrong to cause a disaster. And in this case, the final factor was the Blackout.

The driver of the train ought to have known better, to have followed the safety regulations already in place for when there was a loss of communications. But the engineer was young and inexperienced, and the railway had a history of punishing engineers if trains were late. Maybe he didn't slow down because he was afraid of getting fired. Maybe he didn't think that the tracks might not be aligned the way they were supposed to be because of the blackout. Maybe he didn't realize there was a blackout.

Not that they could ask him. The driver, along with everyone who had been in the first car, was dead.

Wally was momentarily frozen as he took in the scene before him. The first five or so cars of the train had come completely off the tracks and were crushed against each other, the carriages cracked open like eggshells. In the distance there were two parked police cars, which must have already been nearby when the crash happened, that were blaring their sirens, sounding the call for help with their mournful wail, their lights staining the smoke drifting from the wreckage red and blue.

A pitched keening rose above the noise, cutting through the blare of the sirens and sending a chill down Wally's spine. There was something in it that triggered a primal fear in Wally, some universal grief. He raced to the source, dread pooling in his stomach, and tore aside pieces of debris to get inside the battered train car, which was lying on its side. Inside, there was a woman, clutching two little boys. They couldn't have been older than three. Twins. One of them squirmed in his mother's grasp, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he grabbed fistfuls of her clothes, her red hair, a wavering cry pouring from his throat.

The other was still.

Wally was next to the woman in a moment, but she didn't seem to notice him. She was wailing, sobbing, clutching her boys to her chest. Her cry was the universal sound of a mother who has lost her child, the sound of the irreparable raw wound of loss.

"Are—are you hurt?" Wally asked her instead. There was a deep cut on her forehead and blood was running down her face. She needed medical attention. She choked back her sobs as she registered his presence.

"Please, help my babies," she sobbed. "Please help them." Wally looked down at the children in her arms. He could tell just by looking that he was too late for the first one. He was so still. But Wally checked his pulse anyways, hoping he would feel a faint flutter, that he would be proven wrong.

Nothing. Wally swallowed and pushed aside the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. In all his time as Kid Flash, he'd faced death himself many times. Teammates had fallen. Innocents had suffered. But never had he seen anything so horrifying as this.

But the other boy. The other boy was alive.

Focus on him, Wally, he thought to himself. Focus on keeping him alive.

Wally turned to the second boy, whose screams were subsiding. He was also wounded, a large bruise blossoming on his head. There was no question, both mother and son needed to get to a hospital.

The woman was still clutching the boys, sobbing and shaking. "Please, I need to get you out of here. Can you walk?" asked Wally. But she just sat there, sobs wracking her body. "Hey, what's your name?" he asked. But she kept shaking, clearly overwhelmed, unable to respond. "Hey, now," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone, fighting to keep the fear and sorrow from edging into his own voice. "Can you look at me?" he asked softly.

It was slow, ever so slow, but she brought her red and swollen eyes to meet his. "What's your name?" he asked again.

"L-Lauren," she said, after a few seconds.

"Okay Lauren," said Wally. "We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"

She didn't respond, just shaking her head and sobbing.

"Lauren," said Wally, a little more forcefully. "I need you to help me get your boys out of here."

She moaned, low and heavy. The sound nearly broke Wally's heart. "No, Chris, my baby…I can't…"

"Yes, you can," said Wally firmly. "Lauren, I know this is hard. This is the hardest thing you've ever done. But I can't carry you all out of here, and I'm not going to leave you behind." Wally hesitated, already feeling guilty for the words he was about to speak. "Lauren, I need you to be strong for the son you still have."

A sob tore through her body and she clamped a hand over her mouth. But she nodded.

Wally wasn't entirely sure how they picked their way, slowly, haltingly, out of the wreckage, Wally supporting Lauren with one arm as she limped through the debris. But soon they were clear of the wreck, and someone was there, handing them water, wrapping her in a blanket, examining her and her son's wounds.

