Disclaimer: All characters (such as they are) are property of DC and Time Warner. They are used without permission, for now profit. Rating: PG-13 for Dropping of Pants, Alcoholism and Bad French. Goodbye Gotham, Hello France by Anonymous *** l'Grotte Chauve-Souris was packed, Dinah Lance thought to herself, smoothing her glittering, black dress as she gazed out from the wings of the little stage set up in the corner of the cozy tavern. Jean-Paul had abandoned the bar for a moment to grab the microphone. "Greetings, friends, and welcome to l'Grotte Chauve-Souris!" he announced. The crowd cheered and whooped in response. "And now, I present to you… France's loveliest songbird-- even though we stole her from the States-- Miss Dinah Lance, the Black Canary!" The crowd grew even more exuberant as Dinah strutted onto the stage, towards the microphone. She glanced around the room subtly, surveying the room. Usually l'Grotte was occupied by a few gossiping old men at the bar and a handful of French soldiers. Tonight, apparently, a foreign unit was in the area-- British and American uniforms greatly outnumbered the French ones. "Good evening, gentlemen," Dinah cooed over the mike in English. The boys went wild. "Speak in the right language!" a gravelly voice called in French from the bar. Dinah looked over to see one of her old buddies, Theod Grant saluting her from the bar. His usual drinking companions, Jaret Garric and Allain Scott, along with the youngest addition to their little clique, Jacque Cavalier. Jacque's father drank loyally with his friends for years, and after his death, Jacque had taken his place, and quickly fit in with the three crusty septagenarians. The grumpy quartet were usually the main occupants of l'Grotte. Their favorite pastime, next to drinking and talking about the "old days" was teasing Dinah mercilessly. "We have guests, tonight, so we shall speak in good English," Dinah teased right back. "Vive la France!" a young voice called from the front row. Dinah glanced down and noticed the *other* regulars. Timothy, Bartholomieu, and Konwal. Not one of them a day over sixteen, they'd all somehow managed to enlist into the French army. But Jean-Paul said that if they were old enough to fight the Krauts, they were old enough to drink his beer. As usual, Bartholomieu was face-down on the table, Konwal was trying to make time with one of the waitresses, and Timothy was drunkenly declaring the superiority of France. Dinah had no idea how the boy could get so sauced, considering he never ordered anything stronger than root beer, but she gave him a wink, anyway. "Doc, give us some 'Goodbye Gotham,' " Dinah shouted to the piano player. Doc was completely blind-- it kept him out of the army, but didn't hurt his piano playing in the least. The American soldiers cheered enthusiastically as Dinah's throaty alto mingled with the opening strains of "Goodbye Gotham, Hello France." Dinah glanced over the motley crew as she sang. Mmmm… cute. She hadn't seen any decent American fellows since she moved to the tiny French hamlet of Bertangles. Not that French fellows didn't have their appeal, but she wasn't interested in Franco-Prussian veterans or underage lushes. Dinah glanced over the boys from the states, giving them each a sultry wink or sly gaze. The large farmboy on the end blushed profusely. The stiff-looking blond next to him set his jaw, and tried to look macho. Dinah nearly chuckled despite herself. Next was a younger fellow, dark-haired, with a dreamy look in his eye. To his right, a skinny Irish-American fellow with an face so expressive it was almost rubbery, seemed to be talking excitedly to the dreamer. Next, a serious-looking gentlemen who would have looked more at home in a tie and jacket than a soldier's uniform looked over his companions fondly. He returned Dinah's wink with one of his own, and she smiled. Then, at the end of the table… what a looker! Dinah turned the full force of her singing charms on him, but he didn't seem to notice. The intensely blue eyes seemed more interested in staring into his beer than chanteuses, the chiseled features more interested in scowling than flirting. Dinah finished "Goodbye" with a flourish that was more than stage enthusiasm. Dinah Lance was on the prowl. *** When her set was over, after a quick trip to the Mademoiselles' room to power her nose, Dinah sauntered back into hazy tavern. "Evening, Miss Dinah," Konwal greeted her smoothly in French. "I'm too old for you, Konwal," she informed