Disclaimer: All but a few of these characters belong to DC/Time Warner and I am using and abusing them without permission and also (and more importantly) without profit. Author's Notes: 1) Many, many, MANY thanks to 'rith who said, "Sure, send it," when I finished this at 3:00 this afternoon and did a rough beta on it. *hugs* 2) This is not a completely accurate portrayal of the act of giving birth. Many details have been left out or glossed over to avoid bogging down the story in medical terminology and ickiness. Nothing, to my knowledge, is expressly incorrect--just left out. I read baby books. I talked to people. Trust me. If you know what's missing, you know why. 3) Don't try to rationalize the time structure. It's not possible. And on with the show! The Best Things Come in Small Packages By Smitty "I'll see your Butterfinger and raise you...a Swedish Fish." "A Swedish Fish? What kinda pansy poker player are you?" "I'm a pansy poker player who's lost all his Reeces cups to you and only has two Butterfingers and a handful of Swedish Fish in reserve. Now pony up and call." "Fine." Dinah sighed and moved a Swedish Fish to the pot. "Call." "Ah-ha!" Tim crowed, scooping the loot toward his chest. "Four of a kind." "Hey, wait up." "Four ACES, pregnant lady." "Don't remind me," Dinah grumbled. She fumbled the cards in her hand for a minute and then finally dropped them all on the table. "What were you saying?" Tim looked at the royal flush dribbled over the table and groaned. *** "What's our ETA?" Bruce asked, voice clipped. "Three hours, sir." "Can't you make it any faster?" "I'm sorry, sir, that's the fastest we can get back to Gotham safely." Bruce growled low in his throat and slouched in his seat. He could fly the plane better than this. Why couldn't he fly the plane? "Mr. Wayne, don't worry, sir. We'll get you back in time." "Great," he muttered. "How do YOU know when my wife's going to go into labor?" Thinking of Dinah, he pulled out his cell phone and snapped it open. And snapped it closed. He wasn't going to bug her every five minutes. He snapped it open again. Yes, he was. *** The phone rang. "I'll get it!" Dinah crowed, trying to stand up. "You don't have a chance," Tim grinned at her and tilting his chair back toward where the phone hung on the wall. "Alfred would have a fit to see the Lady of the House answering the phone like a commoner anyway." "He's out buying stuff. And *you* don't have to tell him anything." Tim scooped up the phone with a grin. "'lo, Wayne Manor." He listened a moment. "Hey, Bruce. No, no, she hasn't gone into labor. She's right here. You want to talk to her? No?" "Hey!" Dinah protested around a mouthful of Swedish Fish. "Wayne, you bastard, you knocked me up and made me fat and now you won't even talk to me, you sonofa--" "Kidding, kidding," Tim laughed, handing her the phone. "Be gentle with him." "Hi sweetie!" Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. No, just skunked Tim at five card Spud. No, Spud. We didn't have a stud, since you're--" "Stop!" Tim called, cupping his hands over his ears. "TMI!" "Yeah, don't worry about me, I'm--Bruce? Bruce, honey, you're breaking up. I think it's 'cause you on an airplane. Yeah. Call me back when you get a chance. Ok, love you--damn!" "Interference?" Tim asked, finally dropping his hands. "Yeah," Dinah sighed. "No biggie. He said he'd be landing in about three hours." "Look at that. Just in time to take you out to a late dinner." Tim looked pointedly at the Butterfinger bar Dinah was unwrapping. "If you can wait that long." Dinah blushed apologetically. "I'm eating for three," she offered feebly. "And I'm *sure* I'll be hungry later..." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tim ribbed her. "That's what they all say." "Hey!" Dinah protested. "Oh--" "No, I mean hey." "What is it?" Tim's face lost all signs of mirth and dropped into his usual worried frown. "What's wrong?" "I...I have to go to the bathroom." Dinah struggled to get up. Tim grabbed her arm and pulled her up and she hurried to the bathroom. Tim shoved his hands in his pockets and paced the kitchen, feeling oddly out of sorts. Dinah had sounded weird and it was his solemn duty to protect her when both Bruce and Alfred were gone from the mansion. It didn't matter that she could wipe the floor with him. There were two little people inside her who were going to be Tim's honorary siblings and he wasn't about to let them down before they were born. Tim finally made a decision. He walked to the nearest powder room and rapped on the door. "Dinah? You ok?" He heard the toilet flush and the water run for a moment. Then the door opened a crack and Dinah's face peeked out. "Tim?" "Are you ok?" "I think my water just broke." *** Bruce Wayne paced his private jet, hoping that he'd be able to pace a little farther each time but, being unfortunately subject to the laws of physics, knew it wouldn't work. Dinah was nine months pregnant and she could go into labor at any time. He thought back to her first doctor's appointment. It was just a few days before the wedding and they went to Dr. Leslie, because they didn't want the situation public until after the honeymoon. Leslie had seemed especially smug to tell them that they could expect to be the proud parents of twins. Bruce considered poking his head in the cockpit to see if they were any closer but restrained himself. Instead, he sat back down in his seat and closed his eyes. *** Four Months Earlier... "Well," Dr. Leslie Thompkins said, snapping her folder closed. "Looks like you two are going to have to do some shopping." Bruce's face threatened to split with the force of his grin. He kissed Dinah on the cheek and cinched an arm around her waist. "Boy or girl?" he asked, not really caring which one. Leslie glanced at Dinah. "Does it matter?" "Not in the least," Bruce assured her. "Good," Leslie returned. "Because I couldn't tell. On either of them." "Either of them?" *** Bruce opened his eyes again. How LONG until this plane touched down? *** Tim snapped open his cell phone, punched a frantic sequence of buttons, then flipped it closed again. "What did you--Oh! Ow, that hurts!" Dinah gasped as her first contraction hit her. Tim hooked an arm under her arm and helped her stagger to the nearest chair. "Who did you call?" "I sent pre-recorded messages to Bruce, Dick, Babs, Cass, Roy, Cissie, and I dunno, some other people." "You what?" "Don't you have to have another contraction?" "Not yet! I get breaks!" "Oh, right, I knew that." "Sure you did." "I did! I took Steph to Lamaze class." "What'd you get?" "Huh?" "What grade did you get?" "We didn't get grades." "You took it pass/fail? At least tell me you passed!" "Of course I passed. No one fails Lamaze class." "Oh great, no standards. What if you're one of those Lamaze deadbeat dads who stand in the back of the room smoking?" "Actually..." Tim stopped and winced at the memory. "I was. I was pretending to be a punk. Had my hair slicked back and everything." "Oh, that makes me feel safe." "We should go." "Go where?" "To the hospital." "Why?" "Because you're having a baby! No, you're having two babies!" "But it's not time yet. I don't have to go until the contractions are five minutes apart. And right now they're like...I don't know, I've only had one," Dinah protested. "There may be traffic," Tim told her sagely. Dinah sighed. "My suitcase is up in our bedroom." Tim dashed for the stairs, dialing Leslie's number on his cell phone as he ran. *** Bruce was staring out the window when his phone beeped. Just once. Voice mail message. He snatched it up and dialed into his service. "Please enter the passcode for this mailbox," the phone instructed him pleasantly. Bruce thumbed in the code, screwed it up, and started over. "You have one new message," the phone chirped. Bruce decided he was going to find the WayneTech employees who set up the system and have them all demoted to Tim's secretaries. "Please press one to listen to your messages." Bruce stabbed the key with "1" printed on it with his thumb. "First message," the phone informed him pleasantly. "This is Tim Drake," the owner's terse voice informed him. "If you're getting this message you are on an automatic list for this prerecorded message. Dinah's gone into labor and is being transported to Wayne Memorial. See you at the hospital." "In labor..." Bruce immediately disconnected from the voicemail service and dialed Tim's cell phone. "Tim!" he yelled when he heard the line connect. "Tim, what's going on?" "Bruce. We're en route to Wayne Memorial. ETA is fourteen minutes. Situation is normal. Contractions are...Dinah, how far apart are they?" "I don't know," Dinah's voice came faintly from the background. "I haven't had another one ye-OW!" "Bruce, that was 24 minutes apart." "What? They're that close together and you only just called?" "Her water only just broke." Bruce heard Dinah say something but couldn't make out the words. "Bruce, Dinah reports having pains that