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“Cadmus, Cadmus, wherefore art thou Cadmus,” the Question pondered, tapping his chin. “I know there’s a connection, don’t think I won’t find it.”
A crossbolt thudded into the board right besides his head. The Question spun around.
“Maybe you're not looking in the right direction,” Huntress said, leaning on the wall in a way that was designed to direct the eyes to her bare stomach. The Question was not fooled. “You’re the League's data guy. The conspiracy buff, right? Wildcat says that you’re a nutjob.”
The Question’s quarters were literally right across from hers. If that was all that she’d learned about him over the year and a half since he’d moved in, it was no wonder she was having such a hard time killing Steven Mandragora. He politely refrained from pointing that out and turned back to his computer. “Funny, he says the same thing about you.”
He could practically hear her smirk as she replied, “He’s right,” with utter self confidence. Admittedly, extremely attractive self confidence. She walked forwards slightly and the Question spoke before she could start poking around for anything beyond the surface level.
“Okay, bored now, goodbye,” he waved a hand in her direction in vague dismissal. She ignored him.
“You must be the ugliest guy of all time, Question,” she needled, approaching his evidence wall. The Question straightened at the jab, eyes narrowing under his mask. “Hiding your face like that,” she continued.
“Go away,” Question said, forcing his tone somewhat level.
She didn’t, of course. It couldn't even be blamed on his curse, because Helena Bertinelli was raised in Gotham, and as such had a natural buffer against it. No, she chose not to listen to him on purpose. When he looked over at her, he found her about to— “Don’t touch that!” he snapped, before she could touch the board and discover that it wasn’t made of cork at all.
“Wow, I had no idea that the girl scouts were responsible for the crop circle phenomenon.”
Ah, she was looking at that portion of the board. Good, there was absolutely nothing incriminating there, just a bunch of things he’d solved or theorized years ago and kept to throw off the scent. “Few people do,” he said curtly. “Few even think to ask the question.” Eventually she’d have to get to the point.
“Well, I have a question for you then. Do you know what apophenia is?”
She’d have to try harder than that. “Apophenia, noun,” he recited tonelessly. “The tendency to see connections where none exist.” He’d heard that before too, in far too many variations for it to be more than an annoyance. “Did you come here just to make fun of my work?”
“No, Q,” she said, walking over to his desk and placing her hands palm down on it. “I came to help you.” The Question stopped typing, possibly at the offer, possibly at the nickname. Both were…unexpected.
He turned slightly as she leveraged herself to sit on his desk. “And let's just keep the rest of the League out of it, shall we?” She hooked one leg over the other, a move also designed to distract. The Question followed the motion, realizing instantly that her ID had been removed from its pocket.
“Here’s the deal. I tell you what I know about Cadmus,” she leaned forwards and loomed over him, “immediately after you find out what rock Steven Mandragora is hiding under.”
Huntress didn’t know anything about Cadmus. The Question would wager that she hadn’t heard of it beyond skimming a meeting digest, or—how loudly had he been speaking? She could have simply heard it from him. Back on her way to pack her things after being kicked out of the League, he’d wager.
Decisions, decisions. “Hm. Interesting,” he said, finally. Why not, he reasoned. It wasn’t like he liked the League. Or Steven Mandragora for that matter. Besides, switching cases helped him generate new ideas. It was why he’d bothered to solve the case of that chapter of satanic girl scouts in the first place, after all.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the Question had roomed across from her for over a year and a half. Or that he had, over time, learned far too much about her just from observation. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he could see the tension in her mouth and the slight redness in her eyes that meant that she had been fighting off frustrated tears.
She had been kicked out of the League. And yes, she may have only come to him because he was her last option, and an option that she wasn’t very pleased with at that, but still. Not many people did.
---
The Question nonchalantly opened his car, sliding into it with practiced ease. He pressed the button that would disable the ghost traps, tapped the pressure sensor that deactivated the car alarm, and ran his hands clockwise over the runes embedded in the steering wheel. There. Now the car would run smoothly. He glanced briefly at the dashboard to check the ecto-levels in the power cells before freezing.
Wait. Huntress wouldn’t get in the car if she couldn’t drive it. He gazed at the rows and rows of buttons that wouldn’t look out of place in a NASA rocket. Fuck.
“Hey boss,” rang the cheerful tones of his automated assistant. “Where are we going today?”
The Question pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t suppose we have a discreet mode, do we? A coworker is going to be driving, and I don’t want her to accidentally press the rocket launchers.” Knowing Huntress, she’d press them on purpose.