Wally felt a little numb. He was trying not to focus on the sound of Lauren's sobs that still echoed in his ears, or the memory of the limp body he could still feel in his arms. But there were others, other victims spread along the sidewalk, and different people, some wearing uniforms, but most not, most just civilians who lived nearby, offering blankets and bottles of water, or storeowners who were providing medical supplies from their shelves.

He almost wasn't surprised when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and turned to see Black Canary standing next to him.

She'd be where the trouble was, right?

"Kid Flash?" she asked. He wasn't entirely sure what she was asking him when she said his name. Was he okay? Was it really him? Was he 'Kid Flash' and not Wally? Could she count on him? He didn't know, but whatever she was asking, the answer was yes. He nodded. She didn't ask him where he'd come from or why he was here, and for that he was grateful. What would he have told her? That's he'd come to her city to find a way to end the Blackout? Ending the Blackout seemed suddenly insignificant compared to the tragedy in front of them.

"Kid Flash, I'm glad you're here," she said in the steady tone he remembered from their therapy sessions after the botched simulation. "None of the city's communication systems are working. We don't have enough resources here to help everyone, and many of these people need medical attention. I need you to go through the city and spread the word. Go to the hospitals and tell them what's happening. Raise the ambulances. Find as many emergency responders as you can and get them here."

"But the people here—" started Wally.

"No," said Canary. "A lot of these people won't stand a chance if help doesn't come to them." She lowered her voice and said, "You can't carry every person here to the hospital by yourself. But you're the only person here who can bring help fast enough."

Wally swallowed and nodded, his eyes flickering over the scene again. His eye caught a flash of Lauren's bright red hair, a lump of grief rising in his throat. Later, he thought, pushing it away. Later. "Okay," he said, looking back to Canary. "But are you sure you and GA can handle things here for now?"

Canary's gaze dropped from his and for the first time her voice wavered. "I—I don't know where he is."

Wally looked hard at her, worry filling his eyes. "What do you mean?" he started.

Black Canary looked down, absently brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead, her eyes flickering between the crash and the victims lying on the pavement. "He was supposed to be meeting an investor this afternoon, but I don't know where," she said quietly. "He didn't mention it and I didn't ask and…and it's not like him not to be here," she finished, swallowing back a tremor in her voice.

Without even thinking about it, Wally pulled Black Canary into a hug. She was stiff for a moment, then relaxed and gently squeezed him back. He wasn't sure why he did it. He hadn't been planning on it, and it was something he never would have done if he were still on the Team. Black Canary was a mentor, a teacher, a rock. Maybe he was just finally old enough to grasp that being a hero didn't mean you were fearless. Or maybe seeing her scared made him a little scared too.

"I'm sure he's fine," she said, pulling away. "But thanks anyways," she added, giving the smallest of smiles. And without another word, she turned away toward the wreckage, searching for more victims.

He knew he'd been trying to comfort Black Canary, so why did it feel like he was the one who'd been comforted instead?

Wally shook his head and pushed it all aside. Lauren and her boys. Green Arrow's absence. The countless others still awaiting rescue in the rubble. Later, he thought. Right now, there was work to do.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Overwhelmed

He flies through the air, ready to grip the edge of the fire escape and flip safely to the ground. But before he can, it melts into the bar of a trapeze, and the alley walls stretch into the canopy of the big top. He reaches his arms, grasping towards the bar, but it’s too late, the bar is swinging away from him…

Below him, his parents are falling. Their arms stretch toward him, and he knows it won’t save them, that this time he’s falling too, but he reaches toward them anyways. His eyes lock with theirs, and he knows that the fear he sees there is reflected in his own face. When they hit, he can’t stop the cry that bursts from his throat.

Because this time he’s falling too, and there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from joining his family where they’re lying, in a pool of blood in the center ring.

