Gotham Library: A Place of Learning

[Connor Kent]

Gotham Library. It was an island in a sea of rush hour traffic, an oasis of tranquility within a desert of storm cloud grey. It was the worst kept secret in the city. And, in the last week, it had become Connor’s unofficial second home. His unofficial first home was a dusty box room above Pete’s Quick Stop in the Narrows, where there was cardboard in the windows, and signs of duct tape triage on the walls. He stayed there only to sleep. The rest of his free time was spent at the library, where he escaped all of the shouting, and the car engines, and the pneumatic drills. It was amongst the storeys of book shelves and the scholarly quiet that he sought refuge from the shadows of his sins in the night.

Of all the corners of the library, the Martha Wayne Reading Room was his favourite. According to the bronze plaque outside the room: during the Depression, a fire broke out due to rioting, and the entire west wing of the library was reduced to a smoldering ruin. It was Martha Wayne who funded and oversaw the rebuilding of the wing, so it seemed only fair that the reading room was renamed in her honour. Connor liked it best because it was the quietest of all the rooms. Large and circular, with a bright domed roof, it boasted three levels of bookcases that wrapped around the outskirts of the room, and a vast network of private study space in the middle. It was very popular with students.

And there were so many of them, fenced off from each other behind barricades of books. Connor liked to watch them, deep in their studies: he made guesses about the kinds of things they were reading, and he wondered if they were words he could understand. His own book, To Kill A Mockingbird, struggled to hold his attention - it was difficult to enjoy a story when he knew how it was going to end. So he watched the students some more. They were all about his age; he thought about their lives beyond the library, about the places they called home, the people they called family; he liked to guess about their likes and dislikes, their dreams, and the things that made them laugh and cry. When his imagination failed him, he could find the missing pieces of the puzzle in the words they whispered to each other, if he just listened hard enough…

RAT-A-TAT! RAT-A-TAT-A-TAT!

Like a salvo of gatling gun fire, the keystrokes had him ducking for cover. When he finally prized his hands from his ears, he fired a scathing glance at the person using the only computer in the room. She had to be employed by the library, because no one else had access to it. And she looked very familiar. Connor’s eyes narrowed, and slowly, the girl came into focus as if she was stood no more than a few feet away. It was definitely her: the strange ass-kicking redhead from the other night.

Suddenly, the red hair became blue, then white, and then… transparent. The girl’s skin peeled away to reveal a fully-functioning skeleton, with bony fingers that clacked away at the keyboard. Connor closed his eyes, and then cursed his own stupidity, for it made no difference at all. Shaking his head didn’t help, either - he’d have to ride it out as usual. With a final rattle of what might’ve been either phalanges or keyboard keys, the girl signed off, and walked away. Connor was on his feet in an instant. He couldn’t lose her.

Through a transparent world, he staggered, awkwardly navigating each of the obstacles in his way. The rich wooden browns and the deep leathery blues had drained away from his surroundings, like a canvas of watercolour left out in the rain. Sometimes, he saw beyond the walls of the reading room, to the bustling central hub of Gotham Library, where a horror show of animated skeletons and floating organs was taking place. He was almost upon her - well, he at least assumed it was her, because people look very similar without their skin - she was returning a stack of books to their rightful places. Definitely an employee, and in his library, of all places!

Just as he was upon her, Connor failed to notice the column of bookshelves directly in front of him, and bumped into it. With a tremendous judder, the shelves became dislodged, and emptied themselves of their books. The consequent avalanche of leather-bound carnage rolled like thunder throughout the room, and threatened to bury him unless he moved fast. In his shock, he found his vision had returned to normal, which afforded him the perfect view of an encyclopedia as it bounced off his nose. After beating a hasty retreat to a neighbouring bookcase, Connor plucked the first thing he could find off the shelf, and buried his head in it until the chaos was over.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara managed not to shriek as the bookcase beside her suddenly shuddered and then vomited it's books all over the floor. Her quick librarian's gaze picked the culprit out immediately, and she knew she was going to have to ask if they were okay. Make sure the library wasn't going to be held liable for some idiot's concussion because they couldn't watch where they were walking.

