***

"It just didn’t sit well with me. I’ve got a gut feeling about this one."

Bruce put his arms through the sleeves of his black jacket as he listened to Dick (perched on the back of his leather couch) voice his latest concern. "What were you doing out on the docks?" he asked, straightening the paperwork on his desk.

"Taking a swim," Dick said sarcastically. "What do you think I was doing?"

"Well, I’d hope it wasn’t patrolling. Nightwing was shot in the arm three weeks ago, and was told to stay inactive."

"I don’t know how to say this without sounding immature, Bruce, but you’re not the boss of me."

Satisfied that his effects were in order, Bruce buttoned up the jacket and straightened his tie. "If you want to work in Gotham, I’d reassess that statement."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means that until I tell you otherwise, you’re on sick leave." He walked away from his desk and to the study door.

Dick hopped off the couch, following him. "Hey, you might have been able to pull that on me when I was Robin, but I’m old enough to be treated with a little respect now." His voice was louder. "I think I’ve earned it."

Bruce stopped in the living room, and turned to face his former ward. "Where’s your sling?" he asked, indicating Dick’s left arm.

"It clashed with my outfit."

"You can joke all you want, Dick, but that’s not going to help your arm heal any faster. If you want more respect, maybe you should show more responsibility first."

"That is so unfair on so many levels, I don’t even know where to begin!" His arms became animated as he spoke. "God, there’s no pleasing you is there?"

"When it comes to the safety of the people I work with, then no."

"The people you work with. Nice, Bruce. When don’t you just have ID numbers tattooed on our foreheads?" He jerked his index finger at his brow for emphasis. "That might make it easier for you."

"I’ll have Barbara look into it," he said, keeping his voice calm. One thing he’d learned, and wished his former apprentice would learn, as well, was that Dick was too easily baited. But an argument was something he didn’t need right now, so he checked his wristwatch to change the subject. "I’m expecting some company soon. We’re finished here, for now," he said, matter-of-factly. As if on cue, the doorbell rang. He saw Alfred head to the front door from the corner of his eye.

The hint was lost on his protégé. "No, we’re not even close to being finished here." Bruce found his path to the foyer suddenly blocked by Dick’s body. "You don’t get to blow me off."

"Dick, I said another time." The door creaked open, and he heard muffled voices as Alfred ushered his guest into the manor.

"Fine. You want to sweep our issues under the rug, I guess there’s nothing I can do to about that. But at least listen to what I’ve got to say about that shipment."

"There’s no evidence. And I certainly haven’t heard of anything on the scale you’re talking about. You’ve got nothing to go on Dick."

"I’ve got a hunch. Shouldn’t that be enough?"

"The last hunch you had got you a bullet in the arm."

Dick opened and closed his mouth, his eyes fuming. Any argument he was going to make, however, was interrupted as Alfred cleared his throat, having entered the living room. "Forgive the interruption, Master Bruce, Master Dick, but we have company."

His dinner guest stood behind Alfred’s right shoulder. Her eyes shifted between the men in the room; he knew she sensed the tension. And if there was one rule he liked to honor in Wayne Manor, it was that outsiders weren’t allowed to see the internal problems. He wiped the frown off his face, and replaced it with his best smile. It was time to be Bruce Wayne. "Diana," he said, lightening his normally gruff voice. "I’m glad you could make it." He made his way to where she and Alfred stood, then lifted her hand to his lips with flourish.

Alfred moved away from them. "If you all will excuse me, I must go check on dinner."

"Thank you, Alfred, we’ll be in the dining room shortly." He turned his attention back to Diana, releasing her hand. "I take it your trip here was pleasant?"

"Yes, it was. But you didn’t have to send a jet for me. I could have flown myself."

"That’s Bruce for you. Always showing off." He hadn’t forgotten that Dick was still present, he was just giving him time to cool off before introducing him to the Princess of the Amazons. Dick, however, seemed ready to make his presence known now, angry or not.

Diana looked to the boy (who stood with his arms folded), and then back to him. "I’m a little early, am I interrupting anything?"

"Of course not." Bruce assured her, looking pointedly back at Dick. "We’re done here."

Dick clenched his jaw, but otherwise kept his face blank.

"Diana, I’d like you to meet Dick Grayson." He presented his hand, palm up, in Dick’s direction, prompting her to walk toward the young man.

