through these first few desperate hours
There's no real break in the unrelenting news coverage. Steph wants to turn off the screens and give herself and her partners time to adjust, but it just keeps coming.
The news ticker goes live to one of Special Assistant Cressida Clarke's incessant press conferences. Her owl feather brooch and too-brassy bleached hair glint in the interior lighting. She's neatly framed between two feathered columns. Triumph radiates off of her, Steph thinks about Harper's blood on her shirt and the noise they made when their body hit the cold ground. She wants to start screaming and never stop; she wants to run to City Hall and fling herself at this Owl, broken wrist be damned; she wants Harper here with her.
“Yesterday, we watched in collective disbelief as our one time heroes, the so-called Justice League, threw away the values they'd sworn to protect and took up arms against our brave first responders.”
Steph realizes abruptly that she's waiting to hear the interrupting noise of chants between Cressida's statements, but nothing comes. She wraps her arms around herself and reminds herself of the signs, the chants, the Shadows. Just because she's blocking us out doesn't mean it's not there.
“Shut the fuck up,” she mutters under her breath.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rose agrees. Cass nods. Nia keeps watching, unmoving. Steph leans over to kiss Rose quickly before the speech continues. Rose smiles into her lips. Then, Cressida starts again, and the Bad Girls pull apart.
“They sought to overrun the gates of City Hall and tear down this duly elected government, but we are proud to announce that this Hall is still standing, this Council is still standing, Gotham is still standing, and we will not be intimidated.”
“Bold words from a woman who moved her press conference indoors,” Dinah mutters, leaning over Barbara's shoulder to refill her coffee cup. Barbara snorts, and takes the fresh coffee gratefully.
“Thanks to the valiant efforts of GCPD Sergeant William Pettit, there were no fatalities and injuries were kept to a minimum.”
Whose injuries? Steph wonders, looking down at her bandaged wrist. The line for the medical tent had stretched all the way around the hedged camp, and that was before the Talons. She pictures hollowpoint rounds, a gun against her head, the blade slicing through Harper's lung, bodies lining the camp. Whose fatalities?
“In light of Sergeant Pettit’s brave actions in the line of fire, this Council is proud to recommend him for immediate promotion to the role of GCPD Commissioner. Sergeant Pettit, all of Gotham thanks you for your service.”
Barbara types a series of commands into her computer and Pettit’s picture and service record appear on a neighboring screen. He's a white man in his late forties with a mustache - as if they'd looked for a central casting replacement for the outgoing Gordon. There's something else familiar about him, though.
A moment later, the service record on screen transitions into Barbara's protest footage. It zooms in on the mouth, partially visible stache, and chin of one of the officers, ignoring his covered badge. 85% match - the screen reads.
“You really do think you're above the law, don't ya? You fuckin’ vigilantes don't get to intimidate this city any longer. The law has to mean something. This city will not surrender to anarchy and disorder. This city doesn't belong to the League or your paid freaks. This city belongs to us and we will not stand down!” He fires in the clip.
Rose lets out a sharp gasp. Steph squeezes her shoulder.
“Hollowpoints,” Rose whispers, then her voice changes. “He ordered the kill shots. I'll kill him.”
“No death threats in the Clocktower,” Barbara calls.
Cass’s face is ashen with shock and grief. This hurts her in a way even the Luthor verdict didn't seem to. “N-no. Not. Can't.”
Steph moves her other hand to Cass’s shoulder and starts tapping even though she wants to start screaming and never stop.
“The Council is extending a State of Emergency across the city until the riots subside. It is long past time we treated this city's epidemics of crime, drug trafficking, vagrancy, and destruction with the gravity they deserve.”
Steph's heart sinks. She doesn't want to know what this means for the people of the Narrows.
We failed you, she clutches her partners' shoulders and tries not to cry. Gotham failed you.
“We have failed you for too long, Gothamites,” Cressida continues, as if she's followed the same line of thought. “It's on us to make it right. We are instituting new curfews, new sentencing, and new policies that take a hard line against crisis actors, villainy, and disorder. To those taking to the streets, we extend a final offer. Return to your homes, abide by the law, cooperate fully with the investigation, or be prosecuted under the full extent of the law. If it is constructive engagement you seek, it will not be found in looting and violence. Gotham today faces a choice between order and chaos, protection and destruction, rule of law and lawless vigilantism, and in the face of that choice we say once again, we will not be intimidated by you. As a proud fellow Gothamite, I ask of you once again: either stand with us, or stand down.”
“I'm not standing down,” Steph whispers.
“No,” Cass agrees.
“Me neither, babes,” Rose says. “Nia?”
Nia just shakes her head. She's wearing her vision expression still and there's a scared, haunted look in her eyes. Steph reaches over and takes her hand, hoping that it reaches her.
Harper would know how, she thinks for the thousandth time that day. Harper would know what to do.
She needs her partner desperately. They all do.
This could get so bad.
They get an inkling of exactly how bad when Vicki Vale appears on screen for the afternoon news.
‘The GCPD has confirmed Sergeant William Pettit as Commissioner, beating out long-term presumed frontrunner Harvey Bullock, dark horse hero Sean Mahoney, and incoming Captain Maggie Sawyer,” Vicki Vale announces next. “Pettit is expected to speak at City Hall shortly.”
“Make it stop,” Nia voices what they're all thinking.
It doesn't.