Sophia was running over (a brisk walk, but in librarian terms she was practically sprinting) and Barbara walked over to the guy who was trying to look like he was reading a book, but he was holding it upside down. "Are you okay? Can I help -" He looked up and their eyes met. "-YOU!"

[Connor Kent]

Head down, he closed his eyes, as if he could shut out the approach of the snappy regimented footsteps. Maybe he could vanish inside the book entirely, or, if he ignored her, perhaps she would just go away. But she was on him like a hawk, her words tinkling on his ears like the last of his cool, as it fell in shards around his feet. When he looked up, the reaction was instant: a word of damning accusation, hurled like a bloody spear.

“Look, don’t freak out, okay?” He raised an open hand to cease the advance of any crazy she was about to throw his way. It wasn’t going to plan. The casual reveal was blown. Damn it. He would’ve been so slick. “I don’t want any trouble.”

[Barbara Gordon]

Don't freak out? Her eyebrows had already climbed up her forehead to Defcon 1, and she brought them down with effort. "You hang out with a strange crowd if you don't want any trouble," she hissed, making a show of fiddling with a book near him. Behind her she could hear Sophia tsking at the books on the floor, and Barbara added, "I'm going to have to help clean that up." She slid a book forcefully back into the shelf next to him with a satisfying thunk.

[Connor Kent]

“Yeah…” Connor followed her withering gaze, down to the hardback hell he’d unleashed upon the library floor, “Here. Let me help.”

Sandwiched between the redhead and her fellow librarian, Connor reached for the nearest book, and placed it neatly on the second shelf. The older woman must have had a fire spreading inside of her, for she sucked air through her teeth like she meant to put it out. Instinct suggested that was not a good sign. Fearing another teeth-sucking, instead of replacing books upon the shelves, he went about gathering them up into neat piles, each within arms reach of the seething librarians.

Although he could only see the back of her head, he could imagine what the girl’s face looked like, all considered. He was really screwing this up. There was so much he wanted ask. So much he wanted to say. But, with the frosty silence of her co-worker to deal with, he could only dance around the subject.

“Huh!” he said, after a moment, “So this is where you work. I didn’t have you pegged as the type. How’s the pay?”

[Barbara Gordon]

Sophia glanced at Barbara. Bringing a boyfriend into work was a serious faux pas, at least if one of the old biddies realized what was going on and that he was responsible for a literal literary disaster just outside the Martha Wayne Reading Room. Barbara frowned and shook her head, giving the male intruder a glower and then painting a smile on her face.

"Yes, I, a librarian, work at the library. Pay's good enough." She picked up the book he'd placed incorrectly on the shelf and put it on the floor, then stood up and hefted the lopsided third shelf back onto it's pegs so it was straight again. She gave it a pat and then knelt back down, her knee length skirt making things a bit awkward. Thankfully it wasn't tight - Eileen the Senior Librarian had Opinions on Fashion and what Kids These Days Wear, so Barbara had quickly learned what the approved dress code was, and tight short skirts were definitely not on the list.

"And you? What was your name again?" She smiled prettily in a I'm-probably-going-to-kill-you way.

[Connor Kent]

Well, she certainly hadn’t lost any of that fire. The first salvo of sass, Connor weathered with a helpless, but hidden, grin. If she saw him smile, her tongue was likely to lash again. And, while the older one was around, she kept her mood in check - he could use that to his advantage - but, once she was gone, the sweetness and light routine was going to become hellfire and brimstone if he caused any further aggravation. In a bid to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, he retreated a step and buried his hands in his pockets. He chose his next words carefully.

“Connor,” he gave himself a second, and then, “I’m glad we ran into each other again. I wanted to apologise for the… misunderstanding the other night. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara angrily sorted books with a blank expression on her face, and Sophia nudged her. She looked at the other librarian and grimaced, but it was too late; Sophia was taking her social life into her own hands, it seemed. The blond turned slightly and smiled at him as she handed books off to Barbara. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Connor. I'm Sophia, I work with Barbara. Obviously." She laughed (quietly).