could have been contractions before her water broke, but she thought they were just hunger pangs." "Hunger pangs? She mistook contractions for hunger pangs?" "It happens all the time," Tim informed him. "Contractions start before the water breaks and most women just chalk them up to indigestion because they're so mild. Hey!" "Bruce? Bruce, I'm stuck in a minivan with your crazy sidekick." Bruce blinked as his wife's voice replaced Tim's. "Dinah? Are you ok?" "Of COURSE I'm not ok! I'm huge and I'm pregnant and I'm in labor and I don't want to be in labor--it's too soon and I don't want to do it right now and I’m going to miss *The Brave and the Bold* and I'm hungry and it hurts and--Bruce? Bruce?" Dinah's eyes welled with tears as the phone hummed at her. "Tim...he hung up on me." She hurled the phone across the van. "The bastard hung up on me!" *** 60,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Bruce mirrored her actions. "This phone is a piece of crap!" he announced to whoever might be listening. Then he stomped into the cockpit. "I need to be home now," he told the pilots. "My wife's in labor." "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne," the co-pilot said, glancing over his shoulder at his irate boss. "We've hit a spot of turbulence. It might hold us up a little bit. I'd suggest you buckle in and hang on." He glanced back at the instruments and ventured, "It might be why your phone is acting up, too." "Acting up?" Bruce grumbled, heading back to his seat. "That phone is the finest piece of communications equipment WayneTech can provide. I was on the line to Tibet not an hour ago. But one little spot of turbulence...." He sat down in his seat and buckled in, thinking of the turbulent days not long past.... *** Six Months Earlier…. "You want what?" Bruce lowered the menu to stare at his wife of three months. "Liver and onions. And maybe some of that green Jello. Do you have pretzels?" Dinah asked the waiter. "The skinny kind with lots of salt? Those would taste really good with that Jello." "I'm sorry, ma'am," the waiter told her crisply. "But we do not serve...Jello." "What about the pretzels?" "No, ma'am." "Dinah, we're at the Chez D'Ubanville. You should know better than to order Jello!" "Well, excuse me," Dinah shot back. "*I* wasn't born with a billion dollar bank account and a silver spoon up my--" She glanced up at the waiter, who turned his attention quickly to Bruce. "Nose," she finished, her voice a low growl. "The New York Strip, please," Bruce requested, handing the menu back to the waiter, but never taking his eyes off Dinah. "Very good, sir," the waiter said, snatching up the menus and making his way back to the kitchen. "This is a first class restaurant," Bruce hissed. "And I have a reputation to maintain." Dinah's cheeks had flared hot and red as she glanced down. "I don't see why we have to go out anyway," she said suddenly. "Alfred never has a problem making what I want." Suddenly, she pushed her chair back and stormed from the restaurant. By the time Bruce had cancelled their order, heartily tipped the waitstaff for their understanding, collected their coats and made his way to the waiting limo, Dinah had fallen asleep in the back seat, her face streaked with tears. Bruce eased her head onto his lap and instructed Alfred home. He carried her up to bed then went to the Cave to get dressed and go on his rounds. It was a quiet night in Gotham and he snorted at the strains of a television news show reporting that billionaire Bruce Wayne and his pregnant superhero wife had been spotted quarreling in a ritzy Gotham restaurant; could a breakup be in the future? After more than five years of quarrels and denials, their future was hardly in danger. After he'd returned from an uneventful patrol, Alfred directed him to the kitchen where Dinah sat dipping cantaloupe with a melon-baller and dabbing French dressing on them before putting them in her mouth. Her eyes still looked a little red. "I didn't realize you were so tired," he said softly, sitting down across from her. "I shouldn't be tired," she replied, rolling a cantaloupe ball into her pool of dressing. "I don't do anything. I just sit around all day." Bruce grimaced sympathetically. "You're carrying twins," he pointed out wryly. "That would wear anyone out." "But I…I never get tired," she complained. "I know." Bruce stared at her snack. "Does that really taste good?" "Nectar of the gods." The corners of her mouth turned up. "You've got to be kidding." Bruce reached across the table to swipe the piece of melon poised in the utensil. "Not without the dressing," she warned, pulling her scoop away. "Don't do *that* to me," he complained. "Hey, I'm carrying your children! The least you can do is eat a stinkin' melon ball." "With salad dressing." "You'll like it, I promise." Smiling, Bruce closed his eyes. "Hit me," he said, opening his mouth. He captured her hand as it pressed the marinated melon ball between his lips and pulled her around the table. "Eugh," he gasped, pulling her onto his lap. "You *must* be pregnant to want this stuff." "Was there really any question?" Dinah asked, pressing his hand to her stomach. "None whatsoever." He pressed a kiss to her mouth and let his hand stroke over her belly. Someone in there lay two little people waiting to grow big enough to call him Daddy. *** Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed the floor of the rocking plane to retrieve his cell phone. Maybe it had just been a temporary cutoff, he reasoned, crawling back to his seat and hitting the redial button. *** "Spud!" "What?" "Get in here!" "Why?" "Because I said so!" With a long-suffering sigh, James Grayson set his puzzle pieces aside and stood up. Making sure his stuffed horse, Buckshot, was tucked under his arm, he padded into the Oracle Lair and pulled up his chair. "What is it?" he asked in the voice of a nine-year-old who was being unnecessarily hassled by his mother. "Dinah's in labor," Barbara said briskly. "I need you to listen for the JLA for me." "Really?" "Headphones on." "Kick--um, oh boy!" Spud cheered, scrambling to his own personal O2 chair and pulling on the spare set of headphones. Barbara's earpiece was custom-made, but she had backups of all sorts scattered about her station for him. "The twins are coming now?" "You got it, Potato-Boy," Babs confirmed, connecting to Tim's cellular phone. "Let me get…hmm, this is odd." "Is something going to explode?" Spud asked. "Probably Dinah if they're not at the hospital," Barbara mused. "Tim's not answering his phone." "Tim loves his phone," Spud reminded her. "I know. Let's see if he has his communicator on. And you, call your dad and have him check his voicemail. He's probably got his cell off." "Cool!" Spud very rarely was permitted to contact Dick at work. It had to be a special emergency, Barbara had drilled into him. "What do you want me to tell him?" "That I have to go to the hospital," Babs announced, clicking her connection closed and pulling off her own headset. "Why?" Spud asked, bewildered. "Because Dinah's having the babies," Babs explained as if it were obvious, then added, "And Bruce isn't there yet. I'm her best friend. It's my sworn duty to be there." Spud's head shot up. "Where's Bruce?" he asked, alarmed. "On his way in from Tibet. You going to be ok by yourself?" Babs asked. "There might be an intergalactic crisis," Spud fretted. "Honey, you'll be fine," Barbara assured him. "We had one just last week and Dick'll be home in a few hours." "Ok," Spud conceded. "Who's got monitor duty at the Watchtower?" "J'onn does." Spud's face split into a wide grin. "Kickass." *** Bruce's efforts to contact Dinah and Tim were met with static and a sparkling array of curse words no one would have ever guessed to be in Bruce Wayne's vocabulary. Thoroughly defeated by technology, he slumped in his seat and wondered if the roof of Wayne Memorial might possibly be big enough for a makeshift runway. Wait! Maybe not a runway, but there was certainly a helicopter pad up there. He flipped open the phone again and managed to connect immediately to Lucius. He was tempted to comment on the irony, but restrained himself. It certainly wouldn't help his image as an air-headed pretty boy. "Lucius, Dinah's in labor," he whined instead. "And I'm still over two hours away. Can you have my helicopter waiting for me at the airport so I can get a ride to Wayne Memorial?" "No problem, Bruce," Lucius assured him. "In fact, that's a pretty good idea. There's a nasty traffic snarl starting up here around Midtown. Three-way collision, I think, but it's at the intersection of Dillon and Moloof. If Tim is taking the quick route through Robbinsville he should be fine." "Thanks, Lucius." "No problem, Bruce. Call when you have good news for me." "Absolutely." Bruce flipped the phone shut and leaned back on the luxurious seat cushion. Tim and Dinah were on their way to Wayne Memorial, the helicopter was on its way to the airport, and