“Of course we do! User Jazz made it mandatory for all FentonWorks vehicles!”
God bless Jazz. “Please activate that mode, then,” he said, peeling out of the parking lot. “We’re heading to pick up a guest.”
“Activating discreet mode now!” the voice chirped, before going silent. The Question watched as the buttons receded into the car. A metal panel rose to cover them, clicking into place.
“Not bad,” he remarked, before pulling onto the highway. He pulled up the tracking info on his phone. Now, where was Huntress?
Not ten minutes into the drive, his phone started ringing. He raised an eyebrow at the unknown caller ID, before pressing accept.
“Alright Q,” Huntress’ voice was flattened by the receiver, pitched and weird and wrong in a way that was highly disturbing. “You said you’d help me. Where are they keeping Mandragora?”
Ah. It seemed Huntress was impatient. The Question spotted the woman pacing underneath a bridge, and smirked to himself slightly. He pressed the end call button, and took extreme pleasure in her glare.
He swerved to a stop next to her. “Why not cut out the middleman?” he said nonchalantly, feeling his heart race with adrenaline. He put the car in park and slid to the side, gesturing for her to sit. Leave it to Jack Fenton to have a bench seat in the front of the car.
Huntress purred as she sat in the car. “Oh, babydoll,” she said, caressing the wheel. The Question hid a wince at the action, imagining what might have happened if he hadn’t deactivated the defenses. He would have to send Jazz some flowers as thanks. She liked daisies, right? Or was it tulips?
“And just for the record,” Huntress said to him, “I usually prefer my dates to have a face.” She put the car in drive. They were off at 50 mph in an instant.
“So, Mandragora,” she prompted, revving the car engine.
The Question punched an address into his phone, and then placed it on the dash. “I’ve may have intercepted some calls that suggest that he’s going to be escaping in…” he checked the time. “About an hour and a half.” The route that was suggested took at least two hours.
“Guess we’ll have to break some laws,” Huntress said after glancing at it. “Clinton, huh? Yeah,” she smirked dangerously. “I think I know a few shortcuts.”
That smirk, the way she handled the car, her saying “babydoll”… The Question was absolutely doomed.
---
For the last few moments of the journey, they ended up following a police car.
“Thoughts on those guys being actual cops?” Huntress asked, voice tight.
“No bet,” the Question replied. After a cursory scan of the property, during which time the “cops” clad in ill-fitting uniforms approached the front of the house, he stifled a curse. Green Arrow and Black Canary were still inside. Damn. Well, worst comes to worst, he'd trap them in a circle. Somehow.
After a shared glance, he and Huntress vaulted over the fence in the back, hoping that the police up front had drawn away the two superheroes.
No such luck.
“You’re not going into that house, Huntress,” Black Canary told them, squaring off. “That I promise.”
Huntress walked forwards, and the Question followed. “I’m here on L—”
“Mandragora is being rescued by his men,” the Question spoke over her, because Black Canary was standing with her left foot at an angle behind her, shoulders ready to take a punch and dodge. “Is now the time for this petty standoff?”
“Question, not everything is a conspiracy you know,” Green Arrow scoffed.
The occult detective rolled his eyes upward, rueing his curse for the umpteenth time. He should have just kept his mouth shut; then, they might have heard Mandragora’s obvious escape.
The Question looked at Huntress, and tilted his head slightly. Technically, if Mandragora slipped League custody they would still be more than able to hunt him down. If they got there first, they’d have fewer people trying to stop them, too.
She nodded, nearly imperceptibly.
“Suit yourself,” the Question replied, and put his hands in his pockets to slip on some brass knuckles. “In that case, we’re here on League business.”
“That’s… seriously, Question?" Green Arrow seemed exasperated that he'd even try that line. To be fair, even if he wasn't primed to disbelieve everything the Question said, it would have been a hard sell, especially as, "We already called J’onn, you know.”
“Yeah, but it was worth a shot,” the Question said, before lunging forwards to punch Green Arrow.
Huntress followed his lead a millisecond later by kicking Black Canary in the face. “What happened to ‘avoid conflict with the League because I still work there’, genius?”
“I changed my mind,” the Question called back, before lunging again, and missing, again. Green Arrow took the opportunity to push him into the ground.
“Why are you doing this, Question?” the man exclaimed.
The Question dearly wished to respond with a flippant ‘She's hot.’ Their surprise might honestly help tip the situation in their favor. Alas. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said instead. He kicked out, hooking an ankle around Green Arrow’s and pulling him to the ground.
