stop - children, what's that sound?

[bossymarmalade]

Ollie trots his way into the Watchtower cafeteria, smelling like seaweed iodine and brine and tar. Although he seems a bit damp, he’s intent on the food line, tugging the hoodie he has on over his GA outfit closer. He’s about to ask about the day’s special when he spots Mera at the other end of the cafeteria and waves at her, shouting, “Hey! Queen of Atlantis!”

Mera glances at Green Arrow and resists the urge to ignore him, pretend to not have heard. With half of the people standing before in him line staring at her questioningly, it’s difficult to do so. She sighs quietly and turns to face the man, but shows no effort of walking towards him. One eyebrow quirked, she stares.

Grabbing a sandwich and two cookies from the cold case, Ollie trots over to where Mera is. “Hey,” he says, marginally out of breath. “You got a minute? I got some stuff I wanna rap with you about.” He gestures to a nearby table with the cookies, waiting for her to sit.

“Is that what has gotten you out of breath or are you out of shape?” she asks observing him. She does sit down as she had been deciding on where to try the delicacy that the surface dwellers call pumkin soup. It’s halloween after all, the lady suggesting this dish had told her. It holds no meaning to her, but intrigued and feeling challenged, Mera is going to try it and finish it. Spoon in hand, she stirs the soup cautiously.

Ollie blinks at her critique, then laughs, a touch self-consciously. “Erm. Well, Your Highnessness, normally I’m pretty good at going for a while without taking a breath, if you know what I mean…” He raises his eyebrows significantly at her, then lowers them. “…no, you probably don’t know what I mean. Forget it. My point is, I’m outta breath because I’ve been doing some impromptu swimming down at the Star City dockyard.” He unwraps his sandwich, looking as if he expects praise for this.



Mera lifts the spoon to her mouth, parting her lips to have a first taste only to halt at his odd reference. The spoon is lowered back into the bowl at his next statement. “You went to the docks without further consulting me? Without my company?” She asks obviously offended and although the docks are not her territory she had wanted to investigate said scene as well, with or without the Green Arrow. To hear he has done so without her angers her slightly. Having lost interest in the soup, the Queen crosses her arms over her chest like a mother about to scold her child. “At least tell me you found something in our favour.”

The praise not forthcoming, Ollie sits back, looking abashed. “Well,” he says, scratching at the shell of his ear like the scolded child Mera’s tone conjured up, “it wasn’t planned, y’see. I was following up on one of my own cases and I just happened upon where you mentioned the Hatter’d been seen. So I thought I’d take a look, hence my not having proper swimming attire at the time.” He plucks at the hoodie, which is dark with water in some places. “I dunno if what I found is in our favour, but whoever it was poking around in there, it wasn’t the real Hatter. Some accomplice or dupe, is my guess.”

Mera exhales disappointedly. Incompetent, is what she thinks at first, but then, after her frustration dies, she notices the water stains and smells the scent of the ocean on his figure. What did Arthur call it? Ten points for trying? Mera doesn’t feel like giving Ollie any, but spares him. “Nevertheless, what caused you to come to that conclusion? Have you found any evidence?”

“It’s not a complete wash, Mera. You were right — they were harvesting plant matter from under the docks — it’s just the Hatter wasn’t doing the grunt work himself. He probably outfitted his lackey with one of his hats to keep tabs on’im. These designer villain drugs are pretty high-profile at this point; paranoid little creep like Hatter, he’s probably starting to worry that he can’t trust any of his workers. The good thing is!” Ollie grins, digging in his pocket, and extracts a little watertight plastic bubble: inside is a squat kite-shaped pill, such a deep blue that it looks black. “I think I got us a sample of the next drug. Stupid of them, to use the same area as a dropoff point, but hey, I’m not one to go mouth-kicking gift horses.”

Curiosity piqued, Mera lowers her arms, hands resting on the tables while leaning in towards the pill Ollie’s describing. Its deep colour reminds her of the depths of the ocean. “Next drug? How many do you expect there to come? And what does this one do? I assume they didn’t leave it there for you to find, how did you obtain it?” The questions show Mera’s intent on assisting in this case, but not without being fully briefed. She won’t allow Ollie to investigate by himself next time. She knows nothing of the Hatter, but if he is using ocean plants residue, she may be able to identify an element of the drugs, perhaps even /the/ element that transform the user. Mera can only hope they are that fortunate.

Ollie throws the capsule in the air, catching it with a snap and tucking it back in his pocket. “This little baby’s headed straight to the labs for analysis,” he says. “My guess is Hatter finished formulating it, and they left this sample under the dock for Black Manta to check out. Just happened to be lucky that I found it before he did.” Flush with pleasure in his own success, Ollie picks up half his sandwich and offers it to Mera. “Wanna share? Your soup looks good. It’s chicken salad, if you like chicken salad.”

Mera is alarmed by the mention of Black Manta’s name. Arthur will not be pleased to hear his rival is indeed involved as he suspected. “I wish to know of the analysis once it’s done,” Mera demands rather than asks, eyes shifting to the man’s gesture of sharing his meal. Odd, the Queen thinks with a shake of her head. “I am not quite familiar with your food yet, too much of it will upset my bowel movement,” she informs the man with a serious expression, returning to her soup and finally tasting it. Creamy. She licks her lips, taking another spoonful although delicately, like the lady she is.

Ollie slowly takes his sandwich back, mouth twisting as he tries to keep his composure at hearing the hoity-toity queen of the merfolk talk about her bowel movements. “All right, then,” he finally says, and as he’s casting about for something else to say, spots a familiar figure enter the cafeteria. “JASON! Hey, Jason!” Ollie bellows, waving his arm in relief. “Come over here!” He plops back down and takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing and grinning at Mera. “Iffen you’re gonna be up here for a while, you should get to know some people,” he declares.”

Mera stirs her soup once more, not amused by the man’s obnoxiously loud behaviour. “Can you not make such scenes? Who is this Jason you’re refering to?” Mera turns and watches the unfamiliar young man. She does agree that making allies is beneficial, but Ollie doesn’t have to know.

“I’ll let him make his own introductions,” Ollie says cheerfully. “And don’t worry, you’ll get to know the lab analysis once it’s all run through. I’m not fool enough to turn down help when it comes to a transnational drug trade that’s starting to dip down into the depths of the murky brine, too.”

As cheerful as Ollie is, the more reserved Mera becomes. “Murky brine? Do you not speak conventional English?” Mera questions with furrowed brows, eyes still on Jason who doesn’t appear too eager to come and join them.

“Not if I can help it, no ma’am,” Ollie says. If anything, his tone gets more cheerful in direct proportion to Mera withdrawing.

Jason blinks at the sound of Ollie’s voice, turning his attention away from his beloved coffee machine to wave. His eyes flick to Mera hesitantly before he heads over. “Hey Jolly Green,” he says with a little nod of greeting.

Ollie bounds up to pull a chair out for Jason. “Jay! Take a load off, kiddo. I wantcha to meet Queen Mera, the muckety-muck High Ruler and Potentate and Monarch Fish of all Atlantis.”

Mera glares at Ollie, uncertain of the definition of half of the words the man used to introduce her, but she has the feeling none of them were graceful or competent. “I start to understand Arthur’s dislike for you, Arrow.” Her eyes land on Jason next. “Are you as rude as this one?”

Jason takes the seat as he nods to Mera, still feeling a little awkward as he tends to around authority figures. “Nice to meet you, your highness,” he says with a little nod. Glancing at Ollie, he shrugs. “I don’t know how to answer that without making someone at this table offended.”

Ollie snorts as Jason rapidly trucks off to collect his coffee. “I’ll have you know, Mera,” he says with great dignity, “there’s probably nobody up on this floating citadel as rude as me.” He pauses, then adds, “When Arthur’s not up here, that is.”

Mera scoffs, following Jason’s retreating form. “Is it jealousy that makes you speak badly of him all the time?” The Queen asks with a flair of arrogance.

Ollie leans back in his chair, breaking off a piece of one cookie. “Jealousy?” he repeats incredulously. “Lady, I’ve been friends with Arthur since he was wearing an orange tee shirt and had to moisten himself every hour to get by. I’m not jealous, no.”

Ollie grins suddenly and leans forward again. “Unless you mean, am I jealous that a dweeb like Arthur’s landed himself such a hot consort…”

Jason returns with his coffee, taking the seat again, though he almost instantly regrets it when he hears their conversation. “Y’know, if you two are in the middle of something, I can leave… again…”

Mera quirks an eyebrow, having degraded from Highness to Lady. And then there’s that toothy, goofy grin. “That dweeb is my husband and his hot consort isn’t fond of people addressing him as such.” Mera dismisses her soup, looking at Jason. “Sit,” she tells him, “this conversation is not /something/ you speak of.”