Babs felt the elbow again and she sighed, turning to look at him, standing there with his hands in his pockets. "Yes, well, all's forgiven. Good thing you didn't follow it up with stalking me in my place of work." She picked up two books at once and placed them on the shelf, and slid a third in next to them. Melvil Dewey, you patron saint of libraries, deliver me from this mess! The piles of books were already rapidly organizing under his sacred system of decimals and the entire mess would be cleaned up in a few minutes. Luckily Mr. Connor Crow hadn't dumped out more than a few shelves.

[Connor Kent]

“Stalking?”

The word leapt out of his mouth before he could put a leash on it. It was the second time in just as many weeks that he’d been accused of stalking someone, except, this time, there was no truth to it. Barbara - thank you, Sophia - wasn’t willing to give him an inch. And, much like everything else she said, her apology was not to be taken at face value. Damn. She was making this much harder than he'd expected. It was time to play dirty.

“I come to this library all the time,” he said, and it was the truth, well, sort of. His arms folded like a shield across his chest, ready to deflect anymore barbs, “And I had no idea this was where you worked. If I did, why… I’d have to be some sort of oracle.”

[Barbara Gordon]

Sophia laughed again, but Barbara shot Connor a look - a reaction she wished she could take back when she saw his eyes light up. Dammit! "Well, it's a good library when people aren't tearing it apart," she said lamely. Sophia patted her on the shoulder.

"I've got this, why don't you take your break?" She looked meaningfully at Connor, and for the first time Barbara actually disliked the woman.

"I- well... if you're sure...?" Barbara picked up another book, and the other librarian took it from her gently.

"Of course, go, have a coffee or something." Sophia smiled again. "It was nice to meet you, Connor."

Barbara stood there, bookless and speechless, and then she turned to the Crow. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about," she managed to grit out. "And the library does serve coffee."

[Connor Kent]

“It was nice meeting you, Sophia.”

Connor gave Barbara’s friend a nod. He was smiling, a tight-lipped smile that so wanted to become something larger. But he resisted, of course, for Barbara’s sake. And his own. When they first met, she had him at a disadvantage - back then, he was the one lashing out in frustration - it was only fair, now that they were on her turf, that the tables were turned. In that regard, he supposed, he was her cash drawer, waiting to be upended and disemboweled. Recalling, from that fateful night, his own shameful lapse in composure, it wasn’t too hard to divine where all of this resentment was coming from, bubbling beneath the surface. She had him down as just another scumbag Crow. How did he convince her otherwise? He wasn’t exactly Shakespeare.

“I thought that would get your attention,” he said, once they were beyond the considerable range of Sophia’s librarian’s ears. Now he allowed his smile to break in earnest, “Not bad for one of those ‘moronic frat boys, bogged down under the weight of their own incompetence,’ right?”

[Barbara Gordon]

She turned on him once they were in the midst of the stacks, about halfway between the reading room and the coffee shop. Somewhere in the middle of a bunch of physics texts. "Now that, that, is pretty threatening. Wipe that smile off your face. Are there more of you?"

He seemed a bit dumbfounded and she lashed out, grabbing one of his hands and pressing her thumb and fingers just so, sending him to his knees. "You know who I am, and you know where I was. Are you planning on retaliating? Because if so, this is pretty incompetent." She looked to the sides, but without their masks on just about anyone could be a Crow. There wasn't anyone in sight, which was why she'd used this lock on him in the first place, but you never knew. She glanced up, just in case there was someone hanging out on top of the shelves.

[Connor Kent]

The alarms bells started to ring from the moment she turned on him with that stark sort of edge to her voice. Sure, there was confidence, but she wore it like armour; something else tempered the metal behind her words, making it hard, but brittle. She was afraid. And, before Connor could utter a word of reassurance, she was on him, doing something to his hand. Resistance could only make things worse, so he complied, submitting to her attack. It happened so fast, and before he knew what was going on, he was on his knees.

“Oh.” The mild surprise in his voice wasn’t exactly convincing. He drew to mind all of the hissing and sucking sounds he’d been practising, the same sounds the others had made when Barbara last put the moves on them, and, mindful of the volume, he gave it his all:

“Ah! What are you doing? Nrgh! This really- argh! It’s just me, I promise. It’s just me!”

