Blackbirds

PART 6

Ollie sipped his coffee as he glanced casually around the Save Our Children meeting. Gave a friendly nod to a few neighbors. Added more cream to his cup. Sugar. Ended up pitching the undrinkable sludge and settling for a Jolt cola instead. Not that he needed the caffeine. Nothing sobered him up faster than an SOC meeting. Especially with the strident voice of Marcia Long calling everyone to order.

Marcia had married Terry Long. Terry had divorced hed mad married Donna Troy. Then, divorced Donna and went back to Marcia. At least until his untimely death in a car accident. An accident that had taken Marcia's daughter and Donna's son as well. Ollie shook his head. What a soap opera.

He wondered what Marcia had been like before those deaths. She wasn't a looker. Then again, who was compared to the women he usually hung out with? But by normal standards--non-meta standards--she wasn't half bad. She was smart. Passionate. Ollie frowned. Obsessed, maybe?

He was pretty sure behind the official Save Our Children spiel Marcia Long had her own agenda she was pushing. Her specific focus on "the Amazon problem"--which, of course, included Donna--was hardly secret. But it was the official spiel that brought Ollie here. The hard cold facts of damage left behind by metahuman skirmishes. Millions of dollars in lost property and lost business. Tonight, Marcia was presenting the cost to human lives.

A straggler squeezed past Ollie with a barely audible "'scuse me." and plopped into the seat next to his. Ollie spared the newcomer a quick glance. No one he recognized. A young, non-descript man. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Flannel jacket over t-shirt and jeans. Not much different from what Ollie himself was wearing. Could be a college student. Could be from the cannery. A few of the others seemed to recognize him so Ollie relaxed.

"L.L. Bean?"

"Hm?"

"The shirt. L.L. Bean, right?" He smirked. "Goin' for urban lumberjack chic?"

Ollie gave him a sardonic once over, head to toe, "Apparently it's the 'in' look this season."

The newcomer blinked--then snorted. "Hey, the old geezer made a funny." He nudged Ollie in the ribs. "You're alright, man. So--" the young man eyed him slyly "--wanna grab a beer later?"

"Can't."

"Hot date?"

"What?"

"You checkin' your watch like you got someplace better to be."

"Habit."

The young man winked. "Or a hot date."

Ollie directed a steely gaze his way. "And that's your business why--?"

To his surprise, the young man laughed. Marcia glared. Ollie shrugged apologetically. Marcia continued and Ollie concentrated on her speech. A hand squeezed his knee. Ollie clamped down on the wrist. Tightened his grip to show he meant business. "Listen, pal--"

The man leaned over and whispered, "I'll need that hand later, Ollie."

Ollie studied the unfamiliar face more intently. The hair and eye color were different but the planes of the face looked very much like–

"Dick?"

"Shh."

The room darkened. A projector came to life. Ollie could barely make out Dick's form but what he saw was pure Bat. The earlier playfulness had vanished, swallowed up by the shadows. Flipped off as easily as the light switch. He sat in the dark watching the way Dick's arms folded tight across his chest. The set of his jaw. The hard coil of tension held in check just beneath the surface. Not nerves, he reflected, but intense focus. Much the way Ollie himself focused before letting a shot fly. He turned his attention to the screen.

The more Ollie watched, the more he started thinking that all superheroes--more importantly, all wannabe heroes--should have to watch this tape as a prerequisite. Onscreen, Superman swooped to catch a chunk of debris before it slammed into an elementary school. Amazing. Impressive. Heroic. Until the camera zoomed in close on the fear filled faces of the children pressed against their classroom windows. The angle shifted. Suddenly, the origin of the debris was revealed to be the result of an ongoing battle between the Justice League and some purple/orange monsters Ollie didn't recognize.

Another city. Another fight. More collateral damage. Flash versus Cheetah. Not much of a match, really, as such things go. But the friction generated by Flash before he captured Cheetah caused the asphalt of the city's main intersection to buckle. A twelve car pile-up followed before repairs could be made. One driver died of a heart attack en route to the hospital. If Flash had still be on the scene instead of transporting Cheetah to The Slab, the driver might have lived.

A bookstore in Des Moines, Iowa. Diana of Themyscira arrives to sign copies of her controversial collection of essays, "Reflections". Violence erupts when her supporters clash with members of the local chapter of Save Our Children on the scene to protest the Amazon's views. Diana's attempts to calm the situation misfire. The situation devolves into an all out riot until the police arrive and Diana withdraws.

Ollie sensed movement in the chair next to his. Dick's hand squeezed his shoulder. "Gotta run."

"But--"

"I'll explain later." Ollie thought he saw a quick grin. "Promise." And with that, he was gone.


At 5:30 exactly, Dick called to let Ollie know he was wrapping things up and would see him soon.
Within fifteen minutes, he called back. A new lead just popped up. No, Ollie didn't need to suit up and join him. Yes, he would still be there at 7:00 and give him the full scoop. If he could stay away that long, he teased before hanging up.

Ollie showered, shaved, trimmed his beard. Waited. Thought about working on some arrows. Decided against it. He didn't want Dick's first impression to be a house filled with glue fumes. Flipped through his record collection. Played Roberta Flack while he selected a few more albums for later. At 6:43 the answering machine kicked in. Dick again. He couldn't talk but wanted to let Ollie know that the lead takitaking longer than expected. He was going to be late. But--he emphasized--he would be there. He hung up before Ollie could grab the phone.

Half an hour dragged into an hour. Ollie ate cold chili and washed the dishes afterwards. He wasn't good at waiting. He wasn't good at being alone in an empty house. It had seemed like a good place at the time he moved in. Plenty of room for Mia and Connor. A guest bedroom for Roy. A playroom for Lian. And, on the off chance the opportunity ever came up, for Shado's son. Shado's and his son, he corrected. He looked down the hall of empty bedrooms. It had seemed like a good place for his family at the time. What he had wanted his family to be.

He tried to lose himself in mindless t.v. Dozed off, woke suddenly to a Cirque Du Soleil special. Unfortunately, watching aerialists in skin tight costumes twisting through the air brought to mind another acrobat. And his equally form fitting uniform. An old memory came to mind. Ollie smiled, warmed by the image. He had seen Dick Grayson of the Flying Grayons nail his first quadruple. Remembered the youthful whoop of pure joy as Dick saluted the audience, soaking up their applause. Showoff. Ollie chuckled. He could relate to that.

Time passed. His boredom didn't. Oe ree reassured him--again--that Nightwing was fine but couldn't be disturbed at the moment. Sensitive investigative stuff. Ollie drummed his fingers impatiently. He watched--as he had for the last twenty minutes--as the clock slowly ticked off another minute. 2:37 a.m. He turned the phone's ringer off, the security system on and went to bed.