The Question aimed a punch at Green Arrow's head, before realizing that brass knuckles and enhanced strength aimed at the brainstem of a completely human man are a bad combination. The moment's hesitation allowed Green Arrow to flip them over.
How the turns have tabled, he thought as Green Arrow's fist connected with his jaw. They exchanged blows for a short while longer, before Green Arrow launched him into Huntress. And a car.
There was a distant crash, and the Question heard the sound of running feet headed towards the door. That would be Mandragora’s rescue mission, he thought dryly.
“I strongly advise you to stay down,” Green Arrow ordered, drawing his bow. “These impact arrows are non-lethal, but they hurt. A lot.”
“He’s gone! Mandragora is gone!” Black Canary had returned.
“Oh look at that,” the Question drawled, staggering to his feet. “We told you so.” Green Arrow grimaced, which caused Huntress to grin savagely.
“He’s right, you know,” she said. “What did you say? Not everything's a conspiracy?”
“Inside! Now!” Black Canary demanded, rather than have them devolve into a brawl again. Once they had all limped into the safe house, Green Arrow beelined towards the fallen officers and the man who was likely the civil servant negotiator, judging by the better quality suit.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Black Canary asked them, voice raised. She leveled them with a glare that was both furious and patronizing. The Question was bemused. Was she expecting them to say no?
Rather than say this—he did have some tact, after all—the Question walked idly to the coffee table, scanning the ground.
“Yes,” Huntress replied. “I hunted a murderer. A murderer the League's protecting,” she sneered. The Question nonchalantly stooped over and picked up a piece of rubble, placing it in his pocket.
“We don’t have time for this,” Green Arrow snapped. “We’ve got to ask the question, ‘what did he just pick up and put in his pocket’?” For all it was a sincere question, it was mocking too.
“Me?” the Question asked.
The slight mocking edge shifted into menacing. “Don’t make me ask again,” he said, adjusting his bow slightly.
“Oh, you mean this,” the Question said, pulling out a key from his pocket. Black Canary snatched it.
“It’s a storage key for a place down by the train station,” Black Canary said after scanning it. The Question was admittedly impressed she’d managed to glean that from a second of observation.
She turned to look at Green Arrow, who told Huntress, “Alright, you two stay here. Don’t make me sic Black Canary on you. You’ve only seen her nice side so far.”
They walked out, Black Canary leading the way. The Question watched them leave, and tilted his head slightly to the side. The relationship dynamics were truly fascinating, considering that in the real world they were—
Huntress punched him in the shoulder, hard. “Ow, what was that for?”
She glared. “All that crazy mystery man mojo and you couldn’t even pick up a clue without being seen?” Oh she had no idea what kind of ‘mojo’ he could be using.
“The key wasn’t the clue. The key was mine,” he said, and felt a brief shiver of dread at the lecture Zatanna was going to give him for compromising its security. He almost wished that Green Arrow and Black Canary would fall for it—the looks of horror on their faces as they beheld the JLD's entire collection of haunted dolls would be delightful. Their likely subsequent possession, less so.
He reached into his inner coat pocket. “Now, this list of container ship arrivals that I palmed while they were yelling at you? Might be useful, don't you think?”
She blinked, and then tilted her head and smirked.
“Shall we?” The Question asked, gesturing towards the door.
“Yeah yeah yeah, don’t look so smug about it,” she snipped, striding out of the room and down the steps. The Question smiled to himself, and followed her towards the car. This time, he’d be driving.
He ignored Black Canary's motorcycle parked by the tree. All the better to have proper League supervision, in case they needed to make arrests.
“You’re even smarter than they say,” Huntress said. She sat in the passenger seat, skimming the book for clues.
That wasn’t a compliment. For the most part, the only thing “they said” about him were insults. "Smart enough to know that you don’t know jack about Cadmus," the Question scoffed.
She looked away. “I needed your help.”
And that was precisely why he’d given it. “Tell me about Mandragora,” he said, instead of anything more revealing. “What did he do to you?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she said, resigned.
“Understand what?” he asked dryly. “That he worked for your father, Franco Bertinelli? Or that your father was himself a powerful crime boss?”
She gaped at him. He softened slightly, despite himself, and began to detail in as calm and sympathetic a tone as he could all that he knew about her past with Mandragora.
He had already known the broad strokes through her JL profile, and hints of the personal behind it through casual (and not so casual) observation. But after she’d directly made it his problem by asking for his help? He had looked into the police reports, the photos from the autopsies, the suspected cause of death. He probably knew even more about her father’s murder than she did.