[Barbara Gordon]

She was tempted to apply more pressure and torque his arm even further, but there was something that rang true in his words even if his winces of pain didn't seem quite...right. She released him and he rubbed his hand where she'd held him, even though the lock put the most pain in the elbow and wrist. "Well, then, what do you want?!" She suddenly looked beyond him and her face blanched. "Oh shitcrackers."

Barbara grabbed at him again, this time only snagging his shirt sleeve as he dodged her. "Oh, come on," she hissed, dragging him down the stacks. "It's the senior librarian," she said, as if that were enough explaination on its own. Ms. Eileen Parker was stalking the rows, her witchy gaze looking for any sign of improper behavior, and Barbara wasn't about to let her catch her with a boy, even if nothing untoward was going on. Which it wasn't, even if he was good looking, and what on earth are you thinkin about? she scolded herself as she towed Connor through the Library.

[Connor Kent]

Shitcrackers. Who said ‘shitcrackers?’

As he was pulled away, Connor stole a nosy glance at the dreaded woman, before vanishing behind the bookshelves. Sure, she looked all business, with those close narrowed eagle eyes and the violently restrained hair, but what was there to fear? His puzzlement was lost on Barbara, who didn’t dare to look back; she led the way, and he followed, glad to have finally passed that awkward attack phase of the relationship.

“The senior librarian,” he repeated, trying the words on for size. Up ahead, the bookish barricades broke to reveal a small oasis of brightly coloured chairs, miniature tables, bean bags, and lots and lots of little people. Whatever reasons Barbara had for such a swift and sudden flight eluded him, and he tried to make sense of it all:

“It’s the senior librarian, and… your books are overdue?”

[Barbara Gordon]

"She's my boss," she hissed, abruptly aware that Storytime was going on right in front of them and she had burst into the clearing like a bear into a campsite. Parents looked curiously at her, and she stood gap-mouthed for a moment before a lightbulb of intuition came upon her. "Point at one of the kids and wave a tiny bit," she whispered through a helpful smile. "Like you lost your little brother and I'm helping you find them?"

The puppet helping today's reader entertain the kids looked like it belonged behind glass at an occult museum, and it was staring at her. Barbara smiled fiercely, and belatedly realized she was holding Connor's hand tightly.

[Connor Kent]

With all eyes on them and no time to think, Connor placed his trust in Barbara’s warm, and powerful, hands. Trailing behind her like a toddler on his first day in school, he picked out a round-faced boy with big blue eyes, and pointed. It was all a bit stiff and unnatural, and, in his head, he imagined he looked something like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. All he needed to do now was scream. Instead, he split his face into a smile to combat the uncertainty taking shape on the little boy’s face. It wasn’t going well, but he was committed to this… whatever it was:

“Timmy! Hey, look, it’s Timmy! Hiya, buddy!”

The warm melodic tone of his voice did nothing to assuage the encroaching horror, and before long, fat tears were leaking from little ‘Timmy’s’ face. Like a wounded pup, he howled, and the den mother was summoned. She swept down on her little boy and scooped him up in thick arms. There was murder in her eyes, and all it took was one look to throw both Barbara and Connor off course.

“Oh,” he said, loud enough for the rest to hear, “That wasn’t Timmy, after all.”

[Barbara Gordon]

He was as subtle as a brick through plate glass, and the tranquility of Storytime was shattered. "Oh for crissakes," Barbara despaired, loathe to keep him at her side, but the thought of him disappearing into the ether was even worse. "Sorry, Timmy must be somewhere else," she said, "We'll keep looking."

Ms. Eileen was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, and Barbara tugged at his hand as some of the kids started running around. Everyone was distracted (everyone but the demonic puppet, of course, staring at her with baleful eyes), and they escaped back through the magazines room where a couple middle schoolers were giggling over a Nat Geo. "You're buying me coffee," she ground out between her teeth as they finally emerged at the coffee shop that sat on a dias in the middle of (one of) the Fiction sections. "And explaining why you thought it would be a good idea to introduce yourself."