Gotham City
March 15, 02:38 EST
Team Year Four

Artemis paced around the side of Dick’s bed to peer behind the drawn curtains. Gotham’s skyline was still pitch dark; most of the buildings could only be seen by their inky silhouettes blotting out the stars.

Stars. She’d never seen so many, even when they were stranded in the Bialyan desert, far from the glare of any city lights. The sky was a wash of silver, the Milky Way streaking down the center of it. Artemis wasn’t usually sentimental about things like this, but if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she’d never seen anything that was literally so breathtaking.

Okay, sure, the Blackout was terrible, but as inconvenient and disruptive and dangerous as it was, at least it had given Gotham the gift of the stars.

But she hoped it would just be for tonight. No matter how beautiful it was, they needed to get Gotham back into the light. Without power, Artemis had no doubt that things would begin to fall apart quickly, and she also knew that bad things happening in Gotham tended to be even worse than if they happened elsewhere. No doubt there’d be looting and riots if the lights didn’t get turned back on soon. Hell, there probably already were looting and riots in the less savory areas of the city; she just couldn’t see them right now.

Artemis tore her gaze away from the sky and down toward Gotham’s streets. One consequence of the brilliant starlight was that Gotham actually seemed less dark somehow. Although everything was still dim, shadowy, and difficult to see, the softer starlight threw less dramatic shadows than Gotham’s usual streetlamps. She found if she looked for long enough, her eyes began to adjust to the darkness in a way they never could amid the sodium lights and neon that usually lit Gotham’s streets.

A flickering shadow caught Artemis’s eye, but despite her efforts, she couldn’t make it out. Was it just a harmless pedestrian? Or could it be Batgirl? Or an Owl assassin?

Artemis held very still and watched for another minute, but couldn’t see anything. Frustrated, she drew the curtain shut against the window again and turned back to look at Dick, still asleep in his bed. She had taken care to cover the window early on; the hospital was one of the few buildings in Gotham that still had electricity, thanks to an emergency generator, and it was lit up like a beacon in the night. A beacon that practically shouted “Dick Grayson is inside, come and get him!” A sniper had already tried to shoot Dick once earlier today; she was going to do her best not to let that happen again. So despite the stars, despite the shadows and what may or may not be lurking in them, Artemis kept the curtain closed.

She paced around to the other side of the room and rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to stay awake and alert. God, she was tired. It was almost three in the morning. She needed coffee.

Artemis glanced at Dick as he shifted in his sleep, the sheet that had been drawn over his torso slipping down the side of the bed. Artemis moved to draw the sheet back over him, but paused when he started talking in his sleep, mumbling strained words in a language Artemis didn’t recognize. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and he tossed his head slightly against the pillow. Artemis stared, momentarily at a loss. Should she wake him? Probably.

Gently, Artemis touched Dick’s uninjured shoulder. “Nightw—Dick.” She shook her head at her slip-up. “Dick, c’mon. Wake up.”

Dick’s eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly for a second, getting his bearings. Seeing Artemis watching him, he swallowed and looked away, and raised one slightly shaky hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Artemis turned and walked to a small table on the other side of his bed and poured him a glass of water from a pitcher, giving him a moment to brush aside the tears that had slipped past the corners of his eyes, and that she was pretending not to have seen. Silently, she handed him the water, which he gratefully accepted with his good arm. He avoided Artemis’s eyes and took a small sip of it.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked after a minute.

“M’fine,” he said, gaze fixed on the plastic cup. “Sorry.”

Artemis quirked her eyebrow and looked down at Dick. “Sorry? We all have nightmares. You shouldn’t apologize for something you can’t control.”

“I guess,” he said. He set the cup down on the table and ran a hand through his hair. It was damp with sweat, and he winced at how gross he felt. He needed a shower. “It’s just, I haven’t had that dream in a while. I was hoping I wouldn’t again…it’s not something I like reliving.”

Artemis inhaled and opened her mouth, and then quickly shut it again. “I didn’t know you spoke another language,” she said instead. “What was that?”