“If you knew all that,” Huntress said, “then you know what I’m going to do to Mandragora when I catch him.” If the Question hadn’t been driving, he would have tapped his hat in affirmation. “So why help me?”
The Question opened his mouth to say ‘Now that is the question’. Instead, he found himself admitting, “Did you know, I’m a member of Justice League Dark?” She turned, caught off guard, and he could feel her dark eyes boring into the side of his mask. “We… deal with problems differently than the rest of the League. Sometimes, death is the best option.”
His thoughts darted to James, the head of the GIW, whose death warrant had been signed and executed by a group of highschool teenagers with a dimension's responsibility dumped into their hands. “Sometimes they don’t stop,” he said softer. He cleared his throat and shook his head clear of the memories. He needed to switch back to asking questions—Gothamite or not, Huntress was still mortal, and this operation would go a lot better if she trusted him. “Whether it's worth it now, whether it's the right thing to do here—shouldn't you get the chance to make that decision?”
There was nothing but silence for a long while, before the Question cleared his throat. “Green Arrow and Black Canary appear to be following us,” he said mildly, looking into the side mirror.
Huntress twisted in her seat and glared at the duo on the motorcycle. “Lose them,” she said.
“Like airline luggage,” he promised darkly, and floored the gas. Nothing like a FentonMobile to win a car chase.
After a few maneuvers, he heard the chime of his earpiece connecting. “Stop the car, Question,” Canary ordered. “Pull over.”
He put his hand to his ear piece. “Would you stop following us, Canary?” he asked, not really a question.
Huntress leaned over. “Is that her? Give me that!” she demanded, yanking the comm from his ear.
“Hey!” he complained. That was the only one that didn’t immediately short out around demons—Zatanna would make him pay for a new one!
“You want a piece of me blondie? Bring it,” she taunted, before reaching her foot over to the gas pedal and flooring it.
“For fu—” The Question struggled with the wheel as the car attempted to spin out of control. “I’m already going as fast as I can, thank you,” he bites out. “Don't you think you might be better served shooting at them? You’re the one with the long range weapons.” He pressed one of few buttons that remained on his dashboard. The roof opened.
Huntress whistled as she unbuckled and turned to kneel on the seat. “I gotta get me one of these,” she said, taking several pot shots at the motorcycle. Black Canary’s subsequent cursing was extremely audible, even though the earpiece was on the floor.
“Hold on,” The Question said, eying a parked tow truck. A convenient ramp, he mused. If he was right, and he was, the overpass to their left led to the Midtown Tunnel.
“Hold on to what?” she asked, turning her head to see— “Oh you’re insane,” she said, sliding back down and frantically buckling her seatbelt.
They managed to get quite a lot of height, enough to land on the train tracks, jostling over the wooden beams. The Question wasn’t worried. This car had survived a volcanic eruption and driven over lava—he doubted the tracks would even wear down the tires.
They sped through the tunnel, Canary and Arrow in close pursuit. A train horn blared.
“Train,” Huntress said faintly.
“I see it,” Question replied. He kept his foot steady on the gas, cursing himself for deactivating the intangibility mode. Not that it would have worked on Huntress. Luckily, they’d gotten far enough down the tunnel that if he timed this right, they’d be able to make a turn.
“Train,” Huntress emphasized.
“I see it,” he replied, and swerved to the left microseconds before it would have hit them. There was a moment of suspended tension, before Huntress let out a heaving sigh of relief.
“Oh shit,” she realized, and turned her head to see that the train was still moving along the tracks.
“They’ve got J’onn,” the Question said. “Do you think he'd let them die?”
Huntress considered that, and then turned to face forwards, settling back into her seat. “Fair point,” she said. “Nice moves. They teach you that in the JLD?”
The Question laughed. “No, I—I may or may not have picked up some tips from some... interesting people back in high school,” he said.
Helena didn't look like she fully believed him, but she didn't press him on it. “Well it paid off,” she complimented. They drove in silence for a moment or so before she said, “No offense, but if you’re in Justice League Dark, why haven’t you used magic on this whole… outing.”
“Ah,” the Question cleared his throat. “John—John Constantine,” he clarified, “likes to say that we’re opposite sides of the spectrum, you know? He’s occult first, detective second, and I’m…” he shrugged as best he could while keeping both hands on the wheel. “I take whatever cases interest me. You can pick up a surprising amount of magical knowledge if you dabble around long enough—would you believe, even enough to escape from satanic girl scouts?”
Huntress' eyes widened in realization. “I’m sorry,” she said in a dangerously calm tone. “Satanic girl scouts caused crop circles?”