[Connor Kent]

“What? It would’ve been weird if I’d just stood there, pointing at some kid. Figured I’d give it a little context.” When it became clear his line of reasoning was winning him no sympathy points, he shrugged the whole thing off, “It was your idea.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomed him like a warm blanket, comforting and familiar. Whenever he visited the library, he liked to be within sniffing range of the coffee shop, because it afforded him a great view of all the comings and goings of regular people, who met, sat, talked, drank, and left. And now, he and Barbara were about to do the same, themselves. While they queued, he studied the overhanging chalkboards, and discovered that most drinks sounded like Italian opera singers. The one thing that wasn’t on the menu was plain and simple coffee.

“So,” he said, with a nod at all the fanciful gibberish, “What’s good?”

[Barbara Gordon]

"It's all good," she said, exasperatedly. "Just get whatever you like." He continued to stare at the menus as they inched toward the counter, and Barbara added, "You don't seem like a 'pumpkin spice' kind of guy, though."

She eyed him and his chiseled jawline, a slouch and loose clothes disguising his true height. After a moment she asked, "Why'd you do it?"

[Connor Kent]

The way she stared, he could almost feel her eyes moving over him, cutting, like a scalpel, to peer inside. It was a look punctuated with a question mark. All he had to do was wait. And, when it came, his gaze dropped from the vexing drinks menu, to count cash in his hands. Behind the peak of his cap, he found shelter from the Oracle’s sight - and, suddenly, he found himself wondering where that nickname came from and what kind of sight she actually possessed.

“That’s a loaded question,” he said, while he straightened crumpled bills into a neat stack, “Do you want to be more specific, Barbara?”

[Barbara Gordon]

She shrugged, tucking her auburn hair behind her ears. "You don't look like someone who'd get thrown on the ground and not be able to get up again. So why did you stay down? Why did you talk to me in the first place?"

They were next to order, and Barbara smiled at the barista. "Grande americano with cream. For Barbara."

[Connor Kent]

"Same.” Instead of tying his tongue in knots, he opted for the safe option, “Uh, for Connor.”

The coffee guy was very proper, in his clean shirt and his smart waistcoat, smiling just enough to be polite without resorting to stomach-churning cheerfulness. His fingers danced over the keys and, before he knew it, Connor was handing over enough cash for a couple of takeouts. With the transaction done, the coffee guy started working the levers and knobs of some great steaming machine, a machine that, somewhere, somehow, presumably produced coffee. And, once he was confident he and Barbara had secured enough space for themselves, the conversation was resumed:

“I’m not some asshole who beats on women,” he noticed the look that got, and promptly added, “Or anyone else, for that matter. But, the guys, they don't like that, so I save face. And they can't complain because you kicked their butts, too.”

As he recalled the sight of Owlish, Turk, and Mo sprawled out on the pavement, he failed to fight back a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. And then, when he coupled that image with the petite unassuming librarian before him, his eyes narrowed, “Your turn. Same question.”

[Barbara Gordon]

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, Connor," she said cagily. Their plain coffees arrived promptly, and she collected hers, glancing at her watch. Only ten more minutes if she was going to continue calling this her 'break.'

"Table?" He didn't object, so she led the way to one of the little tables and sat down across from him. "I was investigating something, and a couple guys in masks tried to kill me. So, I fought back."

[Connor Kent]

“The fighting part, I get. And the investigation thing is no mystery - I’ve read your blog.”

Even though the neighbouring tables were unoccupied, Connor dropped his voice. If he was a journalist with a secret alias, the last thing he’d want is for strangers to blurt it out in public libraries. Not that he would have a secret alias, of course. That would be stupid. In Gotham’s Dark Corners, he’d discovered a girl with a passion for her city, and a strong word or two to say about the state it was in: on the surface, it could be dismissed as the mad opinions of a conspiracy theorist, who explores the ‘real reasons’ why the police cannot clean up the Narrows, and about ‘who benefits from keeping the poor poor.’ But, much like with Gotham City itself, it didn’t take much digging to get to the ugly truth beneath the surface. It was obvious the Oracle did her research.

Part of him knew the answer before he asked the question, it was written between the lines of her blog, but he really hoped that his assumptions made up only half the answer. He took a sip of his grande americano with cream, for Connor. It was potent, and bitter, and almost certainly smelled better than it tasted.