Dick looked up at her, surprised. “I was talking in my sleep?” he said. Artemis nodded. “Huh. Falling off that building must’ve really rattled me,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to talk about it, it’s fine,” she said, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Dick, slightly surprised to find he wanted to tell her. “I was probably speaking Romani. I actually don’t speak it very well, it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone who’s fluent in it to talk to, but sometimes, when I think about my parents, it just pops out.” He gave a small smile. “My dad and my uncle used to use it to talk to each other when they didn’t want anyone else to know what they were saying. I only picked up a little before he died…” Dick swallowed, his eyes flickering over the ceiling tiles.

Artemis was looking at him steadily, barely daring to breathe. Despite the fact that she’d learned Dick’s identity, she never thought he would actually tell her very much about his past. Her mom was the same way; on the rare occasions that Paula Crock brought up something from her past, Artemis would sit silently, listening intently to what her mother revealed and filing it away for later thought. If she said anything, brought any attention to the fact that her mother was speaking about the past, then her mom would clam up and move on to the present. All of Artemis’s instincts were telling her that Dick would react similarly, so she stayed quiet.

“My mom used to call me her little Robin,” he said after a few moments. He was leaning back on his pillows, looking at the ceiling, but it was clear he was seeing something else in his mind’s eye. “Because she said I reminded her of a robin, when I was flying on the trapeze. And then they died…” he said, his voice dropping. “They fell…and after…you would think I’d be afraid of flying. But I never was. I still love it. But one thing that haunts me, that I’ll always fear, is dying like them. Of falling. And you know,” he said, with a small laugh, “I’d never fallen before. Either I never let it happen, or someone was there to catch me.”

Artemis stood quietly for a few moments, absorbing his words. After a minute, Dick blinked and rolled his head to the side, looking at Artemis. He stared at her for a moment and narrowed his eyes, as though he were trying to decide if she were really there. “Did…did I really just say all of that?” he asked after a moment.

Artemis nodded. “Oh,” he said, and then looked down at his arm where the IV drip was inserted, and traced the tubing with his eyes back to the IV bag that was hanging next to him. “Am I on pain meds?” he asked, looking back to Artemis. She nodded again. “Heh,” he said, and leaned back and closed his eyes. “They always make me chatty. Alfred always says he can’t get me to shut up after he patches me up. I usually don’t remember too well though…hey, where’s Barbara?” Dick asked suddenly, opening his eyes and looking around. “Wasn’t she here?”

Artemis couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden change of topic, forgetting to ask who Alfred was. “Yes, Barbara was here. But she left a little while ago.”

“Why?” asked Dick. “Where’d she go?”

“Out,” said Artemis, smirking. “Some of us have got better things to do than keep an eye on your sorry butt.”

“Oh,” said Dick, looking disappointed.

Artemis laughed, he looked so miserable. “I’m kidding! She’s out hunting down any stray Owls that might be looking for you.” Artemis glanced uneasily toward the drawn curtain, wondering, not for the first time that night, where exactly Barbara was and if she was okay. It had been over an hour since she’d left.

“By herself?” Dick asked, frowning. “Artemis, we could barely handle five of them together—”

“Hey, Batgirl can take care of herself,” said Artemis, pushing aside her own doubts. “And you’re forgetting that we successfully took out five Owls, without costumes, weapons, or gadgets, and with you not even using most of your combat skills. She’ll be fine.”

Dick looked at her skeptically. “Do I need to point out that you’re not mentioning that I’m sitting in the hospital with a gunshot wound—”

“No,” interrupted Artemis, glaring at him. “So don’t.”

Just then, the door to the room burst open and Artemis instinctively jumped and spun around into a ready position. She relaxed when she saw it was only the nurse from earlier, who thankfully was staring down at a chart and didn’t notice Artemis’s reaction. Artemis had always hated that about doctors, the way they would barge into a room and start talking all at once without barely knocking. The nurse propped the door open and strode over to Dick’s bed, still consulting the chart.