The Question grinned. “Possibly more than once, even. Sally’s lucky that the demon they summoned was—” he broke off, and tried to search for a more delicate way to put it. “More interested in a fight than in wholesale slaughter?”
The Question was shit at fisticuffs, but who needs hand to hand when you have an ecto-net and a rocket launcher?
“I… Question, you’re shit at fighting.”
Rude. They'd both had their asses kicked in that fight earlier, thank you.
“Correction,” he said, raising a finger, “I’m shit at fighting humans. Don't you know, demons, ghosts, and fae operate under different rules?” He shrugged. “I’d probably be good at fighting Superman, if I had to, though I’d have to modify a few things.”
“Prove it,” she demanded.
The Question tilted his head. “Right now?” he asked, waving a hand towards the road that was decidedly void of demons, ghosts, or fae.
She flushed slightly. “Alright, fair point.” She returned to scanning the booklet, but the Question could almost swear—no, she wouldn’t be glancing at him.
“You didn’t answer my question, you know,” Huntress said a few minutes later.
“Which one?” Question asked.
“Why don’t you use magic?”
“I didn’t?”
“Well you dodged it with just enough information to sound like a response, but not enough to actually be an answer.”
The Question inclined his head. “True,” he said.
Helena raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You going to dodge it now, too?” she continued dryly.
The Question hesitated. There were two reasons. Firstly, he didn’t actually want Helena to kill Steven Mandragora, not after his research session anyway, and in order to not outpace Green Arrow he’d had to hold back a bit. The other was that…well.
“I mainly know parlor tricks,” he explained. “The rest of my magic is… distinctive,” he said with enough emphasis to imply both deadly, flashy and not a good idea to use when you’re not intending to blow up a building. Truthfully, he preferred not to use magic except in emergencies or in very small quantities that wouldn’t register on monitoring devices. He was on shaky enough terms with people back home to get on their bad sides.
Huntress narrowed her eyes, but let the subject drop. Just in time, because they were about four minutes away from the docks, and the Question would have to work a bit harder to avoid any unwanted watchers.
---
“Look, there are a hundred ships leaving here a day,” Huntress said, looking around the pier at the various cargo ships already docked. “If Mandragora’s trying to get out of the country, how are we supposed to know which one he’s on?”
“What if he isn’t hopping a freighter?” The Question suggested, and turned to gaze out at the water. “What if he’s playing a more subtle game?”
The archer sighed. “No more questions, okay? Say what you mean.”
Easy enough for her to say; she didn't have to carefully police her every word to make it as enigmatic as possible just for the chance that she'd be believed slightly more than usual. “What if he’s here to meet a freighter? As it happens, there’s one coming in from his home country this very evening.”
“Shit, how did I miss that?” she muttered.
“You looked at the wrong half of the schedule,” the Question answered, turning to walk through the shipping crates. “Are you coming?” Shortly enough, a set of footsteps followed behind as he made his way through the stacks.
A short jog later, they stopped in front of a massive ship, foghorn signaling its arrival. The squeal of wheels on concrete caused Huntress to turn. Mandragora’s car had arrived. Exchanging a quick glance, the vigilantes hurried back behind the crates, out of sight.
“Figures,” Huntress murmured, climbing up to get a better vantage point. “Even on the run, Mandragora rides in a limousine.”
“Don't you admire his commitment to the aesthetic?” the Question responded, following.
“What, Crime Boss chic?” Huntress snorted.
The Question smiled as he hoisted himself next to her. “Exactly.”
Mandragora exited his vehicle with suitable dramatics, flanked by twin goons.
“That’s him,” Huntress said, all business. “He’s mine. You take the two guards,” she instructed. “Ready?”
Before the Question could respond, the guards fell to the ground, having been struck by a bolo. Black Canary launched herself from—actually where did she come from?—to kick Mandragora in the face. She missed.
As if to prove that one shouldn’t launch oneself through the air towards a man significantly taller and more muscular than oneself, Mandragora grabbed her by the leg and threw her into crates.
“I’m really starting to dislike that woman,” Huntress mused, watching her get beat up by Mandragora. The Question turned to head down to the ground level, arriving at the fight just in time to see Mandragora lunge at Green Arrow. Ah, an investigator’s work was never done.
Launching himself at Mandragora’s back, he squeezed his arms around his neck with almost full strength. Alas, Mandragora had a very thick neck.