“You don’t look like someone who’d go snooping around the Narrows at night and get into fights with scumbags. So… why do you do it?”

[Barbara Gordon]

A flippant answer was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. "I've seen what this city does to good people. It beats them down again and again - every time they get up there's something else. Waiting. If you don't have money you're just working yourself to death trying to make it paycheck to paycheck. The police - some of them - do what they can. But it's sticking your fingers in a failing dam. Always another leak. They ran out of fingers a long time ago."

Barbara sipped her coffee, letting the warm aroma tickle her nostrils. "I lived in Metropolis, for a bit. And... it's just different there. Their hero doesn't wear a mask, he wears an S, and everything just feels more... optimistic? When I came back I just wasn't satisfied hearing my uncle's stories about work and hoping for a better outcome. I want to get in there and expose the secrets, shine a light in those dark corners that people are getting lost in. And just sitting behind a desk, comfortably anonymous... it's not enough."

[Connor Kent]

What came out of her mouth surprised him. At first. Before she started to speak about heroes and shining lights in darkness, Barbara tempered her altruism with some real talk. When she spoke about the state of Gotham, and the struggle of its citizens, there was grit in her words, and a weariness so heavy he could almost feel it sinking into his muscles. Unlike the usual brand of textbook politics or economics he overheard in the library, these were things she had seen and experienced for herself, and she was sick of it.

That, he understood. He respected it, even. It was all the other stuff that struck him as a bit insane. Of course, that was where the multicoloured spectre of the superhero contaminated the picture. There was only one person she could possibly be talking about: the man who inspired normal people to take up a lifestyle of suicidal madness, all in the name of the greater good. Whatever the hell that was. It’s kinda sad just how many of them seem to forget that, unlike him, they’re not bulletproof. Ranting about it wouldn’t help, he knew. There was no dislodging his pedestal from the mind’s of people like Barbara.

“You should write for the Gotham Gazette.” It was the most sensible and sincere thing he could say without going off-road into the no man’s land of their ideologies. And then, before he could help himself:

“It’s not an S.”

He disappeared behind his coffee.

[Barbara Gordon]

"His family crest that stands for hope that looks​ like an S," she amended with a roll of her eyes. "Sounds like something he made up, personally. And the Gazette is part of the problem, of course. Media feeds off of the vigilante craze, supplying pictures, rumors... no one seems to want to fact check anymore. If there's a tweet about it it's probably true, right?"

Connor met her eyes over his coffee, and Barbara sighed. "I mean, it's not that I think I'm too good for the Gazette. We just have different goals. And I don't have a journalism degree. Hell, I don't have a degree in library sciences either - it's a real thing I promise - but I got my foot in the door because of my uncle." She sipped her coffee. "So, that was probably way too much information about me. What about you? Why does Connor run with Crows but spend most of his time in the library? Why do I feel like you're not going to tell 'the guys' my name and where to find me?"

[Connor Kent]

“Because I’m not one of the guys. They only think I am.”

He watched Barbara carefully: just as he expected, there was no hint of surprise in her face, just a telling lift of the eyebrows that betrayed her curiosity. She certainly had the keen instincts of a journalist, and the same appetite for a good story, too. The fog of resentment was lifting, and as her features softened, he noticed she had the most amazing eyes.

“The Crows are involved in something much bigger than themselves. I want to know whose pocket they are in, and why. Your article unravelled some of the mystery for me. There’s something about those drugs that has them all on edge.”

First, Oliver Queen, the fist-fighting playboy, and now, Barbara, the ass-kicking librarian; Gotham City, for all of its shortcomings, had been strangely generous to him, lately. It would take a blind fool to miss the opportunity sitting in the seat across from him, and he wondered if she felt the same way. It was so obvious.

“We should work together.”

[Barbara Gordon]

"Perhaps," she allowed, cradling her hot cup between cold hands. "Anything you could tell me about that drug would be helpful, to be honest. How long have you - the Crows, I mean - been bringing it in the city?"

Barbara leaned forward a bit, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Who's the leader of the Crows, anyway? Have you met them?" A name meant she could run a background check, or maybe somehow get the GCPD involved by convincing them this was important...without exposing herself as Oracle, of course.

