BAE Chapter 47

Barbara wakes up in her own bed at her place, alone, and without undue soreness. It feels incredible. She’s intensely proud of the night before. For once, she has total certainty that she couldn’t have done things better. It’s an affirmation. It’s easy to look at someone else and be critical, as she often is of Bruce. It’s also common for people to think that they know better than others, even when they haven’t walked in that person’s shoes.

It's too early to call if Barbara’s way is better than Bruce’s, but last night feels like solid evidence that it’s worth a try. It’s not often that Barbara smiles as she turns off her alarm. She throws off the sheets and frowns down at the eager morning wood protruding from her pink panties. Every part of her is cheerful this morning.

She showers and dresses professionally, taking a moment with her laptop to send a few emails and return a text from her father. Then she’s climbing into the back of the Rolls with Alfred behind the wheel.

“You look lovely this morning, Ms. Gordon,” he says calmly as he pulls away from the curb.

It’s half-true. She’s put together, but Barbara knows that she’s not tall enough to make a pantsuit really look good. If she’s going to be doing this executive act, she’ll need to invest in her wardrobe a little.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Of course, last night was not without consequences. The front of Wayne Tower is still cordoned off, although there are already scaffolds and construction workers. In a day or two, it will be as though Harley never blasted her way in there.

Barbara enters through a side entrance and rides up to the executive level, where she finds more than half the board already in the huge, oak-paneled board room, but they aren’t talking: their attention is focused on a large TV. It’s a segment of the morning news.

“Eyewitnesses report the Batgirl sitting down beside Dr. Harleen Quinzell, known also as Harley Quinn, a longtime associate of the Joker, and attempting to comfort her,” the anchor is saying as the news channel shows footage of frightened hostages being rushed out. “A representative of Gotham PD had this to say,”

Harvey Bullock appears. “It was disgraceful. Say what you want about the other guy, but at least he wasn’t giving the freaks and psychos a back rub,” the detective says angrily before covering the camera with his hand.

The anchorwoman picks up where she left off. “Several employees of Wayne Enterprises were taken to Gotham General with concussions and minor injuries. No fatalities have been reported. Wayne Enterprises has yet to issue a formal statement,”

Mr. Earle pauses the feed there and gets to his feet, turning to address the room.

Barbara takes her seat at the table.

“Well,” he says, tossing the remote on the table and slipping his hands into his pockets. “What are we thinking? I see that she’s here,” he adds, his gaze falling on Barbara.

Barbara grimaces and gets to her feet as the board turns to look at her. She glances at Lucius, who merely looks expectant, stroking his chin. She’s on her own.

“Were you addressing me with a question, Mr. Earle?” she asks.

“Yes, Ms. Gordon. We backed your radical proposal and barely twenty-four hours later we are literally under attack,” he replies. “Help us understand how this course of action is going to benefit our shareholders.”

“We’ve already talked about how Dr. Isley will benefit our shareholders if we play our cards right,” Barbara replies coolly. “I think what you’re really asking is how we turn what happened last night into a PR win. What is Gotham City known for, Mr. Earle?”

He looks affronted. “Excuse me?”

“What is Gotham City known for?” she presses, spreading her hands. “You’ve lived here all your life. What’s it known for.”

“All right, I’ll play,” he says, obviously afraid to back down in front of the board. He takes a deep breath and makes an exasperated face. “Freaks, Ms. Gordon. And the Batman.”

“Crime, Mr. Earle. We have crime in Gotham. Water is wet and Gotham has crime. That’s reality,” Barbara says, tapping a knuckle on the table.

“Interesting words from the daughter of the police commissioner,” a pretty woman in black murmurs.

Barbara turns to look at her. “Ms. Aramaki, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you not married to Gotham’s DA, Ms. Aramaki?”

“I am.” She’s soft-spoken, but there’s a steely firmness.

“Is your wife unnecessary? Is she superfluous? Are you challenging my assertion?” Barbara asks aggressively.

That seems to take Aki Aramaki aback, and it’s meant to.

“No,” she replies.

“Crime,” Barbara repeats, putting her hands on her hips and glowering down at them. “It’s what we’re used to. But we aren’t used to trying to collaborate with some of these people. We certainly aren’t used to situations being resolved without broken bones and extrajudicial ****,” she adds, pointing at the TV screen. “There are some people who would say that this is a step in the right direction.”

“I don’t think the people who went to the hospital last night would say that,” another board member pipes up.

“But we aren’t talking about them. We’re talking about shareholders. We’re talking about changing the paradigm. That’s what gets investors excited.”

“Change is risk,” Mr. Earle notes.

“Risk is a concern in reality, Mr. Earle. We’re talking about the stock market. The stock market and reality are two different things. What I’m proposing we do in going after Daggett and the Pamela Isley Project—this is how we move this company and this city into the future instead of leaving it in the past. You can stomach the bumps and push through or pull out now and watch Daggett lap you. I’m just an intern. It’s not my call to make.” Barbara points at the TV. “We should be condemning **** and supporting the people who avoid it. We’re a modern company. It’s time to act like it. A showdown with Daggett had to happen. A pivot now makes us look weak.”

After the meeting, Barbara is keen to get on with her day, but a small hand closes on her arm as she’s heading for the door. She looks down to see the mild smile of Aki Aramaki. She looks like a model or a doll; there’s not a loose thread or hair out of place. She has no blemishes.

“Ms. Gordon, I’d like a minute of your time later,” she says. “Who should I schedule with?”

“I’m just an intern, Ms. Aramaki. I’ll make time for you.”

Aki smiles. “Thank you.”