him. "Never, Miss Dinah!" Timothy muttered something, too low for Dinah to hear. Dinah leaned down to look at Bartholomieu, who, while still looking a little green around the gills, had at least regained consciousness. "How are you feeling?" Bartholomieu frowned pitifully. "I threw up." "And how," Konwal muttered under his breath. Dinah shot him a glare, before turning her attention back to the other boy. He was even younger than his companions, Dinah suspected, but was an exceptionally swift runner and invaluable to the French army as a scout. "Ask Margot bring you some water, and get plenty of sleep tonight. You'll feel better in the morning. Eventually." "Thanks, Miss Dinah," Bartholomieu replied miserably. "You boys want to be at your best tomorrow. Have to make your country proud." "Vive la France!" Timothy put in, never missing an opportunity. "Right. Now, if you fellows will excuse me, I have some other drunken soldiers to entertain…" Dinah made her way through the crowd towards the table of rowdy Americans. There he sat, staring out into the room at some unseen thing, his beer untouched. Dinah threw a little swing into her walk, and she could feel several sets of eyes swivel toward her. Suddenly, he looked up, looked right at her, opened his mouth, and-- And Dinah plopped down at the table next to his, right in the middle of an animated conversation among a pack of lively British soldiers. "'Ell, Dick, you find 'em everywhere, 'ey?" the scruffy redhead across the table teased. "This one found me, I swear!" the dark-haired fellow in question excused, holding up his hands in defense. "Miss Dinah, was it?" another one asked, this one with dark curls and a pair of liquid purple eyes that made Dinah wish she were ten years younger. "Your singing was lovely." "Right-o!" broke in the other redhead at the table, this one thin and clean-shaven. His hair was more strawberry-blonde than the other young man's auburn locks. "Absolutely angelic!" Dinah narrowed his eyes. "You were the one who requested 'Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning,' weren't you?" The skinny Brit grinned sheepishly. "Guilty." "Should be 'is theme song," the auburn-haired man teased. "Excuse my uncivilized comrades," Dick excused smoothly, turning a lady-killing grin on Dinah. "My name's Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick. The lazy fellow to m'right is Wallace, but we call 'im Speedy on account of 'e can run real fast. On his right, the bloke who wouldn't know a razor if it bit 'im in the rump, is Roy. We also call 'im Speedy, but for an entirely different reason." "'Ey, 'ey!" Roy broke. "We got a lady present, Grayson, keep it clean." "Mind yer manners, Harper, I was, I was. Movin' on is Garth," the man with the enchanting eyes waved, "and then back to-- well me! Did I mention I'm Dick Grayson?" "I believe you did," Dinah chuckled. "So, you boys having a pleasant evening?" The scruffy fellow, Roy, took the opportunity to examine her posterior assets. "We are now…" The waitress stood up suddenly, her cheeks red, and glared at Roy, who flashed her a shameless grin. "Don't worry, Aliki, I'll make sure they leave you a big tip," Dinah winked. "They'd better!" Aliki sniffed, shooting daggers at Roy. "So why've you chosen to grace our table with yer presence, Miss Dinah?" Wallace asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Oh…" Dinah drew out, turning her head to glance at the man at her rear. "Just thought I'd mingle a li--" The chair was empty. He gave me the slip! Dinah thought, outraged. "If you'll just excuse me, boys." "Don't ferget to come back!" Dinah stormed over to the adjacent table. "Where did he go?" she demanded. The lanky fellow looked at her blankly, and the stern blonde man only took a second away from his conversation with the farm boy and the dreamer to glare at her angrily. The serious looking fellow leaned forward slightly. There was something odd about him, Dinah decided. Just a little too bland, too generic. His face could've belonged to anyone. But the knowing grin-- that was something you didn't see every day. Dinah raised her eyebrows. "Try the men's room," the bland man mouthed. "But hurry… I don't think he'll be there for long…" Dinah nodded tersely. "Thanks." As she turned, she nearly bumped into Aliki, bearing another round of ale for this table. "Mr. Boring gets free beer for the rest of the night." "Got it," Aliki nodded. Dick Grayson shook his head as he watched the attractive blonde woman obviously not returning to his table. "Dammit, West, you always have to drive the cute ones off…" "Me? It was Harper!" *** Dinah paused when she hit the door marked "Monsieurs'." She couldn't go in there. But what if she'd missed him?