with a little luck, they'd all get to the hospital in good time. All he had to do was sit back and wait. He was bad at waiting. But, he remembered with a chuckle, he wasn't the only one. *** "Look what I made!" Dinah bubbled, greeting him at the door when he came home from work. He smiled, shoving aside the feeling that he'd stepped into a sitcom. "It's…" He held up the small yarn construct, not quite sure what it was. "…very soft…" He fingered the yarn, nodding sagely. "Ok, so it doesn't look like a bootie quite yet," Dinah admitted breezily. "But I'm working on it. And you have a really ugly scarf waiting in the other room." "I can't wait," he assured her, kissing her soundly. True to her word, she'd struggled with the ever-growing number of yarn balls that invaded the recreation room and after quite a few creative pitfalls, managed to produce for him an entire wardrobe of scarves, a pair of mittens, and a stapler cozy. She never did finish the baby booties. *** Officer Dick Grayson checked his beeping pager and cranked down the volume on the tiny television broadcasting the latest episode of The Brave and the Bold. Faint mumbles of protest sounded from the back corners of the squad room. "Phone call," Dick called, perfectly aware that they all had him on the clock until he returned the volume to normal levels. He punched in the numbers to home and didn't have to wait an entire ring before Spud picked up the line. "Dinah's having the babies," he blurted out immediately. Something gripped Dick's stomach, not quite dread or fear, but less cheerful than just anticipation or excitement. "Good," he heard himself saying. "Is she on her way to the hospital?" "Yeah, Tim's taking her," Spud reported. "He probably left you voicemail. But Bruce is still on his way back from Tibet so Babs went to meet them." "You have the phones?" Dick asked, using their code for the Oracle line. "Yeah." Spud paused and Dick read all kinds of insecurities in that space after the word. "Everything will be fine," he said firmly. "Who's watching the upstairs phones?" "Mar--um, John Jones." "See? You'll be fine." "Ok. When are you coming home?" Spud wanted to know, as if he didn't have Dick's schedule perfectly timed and memorized. "My shift ends at four," Dick said patiently. "So fifteen to twenty minutes after that, depending on traffic. How about I stop at home, see if everything's going ok, and then if it's all quiet, I'll go on to the hospital to see Dinah. That way I can report it all back to you." Dick paused. "Because you know the JLA is going to want to know as soon as the twins are born. They're all just a big bunch of gossips, you know." "Ok," Spud agreed, his voice calmer. He giggled. "They are, huh?" "Sure are." Dick's eyes crinkled at the corner as he thought fondly of his son. "And don't worry, Spud. You're good at your job. You'll be fine, ok?" "Yeah," Spud said softly, then clearly and with more confidence, "O2 out! Um, I mean, bye Dad!" *** "Oh, crap a dog." "What?" Dinah struggled to sit up and peer through the bucket seats in the front of the minivan. Tim had insisted she sit in the second row so she'd be "in position, just in case." All she could see through the windshield was the back of the SUV in front of them. "Traffic jam," Tim determined, his voice terse. "Looks like the entire Upper East Side is stopped. There must be an accident or something down there." "Well, that's ok," Dinah replied uncertainly. "Right? The police will come, they'll clean it up, and we'll--ow!" Tim glanced back and saw Dinah wincing in pain. He did what all good executives and superheroes do in times of stress. He made a decision. "What are you DOING?" Dinah shrieked from the backseat as she felt the van wrench around and ride over something with a hard jolt. "Jumping the median," Tim announced grimly. The minivan bounced and rumbled, then its back wheels hit the pavement on the northbound lane with a bone-jarring force that bounced Dinah in her seat. "We're WHAT?" Dinah asked, as he threw the van in reverse and did a 180 degree spin, sending the van on its merry way. "What's wrong with you? You drive like someone's grandmother! Not like…me." "With great power comes great responsibility," Tim intoned solemnly, whipping the minivan down a dirt road nearly overgrown by weeping willows. "We'll go back across the bridge and over through Bristol," he informed her. "I know the back roads like the back of my hand and then we'll go through Sommerset and over the Trigate Bridge, then loop around at the Schwartz Bypass." "What? Go through Sommerset? That'll take forever." "But at least we'll be moving." Tim turned back to offer her the first grin she'd seen since he'd knocked on the bathroom door. "Besides, you still have plenty of time, right?" "Riiight." Dinah leaned back against the once-plush seats of the second- hand van. "Hey! Eyes on the road!" *** Barbara Gordon was glad she wasn't going south. Route 50 was blocked up from south of the Clocktower and appeared to be getting worse as she zipped through the streets up to Wayne Memorial Hospital. Vanity, she reflected, that had Dinah and Bruce choose this place to have their children when there were so many places closer to the Manor, but sweet vanity. It was, as Dinah had explained to her, the best way to show the twins off to their paternal grandparents without taking them on one of Bruce's infamous treks through the cemetery. Put that way, Barbara could hardly disagree. She drove past the emergency room entrance and turned up the ramp to visitor parking, noting the number of medical personnel meeting the ambulances as they screamed into the cul-de-sac to deposit their injured payload. Traffic accident? she wondered, or maybe…her blood ran cold as she wondered which inhabitants of Arkham or worse, the Slab might have broken through security. She keyed her transmitter and waited for Spud's distorted voice to acknowledge. "O2, status on all incarcerated metas?" "No change," O2's puzzled voice came back to her. In the background she could hear the anxious clicking of keys. "I'll check with the Watchtower." "Before you do that," Babs said, more gently, "do me a favor and check traffic patterns in South Gotham, just north of Midtown." "Oh, there's a big accident at Dillon and Moloof," Spud replied immediately. "Started out a three-way and then some idiot ran into one of the cars, pushed it into the one lane that was getting by--all stopped up. GCPD's directing what traffic they can over to Murphy, but it's slow going and there's a mess of people trying to get around Robinson Park." "Well, that explains that," Babs noted, turning her car into a wide parking spot on the end of a row. "Thanks, Potato Boy. Your mom needs to remember to ask the right question if she wants the right answer. Everything going ok?" "Going great. How's Dinah?" "Haven't seen her yet," Babs told him. "I'm just getting ready to go in now." "Ok. Call me when it's time?" "If I can. Keep the JLA in line, O2." "Roger that, Oracle." Barbara smiled and closed the connection. Her system was in good hands. She had made sure of that herself. *** "We need to call Bruce," Tim despaired as he negotiated a lane change. "Let him know how late we're going to be. He'll be at the hospital wigging out and we'll still be stuck on--" "Ow!" Dinah replied, clutching her stomach. "Drugs, Timmy, give me drugs!" "Phone, Dinah," Tim replied, eyeing the gum-chomping teenager piloting the car next to him. "I don't have drugs; give me the phone." "It's--it's on the floor and--ow! Damn!" Dinah stretched for the exiled cell phone, her fingers brushing the smooth plastic casing. "Dammit! I can't reach--" Dinah scowled as Tim wrenched the minivan to what he considered to be the faster-moving lane and the phone fell neatly into her hand. "Heads up!" she barked, pitching the phone at the side of Tim's head. Tim's hand snapped up and caught the flying appliance an inch from his ear. He punched a few buttons without looking and wedged the phone against his shoulder so he could steer with both hands. "Network's down," he growled, tossing the phone into the front passenger's seat. "Network's down?" Dinah asked, struggling to lift her head. "What does 'network down' mean?" "It's 'cell phone' for 'your phone's absolutely useless and there's no chance of making any real phone calls'," Tim reported darkly. "You mean we can't call Bruce?" Dinah wailed. Tim wisely chose not to comment. *** "Hey! Small Fry!" "In here!" Spud called from the Oracle Lair. Dick crossed the living room and walked into the den. The door to the computer room was wide open. Dick didn't doubt that if he hadn't called when he walked into the house, the doors would be closed, locked, and barricaded. "Everything going ok?" he asked, ruffling Spud's curls around the metal band of the headset. "Yeah, real quiet," Spud said. "There's a big crash at Dillon and Moloof. Shouldn't be a problem going north but you should try to stay away from Robinson Park. You