Ollie lets up, now that Jason’s there. “It’s fine,” he confirms. “Just ribbing between two colleagues. We’re, uh — Mera’s gonna be helping with figuring out a new Hatter drug.”

“Uh huh.” He decides not to press the issue. His brow furrows as he looks at Ollie. “Another one? The hell does this one do?”

“We will know after the lab has analyzed it. We suspect it’s meant to be dealt underneath the surface by Black Manta.” Mera explains more friendly than before.

Ollie grunts, sobering a little at this being articulated out loud. “Underwater drug trade. It’s a spooky thought, the implications of that. I can barely wrap my head around it.”

Jason lets out a breath as he drags a hand through his hair. “Guess it makes sense. If he wants to get his drugs all over the planet, leaving out the ocean would leave out seventy percent of it. Still fucked up though.”

Ollie nods. “Kinda unsettling, isn’t it? I always figured Hatter was one’a the more ridiculous villains outta your burg, Jason. Didn’t think he had this kind of long-range game in him.” Ollie scowls as he finishes his cookie. “Christ, I hate it when villains ~evolve.”

Mera is silent for a moment, imagining mutant like Atlanteans wrecking havoc. “Trial and error,” she says in reply to Ollie’s complaints. “It’s only natural.”

Jason drums his fingers on the table, brow furrowed in thought. “It does seem kinda weird for him to be pulling the strings on this… not really his MO…”

Ollie waves his hands around. “But enough shop talk!” he says loudly. “Jason, have you ever seen Atlantis? The real deal, not the version on tv and movies.”

Bruce enters the Watchtower cafeteria in what looks like riot gear. The suit is a dark, burnished ebony, the edges of it gleaming dull in the light of the room, the cowl mechanical, hard plates of metal lining down the back of his skull and neck, looking more like a medieval suit of armor than his normal suit.

“Uh, don’t think so,” he says shaking his head. “Never got around to it while I was in the pixie boots.” He turns at the sound of foot steps, one eyebrow rising at the sight of Batman’s rather extreme gear, though he doesn’t verbally acknowledge the man.

Mera rolls her eyes, catching sight of Batman later throughout the motion. “Batman,” she says slightly surprised at his presence and odd outfit.

Bruce looks over at the gathering, and then back at where the coffee is.. Almost sighing, he walks over towards the group.

“Heading out to the wars, B?” Ollie says, rather mildly for him.

Bruce looks at Ollie, Jason, and then Mera. He doesn’t open his stance, ignores Ollie’s question, and keeps his gaze on the queen. “You’re still here.”

Ollie give Jason a droll “get /him/” kind of look, with a head tilt in Bruce’s direction. He is, however, curious to see how Mera answers this challenge.

Jason remains quiet, though he returns Ollie’s look with a similar one of his own as he sips at his coffee.

Mera straightens her position in her seat, head raising in defense. “Is there any reason for me not to be?” She asks.

Bruce stares at her for a long moment. “No,” is what he finally says in response, before glancing back towards the coffee maker, almost longingly, before glancing back at the woman. “Have you signed up for Monitor Womb rotation yet?”

Ollie makes an exasperated noise. He gets up and goes to the coffee maker, returning with a mug of black coffee that he hands to Bruce before sitting down again.

Bruce takes the coffee, with something like relief crossing his face, and takes a sip.

“Forget technology and clean energy — I shoulda become a coffee baron. I’d make millions off you Bats alone.”

“I can make my own coffee just fine. Or pay you in pancakes.”

Mera observes the Batman closely. “I was not aware of such a rotation. If me signing up aids you, I will,” she responds slowly, glancing at Ollie shortly.

“Allow me to offer a partnership, coffee baron. I promise our profit will be grand,” a new voice adds to the conversation. Tim’s appearance not as sudden as it seems for he has been observing the group for a while before slithering closer.

Ollie grins at Jason, flicking a pumpkin seed from one of his cookies at him. “Now that’s a payment that’s worth millions!” He catches Mera glancing at him and winks, but then is distracted by Tim’s sudden appearance. “Jesus! You come in packs, too!”

Tim smiles slightly. “Can’t handle that many Bats at once, Ollie?” he asks amused.

Bruce looks over, at Jason and Ollie when the conversation flits between them, and another quick emotion flickers over his face. He looks back at Tim when he enters, then at Mera, answering her. He doesn’t, after all, want to be rude. “All League members with quarters aboard the Watchtower must complete a shift every quarter.”

“Whaddyatalk,” Ollie drawls. “If I could manage all these years with the big one, I can handle the juniors just fine.” He switches tacks and butts in on Bruce’s conversation: “Ahhhh, but Queenie here isn’t actually a League member, is she?”

Jason keeps his surprise at Tim’s appearance hidden, just looking up and offering a casual nod in greeting. Little grin on his face, he flicks the seed back towards Ollie.

Mera stares at Tim, eyeing him almost suspiciously. “Then I will,” she says, focussing on Batman once more. “Am I even a League member, however?”

Bruce takes a sip of coffee, long and hard, his gaze returning to Oliver, then Jason, once again, lingering, before he responds. “That hasn’t seemed to stop anyone else, has it?”

Tim returns Jason’s greeting, wondering how they’ll act after their little heart to heart through text messages the other day. So far so good, he sighs relieved. He sits down beside him, although slowly.

Ollie raises one slow eyebrow at Bruce as the seed Jason flicked bounces off his forearm. “There’s having been part of the group before, B, and then there’s never having been one of us.”

Tim looks at Ollie and then at Bruce, uncertain if he should continue.”..Not going to introduce me to the Highness like you did with Jason? I feel you are biased.”

Talia had been startled by the first of the tremors, nearly an hour ago. But, when this one begins, hard and sharp, she is forced up from her mattress, looking up at the walls as they begin to morph, quiver in front of her. She grits her teeth as the plastic containing walls bends, warps, everything in motion around her as outside, there is a flurry of motion, guards running up and down the hallway.

“Hey, I get to be someone’s favorite bat,” he teases, feeling slightly more at ease with Tim after their texting talk.

Bruce looks over at Tim, his eyebrows arching. “You want a formal introduction?”

Ollie smiles indulgently at the boys, waving at Mera. “Tim Drake-Wayne, this is Queen Mera, of Atlantis.” He actually keeps it short and precise, rather than the long ramble of insults from earlier. “And we’re discussing whether or not she’s entitled to the benefits and responsibilities of being a League member, just by proxy of being married to Aquaman.”

Tim drums his fingers on the table, giving a soft snort at Jason’s teasing and Bruce’s question. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Ollie. It’s nice to finally meet you, your Highness,” Tim says to both men and then the Queen with a short nod. “I say if you put her to work she’s part of the team, is she not?”

Mera watches the men silently. “Likewise, Tim Drake-Wayne,” she replies stiffly. “And I have to say I agree with the young man.”

Ollie drums his fingers on the table, restless, and finally says in a sharp tone, “So what’s with the urban commando getup, B?”

Talia watches as one of those guards runs up to three of the cells, opening the doors, before stopping at Talia’s. When it is opened, he reaches down into the rucksack he is carrying, and produces, of all things a sword. He lays it at the entrance of the door, and states, his voice wavering, out of breath. “Your father bids you welcome and return to his side.”

Tim glances at Ollie and then at Bruce. “It’s Halloween,” he says as if it’s obvious.

Bruce takes another drink of coffee, looking at Tim, his mouth quirking into a smirk.

Ollie makes a frustrated noise and takes Bruce’s cup of coffee away.

Bruce stares at Oliver like he had just kicked a puppy.

Ollie feels slightly bad but mostly is just trying not to laugh, as he sips the coffee and then grimaces. “I thought all the ghoulies packed it in for Halloween. Or no, wait — was that on Buffy? With the vampires?”

Mera frowns deeper by the second, unfamiliar with all these references. “Halloween? Buffy?”

Bruce shakes his head, looking at his coffee, mournfully, before he looks up at Oliver and Mera. “No, Gotham experiences, every year, an exponential increase in violent crime and vandalism on Halloween.”

Jason glances at Mera, feeling the pain of being out of the loop. “Holiday and a TV show about vampires. Lots of creepy crawlies involved with both.”

“Trick or treating hasn’t been the same for years,” Tim mumbles.

Ollie dusts cookie crumbs from his knees, standing up and handing the coffee back. “Then what’re we hanging around for?” He tugs at the grey hoodie he’s wearing, explaining, “I’ve got my working togs on underneath here, I’m down with a little impromptu hunting.” Ollie grins around at the assembly. “Who’s up for it?”

Mera nods her head slowly in understanding, thankful of Jason’s explanation. Creepy crawlies still sounds odd to her, but perhaps she will find its definition if she continues to observe her husband’s colleagues.

Bruce exhales, “Batgirl and Black Bat are recovering from their incident at Mercy West, and Nightstar will be assisting as much as she can, but we’ll be working double time in making sure..” His gaze flickers to Jason, before he looks at Oliver, Mera. “..the entirety of Gotham is covered.” He looks at Oliver when he states what he does, his expression darkening. “Which suit are you wearing?”