-- she didn't want to spend all night waiting for a guy to come out of the restroom if he wasn't even in there… Dinah scowled. She was just going to have to barge in. "Pardon us, Miss Dinah!" someone behind her said, and she turned to see Timothy leading an unsteady Bartholomieu towards the men's room. "Bartholomieu isn't holding up so well," Timothy excused, embarrassed. The proverbial light bulb went on over Dinah's head. "Timothy! Just the man I wanted to see!" "Me, Miss Dinah?" "Look, I need you to do me a favor. I'll hold onto Bart, I just need you to check in the bathroom and see if there's a tall, dark- haired American in there, okay?" Timothy looked reluctant, but passed his inebriated friend over to Dinah's care. "Be careful, Miss Dinah," he warned. "He may blow at any second." "I would not!" Bartholomieu protested as his face turned a little greener. Timothy disappeared into the men's room for a few moments, and then returned. "There is no one, Miss Dinah-- but there was an American officer's uniform piled in the corner, and the window was open…" "That bastard!" Dinah exclaimed, nearly dropping Bartholomieu. The hapless boy seemed to brighten a little at the American expletive, and despite his drunken stupor, was obviously filing it away for future usage. Timothy looked confused. "So… there's a naked man running about the countryside?" Dinah whipped up a quick lie as she stormed into the men's room. "He's a German spy! And I need to go after him before it's too late!" "Oh!" Timothy exclaimed, and Bartholomieu looked impressed as well. "But don't tell anyone where I've gone," Dinah warned. "It's very important not to blow my cover-- for the sake of France!" Timothy's eyes lit up. "You can count on me, Miss Dinah!" "Me, too!" Bartholomieu put in. "Good," Dinah winked. "Vive la France, Timothy." Timothy grinned. "Vive la France, Miss Dinah! Vive la France!" *** Closing the door behind her, Dinah quickly surveyed the dingy restroom. Just as Timothy had described, an American officer's uniform lay puddled in one corner, and the small window swung open and shut in the wind. Dinah gaped. How had such a big man fit through *that*? The opening might have admitted Timothy or Bartholomieu, but she had doubts that even her own shoulders could make it through. Dinah set her jaw. This had started off as a little lust, but no man gave Dinah Laurel Lance the slip. And got away with it. She glanced down at her chanteuse's dress, and realized that it was *definitely* not making it out the window. She grabbed the abandoned uniform, and in a few seconds, depositing her own dress in its place, shimmied out the window, clearing the frame by bare millimeters. With a grunt, she tumbled through the window into the night. About ten minutes later, when Timothy and Bartholomieu finally ventured into the bathroom, Timothy spotted the dress in the corner and wondered if, perhaps, there was also a naked Miss Dinah wandering about the countryside. He decided not to tell Konwal about it. *** l'Grotte was located on the edges of town-- the closest path to civilization was the once-peaceful dirt road which now roared with Army trucks, even this late at night. A dark shape stood by the edge of the road, waiting. Dinah made her way toward him, picking her way through the overgrown field. After a few steps, a covered army truck roared up the path, and the driver stopped for a few moments to talk with the figure. Dinah quickened her pace, dashing through the fields. About fifty paces from the road, the driver spotted Dinah. His eyes widened, and he slammed the truck into motion, leaving the darkly- dressed man coughing up dust. Dinah skidded to a halt, confused. The figure turned to glare at her. It was the man from before, now dressed all in black, with some sort of black smudged onto his face, so that he nearly blended in with the night. Nevertheless, Dinah recognized the handsome features of the man from the tavern. "There was a reason I left that uniform in the restroom," he said icily. "Who are you?" Dinah demanded. "And what are you doing out here?" "I don't think that's any of your business. Shouldn't you be singing somewhere?" "Look, sneaking out the window of a bar is rather suspicious behavior, Mr. Catburgler. I want to know