Chapter Text
It was a family affair. Bruce who first decided the laboratory on the penal planet needed investigating and who applied most of the political pressure to get the case wrapped up, Dick and Oracle who did the preliminaries, and Jason who applied some more overt pressure, ensuring that demands were met, questions answered and the CADMUS story saw the Interplanetary Press.
Despite this, there was unspoken agreement that this was Tim’s case, and no one said anything about the hours he put in, tracking culpability, discerning who was using and who merely used, doing everything humanly possible to make sure that anyone knowingly involved with the CADMUS penal colony would be implicated.
And then it’s done. Out of their hands and Tim feels almost empty without it.
It’s a natural reaction, if illogical -- but then many reactions are. Tim knows himself, knows it’s only the loss of a focus. Once they have a new case, it will pass. Until then he learns to sleep again, picks up the threads of what is usually called his everyday life and tries to ignore that he still feels empty.
Gotham’s Sun rises late. The morning always looks grey, waiting for the first direct rays to fall on the city, and the floor to ceiling windows of the dining hall, and the polished surface of the marble which picks up the reflection of the sky do nothing to halt this encroach of grey.
Tim is considering this, considering the view afforded by the 40 stories of the Wayne Tower, and not actually considering anything deeper than whether or not he will regret taking more of Alfred’s scrambled eggs, when Dick sets the tablet down in front of him.
“Hey, Tim. Your bit of rough is centre-fold.”
It is a half-second too late that Tim notices the silence as the rest of the breakfast room’s inhabitants listen. He’s already reaching for the tablet.
“That wasn’t funny the first time,” is all he says, looking down at the image. His tone is matter of fact, picking out Micky and Serling among the miners in the photo. The picture had been taken from overhead, looking down onto a grassy surface, the arm of a guard and shadow of a transport shuttle pinning the location as the Gotham Penitentiary landing bay. The miners have clearly just arrived on Gotham, being shepherded towards the Penitentiary buildings for processing. Their rugged clothing has been traded in for typical prison jumpsuits, and Tim frowns. “It’s going to trial then?”
“The Serious Offenders have been transported to Belle Reve or Arkham already. The political prisoners, those alleging trial misconduct -- or no trial at all in the case of your friends -- will have their cases heard on an individual basis.” Dick leaned one arm on the table, looking at the photo that was front page of the Gotham Globe.
Tim nodded, and for a moment they both looked down contemplating Kon.
It’s a striking image. A group in motion, Kon is the only one standing still. While the group trudges towards their next holding cell, Serling glancing back over her shoulder, concern evident, Kon’s got one hand shielding his eyes and he’s just looking up with an unguarded expression that’s going to make Tim furious if he thinks about it too much. He is about to hand the tablet back to Dick when he feels the weight of Stephanie’s interest and gives it to her instead.
“Who is covering the trial?”
“We all are. Shifts.” The rustle of paper as Bruce sets his newspaper down signals business.
It’s real paper, a luxury that only the very wealthiest of Gotham’s elite can continue to indulge, and thus not as up to the minute as Dick’s tablet feed, but it is a tradition that is seldom interrupted. “Jason’s got word of something happening, but not what.”
“Cannon mentioned the AGENDA.” Tim glanced at Stephanie. “Started out a fringe activist group in favour of meta-experimentation; went underground--”
“After the rulings of the IPC in favour of granting rights to metas recognized as sentient races by the Council. I’m not an amateur, Tim. I’ve been looking into them all week.”
“My bad. What did you find out?”
“Nothing. Everyone who knows anything about the AGENDA’s gone very quiet. And before you think it’s me, ORACLE’s been on it too and neither of us could turn up anything.”
“Plans made, they’re ready to act?”
“Won’t know until it happens. And when it happens, we’ll be ready.” Bruce shook out his paper, going back to reading, a signal that they should all get to work. Tim stood. Should have taken the scrambled eggs while he had the chance.