Jason looks down at his coffee, gnawing at the inside of his lip. He’s more than tempted to just opt out, but with everyone there… and then Bruce gives him that look and he wants to disappear. “Need more coffee,” he mumbles, getting up and fleeing to the machine.

Ollie deflates visibly, not noticing Jason’s obvious discomfort. “…you want me to put on the hardcore Bat-tested, Bat-approved suit, don’t you? Fine. It’s in my suite, I’ll go put it on. Don’t leave without me.” Ollie points around at them all, then jogs off towards his room.

Tim watches Jason leave and sets his stern eyes on Bruce, lips forming a thin line. ‘Nice job’, he transmits with his mind, hoping the man will receive it. “Coffee sounds good,” he says, following after his brother. Bruce better not mess up all the effort Tim’s put in this, just went Jason was kind of getting along with them.

Mera watches various people leave and stares at Batman, the only one remaining, in the end. “I can assist also,” she offers.

Talia looks at the sword, something hot and angry burning in the center of her chest. She moves forward, bare feet sliding against the floor, and has the sword in her hand, the end of it pointed at the man’s neck in the time it takes him to inhale and exhale. “..let my father know that I would walk barefoot the unpaved roads of Hell before I take any place by his side.” She presses the point of the sword in, and grits her teeth, resisting the urge to push the blade through his neck. She needs him for the message. Exhaling, she pulls back as a new set of tremors takes over, and the man goes running back.

Bruce watches as they move, before looking back at Mera. “How will you be able to assist?” He reaches out for his coffee, that Ollie had taken, but doesn’t take a seat. He takes a long drink.

Mera presses her lips together. Obviously Batman doesn’t believe her skills are worth fighting crime in his city, she thinks angrily. “I will give you a demonstration right now if you wish,” she replies with squinted eyes, her target Batman himself if he agrees.

Jason stands at the coffee machine, staring at the buttons somberly. Hearing Tim follow, he lets out a breath, head falling forward. “And people think I’m immature for holding grudges. Guess we know where I get it now,” he says, barely loud enough for Tim to hear.

Talia glances down at her sword—her father’s apology gift—and is tempted to drop it, out of spite, but as she realizes that most of her neighbors here at Blackgate have been released.. She tightens her hand on the hilt and moves out of the cell. She is still barefoot, no shoes having been given to her, and jumps over the larger piles of debris, before getting to the first body. A guard. He had been polite and Talia briefly notes that, before she leans down and reaches into his pockets, looking for a cell phone. She pulls it out, and begins to punch in numbers.

Jason blinks when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out, eyebrows rising when he sees the number, one he’s never seen before. “Who’s this?” he asks, bluntness forgoing the usual ‘hello’.

Tim joins Jason’s side, actually pressing a button to get their coffee and stares at Jason as he answers the phone, also wondering who’s on the other end.

Talia wastes no time in speaking, knowing he’ll recognize her by her voice alone. “The prison is under assault. Harley Quinn, Zasz, Clayface have been released again. My father sent for me.”

Bruce meets Mera’s eyes, the anger that is there, and something in him relents, as he takes a breath, holding it. He releases it, and quietly, speaks. “I apologize. I’m not—” He pauses, and swallows, setting down his coffee. “I do not require a demonstration and your presence would be appreciated, in any capacity.”

Ollie reappears in the cafeteria in the more heavy-duty, darker green GA costume — actual sleeves and everything — and bumps up next to Bruce, splashing his coffee. “Hey,” he says, “were you two about to rumble?”

Mera would flip her hair if she was like the girls she has seen on the television. She’s not however, and thus chooses to simply shake her head instead. “Of course not,” she lies easily.

Bruce glowers at the loss of any of his coffee, mumbling something dark under his breath, even as he lifts a napkin to mop up the coffee off the front of his chest piece.

Jason blinks, eyes going wide at the sound of Talia’s voice. He curses creatively in a few languages as he runs a hand though his hair. “Don’t go to him. Talia, please. Just—just stay there, I’ll be there soon. Stay safe.” His eyes flick to Tim and he hesitates. More people should know. “Blackgate’s under attack, people’re breaking out. I’m going.”

Talia responds, smirking. “He holds no sway over me, little bird,” she slips the endearment in, in Arabic, even as she steps out of the way of one of the running inmates, who is screaming as he runs down the hallway.

Tim is instantly alarmed as Talia’s name slips from his brother’s lips. The message that follows next only increases his feeling of dread. “Wait. I’m coming along. The others have to know,” he says without hesitation, eyes glancing towards Bruce, Ollie and Mera.

Bruce feels Tim’s gaze flicker over to him, and he meets his son’s eyes, mouth turning down at the look on Tim’s face. His coffee is forgotten, the last note bitter in his mouth. He frowns.

“Then tell ‘em, I’ve gotta go and I’m not waiting for Bruce to give a crap,” he says, phone still pressed to his ear as he turns and rushes out of the room. “I’m on my way,” he says, switching seamlessly to Arabic. “Just stay safe, I know you can handle yourself, but you’d better be alright when I get there or I’m gonna be pissed.”

Ollie catches onto the shift in mood, looking over at the boys as well. “Uh oh,” he murmurs, shouldering his bow. “Trouble in River City.”

Talia laughs, and hangs up the phone, tucking it into the elastic of her orange pants, even as she moves through the maximum security section of the prison.

Tim balls his fists, marching over to the others as Jason leaves. He wishes to join him instantly, but knows back-up is most important. “Talia contacted Jason. Blackgate’s under attack and they’re breaking out,” he says in a rush. “Jason’s already on his way.”

Ollie looks over at Bruce so fast there’s practically a whiplash sound. “/Talia/??”

Mera stands even if not knowing what this Blackgate is or who Talia is. She catches on on the tension, staring at Batman for answers.

Tim gives Bruce the same look, demanding answers and disappointed to be left out in the first place.

“Talia? Talia!” He curses when he sees that she’s hung up and shoves the phone into his pocket even as he sprints towards the Zeta tubes. There’s only a slight pause to grab his gear, but then he’s at the platform. It takes a bit of doing, but he manages to call up the coordinates that Bruce used to get them in and is charging through the halls of Blackgate moments later, guns drawn.

Bruce doesn’t give himself a moment to react, nor does he answer anyone else’s question/questioning looks. It doesn’t matter what mistakes were made. He moves from where he is standing in the direction that Jason had gone, the zetas, not waiting for anyone else. “Red Robin, we’ll need air support,” he calls, over his shoulder, waiting for the younger man’s response: to take the ground at Blackgate, or head to where their aircraft is.

Ollie grabs at Tim’s shoulder, taking off towards the aircraft hangar bay. “We’ll meet you there,” he yells at Bruce’s retreating back. “C’mon, kid!”

Tim grits his teeth, wanting to follow Bruce, but Ollie not permitting him. “No, I told Jason I’d join him,” he says in defiance, trying to shrug off Ollie’s hand.

Mera rounds the table, joining Ollie’s side. “I can join you instead,” she offers.

Bruce looks back at Green Arrow and Mera, over his shoulder. “Keep your comms on, stay focused.”

Ollie gives Bruce a salute and doesn’t slow down for Mera, keeping up his pace down the corridor. “Great,” he says sourly. “Don’t try to give me any imperial orders, I’m warnin’ you now. This ain’t your jurisdiction and I ain’t one’a your subjects.”

Mera is silently surprised at Ollie’s strict intonation and his stern face. She nods in understanding. “I’ll assist in any way possible,” she reassures him.

Tim rushes after Batman to the zetaplatforms, checking the inventory of his utility belt while doing so. “Talia is alive?!” he asks angrily when barely having caught up with the man.

Bruce grits his teeth. “For now.” He slams in the coordinates for Blackgate, noticing that somehow Jason had finagled the codes from memory. He isn’t sure whether to be angry, or incredibly proud, but tucks away the decision for later. He looks at Tim. “Take the south side of the prison, I’ll take the north on foot. The most important thing is neutralizing the greatest threats, not allowing them the chance to get into the city.”

It is utter chaos at the prison, even as another set of tremors strikes, the buildings swaying. Talia has, in the time since she’s spoken to Jason, acquired a pair of boots (close enough to her size to work, tightly laced at the ankle) and a sidearm. She brandishes the sword, even as one of the other inmates barrels towards her, shouting in a drugged rage—the infirmary had been one of the first places hit, the drug addicts crawling over the counters like ants at a picnic. She doesn’t strike to kill, but strikes his leg with the broadside of the blade hard enough to drop him.

Were you ever going to tell me? Tim wonders as he listens to Bruce’s plan of action. “Got it, what about Jason? Any idea where he’s headed within Blackgate?”