what you're up to." He narrowed his eyes. "There *is* a war going on, you know." "I bet you're a German spy," Dinah scowled. "And believe me, I can hold you long enough for every soldier in that bar to come running." The man in black raised one eyebrow. "You mean the French schoolchildren, or the drunken grandfathers asleep at the bar?" Dinah fell into a martial stance. The man in black rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not a German spy, you don't need to beat me within an inch of my life." "Oh, yeah? Then what are you doing out here?" "Missing my ride." "Who was he?" The man in black leaned forward, staring her in the eyes. "Look, Miss. You have already interfered with a very delicate operation, and if you don't forget you saw me and hightail it back to that tavern, you very well may have cost our side the war." "And which side would that be?" Dinah accused. The man in black sighed heavily. "I work for British Intelligence. There's a secret German encampment about six miles west of town, to which that driver, believing I was an officer of the German Intelligence, was about to take me. However, upon seeing an American officer in a very ill-fitting uniform approaching, he decided to leave without me." "I'm sorry," Dinah apologized, obviously not very sorry at all. "Now, do you have any ideas on how I'm going to get to that encampment, or are you going to be a good girl and go back to the tavern?" Dinah sniffed. "As it happens, I have an idea. But unfortunately, it's not going to work." "Then what good is it, then?" the man replied, gritting his teeth. "Oh, it'll work," Dinah continued. "But you're going to need my help." "I'll be the judge of that. Tell me your plan." "There's a hotel west of town, too, maybe fourteen or fifteen miles. If you can hitch a ride there, you can easily make it the rest of the way." He frowned. "And I need you because?" "Because it's a very special kind of hotel." "No." "Oh, yes." He thought for a moment. "Get out of those pants." Now Dinah was the one caught of guard. "Um… why?" "Because I need them." His own trousers hit the grass. Dinah took a moment to appreciate the view before losing her own pants. He picked up the officer's pants, and pulled them on, and then pulled off his shirt, so he was clad only in his undershirt and uniform trousers. He stopped to survey himself and Dinah. "There. That's acceptable." "Acceptable?" Dinah pulled at the hem of the jacket, which hung halfway down her thighs. "This thing barely covers my rear! Give me those pants!" He shook a finger at her. "If we're going to be convincing as an officer and his lady, we're going to have to look the part. Here, hold on to these," he said, thrusting the extra articles of clothing at her. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Stick them in your jacket." "I don't like you any more." "I never liked you to start with. Quick, I see a car coming." He threw his arm around her. "Look drunk." "What's your name?" "It's not important." "Look, they might ask." "Er… call me Bruce." "Bruce? That is the dumbest, most made up--" A jeep containing two British soldiers screeched to a halt. "Teehee, oh, BRUCIE!" Dinah squealed. One of the soldiers, a smallish, dark-haired lad looked at the other, a handsome colored fellow, then looked back at the seemingly inebriated couple. "You folks need a ride somewhere?" he asked. "We, uh, just need a place to… heh, heh… pass a few hours, isn't that right, hon?" "Hee hee!" The driver scratched his head. "Well, I believe there's an 'otel up yonder that, er, might for your purposes…" "If the General finds out, our bums'll be bacon!" the smaller soldier hissed. The colored boy rolled his eyes. "Sounds perfect!" the man in black announced, leaping into the back of the jeep. Dinah followed unsteadily, practically falling into the lap of the boy in the passenger's seat. "Whoa, ma'am, watch your step," the soldier said, his voice shooting up. "Aye, you're a slick one, Gar," the driver shook his head. "Greetin's, folks. I'm Victor, and this 'ere's my companion, Garfield. We're on our way to Corbie, but we certainly wouldn't mind givin' you fine folks a lift." "Fantastic!" Bruce boomed. "You boys are the best! Why, if I weren't an American, I'd want to be British! Best folks in the world, I always said!" "Are you sure you're not a German spy?" the smaller soldier squinted at him. "Aw, pipe down, Gar. No German spy could get a woman like that." He grinned at Dinah, who rewarded him with a musical