***
It stays busy in the Clocktower.
Dinah drifts around the room, refilling coffee cups, handing out food, and checking in on the other Birds until Helena takes off her headphones, notices, and pulls the Canary down to sit next to her. Helena pats Dinah's back soothingly and says something about ‘taking your own advice’ before bending back over her work. The world may be ending, but Helena’s students will have their grades in on time.
Zinda mutters ‘to hell with it' and sets her thrice-cleaned guns to the side; Jessica steps out to go visit Simon in the hospital, and Steph tries not to get jealous since she can't go to her injured partner; Renee gets a message from either her source or her girlfriend, dry-brushes her teeth, and exits by way of the balcony. Frankie stumbles into the room, yawning against her crutches, and beelines for the coffeepot; Diana and Nubia take over the guest room to video call with Congressman Mal Duncan and League Chairman John Stewart; Cissie and Cassie take an extended Titans call in the main room, their voices overlapping with the screen.
Nightwing swings down from the rafters and lands easily at Barbara's side, trailed by Donna. “What'd I miss?”
“The usual shit,” Barbara answers with a scowl and a sip of coffee.
Dick raises their eyebrows. “That bad, huh?”
“Maybe worse,” Barbara nods.
“I'll make the calls?” Dick offers.
Donna puts her arm around Dick's shoulders and leans her head against theirs. “We both will.”
“Please,” says Barbara. Something seems to occur to her and she adds. “Make sure they know what's at stake. The Owls think they changed the game; it's time we took it back.”
Then she bends back over the computer. The all-knowing Oracle has work to do. Steph feels the beginnings of something more than hope spark in her chest. There's a plan. They'll figure something out. And the Owls will learn that justice - that the Narrows - won't be intimidated either.
***
Rose has dragged Cass back out to the balcony for another joint and Steph suspects, and thinks Oracle does too - an unauthorized loop around the patrol routes. She understands why they didn't invite her - she has a fresh concussion and a shattered wrist - and besides, one of them has to stay with Nia.
Her girlfriend's moved on from shaking and hyperventilating to burying her face in the blanket and refusing to come out. Steph doesn't exactly blame her, but she's worried and she doesn't know what to do.
Harper would know, she thinks again. She wonders if they're awake by now. She wonders if Cullen remembered to tell them the others survived the attacks. She wonders if they're warm.
The door opens and Roy Harper enters, trailed by an excited Shoes along with a contingent of protest leaders and Sirens. It's more people than Steph has ever seen in the Clocktower, and she's surprised Barbara agreed to host the meeting.
Shoes waves. Steph waves back and realizes after that she should probably go say hi. But she can't move from her spot near Nia. She doesn't want to leave her for even a second.
Instead, Steph looks back at the television and wishes she hadn't.
Pettit's confirmation speech as Commissioner is beginning. His mustache bobs against the microphone. Steph wishes she could reach through the screen and shave it off.
There's a woman in a pressed dress uniform standing at attention a few feet behind him. The commentator identifies her as Maggie Sawyer and notes that there's no indication on what this means for her internal investigation into the GCPD for what the commentater insists on calling ‘Scarecrow’s Night.’
They all already know it isn't going to happen.
“I could waste time with speeches, but I prefer to let my actions speak for me. I'm issuing arrest warrants for every known individual responsible for making our city into a warzone, from Superman on down. For too long, Gotham’s relied on vigilantism as a substitute for law and order justice. Today, I want to make it clear that the armed thugs the world calls a League of Justice are no longer welcome in the great City of Gotham. Arrest warrants will be issued for any so-called vigilante who enters the city, no exceptions. Additional warrants will be issued to anyone involved in the terrorist movement that hijacked our screens, took over our streets, and attacked our brave officers. All injured officers will receive full commemorative honors. Those harboring the terrorists and holding back information - the vagrants, the rioters, the co-attackers - and all who aid and abet them will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Gotham City deserves Gotham Justice! We're gonna make that happen. My office is writing the requests for warrants as we speak, and believe me, they're gonna run out of printer ink. Welcome to the Pettit era, where we're putting criminality on hard notice.”
“Babs?” Frankie calls.
“Already on it,” Barbara responds. “The GCPD’s been updating their firewalls, but the software's still not good enough to keep me out. It looks like he really did send over warrants for every League member - that's political theater, he can try to enforce anti-vigilante laws all he wants but for the arrests to stick he'll need names.”
“Does he have names?” Steph asks. What she's really asking is: does he have Harper's name?
“A few. The clinic staff - no judge in Gotham will sign that; Oliver Queen-”
“Wait till I tell him,” Dinah laughs at that. “He'll appreciate that, he's been sulking since Roy called him the establishment.”
“You're on the list too, you know,” Barbara points out.
“You worry too much,” Dinah shrugs her shoulders. “It's not the first time for me either.”
Then Barbara goes very quiet.
“Harper's name is on that list,” Steph speaks her fear into existence.
“It is,” Barbara acknowledges. “So is yours, and while the Bluebird identity is still protected…”
“Spoiler isn't,” Steph finishes. In a way, she thinks she's known this was coming ever since she unmasked. She knew the risks, she chose them, she can live with them. She's not afraid of a piece of paper or a council full of Owls.
She's still Stephanie Brown, the spectacular Spoiler, and she's pissed as fuck now. They don't get to scare her away. They don't get to come after her partner. They don't get to win.