And was evidently not fazed by the attempted chokehold; not a second later, the Question was launched at Green Arrow. Possibly, the Question mused as he soared through the air, he should stick to one-on-one fights. Apparently when you work with others, there's a 100% chance of getting thrown into your allies.
He groaned as they hit the rusty metal leg of a forklift, dislodging the pile of metal beams it was carrying. Predictably, Mandragora picked up a beam with a menacing grin. “Wonderful. We’ve given him a weapon,” the Question groaned from the ground.
Fuck, his ribs hurt.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Mandragora?” Black Canary said from—somewhere. The Question tried to crane his head to look, before giving it up as a lost cause. Honestly, this ground was rather comfortable. Maybe he should just stay down for a minute.
He ignored the sounds of scuffling, lamenting his career choices. A piercing screech—the Canary Cry—sounded out, causing him to reflexively cover his ears. His ribs shrieked in protest at his abrupt movement. “Make it stop,” he groaned. That was almost worse than Danny’s ghostly wail.
Next to him, Green Arrow shifted as well, roused from his concussion. “How do you work with her?” the Question asked, before spying his glowing ear plugs. Green Arrow shrugged blithely. The Question narrowed his eyes. “Those ear plugs only work on the scream, don’t they.” It wasn’t a question.
Green Arrow doffed his cap before jumping back to his feet. The Question struggled to stand, distantly noting Huntress’ voice. Wonderful. The hard part begins.
“Papa, papa!” a pale child—if the Question’s research was correct, Mandragora’s child—ran out of the ship, followed by two armed goons. The Question took care of one, who, unlike Mandragora, was easily dispatched with a karate chop to the neck. Green Arrow punched the other one in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.
The child—who was definitely Mandragora’s, he was almost his spitting image—ran towards the crime boss.
“Edgar,” Mandragora beamed, kneeling to embrace his son.
The Question waited as Mandragora dropped exposition that he’d discovered after two hours of light research. Although to be fair to the others, his definition of light usually involved hacking the Pentagon.
“A rival criminal organization kidnapped my son,” Mandragora said, clutching the boy to his chest, as if hoping that would garner sympathy. “It took me all this time to arrange his rescue. Rest assured his captors were taught the error of their ways.”
An understatement. According to Interpol, there had been little left of them to retain the lesson at all.
“Rest assured,” Huntress said, eyes like flint, cold and dark, “I’m going to teach you the same lesson.” She leveled her crossbow at the man who killed her father.
Mandragora closed his eyes wearily. “All I wanted was for my son and I to disappear together,” he lamented.
Huntress was unmoved, finger tightening on the trigger.
“Get behind me Edgar,” Mandragora stood, his large hand sliding the child backwards. “It will be alright.” Huntress didn’t look too convinced, eyes narrowing.
“Huntress,” the Question called out. She stilled, and her eyes darted over to him. He tilted his head to the side.
“Make a decision, right?” she said, finger curling over the trigger.
“We all have to eventually, don't we?” he replied. As relaxed as he was, with his hands in his pockets and no judgment in his voice, he could only hope that she saw him as a non-threat. Maybe even a friend.
She exhaled through her nose, and checked her aim. The boy ran back towards the ship, and towards Black Canary. “No,” she said finally, and shot the crossbolt upwards at a rope which caused a crate of heavy steel beams to fall, crushing Mandragora beneath them. She stalked towards the prone form. “No, that’s not what I want at all,” she said to herself.
She stood there for a moment before Edgar asked, “What did you do to my papa?”
Huntress stood there, at a loss for words.
Canary, excellent with children, intervened. “Edgar,” she said, kneeling to his level. “Hello there.” She smiled gently. “Do you know who we are?”
“You’re—you hurt my dad,” the child stuttered.
Huntress rolled her eyes and turned to the Question. “Hey Q, do any of your ‘parlor tricks’ include putting this guy to sleep until the cops get here?” she asked.
The Question tilted his head, and walked forwards. “Ḥ̶͂ȏ̴̘l̸̝̀d̴̠̓i̸̻̎ņ̸͗g̵̫̏ ̸̣̇C̸̪̓ė̵͇l̷̜̒l̵̜͑,” he muttered under his breath. Mandragora was encased in a shimmering field vibrating about two inches above his skin. “A minor shield spell,” he explained. “Multi-directional, meaning that I can either trap something inside or keep something out.”
“That’s a parlor trick?” Huntress asked, sounding—impressed.
The Question tamped down his urge to preen. “Maybe not against humans who don’t know magic,” the Question acquiesced.