giggle. "There was a soldier named Gar at the bar! Is he your brother?" she asked stupidly, hoping to allay some of his suspicion. Gar looked confused. Victor leaned back in his seat as he drove. "Dark-haired fellow? Funny eyes?" "That was him!" "That's Garth Shayne-- 'e's in our company. Fine fellow, 'e is. Got a pretty wife an' new baby back 'ome in London." "Awwww," Dinah cooed, snuggling into "Brucie's" chest. The man in black gave her a withering look, but managed not to blow his cover. They drove for a while, speaking of inconsequential things-- songs and movies and the weather and everything that wasn't the war. Eventually, a few lights shown in the distance, which rapidly became brighter, until they solidified into a rather ramshackle old chateau, which now bore a "Vacancy" sign in the window. Dinah definitely did *not* want to go in. "Well, thanks a ton for the ride," Bruce announced, climbing out of the jeep, and holding out a hand for Dinah. "We sure do appreciate it." Dinah managed to get out of the jeep, wobbling just enough to keep up her drunken façade. "Have a nice trip, boys!" "You, too, folks!" Victor waved. "Um… bye!" Gar added, obviously glad to be rid of their unexpected passengers. As soon as the jeep roared out of sight, Bruce straightened up, his entire demeanor converting back to the businesslike agent she'd first met by the side of the road. "You still have those extra clothes?" he asked. Dinah nodded, and pulled them out of her jacket. "Good. Put them on, and get rid of the officer's jacket. It'll only cause trouble where we're going." "I'm not staying here!" Dinah protested. "Hey, wait a second…" "No, you're not," Bruce agreed, surveying the surrounding area. "Hmmph. You did well. We're probably only about a mile and a half from the encampment. Are you done yet?" "You *could* turn around, you know!" Dinah snapped, tossing the jacket in his face. "Women." "I'm ready," Dinah announced, pettily. "Let's go." Bruce tossed the jacket into the bushes, then pulled off his undershirt, and threw it there as well. "The white is too conspicuous," he exclaimed. Not complaining, Dinah thought, but kept her mouth shut. He'd be so lucky, to get a compliment from her! "Why are letting me come, all of a sudden?" Suddenly, she realized he'd started walking, and had to run to catch up with him. "Your advice panned out. It may again. I'll take my chances." "So, what's your real name?" "Bruce will do." "Is it your real name?" "Maybe." "That's not fair! You know my real name." "Do I? I know your stage name. For all I knew, it could have been an alias-- although you've just revealed that it is, in fact, your real name…" Dinah rolled her eyes. "You're a real piece o' work, Bruce, you know that?" "I can send you back to the brothel at any time." "You can try!" He turned intense blue eyes on her. "Don't push me, Dinah Lance." She scowled. "Yeah, well, I won't start anything. But you push, and I'll push right back, got it?" His features softened, and Dinah thought she saw the hint of a smile tugging on his lips. "Deal." "So what are doing here?" "I suppose if you are to be any help, I should give you some information…" "Would be appreciated…" "I said 'should.'" "Oh, come on!" He nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'm tracking down a man. A legend." "I like it already." "You're around soldiers a lot. Perhaps you've heard rumors of a man they call the Green Baron?" Dinah frowned. "He's a pilot, right? Some sort of phantom ace in a biplane? Shot down a dozen of our men?" "A dozen this month." Dinah gaped. "The boys up top have been calling it 'Bloody April.' Seventeen so far. The Baron is an incredible sharpshooter. He's painted part of his plane green-- hence the name. The truly odd thing… he doesn’t use pistols. He shoots his enemies down with a bow and arrow." "Oh, come on, Bruce! You can't shoot a plane down with a bow and arrow!" "Of course not. But when you get the pilot through the heart, the plane has an unfortunate tendency to crash." "That's not what I meant," Dinah scowled. "A long bow is over six feet long. You can't shoot one sitting down. A short bow's not much better." "A crossbow, perhaps? We don't know-- no one's ever faced him in aerial combat and come back to tell us about it." He raised one eyebrow. "What do you know about archery?" Dinah colored furiously. "I dated an archer once, when I still lived in the States. He died." Bruce nodded tersely. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. He was a skunk." "Then I'm doubly sorry. Unless, of course, you did the honors yourself." "Bruce!" He shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past you." Dinah sniffed and squared her shoulders. "I believe I will take that as a compliment." "As it was intended." She blinked. "Oh." "Now, shhh. We're getting close. They may have patrols." The grass grew taller here, and Bruce crouched low, concealed by the weeds. Dinah followed close behind him, admiring the muscles of his back as he moved. He might be a pompous ass, but he was still cute. For several minutes, they walked in silence, then Bruce held up one hand, then motioned for her to come forward. Through the tall weeds, she could see a clearing ahead. Filled with tents. And soldiers. Lots of soldiers. "How are you going to find him?" Dinah whispered. "You don't even know what he looks like?" "That shouldn't be a problem," Bruce nodded. "Why not? You have a plan?" "Of course I do, Miss Lance." And then his one hand clamped around her waist, and something cold and hard was pressed against her temple as Bruce wrestled her out into the camp. The few soldiers wandering about froze, completely befuddled by the strange man who had stumbled into their camp. A few reached for their guns. "Stop!" Bruce barked in German. "I want to see Oliver Queen. Tell him I've got his girlfriend." *** Several minutes later, Bruce and Dinah, surrounded by several gun-toting soldiers, were escorted into a nondescript tent. It was spacious inside, an officer's tent. Fit for an officer. And officer who waged a single-handed war against Allied aircraft, armed with only a bow and arrow. And an American. "Dinah…" he gasped, eyes widening in recognition. Dinah frowned, her mouth a hard line. She had no words for Oliver Queen years ago, and she had none for him now. The Green Baron cleared his throat, and twirled his mustache idly. "So you spoke the truth. You have my Dinah. Who are you?" "No one of consequence." "What do you want?" "Your life. For hers." "You realize that after you kill me, they," he gestured to the soldiers around them, "will kill you. And her. In fact, I am the only thing keeping you alive right now." "You're willing to take that risk?" Oliver frowned. "She is a pretty bird… I wouldn't mind caging her up for a bit… but then there is that nasty complication… of you. Dinah, Dinah, Dinah. You always did manage to get into the worst scrapes." "Why, Ollie?" The Baron raised one eyebrow. "Why did I leave you?" "You left me because you're scum. Why did you betray your country?" The blonde man laughed then, a harsh, barking sound. "Money, my dear. Power. I'm a baron, have you heard? All these men-- under my command. A beautiful piece of aircraft, painted in my own colors, and all the arrows my little heart desires. Granted, I do miss the longbow-- what a shot I was, wasn't I, Dinah? -- but I'm getting used to the crossbow. It's quite a weapon in itself." He gestured around the tent. "All this, my dear. For what? To speak a little Deutscie and pretend to like schnitzel? It was an easy decision." "You bastard!" Dinah screamed, leaning forward against Bruce's grasp, which suddenly disappeared. Dinah blinked. She was… free? Then the bullets were flying, and the tent was filled with smoke. His own ammunition quickly expended, Bruce was whirl of fists and legs, punching and kicking at any soldier within reach. Queen was fleeing in the commotion. Dinah started after him, and was blocked by a nervous-looking German soldier. She disarmed him expertly with a swift kick to the wrist, and then slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over, and Dinah pushed past him, leaving Bruce to his own devices. Dinah raced after the fleeing archer. He ran like a girl-- always had-- and Dinah managed to launch a devastating kick at his back, knocking him into the ground. He started to lift his head, and was met with Dinah's other foot. And then her fist. And then her other fist. The Green Baron might be an unparalleled archer, but unarmed, his was no match for one angry martial artist. Suddenly, Dinah felt a strong arm on her shoulder. "We've got to get out of here," Bruce said tersely, scooped up the unconscious Queen, and throwing him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "I'm not done with him, yet," Dinah muttered. "This place is going to be gassed in six minutes Bruce hissed, pressing a gas mask into her hands. "We need to get out of here." "Why are we taking him?" "As a prisoner. That