Jason rushes around corners, trying to stick to the shadows. Again, he wishes for his real bullets instead of the rubber ones loaded up in his gun. He hasn’t been to the prison often, though he remembers where Talia’s cell is. As an inmate rounds the corner, he strikes the man hard in the temple sending him to the floor before continuing on his way, calling out: “Talia?”

Bruce growls. “Not a goddamn one.” He punches in the release, shooting them both down to the planet, into the utility shed near the prison where the terminal zeta is located. Jason has left the door open. Bruce grits his teeth, and moves out, without another word to the younger man.

Ollie draws up short once he and Mera are actually in the hangar bay, staring at the two crafts currently available: one Javelin, and one Batplane. “Well,” he says, then blows out a breath. “In for a fuckin’ penny, I guess,” Ollie says, and heads for the Batplane.

Following is all he can do, Tim recons as they leave the shed and close in on the prison where hurried shouts and cries of agony resound. Tim holds his bo staff ready, looking out for Jason but to no avail. “I’ll find him,” he promises Bruce and then moves in his appointed direction.

Mera appears hesitant. “You know how to fly this thing?” she asks uncertain. Flying is something she has never done before and she worries if it will effect her negatively. She does get into the plane despite her concern, having promised to help and not backing out.

Talia hears Jason, and rather than call back, moves at a run towards the sound of his voice, pinpointing it exactly. She lowers her sword, her gun, and moves up to him, swiftly, and gathering up on her tiptoes, presses her mouth to Jason’s, claiming a hard, grateful kiss.

“How hard can it be?” Ollie shrugs. “I was flying planes when B was still—” Whatever else Ollie had to say is lost in the sudden roar of the thrusters as the plane leaves the hangar bay at a teeth-rattling speed, heading unerringly towards Blackgate Prison.

Bruce slinks across the ground with the shadows, activating the cowl: the electrodes flicker in the eyelets, moving to night vision, connecting him to the network. He moves, soundlessly, coming across the first inmate.. hiding in a bush. The takedown is also silent: an enormous hand slams down against his mouth, stifling the man’s shouts, as his arm hooks around his neck, applying a steady pressure, sleeper hold, until the struggle slips out of him. Lowering him to the ground, he continues, his breathing coming in steady, controlled sips of air.

There is no denying the sudden cry that leaves Mera as they take off. She grasps something, anything, until her knuckles turn white and her heart hammers against her chest at the speed of which they travel. “What are you doing?!” she bellows, angry and slightly panicked. She wishes to be back in the water. Flying is for birds, she decides.

Jason isn’t surprised when he sees Talia rushing towards him. Relief washing over him he, moves towards her, arms wrapping around her almost on impulse as her lips meet his. Eyes falling shut behind his mask, he kisses back, holding her tightly, the hand not gripping his gun curling tightly into the prison suit she wears.

Ollie hollers, “I know what’s going on, keep yer goddamn tiara on!” He jabs rapidly at a number of the buttons of the control panel, one hand on the throttle, but the plane keeps on doing what it’s doing. Staring at the navigation display, he clears his throat and announces, “We’re right on track. We’ll be at the prison in five minutes, so get ready.”

Talia pulls back, but it’s obvious that it is reluctant, and pushes her fingers against his cheeks, where the mask is. Her mouth flickers, even as an inmate charges at the two of them; she doesn’t flinch, eyes trained on his. “..should I make the knight in shining armor joke now or later?”

Tim ventures through empty hallways, growing suspicious without inmates crossing his path. He is about to lower his staff and contact Bruce to notify him of it when a bulky man does suddenly appear, throwing himself in his general direction with fists the size of his head. Tim rolls to the side, avoiding a painful collision and swings his bo staff back hitting the man on the head. The sharp sound it creates is followed by a loud thud of the man falling on the ground, unconscious. Tim exhales slowly, telling himself not to lower his defenses as he turns back to continue onwards.

Harley calls towards Red Robin, standing at the far end of the hallway. “Pssst!”

Jason sees the man moving out of the corner of his eye and fires three times, eyes never leaving Talia’s face, confident in his aim. “Maybe later, didn’t even bring along the giant red helmet this time.”

Mera can tell he’s lying, is too occupied holding her breath and praying this lunatic will not be the death of her. “You are terrible! Put me down this instant!” She yells to release her frustration.

Tim halts, raising his weapon as he stares at Harley with squinted eyes. “Are you behind this outbreak, Harley? Planning to accomplish the same thingas Arkham?” he asks her, creeping closer with slow deliberate steps. “We’re prepared this time. So better turn yourself in while you can.”

Ollie ignores Mera’s objections, tapping into the comm. “ETA two minutes to Blackgate airspace,” he barks. “Whaddyou need from us? We’re uh—” he glances sidelong at her, then lowers his voice a little, “we’re in a Batplane.”

Harley laughs. “No, not me this time!” Somehow, in the time that the outbreak has happened, she’s managed to get her hair back up into her iconic pigtails, her eyes lined with kohl.

Mera glares with all her might. “I’ll tell Arthur about this, all of this, will give you two a real reason to quarrel,” she grumbles darkly.

joker manages one word before he brings the heavy mallet he carries, Harley’s weapon, crashing down against the young man’s jaw: “Boo.”

Talia laughs, softly, and kisses him again, not bothering to see whether or not Jason has managed to dropped their assailant: she is confident he has. She smiles, and pulls back, slowly. “Which is a shame,” she teases, as she steps over the groaning, pained body of the man, moving towards the exit. “..I do so love a man in armor.”

His eyes widen and the sudden collision knocks him off his feet, slamming his body into the nearest wall and now Tim isn’t quite certain what’s aching most, but he’s dizzy and has lost his staff along the way. “Joker,” he grunts, holding his head while leaning against the wall for support. His free hand finds his Red Robin discs, throwing several at him but obviously missing. Tim groans, realising he must be having a concussion of all things.

Bruce speaks low, through the comms. “Bring the plane down below the skyline, keep it on autopilot. Is GCPD mobilized?” He continues to move, into the prison itself.

joker looks over at Harley, holding the thing out. “Take this thing, will you..” He sidesteps the discs, walking over to the door at the edge of the hallway, calmly.

Harley giggles, and walks over to the man, taking the mallet from him. She spins on a heel, and slams the mallet into the underside of Tim’s jaw, grunting. “THAT’S what you GET—” She swings it again, aiming for his chest, stomach. “—for KEEPING ME from my POOKIE!”

“Hush,” Ollie tells Mera, although there’s no real heat behind it. He frowns at the various display screens, bringing the plane down to a hover before turning his attention to tracking police movements. “They’re coming up on some kind of obstruction just inside the prison gates,” he reports. “I can’t make out what it is, but it’s enough to stymie their riot APC for the moment. You need me to give them a helping hand?”

Jason smiles against her lips, leaning after her as she pulls away, feeling a bit disappointed. But there’s other things to do. “Well, the rest of it’s all armor,” he replies, tapping at the plating on his chest as he follows after her.

Talia hums, warmly. “And underneath, too, if I remember correctly.” She glances back at him, over her shoulder, smirking, and turns back around, beckoning with a hand. “Come.” She leads him out, to the main corridor, a scene of movement and chaos as inmates make makeshift armor and weapons, rally together before attempting to leave the building.

Bruce growls. “Make enough of a pathway to get them in and start apprehending prisoners. We need to make sure Talia doesn’t escape—” Bruce pauses, however, as a tremor rips through the building, hard and fast, the walls and floors tremblings.

“Gotcha.” Ollie swivels in his seat to look at Mera, a feral grin on his face. “So, Yer Highness — how familiar are you with missile launchers?”

Talia stops, looking around as the ground quakes, reaching out with her sworded hand to steady herself. Around them, concrete comes loose and spills down, over the ground.

Breathing becomes extremely difficult after Harley manages a hit to his chest. He felt the crack of a rib, no, two, breaking. There’s blood on his tongue, Tim gingerly states he nearly bit his tongue off when the mallet smacked in the face again. Feels like talking is out of the question. Should have informed Bruce about the Joker when he had the chance, when his jaw still felt part of his face. His body slums forward and his food climbs up his throat, but he swallows it down as he wheezes. He doesn’t even know where she is, can hear her stupid giggle, but where is it coming from? Tim attempts to raise his head, but it’s heavy and darkness is starting to claim his vision.

Jason nods, small grin on his face. “Right about that one.” He hesitates, glancing back at the halls still filled with escaped inmates, but he follows. As the ground starts to shake, he moves to Talia’s side, wrapping an arm around her waist, his other going to the wall to keep them steady. “The hell is that? Earthquake?”

Mera releases a sigh, glad the movements of the plane calmed down. She joins Ollie in observing the police, but not without a small huff at his silencing command.

Bruce grits over the comms. “Green Arrow, we just experienced what felt like an earthquake.” He doesn’t stop moving, hasn’t stopped, and reaches his hand up, depressing his cowl at the jaw to connect to the private, in-house comms. “Red Robin, report.”