“Oh sure maybe,” Green Arrow muttered. “You and your damn shield spells—” the air whooshed out of his lungs when Canary drove an elbow into his side, apparently done explaining to Edgar what ‘due process of law’ was.
“Great,” Huntress said. “That’s that solved.” They stood in silence for a long moment, broken only by the quiet murmur of Black Canary speaking to the boy, and the lap of the waves on the dock. The Question hunched his shoulders. He hated silence.
“Well, now we have to wait for the police to arrive. Joy of joys,” Green Arrow groused again, before— “Ow, woman, could you stop that?” Edgar seemed to calm down now, eyeing them all warily, but not angrily. It was likely helped by the fact that Huntress had started lounging on a crate, crossbow visibly tucked away.
“We did call the police, right?” she asked after another long pause.
“J’onn did,” Black Canary said.
She nodded and then looked out at the sea and the boats coming in to shore. The Question sighed. This awkward group silence was why he worked alone. Well, he amended, gingerly testing to see if his ribs were broken, one of the reasons.
Finally, there was the sound of distant sirens and an almost palpable wave of relief washed over them all. The thought of being able to never speak to any of the others again carried them through the ensuing police debrief, and the social worker showing up, and the Question un-spelling Mandragora and leading him into custody.
Eventually, thank the gods, the federal government showed up with power resistant cuffs and took control of the whole situation.
“Don’t suppose they’ll actually keep him behind bars this time,” Green Arrow muttered. “No, it’ll be back to the cushy deal and five packs of oysters a day while he maybe tells on a few of his buddies.”
Tellingly, Black Canary doesn’t elbow him this time. The Question shook his head. “Not likely. Mandragora never had any intention of cooperating with the prosecutors. He was just stalling until his son arrived. Their new identities were already in place, not to mention a Cayman Islands account full of ill-gotten gains to finance their new lives. With that ill-intent being proven, his sentence will likely be much harsher.”
They absorbed that for a moment. It didn’t sit very well with any of them. The government wasn’t exactly known for doing the smart thing.
Huntress changed the subject. “You knew all along that that kid was going to be on that freighter,” she accused him, though not with any anger.
The Question turned towards her and touched the brim of his hat. “I do my homework.”
“Then why go through all the trouble to help? Why risk your life for me?”
There were too many reasons to list. He chuckled slightly. “Death is strange, remember?” he said. He sobered, and looked away. “Everyone deserves to make their own choices, good or bad.” Fuck knows he had made his fair share of mistakes before doing—well, before doing everything in his power to undo them. “Besides,” he said, forcing a lighter tone, “you’ve been living across the hall from me for a year and a half—what kind of neighbor would I be if I’d declined?”
“That’s all?” Huntress asked, slightly incredulous.
No, it wasn’t. It didn’t even scratch the surface. But he certainly wasn’t going to say things like the expression you get when you make a perfect trick shot is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen and I’ve met Helen of Troy in front of Green Arrow of all people. “For now,” he replied enigmatically.
“Huh,” Huntress replied. “You think we’ll see each other even though I’m no longer in the Justice League?”
The Question smirked. “I doubt anything could stop you from doing something you truly want to do, Huntress,” he said, and meant it fondly. He turned his head and called out, “Hey Canary, do you still have my key?”
“Fuck you, we got dropped in the harbor, like hell do I still have your key,” she said back, arms crossed and judgemental glare affixed to her face.
The Question shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. He doffed his hat. “Perhaps I'll see you around, then,” he said, and made sure to bump into Huntress just enough for her to notice him slipping her a card. “It’s been fun!” he said, before meandering off into the stacks of crates.
“I will never understand that fucking man,” Green Arrow muttered.
“I think that’s the point,” he heard Huntress reply, voice getting fainter as he walked.
The Question placed his hands into his pockets and hid a smile. He whistled a few cheerful notes as he got back to the car, before pausing. Ah. He was Huntress’ ride, wasn’t he.
He briefly debated with himself whether he should go back for her and ruin his dramatic exit or if he should just cut his losses and head out, before he was interrupted.
“Hey, Q!” Huntress called, running up to him. “You weren’t going to leave me here, were you?” she teased.
The Question smiled beneath his mask. “Never crossed my mind,” he said smoothly. “I waited for you, didn’t I?”
She grinned back at him. “I’m starving,” she said, apropos of nothing. “That mask of yours let you eat?”
The Question stifled a laugh. “I could grab a bite. Pizza?”
“You’re buying,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. The Question climbed in and the FentonMobile sped off into the night.