[Connor Kent]

“His name is Jack. That’s all I know. He doesn’t like to show his face.”

The others spoke of Jack with the sort of revered undertones typically reserved for a religious figure. They feared and respected him in equal measure, and they added to his legend with rumour and gross exaggeration. His personal favourite was that, once upon a time, the Joker removed his face with scissors and had worn it for Halloween. The only person he knew to have spoken with him was Turk, and the only thing that could be agreed upon was that the masks were his idea.

Connor returned to Barbara’s question about the drugs they were shipping with the kevlar that night. He leaned forward on his elbows, and spoke low over his steaming mug of coffee.

“As for the drugs, well, I didn’t even know there were any drugs until I heard about your blog. The guys didn’t trust me with all the details, so they kept that side of the work quiet, and out of my sight. Your story blew the whole thing wide open. Turns out this is a whole new operation, been going on about a month or so. Before then, they were pushing ounces for hookers and bums. But this? Drugs, kevlar… something big is going on, and whoever is behind it likes to keep their head down. And the Crows? They just can’t believe their luck.”

[Barbara Gordon]

Your story blew the whole thing wide open. Barbara hid a pleased smile with a sip of coffee. "If only the GCPD would take a little blog article seriously. I don't... I can't just drop off a drug sample at the precinct without a whole lot of questions being asked. And pictures of men in bird masks carrying nondescript boxes isn't exactly evidence of anything in particular, even when I paired it with pictures of a bulletproof vest."

'Jack' wasn't much to go on, but it was something she hadn't known before. "So you think there's someone behind Jack pulling the strings." Barbara frowned. Connor was trying to investigate the Crows from the inside, but had come to it from a different angle than she had, and for his own reasons. And then there was the Green Arrow who was sure there was something untoward going on with disappearing QC subsidiaries that may be connected to the brand new qPhones that the Crows were sporting.

"To be honest, I'd been expecting more phones or qPads in the boxes," she said with an air of carelessness. "Something that could be fenced easily. Stolen, or smuggled, kevlar makes everything a bit more serious. Do you have any idea where these boxes are coming from?"

[Connor Kent]

"Not from the same place as the drugs, that's for sure. It's all part of the deal, Mo said. And, to be honest, I was amazed he was able to tell me that much after you nearly took his head off with your foot." He wondered about the kind of reaction that would get: would she be proud? Would she be coy? Could she care less? The pause lingered, drawn out by a cursory gulp of coffee. Still bitter. "There's a trade going down with the Chinatown boys and the Crime Alley crew. A few days from now. I'll know more after then."

What was becoming swiftly apparent to him over the course of their conversation was just how little he knew. If he was going to make any significant progress this side of the 22nd century, he had to up his game; working with Barbara was not enough - he needed to take a page out of her book. Rumour was that the meeting was going down in an old paint warehouse on the waterfront. Maybe he could scope it out, first. It was a detail deliberately omitted from his report, just in case Barbara decided to make herself a liability again. Besides, that way, she could be put to better use:

"This uncle of yours, let me guess... cop? Politician? Sounds like he has some sway. Can't you tell him what you know about the Crows and their business in the Narrows?"

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara grimaced comically. "Something like that. And... if I told him what I know, then he'd know. About what I'm doing. He's not just my uncle, he and my aunt adopted me when I was ten, so... he's very protective. I've been hoping that by publishing and getting damning evidence it'll trickle down, or up, or something. I've anonymously sent links to the Gazette trying to get them to pick up the story. But armored car heists foiled by the Batman are so much better for the front page."

She shook her head. "There are other things that are so much worse going on. It's hard to get people to look at a stolen property case when there's no one crying about what got stolen from them."

[Connor Kent]

When she spoke of the Batman's ubiquitous media presence, Connor mirrored her look of distaste, albeit for different reasons. Or maybe not, he didn't really know Barbara, after all. She'd spoken positively of Metropolis, and the other guy, but perhaps her fledgling career as an investigative reporter had jaded her to the masked lunatics who prowl the rooftops at night. He could only hope - sanity was a rare commodity in Gotham. And, it had not gone unnoticed that the response regarding her uncle had been, at best, evasive. Whatever did Uncle Gordon do? If that was even his name. Pushing the matter would only put her on the defensive, he decided, so he'd save his snooping another time. Besides, there was something else she said that lodged itself in his brain like a fishing hook, pulling...