"It’s an honor to meet you, Princess," Dick said, extending his own arm and forcing a smile.

She smiled back at him and shook the hand he offered. "You as well. Are you a business associate of" she faltered for a second, "Bruce’s?"

"Seems to be the question off the day." He stoned a glance at Bruce, who kept his face impassive, before looking back at the Amazon. He clarified at her quizzical look. "Actually, I’m his son," he paused when her eyes went wide, "and from the expression on your face, I’m guessing he’s never mentioned that he had one before." He dropped her hand and stuck his palm in his pocket. Bruce noted the subtle re-clenching of his jaw.

"No I didn’t mean…it’s just—"

"It’s alright, Princess. It’s not important." He kept his voice light, but Bruce knew more fuel had just been added to Dick’s fury. "I think it’s time for me to head out, anyway."

He brushed past them, and Bruce grabbed his forearm. "Get that arm back in a sling. And stay in tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow," he told him quietly.

Dick pulled his arm from his grasp. "Whatever you say, boss." Turning to Diana, he bowed slightly. "It was a pleasure, Princess. Enjoy the rest of your evening." He left the room, and they heard the front door open, then slam shut.

Diana looked at him, concerned. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset him."

Bruce stared at Dick’s wake. "You’re not the reason he’s upset," he said shaking his head, then procuring his arm. "I believe Alfred’s gotten dinner ready, and it’d be a shame to let it get cold."

She hesitated (searching for something in his face that she’d never be able to find) before allowing him to lead her out of the living room. She continued to cast him sidelong glances as he escorted her to the dining room—trying to uncover any cracks in his mask, he supposed. She wouldn’t succeed, he knew, because he wasn’t wearing a mask. The farce was his second skin; it wasn’t removable

***.

He’d dimmed the lights, preferring their slight glow (juxtaposed with the flickering of the candles) to full force one-hundred watt illumination. It relaxed him, which was a nice change from the events of earlier that evening, and it seemed to have relaxed her as well. Their conversation through the main course had been comfortable.

"So what did you think?" He asked after she’d swallowed the last bite.

She dabbed her white napkin against her mouth before replacing it on her lap. "It was delicious. What did you say it was called?"

He picked his wineglass up again, swirling it in his hand. "Tandoori Chicken." He took a small sip and let the flavor marinate on his tongue. "You know, if you like this, you’ll love this Indian Restaurant in downtown Gotham. Kashmir. It’s got a waiting list a mile long, but I might be able to pull some strings, if you’re interested."

She raised her eyebrows, considering his offer. "That would be nice," she finally decided.

"Great, I’ll give them a call."

She smiled at him, and ran her index finger along the rim of her own glass. "You know, I was very surprised when you invited me to dinner tonight."

He shrugged. "It’s the least I could do. After all, your endorsement of the Wayne Enterprises Charity Auction brought in over twenty-five thousand dollars. I don’t know if it would have been half the success it was if you hadn’t have come."

"It was a noble cause, and I was honored that you asked me. It’s encouraged me to start becoming involved in other philanthropic efforts."

"Trying to spread the word of peace, one charity at a time?"

"You could say that."

"Well, I wish you luck with that," he raised his glass to toast her commitment, and she did the same. "Just be prepared. Once you put yourself in the public spotlight purposely, it’ll be hard to get them to leave you alone."

"Don’t worry, I’ll avoid the commercialized endorsements," she assured him, referring to the predicament Flash had gotten himself into months ago. Her eyes brightened, "I almost forgot to tell you, we analyzed the debris that Flash found in Central City. It looks like you were right, it was man made. Lantern still wants to sweep the sector to make sure there is no possibility of extraterrestrial interference…"

Bruce placed his glass back on the table and let his forearm rest along the white covering. He cleared his through, interrupting her. "We should discuss this later."

She drew her eyes together. "Why? I thought you’d want to know."

"I do, but I prefer not to…bring my work home."

She tilted her head slightly, and he knew that wouldn’t be the end of the conversation. "Then why am I here?"

"It’s different," he tried to explain to her. "This is simply a thank you for your support of a Wayne Enterprises event."

"I may not have been raised in a business environment, but that sounds work related to me."

He’d never explained to her that his corporate assets were just a means to an end, and didn’t fall under his definition of work. He’d never explained that to anyone who knew about his nocturnal activities; they all just understood. Apparently she wasn’t going to follow suit.