Mera quirks an eyebrow at Ollie. “Missile launchers?” Is all she responds with, obviously not a clue what he means.

joker doesn’t bother to look up from where he is, carefully tucking plasticine explosives into the edges of the main wall where they are standing all along the bottom edge. “Sounds like the car is here, Harley.”

Harley looks back, over at the Joker, leaning the mallet against her shoulder. “Are we gonna wait for Bats?” She lifts a foot, and presses it against Red Robin’s back, grinding her heel in.

Bruce’s voice. It’s louder than their conversation. Tim realizes it’s the comm and invests all his energy into connecting, even if he can’t speak. One sound is enough, he decides, doesn’t matter which. The pressure on his back forces him down. He coughs and the sound is wet with the blood he spits from his slack mouth as he is pressed to the ground.

Talia nods. “They began an hour ago, smaller than that but consistent.. Unnatural,” she says, without a single doubt in her mind. She looks up, towards the sky, then back towards Jason. “We need to hurry.”

“Understood, B.” He cues up the launchers, having aimed them at the obstruction lying just within the prison’s main gate. “After I get the cops back to a safe distance,” he tells Mera, “you hit the button there and fire the missiles. Don’t change the trajectory, don’t do anything except hit that button. Got it?” Ollie doesn’t wait for an answer; he gets on the loudspeakers, instead, and informs the GCPD — loudly and with no room for argument — that they need to move back if they want to keep their fingers and toes. Once there seems to be enough of a surge away from the gates (the tremor had gotten the police moving in the first place, and Green Arrow’s announcement really got them hustling), Ollie points at Mera to launch. “Fire in the hole!” he bellows over the speakers.

Talia takes off a jog, moving down the stairs, and no longer worries about defending herself. The inmates are also moving, feeling the same thing Talia is: the prison is on its last legs of structural integrity.

Mera stares at the button, not knowing what it will do when she presses it, but she does when Ollie’s loud voice makes her ears tingle. The missles take off, hitting their target dead on and startling Mera with their destructive nature. “Was that supposed to happen?” she asks in disbelief.

Jason nods. “Right.” With his comm off, he’s unaware that anyone’s even followed him to Blackgate, so he takes off after Talia, one gun still drawn, ready to take down anyone who gets in their way.

Bruce freezes in his step, hearing that noise from Tim, and stops where he is, pressed against the corner of a wall. “Red Robin, report. Where are you?” Without warning, sudden and sharp, his viscera go cold, icy hot and molten in his belly. He takes a breath, and turns the corner, barreling down the hallway as he lifts his gauntlet computer, sliding the door on the screen open so he can type against it.

“Absolutely,” Ollie says, watching the police down below start to move through the clearing that the missiles have made in the obstruction. “You did perfect, Princess.” And it feels good having accomplished that, but Ollie’s itching for more close and personal action and he knows Mera must be too; for all her poise, he’s got her pegged as a brawler, not a strategist. “Maybe we can head inside and give ‘em some backup now, hey?”

Ollie is also, though he’d be reluctant to admit it, kind of wanting to see Talia again.

joker sucks his teeth, a loud sharp noise, vulgar and bright. He looks over at the wall, and decides, suddenly. “Bird in the hand is better than a bat in the bush.” He moves to the edge of where they are standing, and shouts out, at the top of his lungs. “BOYS, IT’S TIME TO GOOOOOooooOOOOooooOOO!”

Harley bends at the waist, and pushes a hand over Red Robin’s cowled head, murmuring. “We’re gonna have to do something with this leather get up, sweetie pie, but don’t worry, I have great taste, okay?”

Mera looks over at the man, regaining her composure at Ollie’s confirmation. “I’m a Queen,” she tells the man, “Now put me down and give me space.” She is back to making demands, unware of the glint in her eyes.

Talia looks up, at the sound of someone shouting, just as she reaches the main entrance doors, propped open by a guard’s body. She looks back at Jason. “Did you come alone?”

Ollie toggles his comm, as a courtesy, he figures. “Five-oh are in the house, B,” he reports. “Any room for a pair of Queens in there?”

Not good enough. Not fast enough. Incoherent enough to not understand what is going on when Bruce calls for him, when Harley speaks to him. His eyes are open, Tim’s certain of it, but all he sees is darkness and the stinging in his head increases until he feels it no more, feels nothing.

Bruce is still moving, faster and faster now, less worried about who is getting where than he is on the fact that Tim hasn’t answered. He speaks over the comms, to Jason, Ollie, Mera, and any other League members within signaling range. “Red Robin is unresponsive,” he licks his lips. “I repeat, Red Robin is not responding to comm hail.”

joker watches as a man three times his size emerges from the darkness, and he whistles and points to the downed hero. Grunting, the man bends and picks up Tim by the back of his suit, hauling him up and swinging him over his shoulder.

“I dunno,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder. “Got here before I saw anyone following me.” Gnawing at the inside of his lip, he looks about the hall. “I… I’m gonna double back. See if anyone came after me.” He turns back to Talia and grips her shoulder. “You get out and find some place safe.” When he hears Bruce’s voice crackle over the comm, he freezes and curses under his breath. “I’ve gotta go, Red Robin’s still in here somewhere.”

Ollie blanches at this news. “Shit,” he mutters, just as Talia and Jason appear in the main entranceway, although they don’t emerge out into the yard. He opens the hatchway of the plane, bringing it down to hover closely over the building. “You hop on out, Mera. I better stay here in case we need to make a speedy getaway.” Or in case Talia decided to nab an unattended Batplane and make a speedy getaway. But he doesn’t say that part.

Talia hesitates when he moves away from her, and it shows on her face. Her eyes dance, looking at his face, as she weighs her options, and she takes a short breath. “Do you still have your safe house?”

joker doesn’t bother warning any of them, takes off at a sprint around the corner, before shouting “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” and pulling an enormous red button from his jacket pocket, pressing it, and destroying the entirety of the wall to the side of them. If the alarms had not been sounding before, they do now, screaming as the cool night air rushes in, dust swirling in ballerina whorls around them.

Mera is alarmed by Bruce’s voice through the comm. Just having met Tim, but understanding his bond with the other Leaguers, Mera moves in to help search for the younger man. “Speedy isn’t necessary,” she tells him sourly at the reminder of their horrible travel. Then she’s out and running towards the entrance where she passes by Jason and what she asumes must be Talia. Not stopping, she glances their way and knocks several inmates to the ground to create a path inward.

Jason blinks at her in slight confusion before he nods. “There’s one in Gotham, empty apartment building near Crime Alley.” He hesitates before moving in closer again, ducking to kiss her once more. “Stay safe, dearest,” he mutters, slipping easily into Arabic. And then he pulls away again, heading back into the prison.

Talia returns the kiss, and nods, moving from his side. She runs outside, and without a missing a single beat, looks up at where the Batplane is, a hand lifting up to shield her eyes from the glare of it’s spotlights, to see who is piloting it.

Talia glances back, at the sound of the explosion, and then, as if reminded of what she must do, begins to run again.

Ollie scrubs a hand through his hair wildly, then cusses under his breath and swings down onto the retractable gangway. “Talia!” he yells, beckoning her over as he hangs halfway out of the plane. “Up here!”

Jason only notices Mera once he’s seen Talia off. He twitches at the sound of the explosion, but doesn’t so much as slow down as he follows after the sea queen, very alright with her removing the obstacles before them. His eyes flick about the halls, searching for any sign of Tim as he taps at his comm. “B, where did you and Red Robin come in? Can’t find shit if I dunno where to look.” Though he has a fairly good feeling he knows where to start as he turns down a hall, heading towards the sound of the explosion.

Mera holds her ground at the increase of wailing sirens and the explosion that caused them. She looks around trying to figure out where it came from when seeing Jason nearing her. “You!” She has forgotten his name. “You know this place, don’t you? What lies there?” she asks pointing in the direction where smoke starts to appear from a fire due to the explosion.

“Don’t know it all that well, your highness, but I’m thinking the bird we’re looking for is probably near there,” he calls, already sprinting towards the smoke.

Mera pursuits, cursing underneath her breath that she isn’t half as fast on land as she is in water.

Bruce hears the explosion, and then, Jason’s request. “South side, he entered through the south side, would have been four corridors in—” Bruce shifts, and moves towards the sound of the explosion, without any hesitation in his bones, towards the sound of the explosion. He is sweating by the time he approaches the smoking corridor. His motions are fluid, loose with fear, and seeing a flicker of blonde pigtails.. His stomach sinks and he bellows: “Harley!”

Talia looks over at the plane, the lowering gangway, and she approaches the vehicle. She lifts her voice, over the sound of the engines, the screaming sirens, the noise of the police and riot squads moving in. “There was an explosion.”