Being official family came with advantages and disadvantages. One of the disadvantages was being recognized. Bruce Wayne was attending as himself, which meant that people would be looking for his wards. That meant sombre suits and ties for Dick and Tim, and Jason in full body armour and mask as a Court designated guard. Stephanie got off relatively lightly with business jacket and skirt, just one of the many Wayne aides, soon to be one of the many courtroom aides once they got inside and the crowds allowed them to spread out. Tim would have liked the opportunity to be nameless and faceless today, but was pretty sure that Stephanie considered it just one more thing to be mad at him about.
In response to the massive amount of media interest generated by the case, Gotham’s Central Court was being used. It was a prestigious building generally considered a classic inside and out. Neo-neo-gothic architecture married comfort and practicality, the seemingly lush furnishings actually concealed all the safety precautions and reinforcements expected of a building that was routinely assailed. Despite having been there for many of the altercations that made the building infamous, Tim had to admit that even he could not see a trace of them. It looked more like a theatre, milling with patrons, than an actual working court. That was until you glanced into the centre of the sloping seating, and saw the faint shimmer of the force-field separating the prisoners from the rest of the court.
Tim took a moment to survey the court before making his way down. Court was not in session but would be soon, the prisoners already seated in the centre ring. Micky’s team had petitioned to be seen together and had got their way, with one exception -- no court was willing to let Dubbilex stand trial within it. The telepath was represented by a proxy, but the others were all there, Micky talking to their legal team while Tekka listened, Serling curled up in her seat, slumped against Kon as she dozed. He had one arm around her, the other playing with the armrest of his seat, as he slouched back looking up at the ceiling with an expression that too plainly said he was miles away.
Understandable. According to what Oracle had gleaned from the court records, they’d been doing individual interviews and telepathic testimony for days. They should all be exhausted.
Understandable, and yet--
“Don’t let your guard down just because you’re out of the caverns. This is Gotham.”
Kon snorted. “This is boring. I don’t think I’ve ever--” He started as he realized, almost hitting his head on the carved wooden panelling that separated the central court from the rows of press seating.
“And this is exactly what I mean,” Tim said, casually pausing to brush non-existent dust of his jacket sleeve. “Blood in the water. We’re all sharks here.” He glanced down to see how Kon was taking his advice.
“You’re a day late. They took King Shark to Belle Reve yesterday.” Kon tilted his head back challengingly, hand dropping down to pat Serling’s shoulder, but there was something in his eyes that didn’t match his smirk and Tim knew that his advice was wasted. He was having to concentrate of following it himself; the interested flicker of Kon’s eyes had reminded Tim that this was the first time Kon had seen him in light without his mask. “How--”
“The anonymous sponsor who is covering your legal fees wanted to make sure he gets his money worth.” Tim shrugged. “I’m just here to observe.”
Bruce was waiting in an empty row of seats near the back of the court. Dick detached from a cloud of socialites a moment later and the three of them sat to watch the start of the morning’s proceedings.
“Was that necessary?” Bruce had noticed, of course.
Tim had been asking himself the same question. “I think so,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure Serling didn’t have the chance to finish her research--”
Dick snorted. “You’re as bad as each other. Give the kid a break, Bruce. Tim and I owe him.”
“You can owe him from afar.”
The trial dragged.
The Paradox crews’ testimonies agreed, were judged free of signs of telepathic tampering, and it was clear that they were in no way deserving of 5 years in a normal penal facility, let alone imprisoned in Waller’s mining facility. Yet, every legality that could delay a decision was being scrounged up and thrown at the court by Westfield’s own legal team.
Did their refusal to allow Experiment 13 to be terminated constitute breach of contract? Was the Experiment’s escape legitimate self-defence or theft? Micky and Serling’s failure to deliver the agreed upon meta-clone was dwelt on time and time again.
Dick’s anger was evident in restlessness beside Tim, and Tim knew his companions would be able to read his own in his stillness. It was poor thanks for all they’d undergone and risked to be met with this application of justice--
“Anderson’s a solid judge. He won’t be distracted by these trivialities and he won’t allow the jury to be sidetracked by them either,” Bruce reminded them.