---
When the phone rang, Wes answered it with a harsh, “Sam, I swear to god, if this is about ecoterrorism again I will cut out your spleen, give it to Vlad, and you can deal with the resulting clones.”
There was a stunned silence. “So,” a familiar voice said over the receiver. Wes straightened, and his head snapped to look at the phone. Sure enough, it read ‘Unknown Caller’. “I’m going to guess this is your personal number, then.”
He grinned, widely. “Helena,” he said, fighting to keep the warmth in his voice within the limits of cordiality. “I expected your call, but I must say I didn’t expect it so soon.”
There was a faint rustling sound, as if she had leaned on something. “Yeah, well,” she said flippantly. “I’ve got a case that I could use some help with. Jessica Calax just died under mysterious circumstances after being fired from her research job at Argus. You interested?”
Wes looked at his monitor, the red letters spelling “ARGUS INDUSTRIES” blinking slowly. He smirked. “As it so happens,” he said, pulling over a piece of paper and clicking open a ballpoint pen, “I am. Do you have an address?”
She rattled it off confidently. “You bringing your car, or are we using my bike?”
Wes hummed in consideration. The address she’d sent him was an eight hour drive away, but if he used the green switch in his car he’d be able to open up natural portals into the ghost zone… though that might make the travel time longer, frankly. Then he realized the implications of sharing a bike with Huntress. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to more maneuverable transportation,” he said aloud.
“11 pm, Friday?”
“I’ll clear my schedule,” Wes replied.
“See you then,” she said and hung up.
Wes began to write a few notes on his notepad. This was going to be fun.
---
Omake
In the Justice League cafeteria, the Question was enjoying his Arizona Iced Tea, legs propped up on the table in front of him. Say what you like about budgetary concerns, the Justice League didn’t skimp when it came to snacks and beverages. Or toilet paper, for that matter. Ah, the perks of being funded by Bruce Wayne.
Before he could take another refreshing sip of his beverage, a hand slammed down on the table. He looked up.
“Ah. Green Arrow, Black Canary. To what do I owe the honor?”
The archer seethed. “What the hell kinda horror movie bullshit was that?!” Canary, at his side, shuddered.
The Question smirked beneath his mask. “Oh? Did you happen to fish my key out of the harbor? It’s so kind of you to return it to me.”
“You know damn well we held onto it,” Canary hissed. “Why do you have eighty china dolls wrapped in chains in a storage unit by the train tracks.”
Hawkgirl, passing by, gave them a weird look. Black Canary sent her an apologetic smile before turning back to the Question with a glower.
The Question raised his hands innocently. “Well, I had to put them somewhere.”
Green Arrow leaned in menacingly. “That was a dodge. And not even a good one. Where did you get those dolls?”
“And why did they turn to look at us when we closed the door?” Black Canary continued.
At this news, the Question frowned. “They looked at you? Which ones?”
“Does it matter?” Green Arrow asked.
“Of course it matters. I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t.” The Question sat up in his chair and steepled his fingers. “If it was Felicity, you’ll probably be fine, but if Beatrice took interest in you, quite frankly you’re beyond my help.”
“Question,” Canary began, slowly, “did you give us a key that could get us possessed?”
The Question considered how to answer that. “In my defense,” he hedged, “I knew Green Arrow wouldn’t be fooled by my slight of hand trick. And I did ask for my key back.”
Canary opened her mouth—probably to yell at him for recklessly disregarding the safety of others—but the Question continued before she could respond. “We should probably consult Constantine. To be honest, some of those dolls aren’t even mine, and I dread to think what Zatanna’s collection could do to you.” He got up from the table, not before downing his tea, of course.
“We’re fucked, aren’t we,” Green Arrow groaned, following him out of the room.
“How does he drink through that mask,” Black Canary mused quietly, clearly having the right priorities.
Arrow looked at her. “Babe, possession?”
“We’ll be fine. Although I’m not working with Constantine,” she declared. “Zatanna or nothing.”
Green Arrow perked up. “Oh yeah, Zatanna’s in today. We’ll be fine.”
The Question would feel hurt by this, but he did send them to a possessed storage room with the full expectation that they would go inside, so instead, he inclined his head.
“You still haven’t given me my key back,” he reminded his coworkers, calling an elevator to the 66th floor.
“You’re getting that key back once it’s clear that you didn’t get us possessed by demons,” Canary hissed, following him into the elevator, her boyfriend close behind.
“Floor 66? Really?” Green Arrow snarked.
The Question sighed. He would definitely be watching the footage of them trying to break into his storage room later. Hopefully it would make up for having to interact with them now.