know, when you go." "Hey." Dick dropped into a crouch, setting one elbow on the desk and the other on the arm of Spud's chair. "You going to be ok with the JLA?" "Yeah, fine," Spud told him. He sounded crisp enough but Dick could detect the faint tremor in his voice. "Nothing's going to happen," Dick assured him, "that you can't handle. Ok?" "Ok." Spud nodded firmly. "I'll stay if you tell me to," Dick told him. "No, I'll be ok." Spud looked a little more confident so Dick reached up to ruffle his hair again and stood, feeling his left side twinge as he stretched upright. "All right. I'm going to go see if Dinah's ready to give you a couple of little aunts or uncles, ok?" "Ok. Don't let Bruce brood," Spud offered. Dick grinned. "I think brooding," he told Spud, leaning in close, "is the least of Bruce's problems right now." *** "This isn't fair!" Dinah groaned, kicking at the padded wall of the minivan. She tilted her head back on the seat and glared up at the fuzzy carpeting on the ceiling. "Knees up," Tim reminded her from the front seat. "I don't want to put my knees up," Dinah told him calmly. "I want to go home and get a cup of tea." "It's a little late for that," Tim stated, squinting in the late afternoon sun. "No. It's early, actually. I'm not supposed to give birth until next week, remember? Take me home." "Take you home? You're in labor!" "No, I'm not. It was bad Chinese food. I'm supposed to have them C- section, remember? Next week. Not time yet." "How long has it been since the last contraction?" "Doesn't matter. I'm done. No more--OW!" Tim shook his head and applied his foot to the gas pedal. *** "Barbara!" Dr. Leslie Thompkins half-jogged down the hall of the obstetrics ward of Wayne Memorial, her sensible shoes keeping excellent traction against the beautifully waxed floors. Her white jacket billowed behind her and the stethoscope around her neck bounced with the movement. "Leslie! How is she?" Babs asked anxiously, wheeling up to Leslie. "She's not here." Leslie looked calm, but the corners of her mouth were tight and her flight down the hall told Babs otherwise. "And they're not calling her OB until she arrives. I've called Tim four times on his cell phone and the Manor twice. I'm worried they might have been stuck in that wreck on Moloof." "Oh no." Barbara felt cold as the blood drained from her face. "Were they coming down that way?" "I don't know." Leslie looked pale, too. "I've alerted the ER and the ERs at Mercy and Gotham General. They're to beep me if either of them come in." Barbara's face set in determination. "Can you get me to a computer?" *** "We're getting off the freeway." "We're WHAT?" Dinah shrieked. "We're not getting off the freeway! The hospital's on the freeway! Well not on-on the--but we have to be on the-- Tim, we have to get to the hospital!" "We have to call Bruce," Tim reasoned, checking over his right shoulder. "So I'm going to get off at this exit and find a pay phone. There's an O'Shaughnessey's down here where I used to hang out in high school." Having detected no vehicles in his blind spot, Tim jerked the minivan into the right lane, floored the gas and roared onto the exit ramp, handily cutting off a Volvo. *** "…*no* men on Paradise Island? Is that why Wonder Woman--" "One moment, Spud," J'onn interrupted. "I'm getting a call from Aquaman." Spud obediently shut up. Aquaman wasn't a big fan of the Oracle line *before* the Black Canary incident and he'd made quite public his suspicions that it was the method by which so many heroes got the "news" so quickly. It wasn't, of course, but it was easier to believe in the power of technology than in the power of Kon-El's mouth. "Spud." Martian Manhunter's voice was back. "Aquaman is about to contact you on another line with a frequency. I need you to put that frequency 180 degrees out of phase and route that through the Watchtower defense grid and the sound baffles in the base of the dome protecting Atlantis. Understand?" "Yes." Spud paused. "It has to be Aquaman?" "Aquaman will be much too busy to lecture you," J'onn said, not unkindly. "Ok. There he is. Standby, M.M." Spud closed the channel before J'onn could respond and opened the new line. "O2," he said briskly. "You have something for me, Aquaman?" 53.7 kilohertz!" Aquaman's voice sounded strained. Either he was fighting something or trying terribly hard to hold back a lecture. "Thanks!" Spud closed the channel and took a second to do the math. Then he reestablished contact with the Watchtower and entered the weapon system controls. "J'onn," he said through the other line. "Your defenses are go. Repeat, the Watchtower defenses are go." Leaving that line open, he continued with the protocols for Atlantis' sound defenses. Information entered, he leaned back in his chair and brought up the visual screens for Atlantis. "Um, J'onn?" he asked, watching Atlanteans and sea creatures alike writhe in pain on the 60 inch screens overhead. "I don't think it worked." *** "Oh my god," Dinah whimpered, clutching Tim's headrest as he hunched forward over the wheel. "I'm going to have my babies in a minivan! This is a sign. I'm doomed to be a soccer mom. I'm going to have to learn how to make cookies." "You're not going to have the babies in the minivan," Tim informed her calmly. "Not if I have anything to say about it." "You! You're a pod person! You broke fifty miles an hour, and, and traffic laws! You can't possibly be Tim Drake! Oh my god, I'm being kidnapped by aliens and I'm going to give birth in a minivan." "Dinah." Tim hooked one elbow over his headrest and twisted his body to give her a quick glance. "If you have the babies in the minivan, I'll have to get the whole thing reupholstered and that'll cost a bundle. You will not have the babies in this minivan." "Ok, so you are Tim," Dinah agreed, suddenly feeling a little less whiny. "But these babies are on their way whether you get to the hospital or not, and--ahh!" "That was three minutes," Tim reported, clicking the button on his stopwatch. "Doesn't matter. We're blowing this joint." "We're, wha--Tim!" Tim brought the Minivan of Death roaring up the shoulder, cranking the wheel to the right as he skidded into the parking lot of an O'Shaughnessey's. "Outta the car," he demanded, leaping from his seat and running around the minivan to haul open the side door. "But...but...." "Now!" Tim grabbed Dinah's flailing hands and hauled her vertical and out of the vehicle. "They're going to fall out," Dinah proclaimed as Tim walked her toward the doors. "No they won't," Tim promised her. "Umbilical cords, remember?" "So I'm just going to walk around with them dangling between my legs? AH!" "Shoot. Sit down," Tim commanded, easing Dinah onto an outdoor picnic bench. "I'll go inside and get some hot water and some blankets." "Why?" "Because that's what they always do in the movies!" "Yes! You're right! They do. And get me a chocolate milkshake." *** "I don't think you should--" "I'll fix it." "Are you sure that this computer--" "It will if I tell it to." "I'm not sure these computers were meant--" "I'll put them back to normal." Leslie Thompkins squeezed her hands together as she watched Barbara Grayson's fingertips fly across the keys of the computer terminal. "What are you doing now?" she asked worriedly. "I'm hijacking satellite power," Barbara muttered. "Not sure we have enough power on our own…." "This can't be a good sign," Leslie sighed. "Triangulating…hm, mainframe…." "That mainframe runs hundreds of life-saving devices," Leslie reminded Barbara. "Please try not to shut it down." "No worries," Barbara told her. "As it turns out, you have a generator." Leslie closed her eyes. "Please don't force us to resort to generator power," she pleaded. "No need," Barbara assured her. "I'm using the generator as my primary power source and storing the rest of the information…elsewhere. Here we go. Look." Leslie peeked from behind her fingers. "The green dot? Is that Tim?" "Yes. He's the only active operator in Gotham. Dick is blue for Bludhaven, Bruce hasn't checked yet for active status, and Cass should still be daytime inactive--she's at work." "Can you call his communicator?" "I can try but--I don't know if he'll be able to receive from a foreign input source. I worked safeguards into the system to keep spiders out." "Didn't you just take control of the system?" "Yes," Barbara said calmly. "But the system doesn't know that. I did that on purpose to keep the hospital mainframe security from locking this terminal out." "Oh. Well, that's nice, dear." Leslie crossed her arms and tapped her fingertips against her lips. She watched Barbara type and frown and type some more and mutter to herself and type even more furiously on the poor, abused keyboard. "No contact?" "I don't get it," Barbara said in frustration. "My communications equipment's frozen. It's not a foreign input problem. My satellites won't process. He's in Sommerset, that much I know, just off Route 50 and if Tim's there, then Dinah's with him." "Can you track him from the ambulance GPS locators?" "Leslie, you're a genius! Grab your bag. We're going to Sommerset!" *** "Sonic attack," J'onn said grimly. "I suspect the invaders are attempting to communicate but we lack a common language." "Can't you just go into their heads and learn it?" Spud asked, his eyes growing wide. "I have tried. They are too well shielded for me to breach." Martian Manhunter paused. "They have been attempting to make contact with Atlantis and with the Watchtower but their attempts to transmit are destructive to both animal and machine. In addition to destroying ocean life, the sound is also disrupting cellular communications across the earth's surface." Spud's eyes widened. An intergalactic crisis! He *knew* something like this would happen. "And sending back a canceling frequency isn't working?" he said slowly. "It is saving the Watchtower," J'onn said. "Atlantis, though, is still suffering. I have been trying to communicate to the visitors that they are endangering our undersea friends, but have been unable to get my message across." "The Watchtower's ok but Atlantis isn't?" Spud asked. "Of course! Because we didn't allow for the dampening effects--ha, get it, dampening effects?