Ollie reaches down and grabs the woman’s arm, hoisting her up into the plane. “I know,” he says. Then: “If you had anything to do with luring them into a trap, Talia, so help me god I’ll wring your neck.” Despite his threat, though, Ollie shifts his hold on Talia, moving his arm down her back, her waist, wrapping tight around her hips.

“Got it.” He takes a second to get his bearings and turns down the next corridor, drawing closer to the source of the explosion. As he draws closer to the smoke, he longs for his helmet. At the sound of Bruce’s yell, he freezes and his blood runs cold. Harley usually means one thing and it’s not good. Swallowing thickly, he continues moving.

Harley is already out of sight, away from Batman’s shout, running out.

joker is leading the way, with his goon and Red Robin in tow, moving over the fallen fences, jumping over barbed wire fences, heading towards the cliffside. He sings, bright and loud. “OH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING!”

Talia pushes her hand against Ollie’s own, pulling away from him, as she shakes her head. “No, my sweet archer..” She looks up at him, her eyes sharp. “I had nothing to do with this, and I cannot go with you.” Her expression flickers, to something sad, infinitely sorrowful. “You will not be able to keep him from putting me back in my cage.”

Mera catches up with Jason, unable to see much with the smoke as thick as it is. The fire is growing bigger and Mera feels the water in the pipes above them, tells it to reveal itself and extinguish the flames. Unfortunately the smoke only increases, but the fire no longer separates them from the path the Joker and his goons took to flee.

Ollie opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it shut just as quickly. She’s right and he knows it. “Here,” he says brusquely, shoving an ammo belt full of grenades at her and handing her a pair of escrima sticks. “Go on, then. Run fast and don’t stop till you reach the end of the world, Demon’s daughter.”

Harley runs straight ahead, laughing as he sings, and reaches the cliffside, moving down on the jagged rocks, a prepaved pathway, down towards the docks at the bottom, where there is a boat, waiting. “Come on, honey bunches, our rides here..” She jumps the past few steps, and lands with an oof, moving over to the craft and jumping aboard it, immediately moving to check the bags, cooing when she spots her red and black dress.

Zasz licks his lips, a winding curl of his tongue, and surges forward, towards where Mera stands, his hand wrapped in a bloody bandage, a shard of glass pressed into his palm. He launches himself at Mera, slashing wildly, strokes powerful and precise.

Jason presses a hand over his mouth to try to stop breathing in too much smoke. He looks towards Mera and then moves, spotting Zsasz moving in for an attack and quickly side steps, shooting around her straight at him.

Talia leans over and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, murmuring something, unintelligible, soft. She lifts a hand, pushing her fingers through his hair, and accepts the gifts, bringing the darkness of her stare to his for a moment. An eternity of a moment. Then, with a blink, she is gone, and running, snapping the belt around her hips, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Ollie swallows, hard, touching the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth, an almost childish gesture. But Talia’s gone, in a dark sleek flurry, and he shakes himself back into focus, pulling out his bow. People are running from the rapidly destabilizing building and Ollie picks them off, bringing them down for the GCPD to apprehend. “I’m doing cleanup out here,” he says over the comms. “I can be in there in a hot fucking second if you need me, any of you.”

joker moves onto the boat after the cargo has been loaded, and cups his hands, shouting out, as they pull anchor and take off. “See you soon, Bats!”

Zsasz sidesteps the bullets, managing to get winged by one, and brings the blade of glass up, aiming still for Mera. He hisses back at Jason, and turns, dodging low and taking a straight run at him.

Bruce reaches the edge of the cliffside as the Joker shouts, and even without knowing, he knows. He slams a hand against the comms and shouts over the line. “South side of the prison, the Joker is on a watercraft, Harley Quinn..” Gritting his teeth, Bruce looks around him, and then, without saying anything else, launching himself off the top of the rocky face. He uses his grapple, firing it off halfway, to save his ankles, but still hits the ground hard.

Jason hears Bruce over the comm, trying to think quickly. “Mera, go, the Joker’s getting away. I’ll handle him,” he says, darting out of the way at the last possible moment. Turning, he fires, not caring in the least about trying to shoot the man in the back.

Ollie slams the Batplane into motion, bringing it veering around the cliffside just as Bruce goes over. “You better drop anchor and don’t think about moving, Joker,” he shouts over the loudspeakers, “or I’ll scuttle you where you sit without a second thought.”

joker reaches over, where he is sitting, and grunting, hauls an unconscious Red Robin up, over the back of the boat, dangerously close to the outboard engine. He grins up at the Batplane, a wide, maniacal grin and with one hand clenched in the top of the cowl, shouts back. “It’s not a crowbar.. But it’ll do!” He pushes the younger man closer, even though the strain of his dead weight is visible.

Zsasz is struck with the rubber bullets, but is barely cowed by the lacerating pain that they create, welts instantly springing up across his marked skin. He picks up a snapped off piece of rebar, and chucks it directly at Jason’s head.

Mera manages to dodge his attack, listening to Jason’s instructions simply because she knows she’s a better fighter near the water. She ventures further into the smoke, stepping through the hole in the wall and sensing the water before her. Ollie’s voice withholds her from barging in, understanding the delicate situation. Instead, she lowers herself until she can slip into the water.

Bruce doesn’t even bother retrieving his grapple and instead, pulls a different line from his belt and shoots that at the Batplane as it shoots over head, launching himself up and into the air.

“Oh fucking hell.” He gets back on the loudspeaker, voice a little more moderated this time: “Don’t hurt the boy. You’ll have a better chance of getting out of this and getting leniency if you don’t hurt anybody else.” Ollie knows this is all fruitless, but wasting time and distracting the Joker will hopefully give them some wiggle room.

Bruce slaps his hand against the comm, speaking to Green Arrow, the wind whipping against the mic, but even that does little to mask the fury in his voice. “Get me over the fucking boat.”

Jason shifts to the side, barely avoiding being struck, the sharp end of the rebar leaving a scratch along his cheek just under his mask. It doesn’t slow him down as he shoots again, aiming at Zsasz' legs.

Zsasz shouts in utter rage, and hisses, spits, in a ridiculous (and, with his level of medication) drunk-induced mania. He doesn’t even speak, and pushes forward, off the ground, launching himself up and at Jason, going for full body contact. He slashes, again and again and again, eyes white all around.

Ollie doesn’t bother to answer. He pushes one gloved hand against the control stick, bringing the plane swiftly out over the water, scanning the displays to figure out where the emergency rafts, nets, so forth are.

joker spots the dangling bits off the plane and frowns, looking back at Harley (who is changing) and exhaling. “You broads and your clothes! Here, do something useful and hand me something sharp.. and GET US OUT OF HERE.” He looks up at the rapidly approaching Batman and waves, even as the boat suddenly ramps up its speed.

Jason throws up an arm catching the worst of the scratches there as he switches out his gun, grabbing his tazer as Zsasz collides with him. He lets his legs go out from under him, falling to the floor as he jabs Zsasz, sending a hopefully nonlethal amount of volts through him.

Zsasz goes rigid as the electricity touches him, his lipless mouth pulling taut over his teeth as his motions cease. Falling over, the glass in his hand loosens, falls to the floor, moments before he does. He twitches on the ground, randomly.

Bruce grits his teeth and begins to move, swinging himself as best he can against the force of the wind, bracing himself for the inevitable jump.

Ollie dives the plane lower, a sudden swoop and burst of speed. “Go get’im, B,” he says lowly.

Mera is relieved to be engulfed by the water and sets her sights on the motions of the boat. She can easily pinpoint them and decides to give them a little surprise when she is startled by a different motion surrounding her. No, it’s not quite a motion. It’s something she can’t describe, something powerful however. Mera is aware that the Joker’s boat is distancing itself from her, but she can’t afford to ignore this, whatever it is called. She twirls around, moves left and right, dives deeper and is left breathless by the sensation that follows.

Bruce grits his teeth and begins to move, swinging himself as best he can against the force of the wind, bracing himself for the inevitable jump. Ollie brings the plane low, and he jumps, directly on the edge of the boat.

Jason pushes himself up, glaring at Zsasz. “If you swallow your tongue, it’s your own damn fault, asshat,” he mutters as he gets to his feet and starts out of the prison towards the cliff, though he doubts he’ll be much help if he gets anywhere near the Joker.

joker whistles, and pushes himself back, away from Batman, and watches as the first of the men on board moves for him. “Round one!”

The Batplane on autopilot now, Ollie moves out onto the gangplank again, aiming a stun arrow at the Joker. Batman can take care of himself. The water’s choppy and the plane is fighting high winds, but if there’s anything Green Arrow knows, it’s long shots.

Bruce grits his teeth, and sinks low, shoulders hunching high as he barrels, throws his whole body into pushing the inmate back, away. His focus is on Tim, only on Tim, not even the Joker is in his mind. He punches, blindly, uppercuts the man’s jaw, snarling over his open comms. “Red Hood, are you with the queen?!”