“They must know its useless. What are they even doing -- playing for time?” As soon as Dick said it, it made sense. Delaying tactics, but making time for what?
Tim sat up a little straighter, scanning the court. Most of the spectators were nodding as Micky informed the court with the bluntness he was renowned for what he thought of the suggestion that his people had not done their utmost to fulfill their contract -- down to the last clause, which he emphasized with a pause. Serling was tense, beside him. She was next to be cross interrogated.
Kon was sulking. He’d been threatened with ejection from the court if he interrupted proceedings one more time, and now he was containing himself with obvious difficulty. Still, it was comforting to know that Kon was capable of that measure of control. Tim wondered if his advice earlier had any impact at all in that, until he realized that no longer angry, Kon was sitting up with an attitude of alertness--
There it was. The high pitched frequency of something metallic--
“Android,” Tim said, feeling Dick shift beside him, readying himself to move.
That’s all the warning they had. The next second it was all screams and panic, the air filled with smoke and debris, dust rising from where the android impacted with the floor. Many of the reporters were here the last time the court was attacked, and they know what to do, flinging briefcases above their heads to shield them as they scramble to the reinforced columns at the side.
The android ignored them, and the court guards falling into pre-arranged formation at the boundary of the court. It paused a moment, blaster-arm still aimed at the smoking podium where Micky had been giving his rebuttal before turning towards the chair that Serling had been waiting in. Smoke obscured it, but the moment that cleared, the geneticist was toast--
“Jason,” Tim said quietly. “Hold back.”
There was no response from their radio link, but Tim could feel the looks Dick and Bruce were giving him. He was surprised at himself too. He didn’t usually take a chance on a hypothesis without confirmation like this. Especially with lives at stake.
Dick swore as another explosion of light was followed by the smell of more burning. “Two of them?”
“No,” Bruce said. “Look again. That was from the witness stand.”
Tim didn’t respond. He was wondering what it said about him that he was relieved by the presence of more lazers in the crowded court.
The android was momentarily more interested in its now wrecked blaster arm than its mission. Trying once to fire the arm and finding it useless, it instead discarded the remains of its arm, a new one snapping up out of storage. This one was much bigger, bulkier -- intended to smash rather than burn. Whirring, it spun its head around, searching for and locking on Serling, now on entirely the wrong side of the court.
And standing in front of Serling and Micky down, looking entirely too pleased with himself?
“Kid, get down! It’s targeting us -- you’re only putting yourself in danger!”
“It’s cool, Micky.” Kon’s grin was lazy, stretching his arms out, giving the android ample time to assess the threat he posed. “I have this feeling today’s my lucky day.”
Evidently finding the threat negligible, the android brought the hammer down. Or tried to. Kon met it halfway. Straining metal screeched in a weird approximation of frustration, followed by an urgent beeping as the android tried to recalibrate.
“Kon!” Serling could be forgiven her exclamation. A robot had just tried to kill her and now it was attacking someone important to her. “You’re -- How?”
Kon’s expression was unworried, focused. “Dunno why, but I feel great, Serl. Ever since we got to Gotham.” He stepped forward, and this time the screech was of metal on marble as the robot was forced backwards. “Everything about me just feels lighter, faster--” And the screeching metal was replaced by the crash of the robot colliding with the mostly evacuating press benches (mental note: friendly word to Kon about procedure). “Guess you could say, I’m feeling super.”
“Kid!” Micky barked. “You’re--”
“Flying.” Kon grinned down at him. “Pretty cool, huh.”
“Open. Micky sighed, crossing his arms as a metallic arm snaked out, snatching Kon out of mid-air and slamming him into the floor. “Pretty sure Jim covered how to dismantle a robot. Don’t embarrass us, Kid.”
“Give me some slack! This is my first practical after all--” Kon had decided to solve the problem of the android’s respawning arms by tackling the matter at the source, and ripping its current arm from it. The rest of its armoured body went the same way.