Diana had discovered his secret identity all on her own. He’d been impressed that she’d seen through the disguise when most others hadn’t. He’d also been wary of allowing yet another person in on his secret, so for a while, he avoided giving her confirmation. It became clear soon enough, however, that she was completely certain that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same, and wasn’t going to press the subject. Bruce still didn’t give her confirmation, but it became an unspoken understanding between them. It had certainly helped their friendship to have her in the know. "Wayne Enterprises isn’t the work I’m referring to."

"I see," she said, "so then you’re referring to your other job."

"Yes. And that stays out, if you don’t mind."

She drew her lips into a thin line. "I don’t understand why you choose to separate your life like this. Both these things are a part of who you are. You should embrace that."

Despite her royal upbringing and moralistic attitude, he’d come to realize Diana rarely did things conventionally. She could be a real spitfire when she put her mind to it (like she was right now). He hadn’t yet decided if that was annoying or attractive. One thing he was sure of was that she wouldn’t win this underlying debate. "You’re trying to bait me."

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"No, but I admire your effort." Having successfully called her on her attempts to throw him off guard, though he wasn’t entirely sure what had motivated her to do so, he raised his glass again. "Let’s talk about things more pleasant, shall we?"

"Alright, then lets talk about Dick Grayson."

His paused, the wine half raised to his mouth. He forced his hand to continue this action and then brought it back down. "What about Dick?"

"You have a son. You’ve never mentioned it. You’ve talked about the other vigilantes you work with in the city, but never your family. I wasn’t even aware that you were married."

"I’ve never been married, well, not really anyway. I adopted Dick two years ago."

Her expression had changed from challenging to curious, which was quite possibly more dangerous for him. "You adopted a child? Well, not even a child, he must be at least twenty. I…it seems so…I had no idea."

"It’s a long story, one that I don’t care to get into right now. Suffice it to say that when his parents were killed sixteen years ago, I took him in as my ward. He left Gotham for a while after he graduated college, and a few months after her came back, I decided to officially make him my heir." He hoped that would quench her curiosity.

"You two must be very close then. You’ve shared so much of the same pain."

He didn’t say anything.

"He didn’t seem too happy with you when he left here. I hope it’s nothing serious."

"We’ll live," he said uninterestedly.

"If you want to talk about it, I’d be hap—"

"Diana," he interrupted leaning forward on the table, "there’s nothing wrong." This was something he didn’t want to deal with right now. And he realized he especially didn’t want to deal with it with her. He checked his watch for show. "It’s getting late, perhaps it’s time to call it a night." He stood, pushing the chair out with the back of his knees.

Her eyes widened, but then evened out. "I hit a nerve, didn’t I?"

"No, you didn’t."

"Right. I’d almost forgotten that you don’t like asking for help."

"You’ve got the wrong idea," he told her calmly. "I just really think it’s getting late." He knew she was a novice when it came to social situations, but she’d see this for what it was: a blow off. He was sorry to do it; he’d enjoyed her company that evening, but he had to draw a line.

She stood too, depositing the napkin on the table and smoothening out the wrinkles in her long sleeved black dress. When she looked back at him, her mouth was drawn downward. "Fine."

"I’ll call the jet."

"Don’t bother. I can fly myself," she told him curtly, letting him know in no uncertain terms her annoyance at his attitude.

He escorted her to the door, and gave her hand another kiss. She was quick to withdraw it.

"Please give Alfred my regards, and thank him for the wonderful meal."

"Of course." He opened the door for her and she stepped out. "Good night, Dia—"

She’d flown off before he could finish.

***

"It’s unfortunate that the princess had to leave so early."

He grunted a response at the butler, but kept himself occupied with the Bat Computer.

"She seems like a lovely young lady."

He nodded again while calling up the shipment lists for the docks that evening. A rectangular box appeared on the main monitor. He scrolled through it.

"I wonder if she’ll call again, or if your rude dismissal served to alienate another member of the fairer sex."

He stopped his scrolling and rested his gloved hand on the computer console. His cowl-less face turned to the butler. "Were you spying, Alfred?"

"Heavens no, sir. I was just bringing out dessert."

"Hmmm," he returned his attention to the screen.

"If you don’t mind my saying sir, I do hope you’ll apologize to her. It’s been a while since I saw you enjoy yourself as you did this evening."