“No. We were attacked and she went on ahead.” He glances around for Mera and curses under his breath. “No idea where she went, figured she’d caught up with you.”

The tide seems to be against them today; Ollie’s arrow flies wild, clips the Joker’s narrow shoulder, not enough contact for a full stun. He curses and nocks up another one, swiftly, but now the Joker knows the archer’s up there, will be prepared for the next shot.

Mera comes to her senses through sheer will of power, remembering the urgency that a young man is currently in danger while she is floating and feeling tingly all over. Quick. The boat. The Queen turns, her eyes lightening up and glowing in the dark depths. She lifts her arms, palms in the direction of the Joker and his crew. The water surrounding her reacts to her silent command, moving, pushing, surging with great power against the boat, causing it to tip over. Tim she will rescue, the others not so much, she thinks as she balls her fists and unaware of Bruce’s presence.

Bruce doesn’t get a chance to curse, the motion of the boat is so quick. But even then, his training should be enough. Has to be enough. He locks his eyes on where Tim is, and when the entirety of the craft flips, keeps his position in mind, as they are plunged below the water.

Ollie scrambles back into the cockpit of the plane, bringing it lower over the water, turning on the massive floodlight to shine into the rough waves.

Bruce instantly regrets the heaviness of his armor. The weight of it is substantial on land, and now, under the water, Bruce struggles to get himself upright, even as he slips a rebreather into his mouth. Pushing through the water, his mind is trained on finding Tim, the slip of a cape or the line of his silhouette in the darkness of the water.

Ollie reports tersely over the comm: “They’re in the water. All of them.” He repeats again with more urgency, “ALL of them.”

Jason has a rebreather in his mouth and is in the water as soon as the boat goes over, thoughts of the Joker abandoned. His mask acting as goggles, he spots Bruce quickly enough and swims through the waves towards him, hand alighting on the man’s shoulder as he draws near.

Mera reminds herself of the missiles Ollie made her launch earlier as she speeds through the dark water to her target. There are many however and she is in search of one fitting Tim’s. Not knowing him very well makes it a difficult task as she passes by one of the Joker’s goons instead. Frowning in frustration, she turns and halts at the sight of Batman and the gunsman. Despite her sour bond with the Archer, she instantly searches for him as well, thinking they were all aboard the boat.

Bruce looks over at Jason, his hand moving out to clutch at the younger man’s wrist, tight. He squeezes, once, and then pushes off, reaching up to unclip his cape, abandon it, as he moves through the water, struggling against the weight of the water, when out of the corner of his eyes he spots.. something. Moving towards it, Bruce reaches out, only to find his hand cracking through brittle bone. A skeleton. Then, to the side of him, another, floating up, from the bottomless depths of the water surrounding them, surrounding Blackgate, the city herself. Bruce feels an edge of revulsion, of fear, spike his blood, and he pushes through the bodies, still looking for his son.

Ollie mutters to himself, “C’mon, c’mon c’mon, one of you come up, c’mon…” He moves the floodlight around, willing a dark head to break the water, or even a green one, so he can sink a harpoon into it.

Jason meets Bruce’s eyes and squeezes his shoulder before turning, moving through the water, eyes flicking about for Tim. Spotting a faint hint of red he turns, swimming towards it, hoping that it’s a bit of Tim’s costume standing out against the gloom.

“Where are you,” Mera questions looking for Tim or anyone else familiar without a breather. She stumbled upon a skeleton instead of Red Robin and is throughly startled when that same buzzing sensation crawls over her skin once more. The Queen closes her eyes, trying to ignore it, the pulling towards the depths.

Ollie starts to see bodies bobbing up out of the water, all right. But that’s all they are — bodies — some of them further along in the stages of decay than others. It must be like rush hour in Grand Central down there, it looks so crowded. He hopes to god they’ve got heat sensors or something equipped in their masks.

Bruce has lost track of where Tim had been, lost track of the sight of him, of his cape. His muscles are burning, even with the oxygen the rebreather provides him, he can feel his body needing more, needing more to keep searching, to find him— Bruce kicks his legs, the powerful strokes bringing him up, and when he breaks the surface, he pushes the rebreather from his mouth with his tongue, hand slapping against the water as he snatches it, and shouts, at the top of his lungs. “ROBIN!” The red is lost, somehow, in Bruce’s throat, his eyes moving over the waves, the bobbing corpses around them, and he treads water, even as he reloads the rebreather.

---

hours later

"He's still alive."

Bruce rasps this, from where he is standing, near the computers set up in a windowless, doorless room at Wayne Penthouse. The sterility of the room is pungent, smelling clean and unlived in, amplifying the smell of the river water that still clings to Bruce as he hunches over the monitor, typing away, eyes darting across the screen.

"I know he is." The answer is immediate, unthinking; Bruce hadn't said anything the whole way there. It's still strange, bringing him here to the Wayne Penthouse instead of the Manor. It's strange /being/ in the penthouse instead of the Manor. Ollie doesn't know it, and that adds to the sterility, the distance in the room between him and Bruce. It makes Ollie ... hesitant, of all things, to approach the man like he would in any other situation.

Bruce's fingers pause for a split second, an audible one, before he speaks. "You do?" He grits his teeth, hard enough that he's sure the other man will be able to hear the grit of a molar cracking, and moves his hands against the touchscreen, flipping through the last schematics of Red Robin's suit through Tim's own hard drive, looking for a way to find him.

Ollie swallows past the sandpaper in his throat. "Sure," he says. "This is what happened ... with you, right? Everybody else thought you were gone but Tim knew you weren't. It's what you two do. If anybody would know if he's still alive, it's you, Bruce." The words sounded right in Ollie's head, sincere as he was saying them, but now out in the open in this cold, unfamiliar place, they sound foolish. Juvenile and shallow. He winces, rubbing his cheek, wishing he'd kept his idiot mouth shut.

Bruce releases a long, thin breath, one that passes over the edges of his teeth with a subtle hiss. Against all instinct, everything in him, Bruce shuts his eyes, screws them closed. They are bloodshot, the water from the bay having wreaked havoc against the sclera, leaving them crimson-and-cobalt. He opens his eyes, looking back at the computer screen. "If they remove his suit, there might still be a functioning tracer in his boot." Bruce hits enter on a final line of command code, and winces at the tightness in his back as he rises.

Ollie nods, even though Bruce isn't looking at him. "That's good," he says, and pulls the hood back from his head, rubbing his hair. "We'll keep on top of it. He's a clever kid, Bruce. If there's any way for him to have left a breadcrumb trail, he's done it." Looking around, Ollie offers, "--I'll get us some water. You could use some." Probably something to eat, too, but Ollie knows what the chances of /that/ happening are.

Bruce isn't there when Ollie returns with the water. Instead, there is a trail of armor and clothing, leading straight to the bedroom on the penthouse, where Bruce is, now, toweling himself dry. He doesn't bother with showering, and instead, merely changes into something that isn't soaked through with bay water. He speaks over his shoulder, as he towels his arms. "What happened with Mera?"

Ollie stands there with his two glasses of water, watching Bruce dry himself off. "Something in the water affected her," he says, dazedly. "That's all I got from it. Some kind of ... sorcery? I don't know much about all the underwater jive. You know Arthur's never been chatty about the weirder water stuff." That reminds him, though, and Ollie jerks forward, holding out one glass. "Here. Hydrate."

Bruce shakes his head, unwilling to meet the other man's eyes, his hand still moving the towel down over his arms, down the sides of his torso. He licks his lips, swallowing in rapid succession, making the sharp jut of his adam's apple slice across the profile of his throat, again and again. The bedroom is dark, because Bruce hadn't bothered to turn on a light; Alfred had taken one look at them both, walking into the penthouse from the zeta pad, and had all but disappeared. Even with that reassurance of privacy, Bruce seems unwilling to give into the silence and peace of the space. Even for a moment.

Ollie sighs and sets both glasses down on one of the solemn, unwelcoming nightstands next to the bed before moving over to Bruce. He slides one hand up Bruce's back, and even through his reinforced glove he can feel the chill of the man's skin. "You're freezing," Ollie murmurs. "Get in bed. You're just gonna make yourself sick like this."

Bruce grates out: "He's alive, and with him, Oliver, I can't--" He looks back, over at Oliver, and before he can stop himself, steps towards him. The carpet mutes the heavy rounded thud of his steps, as he stops, just a few feet from Oliver, his expression void of any possible emotion he could be feeling. He steps into Ollie's hand, then, into the half circle of that arm, before he stops. He stops short, unable to take another step, the fear of what it would mean, of how he would fail if he took another step. If he let himself any further in.