was my mission." "And… me?" "I'll explain later! Come ON, you miserable woman!" And through her rage, Dinah managed to smile, and together, they started to run. *** Dinah sat near the fire, wrapped in a heavy army blanket, nursing a mug of coffee that had been heartily dosed with brandy. It was like Heaven. She felt someone approaching her. "I… wanted to thank you," he said. Dinah sniffed. "You used me." He sat down next to her. He wore a British uniform now, and though he looked quite handsome in it, it certainly didn’t compare to the bare-chested look. "I could say the same of you." "I had no idea you were after Ollie," she sniffed. "But you hoped." "Maybe I did." "Six years you've been looking for him?" Dinah stared into her coffee. "You aren't the only one working for your government. The Americans knew about Ollie defecting. When they realized he was the Baron, they contacted me in Bertangles, and asked me to hunt him down." She looked at Bruce. "How did you know I was a spy, too?" "I didn't." Dinah's eyebrows shot up. "But I guessed. Dinah Drake, the Black Canary, was one of the most valuable albeit unknown informants during the Boer conflict. I heard she had a daughter. You showed up, using her old code name as your stage name." "And you put two and two together." "And you're a horrible singer." "I am not!" He winked. "How did you know about my mother?" Dinah asked slowly. "Well… I guess they teach you those things at spy school…" He *almost* smiled. "Actually, no, your mother really was one of the best kept secrets of the American government. I wouldn't have known about her at all if the agent who trained me hadn't had a run in with her in South Africa…" Dinah's face froze. "Oh, jeez. No." "What?" "God, I had to hear *stories* about her adventures in the Boer war all through my childhood, and most of them involved this… British guy…" "A very polite British guy." "With a mustache." "Alfred," they finished up together. Dinah chuckled. "Gee. This is so weird. I mean, my mom and your… boss, whatever… had all those bizarre adventures, and then we happen to meet up. What are the odds?" "Astronomical, undoubtably." Dinah swished her coffee around in her cup. "I've got a confession to make." "Oh?" "I followed you into the bathroom because I thought you were handsome." "Oh, really?" "Yes. Well, I made Timothy check first to make sure there was no one in there." "That's a relief." "You shouldn't leave your clothes lying around like that." "But you needed them." "You mean… ARGH! You stupid man! You set me up!" "But of course. How else was I supposed to get a beautiful secret agent to accompany me to the front lines?" Dinah screwed up her face. "Flattery will get you *everywhere,* mister." "That's exactly what I was hoping." He started to lean in. Dinah started to lean in. And then-- *** "Orange juice, ma'am?" "Guhn?" Dinah Lance managed to the perky stewardess pushing the juice cart. "Juice? Ma'am?" "Non," Dinah yawned. She blinked. "Did I just speak in French?" "Well, ma'am, you just left Paris," the stewardess reminded her. "I know that!" "Of course, ma'am." Dinah shook her head, then dashed for the little airplane bathroom. She tapped at her necklace. "Babs! Babsy!" There was a tired yawn on the other end. "Whassup? The plane get hijacked?" "No, I had a dream!" "That's nice, Dinah." "I was in France!" "Yes, you were." "No, in the dream I was in France! And I was singing at this tavern…" "Musta been a nightmare, huh? Wait, no, that would be if *I* dreamed you were singing in a tavern in France." Dinah ignored that. "And Batman was there, but he was British, and he went off to go fight the Green Baron, and I helped him, and it turned out to be Ollie and I *kicked* him! And then I almost kissed Batman and then I woke up." "You kissed Batman?" "Almost. Well, he was only kinda Batman. I think he was Batman, but he was really cute, and for some reason, I kept calling him Bruce." "Bruce?" Barbara choked out. "Yeah, I know, stupid name. But we kicked ass, Babs! We kicked Nazi ass!" "If it was World War I, why were there Nazis?" "Er, Naughty German Guys. And I sang! And I hit on soldiers! And… and Robin was there!" "I'm going to sleep now, Dinah." "And Impulse was there, and BOY was he stinky drunk! And Superboy pinched my butt! But I really remember Robin, because he kept yelling-- Babs? Babs, are you listening?" "Oui," Barbara muttered sleepily, obviously drifting off. Dinah chuckled at her partner. "Vive la France, Babs. Vive la France." The End