--of the water!" He grabbed a piece of paper and started scribbling calculations. "I believe you refer to the *distorting* effect," J'onn said. "Remember, Atlantis is in salt water and the pressure per inch is--" "Right, right, got it," Spud said hurriedly, pushing his paper and pencil aside and pulling up an algorithm stored on the Oracle system. The factors for Atlantis were already stored and it was a simple matter of plugging in frequencies and ranges from there. "Ok! Got it." Spud started hacking into Atlantis' security system again. "J'onn, the Watchtower might have to lend a hand, I don't know if Atlantis' computers are going to be up to this." "I will do what I can, O2," J'onn said calmly. "There." Spud typed in the final command, pressed enter, and held his breath. Not ten seconds later, he had a response. "The threat is neutralized," Aquaman's gruff voice came over the transmitting. "Thanks, O2." Spud's face split into a massive grin as Aquaman signed off. Praise from the King of the Sea was mighty praise indeed! "Congratulations, O2," J'onn's mild voice echoed his teammate's. "You just saved the galaxy." *** Bruce was waiting at the door, rocking on the balls of his feet, while the pilot shut down the engine. When the door opened, he scrambled down the roll-up stairway and vaulted the handrail when there were only three steps keeping him from the ground. "Bruce!" He spun, searching for the source of a familiar voice. "Lucius!" The older man was sitting in an airport jitney just out of the landing circle. Bruce jogged over to the vehicle and hopped inside. The driver immediately peeled off with a growl of the engine and the faint aroma of burnt rubber. Lucius leaned over the back of the seat. "Take this," Lucius commanded, pushing a packet into Bruce's hand. "What--?" Bruce asked for show, his fingers automatically identifying four cigars. "Just get there," Lucius answered, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. The jitney screeched to halt on the helicopter pad, staying well outside the blade radius. Lucius's hand on his shoulder helped push Bruce out of the cart and toward the chopper. He ducked his head and ran toward the proffered hand of the crewman waiting to help him inside. "We've got him," the crewman--who turned out to be a crewwoman under the heavy flight gear and goggles--called to the pilot and Bruce Wayne was on his way to see his wife give birth to twins. *** "It looks like they're closed!" Tim shouted back to Dinah as he peered in the darkened glass of the door. Dinah looked up at the letter board under the O'Shaughnessy's sign. "'Til March 17th," she agreed. "Painting." "Shoot." Tim turned from the door and picked up the receiver of the pay phone. "No milkshake, sorry." He dug around in his pants pocket until he came up with a quarter and a dime to stick in the coin slot. Bruce's cell phone was number two on his speed dial but he'd long since committed the number to memory. A blast of static in his ear greeted him and he automatically took a step back. "Bruce?" he shouted into the phone. "Bruce, are you there?" "Tim?" The reply was faint but unmistakably Bruce. "Tim, where's Dinah?" "We're at the O'Shaughnessy's in Sommerset," Tim yelled back. "There's a traffic jam. We're going to be late!" "What? Hold on a minute!" Tim waited patiently and a moment later, the noise had decreased substantially. "I'm on the WE chopper," Bruce explained succinctly. "Now, what's going on?" "There's some huge traffic jam just north of the Upper East Side," Tim said, leaning his shoulder against the side of the phone booth. "I zipped us back over Kane Memorial and through Bristol but my phone says the network's down and we've been on the road for hours, so I thought I should give you a call and let you know that we're not lost, just late." "Do you need us to come get us you?" Bruce asked. "You're in Sommerset?" Tim did some quick mental calculations. "I'm not sure where you'd land," he said after a moment, "but it would definitely be faster." "All right," Bruce said. "There must be a field or an empty parking lot around somewhere. If worst comes to worst, I'm sure there's a harness on board somewhere." There was a long silence on the line. "Is she ok, Tim? Leslie said the pregnancy was high risk. Has anyone talked to Dr. Menar?" "She's fine," Tim said, glancing back at Dinah, who was sitting on top of a picnic table, gazing at the sky. "Her color's good, she's been yelling at me the whole time, she's fine. I beeped Dr. Menar and she said to have the hospital call her when we get there." "Ok." Bruce seemed reluctant to hang up the phone. "Take care of her until I get there." "Of course I will," Tim assured him. "She's carrying precious cargo." "Thanks," Bruce said and cut the connection. Tim smiled to himself and hung up the phone. If someone had told him five years ago that he'd be entrusted with the care of Bruce Wayne's pregnant wife, he'd have disputed any number of those points. But today, it just felt good. He left the relative shelter of the phone booth and walked over to the picnic table where Dinah was sprawled. "Your husband's on his way," he told her with a smile. "We just have to sit tight and he's going to come get us in the WE chopper." "That's good," Dinah said, turning teary eyes upon him. "Because I think the babies are on their way." *** Roy Harper skidded into the maternity ward of Wayne Memorial and targeted the nurses' station. "Did she have them yet?" he demanded. The nurses shuffling charts and coffee around the tiny enclosure didn't even pause. After a desperate moment--from Roy's perspective--a woman in her mid-fifties with short, tightly curling gray hair, a pink cardigan and a nametag that said "Nancy" set down her cup of coffee and lifted her pince nez to her nose. "It would help if we had a name, dear," she suggested. "Dinah. Dinah Lance. Or, um, Dinah Wayne. Lance-Wayne. You know, the one with the babies!" "Oh, Mrs. Wayne." Nancy seemed to recognize the name. "We were alerted by her primary care physician that she'd been delayed. She hasn't been admitted, I'm afraid." "Delayed? What if the babies come? What about the OY/GBN?" Nancy opened her mouth to correct him, but Roy ploughed on ahead. "You know, the baby doctor. Where's she?" "Dr. Menar is playing racketball," Nurse Nancy replied soothingly. "We'll beep her when Mrs. Wayne arrives. It's only been a few hours since the water broke so I'm sure everything's just fine. Babies sometimes take hours, or even days, to be born." *** "What do you mean they're on their way?" Tim asked, his voice rising. "Of course they're on the way. That's why we're going to the hospital. Please, Dinah, tell me they're just going-to-the-hospital-on-the-way. Please don't tell me they're on-the-way-on-the-way." "Timmy, they're going to be born really soon. I'm really sure." "I thought it was going to take, like, hours! Or days!" "It *had* been hours!" Dinah shouted back. "We've been in the car forever!" "How do you know?" Tim asked, running one hand through his hair. "You've never done this before, right?" The look Dinah gave him put Batman's glare to shame. "I *know*, ok? Women know. We've been doing this for thousands of years, so shut your stupid male mouth and go get me a milkshake!" "Ok, ok, hold on a minute. I need to call Bruce back. You want Bruce to know you're in labor, right? Maybe he can pick up Dr. Menar or Dr. Leslie or someone, ok?" "Ok," Dinah whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. Tim grabbed her hand and let her squeeze his fingers during the contraction. He waited until it seemed to be over and then patted her forehead with his cuff. "I'll be right back," he promised her, kissing her forehead. Dinah whimpered