Ollie wants to pull Bruce into an embrace, murmur soothing nonsense at him the way he does with the kids, but instead he sharpens his voice up a little and lets it slice through the darkness of the room. "You can't afford to let yourself get any weaker than you already have. You're not in your best condition, Bruce. You're compromised. Don't make it worse or you won't be able to do a damn thing for Tim." It's a good thing it's dark, too, because Ollie has a terrible poker face and Bruce would be able to see easily how tight his mouth is, how much of an effort this is taking.

Bruce's head bows, and a soft groan slips from between his teeth. His arm lifts, a hand wrapping around the edge of the archer's wrist. Breathing no longer coming in neat, deep draws, Bruce's chest rises and falls, no other sounds, words, coming from him. He turns, away from Ollie, and moves towards the bed, kneeling against it.

"Bruce..." Ollie says unsurely. He moves over, reaching out to run his fingers down that broad back -- diminished now, without the muscle mass he's accustomed to -- and watches the darkness of his gloves against Bruce's scarred skin. "What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I'll do it, baby."

Bruce 's voice crackles a touch, as he lowers himself on top of the bed, "When the computer finishes its search, come get me, so we can.." He pushes a hand through his hair, still not settling into any posture for sleep.

Ollie makes a fussy noise, through his teeth. "The damn computer'll let us know itself." He doesn't take any of his GA costume off, just crawls into bed with Bruce, shoving and pushing until they're both settled across the sheets, under the blankets. "This is where I'm needed. I'll stay awake, but I'm doing it here while you sleep."

Bruce reaches out across the sheets, gripping Ollie's hand. His palms are rough, calloused, and catch against the padded reinforcements in the other man's gloves. He swallows, and lifts, painstakingly slow, the archer's hand, to place it directly atop his face, the gesture childlike, without direction.

Ollie scratches lightly against the side of Bruce's face, then leans in to kiss his mouth. His throat, his chest, moving against the other man when he feels how cold and clammy that skin still is. The edges of his mask brush against Bruce's ribcage; he'd forgotten he still had the damn thing on. Still, Ollie doesn't stop to take it off, his gloved fingers drifting against Bruce's sides as he keeps touching him with his mouth in soft, hidden places, gauging Bruce's response.

Bruce brings his gaze up, to the empty, high-ceiling of the bedroom. A dim light casts shadows against the expanse of white, and Bruce watches them for a moment, his head swimming. He doesn't stop Ollie, doesn't do anything but watch the shadow play as he attempts to make sense of the rampaging thoughts ravaging his consciousness. However, despite his best intentions, his body responds to the archer's ministrations, his breathing regulating, settling into an even pattern, his body relaxing.

Ollie takes note of this, the way Bruce relaxes under his hands and mouth and his muscles lose their tightness ... and the way that blood is starting to circulate faster, warm his skin. "There we go," he murmurs, and slides further down on the bed until he can thump off the edge, onto his knees, slide his hands up the still-thick trunks of Bruce's thighs. "There we go, baby. Just let yourself rest for a while. Tomorrow'll bring its own duties." Rising up on his knees, Ollie drags the tip of his nose up the inside of Bruce's thigh, until he's nudging against the heaviness of his cock. "Don't think about anything but this."

Bruce takes a shivery slice of a breath, and in that moment is where the protest should come. That Tim is gone, Blackgate is down, his city is falling to pieces and he.. He should be.. He should.. But Ollie's breath iswarm and damp and a counterpoint to the frigid claws the autumn-chilled bay had sunk into him, marrow deep. His mouth is warm, Bruce knows this, because he can remember it, and without his explicit permission, his sex pulses, twitches alive.

Bruce wants to fight it, to rise above his want, his need of this, of Oliver, and knows the battle is lost before it has even begun. Licking his lips, he whispers, eyes straining before his lashes drift low: "..please, Ollie."

And that's all the encouragement Ollie needs. Eyesight focusing through the darkness through the force of his determination, he spreads his hands against Bruce's thighs and opens his mouth, bobbing down to take Bruce's length in deep. He's not hard yet, not quite, but Ollie doesn't mind that; he nips the soft foreskin between his teeth, not too hard, just enough to keep things interesting. This isn't gonna be wildfire blood-and-meat sex, he knows that much. This is to keep Bruce warm and breathing and here, present, instead of in that freezing cold bay grasping through the dead in search of the living and lost. "Anything you want, honey," Ollie murmurs, and down he goes again, sucking Bruce to thickness, to hardness, tongue darting and demanding, coaxing and cajoling.

Bruce's breath shudders, his head tilting back against the pillows as his eyes shut, and he moans, losing himself to the feeling of his lover's mouth moving over his sex. For a moment, Bruce isn't sure on what is happening, the crawling sensation of pleasure trickles in from the insides of his thighs, but it rapidly becomes apparent: the adrenaline, the watery chase, it's left his body primed and tensed for this, the promise of a different sort of release. If he were anyone else, if he were anywhere else, he would be shamed by it. But the full glorious heat of the archer's mouth is enveloped around his pulsing cock, and Bruce can feel the ease of precome out of the tip of him, even as he flattens his lower back, legs spreading under the comforters. He doesn't speak, he can't, but he lifts a hand up, sinking his fingers into the man's hair, anchoring him there against him.

Ollie pushes down until Bruce's cockhead bumps the back of his throat, eyes shut, and feels the brow of his mask scrape against Bruce's lower belly. Aggrieved, he pulls up enough to tear the mask off, its spirit glue practically gone by this point anyhow, before sinking back down. His hands flex on Bruce's thighs, moving up to grip his hips by their too-prominent bones as Ollie moves his head under the weight of Bruce's hands in his hair, steadying him, encouraging. The taste of precome is bright against his tongue and teeth, and he can feel his mouth start to water in response, making the movements slicker, smoother. Giving a low, urgent moan, Ollie pulls off right to the ridge, sucking hard at just the sticky head before resuming his pace.

Bruce licks his lips, his breathing coming ragged through his nose as he cranes his neck up and to the side, the white-hot ball of pressure at the base of his spine pulsing as Ollie's mouth moves against his cock. He licks his lips again, and murmurs. "..yes, right.. Yes, Ollie," and exhales through grit teeth, as his hands move down in tandem, over the sheets, and back up. He doesn't think to move his fist to the back of the man's hair, and instead, settles them on his shoulders, moving the tips of his fingers over the archer's padded vest--the one Bruce had created for him--and without warning, the thought of that, what it means, sends Bruce shooting up, spiraling closer to orgasm without warning. His hips tilt on the mattress, down and then up, as he tenses, his balls tightening as he takes a ragged breath. "..baby. Baby."

Ollie pushes Bruce back down flat against the bed, cheeks hollowing as he wraps one hand around the base of Bruce's cock and moves faster, lips dragging around his girth. His own cock is starting to strain against his pants, but that's not the imperative at the moment; the immediate concern is Bruce, right here under him, tensed and wanting and in danger of stopping this at any moment, denying himself this one small release. So Ollie takes it upon himself to deny Bruce that option. He works with his hand, works with his mouth, first flattening his tongue across the head of Bruce's prick and then drawing it up, in a point, along the opening of his sex. The way he knows Bruce likes it. There's no room for coyness here and Ollie fully, shamelessly, employs what he knows his lover likes, ratcheting him up higher and higher.

Bruce's orgasm peaks without a single violent surge or twitch on the third striping of Ollie's tongue against his cock. Instead, nearly peacefully, it surges out of him in a flood, when Ollie's mouth slips lower, towards the nestling of his balls at the base. His hips flex as he rides it through, uttering Ollie's name again and again, muscles tensing as he clenches, wrenches every pleasurable drop out that he can, his chest hitching up a few times before he remembers to exhale. It rolls through him, up and down his spine, and when the last of it shivers across his body, Bruce can feel every stubborn, resistant muscle going slack, the low buzz of thoughts that had been festering in the background quieted, because they would never be muted, to the point that his lashes can stay low; he does not need to ward them off. He exhales, through his nose, both hands moving to curl around the back of his archer's skull, lovingly, tenderly tracing his fingers down over his brow and nose, the high cut of his cheekbones, down over his jaw. His mouth. His chin.

Ollie takes off his gloves, finally, to wipe his mouth. "Attaboy," he says, and despite the tiredness that's creeping through his own body now, the slight ache in his jaw and neck, there's a warm amusement to the endearment, one that Ollie normally uses with enthusiastic younger colleagues. Sitting back with a thump, he strips off his thick, heavy costume -- if it were one of his own design, he wouldn't have had to -- before crawling up into bed with Bruce, settling down with him again. Ollie doesn't say anything else, too hesitant in case it breaks the soporific spell he's managed to cast over Bruce, and instead pushes up close enough so that they can share body heat. He links one hand with Bruce's, tightly.

Bruce laces his fingers with the other man's. He is going to thank Ollie, going to ask him to stay, to be close by, to monitor the computer screens, to message Jason and make sure he's alright, but his eyes remain shut and he does nothing but give in.