“Good, you’re awake!” said the nurse, who was a petite African American woman. “We were going to have to wake you up in a few minutes anyway, considering your concussion. Let’s take a look.” She went through the same tests that Dr. Lawrence had done earlier, checking his pupils and asking him basic questions. Artemis rolled her eyes as Dick chatted away with the nurse, even flirting with her a little. She wasn’t sure if this was the way Dick Grayson always acted, or if he was still reacting to his medication, but either way, it was a bit gag-inducing. Okay, so he wasn’t nearly as bad as Wally had used to be, but it was still a bit tedious to listen to. At least the nurse wasn’t falling for it; she laughed good-naturedly along with Dick, but kept things professional.

“Alright, Mr. Grayson, let’s take a look at those sutures,” she said and drew the hospital curtain around the bed for some privacy. Artemis sighed and walked through the doorway to wait just outside the room. There were two police officers standing on either side of the door keeping watch, and Artemis had to admit that they looked a lot more alert than she felt right now. She supposed the fight earlier and the adrenaline-fueled flight through Gotham while carrying 180 pounds of Dick Grayson had taken more out of her than she’d thought at first. She rubbed her eyes and suppressed a yawn.

“Miss Crock,” said a voice down the hall. Artemis turned and saw Detective Buckley striding toward her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his overcoat billowing out behind him. Artemis groaned inwardly. She could bet, whatever it was that he wanted, she was not in the mood to deal with right now. “Can I have a word with you?” he asked, motioning with his head toward the other end of the hall. Artemis glanced back toward Dick’s room. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone at all, even if there were two police officers outside the door.

“We can talk here,” she said firmly, stepping just to the side of the door.

Buckley glanced at the officers and back to her, a frown firmly in place on his forehead. “I have some more questions for you about tonight. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to discuss this someplace more private?”

“Positive,” growled Artemis. Whatever Buckley was after, he already had his hackles up. Damned if Artemis was going to give him any ground.

“Suit yourself,” he said shrugging. “I’ll cut to the chase. I know you’re lying. You and Grayson were not at a coffee shop reminiscing about old times. I took the liberty of canvasing the area the incident took place at. We found the alleyway where the shooting happened, just like you and Grayson described, complete with bloodstains. But you know what we didn’t find? Coffee shops. There aren’t any within a two-mile radius of that alleyway. So I would like to know, what exactly were you doing together today?”

Artemis had to admit, despite her annoyance, that this guy was good. She hadn’t actually expected any of the Gotham PD to follow up on her story so closely, and certainly not so quickly. She guessed she’d underestimated the level of importance the GCPD would place on a case involving the infamous Court of Owls and a member of Gotham’s elite. Though to be fair, she hadn’t actually known she was dealing with the Court of Owls when she’d come up with that cover story. Come to think of it, she hadn’t even heard of the Court of Owls until tonight; she’d totally lost track of Gotham news since moving to California. She should have realized her lack of knowledge would come around to bite her in the ass.

All these thoughts passed through Artemis’s brain in a second and she didn’t miss a beat with her reply. “I told you, detective, we got lost after the power went out. We wandered around for a while before those Owl freaks attacked us.”

“Right,” said Buckley, clearly not believing her. “You wandered for two miles directly into a deserted alleyway where the Court of Owls was waiting to ambush you.”

Artemis felt her face grow hot with anger and realized belatedly that she was, for all intents and purposes, being interrogated. “They were not waiting for us!” she said hotly. “They had to have followed us. There’s no way they would have known we would end up there.” This part was the truth. There was no way the Owls could have been waiting for Dick in that alley. Even Dick had said they must have tailed him without him noticing.

“Okay,” said Buckley coolly, “so they followed the two of you. How did they know where you and Mr. Grayson were meeting in order to follow you from there?”