The family could have done it more efficiently and more elegantly, but Tim had to admit that Kon’s approach was faster, and refreshingly direct. “Hewitt’s work on meta-human physiologies wasn’t published until after Serling was working for CADMUS,” he explained to Dick and Bruce. “It’s likely Westfield kept them as isolated as the current staff. So while I’m sure she’d have tested the potency of different levels of radiation--”
“She wasn’t aware of theories surrounding solar radiations,” Bruce finished. “I see.” He returned to his seat and after a moment, Dick did the same.
“That’s a pretty cool deduction. When did you work it out?”
“I’ve been re-reading our Files on the Kryptonian,” Tim said. “There’s some resemblance.” Another screech from the floor drew their attention back to the android.
“And your heart-rate?”
“Normal, Serl.” Kon had managed to get the android into pieces and was happily breaking those pieces down into even smaller pieces. “But if you want to take my temperature later--” He paused. “Uh, this is a bomb, right? Damnit, I can never remember if it’s the red wire or the blue--”
“Make way for the mechanic.” Micky shouldered both of them out of the way to deal to the android’s hidden surprise and suddenly Serling and Kon were looking at each other.
“Kon!” Either the situation or the realization had caught up with Serling; her voice shock. “Do you know what this means?”
“Yeah,” Kon’s grin was smug, but Tim was pretty sure that he had to have noticed that the weapons the guards carried were now all trained on him. “It’s means you’re a goddamned genius, Serl.” Bomb defused, Micky stood and Kon’s smile rested on him too. “And Micky Cannon’s reputation for fixing anything’s still intact.”
“Kid, you have so much to learn about timing.” But Micky’s snort was undercut as he pulled Kon in, the clone’s other arm drawing Serling with him, and Tim was pretty sure that would be the image on the next issue of the Globe. The three of them, holding each other in the wrecked courthouse while the dust raised by the battle continued to settle around them. “Get out of here.”
“But--”
“No buts. You’re not getting yourself dissected to cement our reputations and that’s final.” Micky’s words are punctuated by the echos of orders coming in over the Court guards radios.
“God, Kon. Be safe--”
“And if you can’t be safe, be careful.”
He must feel lost. They’re the only constants in his five years of life, and everything he thought he knew just changed. But five years of putting on a front in the caverns is a hard habit to break, apparently. Kon’s smile is assured, confident -- over confident. “Later.”
He’s gone and he wasn’t exaggerating the faster. They’ll need to call in the special forces just to have a chance of catching up with him -- if they even can at this point.
Tim’s pretty sure that’s a lost cause.
For anyone but them, at least.
“First person to the meta gets their pick of cases for the next week.” Jason’s first to break the silence, from the sound of things already outside the building, still in the guard uniform.
“No cheating and calling in any favours!” It’s hard to tell where Steph is, but she’s moving fast.
“You guys have a head start, but Tim and I have the advantage of knowing the guy.” Dick got to his feet. It’s occurring to the few remaining spectators that nothing more is likely to happen and it may be safe to move. “Bruce? Come on -- just a friendly wager.”
Tim’s pretty sure that it’s only because it’s Dick who asks that Bruce nods. “One week. Not that I condone the three of you turning this into a competition.”
“Four of us,” Dick protested, leading the way down the stairs. “Tim’s not letting go of his miner-hunk without a fight.”
Tim gave Dick’s back a withering look. “Tim was thinking of taking some over-due time off.” Beat. “And you have to stop calling him that.”
Dick elbowed Tim comfortably as they reach the the end of the row of seats and could walk beside each other. “What happened to a sense of humour? Fine, I’ll drop the jokes but you don’t have to sulk about it.”
“I’m not sulking. I’m serious about the time off.”
“How long?”
Tim glanced back at Bruce. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. “Two weeks. I was hoping for the beach house.”
“One week. And it’s yours.”
Just a week. Tim nodded. He’d just have to make it count. “I’ll take it. And your meet and greet at the Wayne Institute tomorrow, Dick.”
Dick still wasn’t sure that Tim wasn’t angry, but the offer to take the social reassured him. And Tim was pretty sure that once he’s thought about it, Dick is not going to object to the time off -- usually Tim has to be made to take it. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Thanks, Tim.”
“Anytime."