"All that kevlar, and no-one says a thing. You took pictures, right?" His gaze lifted from his hands, expectant, "Is there any way to find out who the manufacturer is? Someone is keeping their mouth shut about this, and we need to find out why."

[Barbara Gordon]

"Well..." Barbara hesitated. Oh, why not. "There weren't any identifying marks on the outside. I've done a lot of Googling on body armor, and it's similar enough at a glance to what's out there to not stand out, and yet there were some diagonal straps here," she gestured to her back from under her armpit toward her front. "Pretty unique. I can't find a match, and I didn't get a look at the inside to see if there was a manufacturer's mark or anything like that."

She looked at Connor. "If only I knew someone who might be able to get a hold of one of them for me. Or tell me where they ended up...."

[Connor Kent]

Connor smiled. Barbara dropped hints like atom bombs.

"I'll see what I can do."

Already, he was picturing the scene: him, circling the warehouse with the rest of the small fry, while all the big fish gathered inside. It wasn't going to be easy. Maybe he could create a diversion by setting something on fire and sneak inside. Or, maybe he could knock someone out and steal his clothes - with the mask, no-one would know the difference. His eyes swept the dais, and the people sat at their tables, drinking unpronounceable coffees. Was this the sort of thing you discussed over coffee? He wondered about the silver-haired gentlemen, who might by planning a diamond heist, or the grungy-looking students, and their violin cases that contained tommy guns, probably. Something about judging books and covers sprung to mind, which prompted him to return his attention, and the same barely-contained look of amusement, to Barbara.

"Who taught you how to fight like that, anyway?"

[Barbara Gordon]

"Mr. Miyagi," she said cryptically, and then added, "Well, he was karate, obviously, so not him. I trained in a local Taekwando dojo in the suburbs. My uncle wanted me to know how to defend myself." Barbara looked down at her knuckles, mostly healed thanks to whatever it was Grayson had put on them.

"What about you? Where'd you learn to roll over and play dead like that?" She looked innocent as she asked it, but then the corner of her mouth twitched up, revealing the dimple in her cheek.

[Connor Kent]

"The kennel club."

What a return! Roger Federer, eat your heart out. Connor tried his best to pass it off like he brought this sort of repartee to every conversation, but his self-satisfaction got the better of him. Another smile - he was bleeding cool like a rookie bleeding poker chips. His own poker face needed work. Then again, it was a nice change to not have something to be angry about. Alright, so it was a tenuous bond at best, but, with Barbara, he didn't need to hide so much, and that was a big deal.

"You know, I lost some serious man points that night. It's gonna be a while before I get back in the good books with my fellow gangbangers. Next time, I might have to get rough."

He glanced dangerously over the rim of his coffee mug.

[Barbara Gordon]

Barbara smirked at his glower, and brushed her hair back from her shoulder. "I don't intend to end up in that situation again, but I'll keep that in mind. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself." She glanced up at the big clock above the coffee station. "My break is almost over. Is there a way I can get in touch with you?"

[Connor Kent]

"Sure."

From his jacket, he unearthed a small notepad and a pen. Near the back, behind all of his scribbled notes, he found a blank page and wrote his number onto it. The page was torn out and handed across the table. When Barbara reached out, he realised it was the first time he'd ever exchanged numbers with a girl, which was an important milestone in any guy's life. And she had to give her number in return, right? That's how these things usually went down.

"I'm going to call you babe," he decided, "When you call. That way, as far as the guys are concerned, you're just a little something I've got going on the side. Are you okay with that?"

[Barbara Gordon]

"Yeah," she said. "As long as I get to call you sweet cheeks." Barbara scribbled down her number on a napkin with the name 'Babe' and drew a heart on it before passing it over. "I guess I'll talk to you later, Connor."

She paused, lukewarm paper cup in her hand. "Try not to destroy my library again, okay?"