Artemis glared knives at Buckley. The truth was, she didn’t have a good answer for him because really, her story was so flimsy that it quickly fell apart under any close scrutiny. But she had to admit, he was thorough. Wasn’t that just her luck? She had to end up with a Gotham detective who was actually good at his job.

“I don’t know,” she ground out. “Maybe they followed him from home.”

“And waited so long to go for the kill?” asked Buckley. “Possible, but why wait all day? Here’s another idea. Maybe there was no coffee get-together, and you led the Owls straight to Mr. Grayson. Or maybe there was, and led Grayson straight to them.”

“That is not what happened,” said Artemis, unable to contain herself.

 “Then what did happen?” demanded Buckley, his voice rising. He took a step towards her, but Artemis held her ground and glared right back at him. “How did the Court of Owls know where to find Richard Grayson tonight?” he demanded.

“Hey! Buckley! Calm down,” said Detective Hernandez, coming around the corner, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. “What is going on?”

“Her story doesn’t add up,” said Buckley. “I’m getting some answers.”

“Really, Buckley, at three in the morning?” said Hernandez. “She’s clearly exhausted. You’re not going to get a straight answer out of her now no matter what.” Buckley looked like he was going to argue, but Hernandez cut him off. “Go take a walk and calm down,” she said. He glared at Hernandez but complied, striding down the corridor and around the corner.

Artemis breathed in and out slowly, forcing herself to calm down. This was exactly the sort of complication that she didn’t need tonight. She already had to worry about Dick’s injuries, Barbara’s absence, the Owl assassins that were probably out there somewhere, not to mention the freaking blackout affecting all of Gotham. She didn’t have time to worry about nosy police officers on top of all that.

“Here,” said Hernandez, handing her one of the cups of coffee. “I was bringing this for Buckley, but you look like you need it more. It’s just some crappy instant stuff from the staff breakroom, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” said Artemis, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. She closed her eyes and sighed. It might be shitty coffee, but right now, it was exactly what she needed.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” said Hernandez reasonably. “It’s late. Why don’t you go home and get some rest? We’ve got things covered here. And you probably want to see your family, make sure they’re okay.”

Artemis shook her head and took another sip of coffee. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I’ll stay here for now.”

“Artemis…are you and Richard a couple?” asked Hernandez. “I’d understand why you didn’t tell us before, the tabloids can be vicious in this town.”

Artemis stared at her, her mind actually completely blank for a second.

Then she burst out laughing. “Me…and Dick? Together?” she laughed. “That’s hilarious. No,” she said, her giggles subsiding. “No, no and no.”

Hernandez was momentarily taken aback by Artemis’s laughter, but recovered quickly enough. “I apologize for the wrong assumption,” she remarked, taking a sip of her own coffee, “but you’ll have to forgive me. Most people don’t hold vigils at people’s bedsides if they’re not family or partners.”

“I wasn’t keeping vigil,” said Artemis, scoffing. “I was—” Artemis cut herself off. She couldn’t really say she was protecting him, either, even if it was the truth. “…keeping him company,” she continued, realizing that if she didn’t supply an answer it would be suspicious. “His family isn’t here, and they probably don’t even know he’s hurt. I thought he could use a friend.”

“Right,” said Hernandez, fiddling with her Styrofoam cup. “So, you’re good friends then?”

Artemis paused, coffee cup halfway toward her mouth. Was she still being interrogated? It was beginning to feel that way. Mentally, she kicked herself for not seeing it sooner.

“I only ask because I couldn’t help but notice Barbara Gordon visiting earlier. We all know Barbara down at the precinct. He father is a good man, and an excellent officer. He also talks about his daughter a lot, about her activities and her friends. So I know it’s the truth when I say that Barbara Gordon and Richard Grayson are best friends. Practically attached at the hip. And if she left after only a half hour, surely you can leave too? I just find it unusual that someone Barbara’s never mentioned is apparently closer with Richard than she is.”