in response. Tim reluctantly untangled his hand from hers and jogged back to the phone. He was running low on change, he noticed, but he could dig into the stash he kept in the car for tolls. "Tim?" Bruce asked, interrupting the first ring. "Is everything ok?" "You might want to hurry, Papa Bear," Tim said with a sigh. "Dinah says the babies are on their way. Ready or not, here they come." *** "Everything ok, boss?" A petite woman in a flight suit and a mop of brown hair stuck her head into the cabin. Her helmet was under her arm. "We need to change course," Bruce said. "Do we have a harness in this thing?" "What kind of harness do you need?" the woman asked, furrowing her brow. "My wife's stuck at an O'Shaughnessy's in Sommerset," Bruce explained, pacing the short cabin. "I want to go pick them up." "Them, sir?" "Tim Drake's driving her." "Roger that, Mr. Wayne." "Oh, wait…." "Yes?" The woman paused expectantly. "Ms., um--" "Pankowski. Jana Pankowski." She smiled and her pixie face seemed to light up. "Jana," Bruce repeated, feeling more at ease. "Have you ever had a baby?" Jana shrugged disarmingly. "I haven't, but my sister had one last month. Everything was fine." "Everything?" "Everything," Jana confirmed with a nod. "Ok. Sommerset." "I'll tell the pilot." "Thank you. And congratulations to your sister." "Thank you, sir. And don't worry. Everything will be just fine." *** "Where's my milkshake?" Dinah asked when Tim returned. "Milkshake, right. No, no, I can't get you a milkshake. The store's closed. I'll get you blankets. I have blankets in the trunk. And ice. Give me the keys." "The keys?" Dinah looked at him blankly. "Don't you have the keys?" "No, I--" Tim groaned. "I figured you'd leave the door open." "Why? Why would I leave the door open? You told me to get out, so I did." "But the engine's still running--oh, crap. The engine's still running!" Tim ran over to the minivan and tried all the various doors. Locked. He pressed his nose against the front passenger window and watched the keys sit serenely in the ignition. He fought the urge to growl audibly. After all, he was Robin. And Robin could get into anything. Of course it helped to have the utility belt handy. Tim walked back to Dinah, unbuckling his watch on the way. "You don't have any lockpicks on you?" he asked, laying his watch on the table and using two fingers to twist off the back. "Sorry, left them in my other pants," Dinah snapped back, gripping the edges of the picnic table and screwing up her face. Tim abandoned his watch, grabbing her hands and sitting down on the bench in front of her. "Do you think you're dilated?" he asked, nudging the inside of her leg with his knee. "I don't know," Dinah said. She sounded exhausted, Tim thought. "It feels like they're going to fall out." "Then you're probably dilated," Tim said. He released her hands and patted her knee before going back to destroying his watch. "Let me break into the van and get the blankets and stuff and then I'll um. Check." "What? No! You can't look down there!" "Dinah, I'm going to have to," Tim said in what he hoped was a reasonable voice. "If Bruce doesn't get here fast, I'm all you've got." Dinah whimpered and Tim took the opportunity to release the tiny tools from his watch and slip away to the minivan. He jimmied the lock in under thirty seconds and reached in for the keys, turning the ignition off. The blankets were in the back with a small Igloo cooler that contained ice chips and bottles of juice and water. No one ever said Tim Drake didn't come prepared. "Off the table," he ordered, dumping the blankets and cooler on one of the benches. He took Dinah's hand and helped her off the table. She stretched her back while he spread the blankets over the table and opened the cooler. "Back up?" he asked when the space was prepared to his satisfaction. "My back hurts," Dinah complained as she settled herself on the table. Tim rubbed her back obediently and opened the cooler with his free hand. "I have ice chips, water, apple juice, white cranberry juice and ginger ale," he announced. "Drink, m'lady?" "That would be lovely, Sir Timmy," Dinah said with a sigh. "Hook me up." *** "Leslie, that's my phone," Barbara called as she hurtled the ambulance through traffic. "Can you answer it?" Leslie poked gingerly through Barbara's bag and found the cell phone tucked in a separate pocket close to the front. "Hello?" she answered. "May I help you?" "Leslie!" a familiar voice shouted through the phone. "It's Bruce!" "Bruce! Where are you?" "I'm on a Wayne Corp helicopter," Bruce answered and Leslie realized that the sound she thought was interference was really the whoosh of the rotors. "Leslie, Tim got caught in traffic and cut over to Sommerset. His phone wouldn't work so he stopped at an O'Shaughnessey's to call me." "Oh, that's wonderful! How is Dinah? Can she make it to Wayne Memorial or should we divert to Sommerset General?" "Leslie." Bruce's voice was starting to strain as he forced it above the sound of his transport. "Dinah went into labor ten minutes ago. She's having the babies right now!" *** Dick skidded into the maternity ward of the hospital, police-issue corfams squeaking on the highly polished floor. He looked around frantically, listening for screams of pain or other indications of childbirth occurring in his presence. Not surprisingly, there were none. "Am I in the right place?" he asked the empty area. A lone nurse popped up from the lower storage area of the nurses' station and frowned at him. "Shh," she warned him. "There are sleeping babies down the hall." "Do you have live babies down the hall?" Dick asked, still frantic. "Or, awake babies? Or new babies?" The nurse almost looked like she was going to smile. "Are you a new father?" "No. New brother, actually. I guess." Dick ran a hand through his windblown hair and grinned helplessly. "Sorry. Guess I'm excited. My um…Bruce Wayne? Dinah Lance-Wayne? Are they here?" "Oh." The nurse looked concerned and Dick's heart leapt into his throat. Was something wrong with the twins? With Dinah? "I'm sorry but--" Nonononono, Dick chanted silently, incapable of articulating any clear prayers. Nonononono. "--they were delayed en route. Dr. Thompkins was going to try to meet them. There's a Mr. Harper waiting in the coffee room. Would you like to join him?" Dick felt his body slacken in relief. Thank you, he thought to who or whatever might have been listening. Then-- "Roy?" The nurse smiled and tilted her head toward a doorway with "Break Room" stenciled in white on the frosted glass. Smiling his thanks, Dick crossed the hallway and pushed open to the door to find Roy Harper sitting at a central table, coffee in his hand and half a dozen nurses of various ages, races, and degrees of attractiveness hanging on every word he said. Everyone turned to the open door expectantly. Dick smiled tentatively. Roy jumped from his seat, beaming. "Dick! Any word?" Roy's voice betrayed his worry in the last two words and Dick had to shake his head. Roy's face fell. "Have you seen Babs?" he asked instead. "She was headed here before I even left work." "Babs?" Roy glanced back at his admiring public. "His wife," he explained, causing a few of the younger faces to fall. "She's tall, redhead, in a wheelchair?" "She and Dr. Leslie took off to see if they could meet them," one of the nurses offered. "What? How did they know where to go?" Dick queried. "Tapped into the computer system and called someone through the internet," an older nurse said matter-of-factly. "Nancy! Why didn't you tell me that before?" Roy asked in amazement. "You didn't ask, sweetie," Nancy explained sanguinely. "I'll call Babs," Dick offered. He pulled his cell phone from the depths of his jacket pocket. Her cell was his second speed dial--right after home-- and the phone rang only once before Barbara's voice came through. "Dick?" "Where are you?" he demanded without greeting. "Where's Dinah? Tim? What's going on?" "Dinah and Tim got caught in traffic so they went through Sommerset," Babs's voice told him. "Tim stopped at an O'Shaughnessey's to call Bruce and Dinah went into labor on a picnic table." Dick frowned at the phone. Roy was making questioning gestures in front of him. "So..." Dick collected his thoughts--somehow, this was much easier when public safety was at risk. "…you're telling me that Dinah is having the babies in the parking lot of an O'Shaughnessey's in Sommerset?" "Not if we can help it," Barbara told him. He heard the blare of a car horn through the phone and said a silent prayer that his wife was not doing her Mario Andretti impersonation. "Leslie and I have an ambulance. We're attempting to intercept the babies at the delta." Dick didn't want to think about what she meant by that. "All right," he said instead. "Roy's here with me, we'll be there as soon as- -" "No, get to Sommerset General," Babs ordered. "That's the closest emergency room so we'll be taking them there." "Dinah wanted to have the babies at Wayne Memorial," Dick protested automatically. "Dinah wants to have the babies anywhere but a picnic table in the parking lot of an O'Shaughnessey's in Sommerset," Barbara replied. "Ok," Dick conceded with a sigh. "Keep me updated." "Ok, love you," Babs answered, her voice rising just before she clicked off. Dick broke his end of the connection and looked at Roy. "Sommerset General," he said simply. "We're out of here," Roy crowed. "Ladies, it's been a pleasure!" "Let us know what happens!" they called as Dick and Roy took off down the hall. "I'll drive," Dick offered. "I'll drive," Roy said at the same time. "My car's faster," he offered as the tiebreaker. "Mine has a siren." "Yours." *** "It looks like they're in the O'Shaughnessy's parking lot," Jana reported. "Sorry, Mr. Wayne, we're going to have to find someplace else to land." "There's no place close enough," Bruce barked even though he hadn't seen a chart. "Isn't there a rope ladder or something on this thing?" "You want to go down a rope ladder?" Jana asked skeptically. "That's my wife down there, having my babies in a *parking lot*," Bruce stressed. "I need to be with her *yesterday!