Artemis stared at Hernandez for a moment. They were dragging Barbara into this now? But it was true, Artemis and Barbara hadn’t been close friends in high school. In fact they’d barely come into contact with one another at first. Batgirl hadn’t joined the Team until after she’d turned eighteen and Artemis had already graduated from Gotham Academy (the Justice League’s rule of requiring parental approval for all the Team members who were minors was a bit of a hurdle for her, since she still hadn’t told her dad about her extracurricular activities). So Artemis didn’t know that Barbara Gordon and Batgirl were one and the same until Barbara joined the Team, and by that time she was already living in California.

 “Are you…are you two good-cop-bad-copping me?” Artemis said to Hernandez. “Because I am so not in the mood for that right now.” Artemis tossed her empty Styrofoam cup in a nearby trash can and turned away from Hernandez.

“Artemis, wait!” said Hernandez, and despite her annoyance, Artemis paused. They might be barking up the wrong tree, but they were good cops and were actually trying to help Dick. She should at least try not to get on their bad sides. “Look, I’m sorry if Buckley came on a bit strong—he’s like that. But what he said is right. Your story doesn’t add up and we’re just trying to figure out why.”

“Do you think I led the Owls to Dick?” asked Artemis stiffly.

“My opinion doesn’t matter,” said Hernandez. “But that being said, I don’t think someone who tried to have him killed would work so hard to get him to a hospital and keep watch by his bedside all night.”

Artemis crossed her arms and shifted her stance. “Look, I don’t know what you and your partner are trying to get me to say, but it won’t work. I’m not here to hurt Dick or to betray him, and I never will.”

“Artemis, we’re not trying to get you to say anything other than the truth,” said Hernandez. “And I think you haven’t told us that yet.”

“No, I did already tell you,” said Artemis firmly. “You can ask Dick, everything he says matches my story.”

Hernandez stared hard at her. “I don’t know why he’s protecting you. And I don’t know what you two are hiding. But I’d like to remind you that you’re interfering with an attempted murder investigation involving one of the most dangerous criminal groups in Gotham. And as much as I’d like to think that you had nothing to do with it, you’re currently one of our prime suspects, whether you like it or not. The consequences won’t be as severe if you cooperate with us now—”

“Look, am I under arrest or anything? No? Then you can leave me alone,” said Artemis, turning away toward Dick’s room. She could see Buckley coming back down along the hall, and she really didn’t want to deal with him again too. “And quit wasting your time with me,” she added to Hernandez, “There are actual killers out there—”

Artemis was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and a female’s surprised shriek from Dick’s room. Without hesitation, Artemis sprinted into the room, Hernandez and Buckley hot on her heels, their guns drawn. The two officers stationed outside the door had already run inside. Hurtling around the threshold, Artemis paused for the briefest of moments to absorb what she saw: one of the officers was lying on the floor bleeding, a blade protruding from his chest. Artemis couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. The second officer fired off two rounds before she too went down, a knife in her shoulder. Batgirl was lying below the window, which was now no more than a jagged hole. It seemed as though she had been thrown bodily through it.

A female Owl assassin was perched on the sill of the window, framed by the torn and billowing window curtain and jagged shards of glass, two throwing knives ready in her hand.

Artemis flew forward. She had no weapon, no armor, and no plan, but she knew she had to stop this from happening. Time seemed to slow and each lunging step she took toward the Owl felt like an eternity, despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins, despite the speed she knew she was actually moving at. She was hyper aware of every detail of the room: Buckley and Hernandez’s shouts from the threshold, the sound of the safeties on their guns being released. Batgirl struggling to her feet, pieces of glass showering off of her cape as she reached for a batarang at her belt. And even as Artemis drew closer to the Owl she could see that she would be too slow, they all would be too slow. In one swift motion, the Owl threw the knives and they sliced through the privacy curtain still draped around Dick’s hospital bed, and Artemis heard them sink into something soft and yielding, a pair of deadly twins.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Cornered