* Let me down and then find a place to park this thing. If you can get close enough, we'll transport Dinah to whatever's available, but until then, she needs me! Besides," he added with a winsome grin, "isn't it sort of like riding an inner tube? Only going down?" "Um, not quite, Mr. Wayne," Jana admitted reluctantly, unstowing the rope ladder from its compartment. "Johnny, take us low," she called over her shoulder. "Wayne's going to ladder in." As the chopper banked to the left and decreased altitude, Jana slid open a hatch in the floor of the helicopter. Cold air rushed into the warm and cozy little cabin. In the open space, Bruce could see a variable square of Bristol traveling over sidewalks, grass, and tubular playground equipment until he recognized a patch of prime O'Shaughnessey's real estate. Jana fastened the ladder to the cleat in the metal flooring. She tossed the weighted end of the ladder out the open square, watching with Bruce as it unrolled and waved in the air below them. "Here's your safety hook," she instructed, whipping a belt around his chest and snapping the clip of the dangling tether to the first rung of the ladder. "Make sure you have three points of contact on the ladder before moving it to a lower rung. That's both feet and one hand, ok?" Bruce nodded like he was supposed to. "Good, ok." Jana waited until Bruce had planted his hands on the cleats and stepped onto the ladder. "Good luck, Mr. Wayne," she called after him. "And *congratulations!*" *** "Push," Tim coached, the sharpening wind catching his hair and lifting it off his forehead. He shifted on his knees and braced his weight on his heel. "Let go of my hand, I need to look again," he said, trying to wrest his hand free from Dinah's death grip. "Tim, look!" Dinah sighed, gasping between contractions. "It's a bird…." "A bird?" Tim asked skeptically. "It's a plane…it's…." "Superman?" Tim's head shot upward and he scanned the sky hopefully. "Better!" Dinah shouted gleefully. "It's the Wayne Corp helicopter! Bruce is here!" *** Ten Weeks Ago "I think we should name them after ourselves," Dinah declared. "Absolutely not." Bruce opened his newspaper to the stock quotes and buried his head among the folds of paper. "C'mon, we're rich, people expect us to do things like that. Besides," Dinah reasoned, wrapping her arms around Bruce's shoulders from behind and folding them across his chest, "it's better than naming them something tragically trendy like Solaris or Dawson." She rested her chin on his shoulder and smiled winsomely. "There is no way--" Bruce paused. "Who named their child Solaris?" "The Saldermans." Bruce winced in sympathy. "I was named for both my parents," Dinah reminded him. "Dinah for my mom and Laurel instead of Lawrence, like Daddy." "We don't even know that there'll be a boy and a girl," Bruce protested, his voice shaded with the resignation of one who has already lost the match and is just trying to rally enough points to avoid a complete rout. "Well," Dinah said practically, "if they're the same, we can each choose a name, and if they're different, we'll name them after us." "I'm not naming my son Bruce Wayne, Jr.," Bruce the First asserted. "I've turned the name into the laughingstock of Gotham society. No kid needs to live up to that." "Picky, picky," Dinah sighed. "Fine. How about, if there's a boy and a girl, I name the girl what I want, and you name the boy what you want? That sounds fair, doesn't it?" "Fine," Bruce confirmed, relieved to have regained control over at least half the issue. He paused and considered his next statement carefully. "So you're going to name a girl Dinah Laurel?" "Sounds nice, doesn't it?" Dinah mused with a smile. "Maybe we could call her Laurel. You know, to keep us from getting mixed up." "Dinah Laurel Wayne," Bruce echoed, unaware of the smile on his own face. "Laurie Wayne." "See? It's not that bad." Dinah squeezed her arms tighter. "The question is…what are you going to name your son?" *** "Dinah!" Bruce sprinted across the parking lot and dropped to his knees at Dinah's side. "Bruce! You're here! Thank God, you're here!" Dinah held out her arms to him and he came to her gratefully. "I thought you were going to miss it." "I wouldn't miss this for the end of the world," Bruce assured her. "Are you ok? Are you warm enough? Has Tim been taking good care of you?" "This is where she sells me out," Tim remarked, adjusting one of the rubber gloves on his hands. "Tim's been perfect," Dinah told Bruce. "He brought me apple juice." "Good," Bruce said, leaning down to kiss Dinah's forehead. He sat on the picnic table behind her, wrapping an arm around across her shoulders and sliding until she was leaning back against his chest. He offered Tim what his best effort at a grateful smile. He wasn't quite sure what one looked like and hoped Tim could at least recognize the attempt. "Ah! Ah! Contraction!" Dinah grabbed Bruce's hand. "Ok, ok, no problem. Breathe. Just like we did in class." "Bastard! You didn't even want to go to class!" Dinah shouted, panting obediently. "But I went anyway," Bruce reminded her. "I had to--eungh!--force you! Coerce you! Threaten you! Dammit! Wayne, this is--ahhh!--your fault!" *** Three Months Ago… "Have fun." "Have fun? Have? Fun? Oh, no, husband mine. This is a two-person venture. I need to bring a partner to this dance." Dinah crossed her arms over her chest and gave her husband a fantastic 'don't mess with me' stare. Unfortunately, her husband was the master of 'don't mess with me' stares. "I don't need to be there," Bruce stated. "I've delivered babies before and there's no need for additional training." "What babies have you delivered before?" Dinah demanded. "They were…emergency…deliveries," Bruce told her, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. "How many?" "Two." "Oh, so I guess that makes you the expert," Dinah snorted. "So I'm just supposed to go to this thing by myself? Without my famously well-known husband? That'll make an interesting column in the gossip rags." Bruce passed a tired hand over his face. "Can't you take Tim or someone?" he asked. "Tim's already been to Lamaze class. Tim's been properly trained," Dinah grumbled. "See? He has experience." Dinah's look was murderous. "Yes, dear. I'll get my jacket." *** "I can see a head," Tim reported excitedly. "Well, take it OUT," Dinah panted, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes closed. Bruce stared at their joined hands, where her fingers were crushing his knuckles. He patted her hand gingerly with the one that still had feeling and tried to be encouraging. "Oops. No. Back in." Bruce gasped as Dinah shifted her grip on his hand. "It's ok," he said ineffectally. Dinah whimpered and he frowned, passing his free hand across her forehead. "You're beautiful," he whispered even thought it wasn't likely Tim wasn't going to overhear. "No, I'm not," Dinah sobbed. "I'm awful and sweaty and it hurts!" "But you're right at the end," he told her. "Think about it. You've been pregnant for over eight months and here we are." I suck at being comforting, Bruce realized, searching his mind for more platitudes from the baby book. "Aaaah!" Dinah scrunched up her face and bore down again, nearly breaking Bruce's hand. "Push," he encouraged. "Shut up!" "I have the head," Tim said in a hushed voice. "Put it back!" Dinah cried. "It…stopped hurting last time…when you put it back." "That's our baby," Bruce said, looking down Dinah's body at Tim's bowed head and shoulders. He couldn't see anything but Tim's arms disappearing under the dress stretched across Dinah's knees, but he felt suddenly weighted by the knowledge that in mere minutes he'd be a father. "Our baby's almost here, Dinah. C'mon, just push a little harder. Don't you want to meet him?" "No, I want to go home," Dinah gasped, grabbing Bruce's other hand. "Just a little longer," Bruce urged. "We almost have a whole baby!" Dinah's face contorted with the strain and she let out a wordless cry. "Yeah, just…whoa." Tim sat up suddenly and looked up at Dinah and Bruce. "It's--it's a girl," he said, his voice suddenly shaky. His arms came out from under Dinah's skirt, cradling a tiny, red, sticky person. "Handkerchief," Tim demanded, holding out his hand. Bruce pulled his own from his jacket pocket and passed it over to Tim. He watched in amazement as Tim wiped the baby's face and leaned down to do something else to its face. As Tim lifted his head, the baby let out a loud cry and Bruce found himself viewing the scene through watering eyes. He glanced at Dinah and saw tears coursing down her face, too. He glanced back at the baby, who Tim was wrapping in his own suit jacket. "Want to cut the cord, Dad?" Tim asked, holding out a pair of surgical scissors. Bruce took them gingerly, and closed them around the cord, near where Tim had clamped it. He pressed and the cord snapped. Tim lifted the baby--*his* baby, his *daughter* and passed her into his unsteady arms. "Hold on," Tim said to him, steadying the little girl until Bruce was more sure of his grip. "Thanks. Look, Dinah." He tilted the bundle in his arms so that Dinah could see the face. "It's our daughter. It's Laurie." "Hi, there," Dinah said with a jubilant smile. "Didn't waste any time getting out here, did you?" Little Laurie cried again, demonstrating her resemblance to her mother and Bruce couldn't help by smile. He surreptitiously checked for the right number of fingers and toes and was pleased to find them all intact. "Look, she's opening her--OH!" Dinah winced and doubled over again. "Hang on there, Mom," Tim announced. "You're not done, yet." *** Six Weeks Ago "Have you thought of a name yet?" Dinah asked, throwing her arms around Bruce's neck. "A name? For what?" he hedged, pretending an invested interest in stock quotes. "For your baby!" Dinah scolded, squeezing him into a mock-chokehold. "My baby? I thought they were both my babies," Bruce deadpanned. "Don't tell me one of them is--" he paused dramatically, "--Aquaman's!" "Argh," Dinah replied cheerfully, coming around to hug him. "You are so lucky I love you." She pressed her cheek to his as she settled in his lap. She almost missed his murmured, "I know." "I meant," she said, rewarding him with only a little squeeze because Bruce still embarrassed easily, even in private, "the baby you get to name." "Hm. I don't know. What are you naming your baby?" "You know what I'm naming my baby," Dinah retorted. "Refresh my memory?" "The eidetic one?" "I wish. Merely photographic." "Did you run out of film?" Bruce growled and Dinah grinned. "Dinah Laurel Lance-Wayne," she announced to the room, sitting up straighter and letting her voice carry. "After her lovely and talented mother." "Oh. That's right." "Hey." Dinah slapped Bruce's shoulder. "Can I have some enthusiasm, please?" Bruce arched his eyebrow. "Ok, can I have a little less lack of enthusiasm? C'mon, I know you remembered that." Bruce's mouth quirked. "I'd erased that memory in the interest of self-preservation." "Oh, c'mon, it'll be cute. So spill, what are you naming little Bruce Junior?" "Not Bruce Junior," Bruce said with enough conviction to almost merit being called enthusiasm." "Then what?" "I haven't decided yet," Bruce admitted. "Well, get a move on, buster! You've only got eight more weeks!" *** "And…a boy!" Tim was grinning from ear to ear as he lay the tiny baby on Dinah's stomach. Bruce's face crumpled as he looked down at his son, whose own face was crumpling into a fabulous wail as Tim tapped firmly on his back. Fascinated, Bruce gently ran one finger down the side of the baby's face, then used that finger to lift the clenched palm. Five fingers on that hand. Keeping Dinah Laurel cradled against his chest, he checked the other hand and both feet, relieved to find everything intact. "So what's the verdict, Dad?" Dinah asked softly, drawing Bruce's attention from his inspection. She smiled tiredly but happily as Bruce tore his gaze away from his tiny, perfect babies to glance at her. "You said no Bruce Jr. and he won't answer to 'Kid' forever.…" "Thomas," Bruce said, smoothing his finger over the fine hair on his son's head. "Thomas Alfred." "There you go," Tim told them, having cut the umbilical cord during the discussion. He lifted little Thomas Alfred Wayne into Dinah's arms. "Hey there," she greeted him with a dazzling smile. Bruce moved to let her lean on his right shoulder, still holding Dinah Laurel in the crook of his left arm. "And hey there to you, too," Dinah amended, as little Laurie emitted an obstinate gurgle. "Takes after her mother, doesn't she?" Bruce asked, smoothing his finger over the top of her head. "What? Just because she's loud?" Dinah teased. "Demanding?" "Because she's perfect," Bruce said simply. "Check it out," Tim called from several feet away. "It's snowing!" Dinah looked up. "It is! Bruce, snowflakes!" "We should get the babies in the van," Tim said, kneeling to take Laurie from Bruce. "Or the ambulance," Bruce commented. Tim turned his head quizzically and listened. The faint wail of ambulance amplified as it turned the corner and careened down the street toward them. "Is that…Barbara driving?" Tim asked, squinting at the front window. "Looks like." The ambulance squealed up beside the minivan and the passenger side door was flung open to reveal a frantic Leslie Thompkins. "Do you want to tell her that she missed the whole thing, or should I?" Dinah asked Bruce. "I think," Bruce said, a dastardly smile splitting his face, "that we should let Tim do it." Tim pulled a face and exhaled all the air in his lungs. "I need a drink," he announced. *** "Life is a highway! And I want to ride it! All night long!" Dick and Roy shouted along with Tom Cochran on the radio. After half an hour of crawling along the shoulder, the Bludhaven squad car broke free of the snarl of traffic around Wayne Memorial and was cruising at top speed up Renfield Avenue. Dick and Roy were making good time and Barbara hadn't called yet, so they were hoping to make it to Sommerset General before Dinah and her entourage. The song ended and in the beat of silence that followed, they both heard the chirp of Dick's cell phone. "Phone," Roy said, diving for Dick's pocket. Dick reached for his pocket at the same time and got his jacket sleeve tangled up with Roy's hand. "Geez!" he exclaimed, pulling his arm away and regrasping the wheel at ten and two. "Hurry much?" Roy pulled out the phone and checked the number. "Barbara!" he said, thumbing the talk button. "Yeah. Kickass! You wanna talk to him? He's driving. Ok, I'll tell him." He disconnected and turned his head to look at Dick. "Turn around," he said with a grin. "We're going back to Wayne Memorial." "The babies?" "Beat us all to the punch." "Of course," Dick said, pulling the car through an illegal U-turn. "They're Batman's kids." Epilogue: Six feet and one pane of glass separated Alfred Pennyworth from two very precious beings he'd never dared to hope for. He knew that as soon as the nurse returned, he would be permitted to handle those very precious beings, but for now he would have to be content with staring at the two little bassinets labeled "Lance-Wayne" and worrying about the warmth of the tiny hats. "Check those kids out." The voice behind him was a mixture of irreverence and awe. "Who whoulda thunk it, Alfred?" "Not I, Mister Harper," Alfred agreed, a pleased smile appearing on his face. "I didn't get to see Lian until she was a few months old," Roy commented, stepping up beside Alfred at the window. "I can't believe how little they are. Dinah said they're going to call the girl Laurie." "I have not had opportunity to speak to their parents," Alfred said, not mentioning that the reason was his inability to tear himself away from the babies. "Perhaps you could clarify a detail." "Sure." "The boy? When last I heard, Master Bruce had yet to choose name. Did he name his son after his own father as expected?" "He did indeed," Roy told him, clapping the aging valet on the shoulder. "Thomas Alfred Wayne. It's a good name, don't you think?" Alfred blinked away a very improper reaction and nodded. "Yes, Master Roy. A very good name indeed." The End…Almost "Rummy." Cissie Jones and Cassandra Cain groaned and threw in their cards and Lian calmly calculated her score. "You want me to deal again?" Lian asked, shuffling the cards in a wide arc between her hands. "No," Cass grumbled, burying her face in her arm. "Lose again!" "It's not her fault," Cissie sighed, leaning back and stretching her arms over her head. "Roy's completely corrupted her." "Any calls?" Cass asked. "Nope." Cissie leaned over and checked the answering machine just in case. "They wouldn't forget to call us, would they?" The three girls exchanged glances. "Should have been MY adventure," Cass griped.