"If you call today me enjoying myself, then I must normally lead a very depressing life." The old man raised an eyebrow, and Bruce acquiesced, "Okay, point taken. But I wasn’t enjoying myself."

"If you insist, sir. But may I suggest you…not enjoy yourself more often then?"

"Why are you pushing this?"

"It’s just good to see you with someone who you aren’t going to have to put in jail."

Bruce quirked his lips. In all their years of friendship, Alfred had never tried to play matchmaker. "Diana and I are just friends. Teammates. There’s nothing more to our relationship."

Alfred nodded, "As you say, sir."

Bruce scrutinized his expression, trying to find any insinuations, but detected nothing. This was the man who’d trained him in his poker face, after all. He turned his attention back to the shipment list and continued scrolling. He placed his thumb and index finger along his chin when he reached the end of the list. "I’m going out tonight."

Alfred seemed to have read his mind as he approached with the cowl. Bruce pulled it over his head.

"Do you want me to wake Master Tim?"

"No, I’m just going to do some surveillance by the docks." He secured his cape to his shoulders and made for the Batmobile.

"This wouldn’t have anything to do with what Master Dick said earlier, would it?"

He paused (having just opened the car door). "Are you sure you weren’t spying?"

The man shrugged. "I guess old habits die hard. Would you like me to inform your young son that you’ll be at the docks?"

He seated himself in the car. "No. Dick doesn’t need to get involved right now." He fired up the engine and the platform rotated to face the cave exit. The blue flame shot out from the back and the car hurled forward. The rock wall sealed itself after the exit.

"Somehow, Master Bruce, I don’t think he’ll agree with you."

***

Dick pressed the binoculars to his eyes. The image enclosed in the two conjoined circles blurred before coming into focus on the rows of stacked wooden crates. "Now those weren’t there yesterday," he said to himself. He moved the binoculars to the only ship docked, continuing his recon. Everything seemed quiet, but he’d have to go in to take a closer look. It was too dark to tell from his vantage.

Pulling the binoculars away, he gingerly rubbed his arm, making sure it’d be okay for a quick flight down. Batman would be furious if he knew he’d been disobeyed, and a (not so) small part of him relished in that thought. Their relationship wasn’t the smoothest one in history, but for the past year or two things had been better. A lot better. They’d been able to mend old fences a few months after his return to Gotham, thanks in part to Tim Drake. Their problems didn’t disappear, but their bond returned to the strength it had been at their prime. And one night, after a particularly trying fight with Gotham’s latest lunatic, Bruce had presented him with adoption papers. They’d officially become father and son. For the first time in a long time, Dick felt like he’d settled into life.

It wasn’t until six months ago that things had started to sour again. He could pinpoint the night exactly. Two of the more dangerous villains from Gotham’s Rogue’s Gallery had formed a partnership; Two Face and the Joker, each working from opposite sides of Gotham, had set up bombs in two locations: Gotham City Hall and oil refinery at the edge of town. Batman and Robin headed for City Hall. Nightwing had been dispatched to the refinery.

He’d taken his bike, making it to the edge of the city in record time. After a quick surveillance had revealed no henchmen or super villains present, he’d gone into the darkened building. The bomb had been easy enough to find (which should have been his first clue that something was amiss), and he’d removed its protective covering to disable it. A brown boxing glove attached to a spring jumped out at his chin as he did so. Confetti showered him as the force of the blow knocked him onto his back. The bright dome shaped lights on the ceiling turned on simultaneously, making his vision swim with spots.





"Well, you’re not the Bat I was looking for," said a familiar voice. All Dick could see was the silhouette of the man now standing above him. His right hand kept tossing and catching a small object that caught the light at the peak of its rise. Two Face.

"Now Harv, why don’t we let the coin decide what to do with him?" Another familiar voice, the Joker.

Two Face tossed the coin, and both his faces smiled. "Bad heads. You loose." He nodded, and a dozen men pulled themselves off of the walls. It was an ambush, and he’d walked right into it.

He got to his feet quickly and began fighting off the thugs. They were no match for his skill in the martial arts, but twelve against one were tough odds to beat. He eventually knocked out the last of the men, and looked for the masterminds of the operation. They were gone. He tried radioing Batman and Robin, but his communicator had been damaged. After tying up the unconscious men, he headed for the nearest exit. The door opened and it became clear that Joker and Two Face had a third, silent partner. Bane wasted no time in picking him up and hurling him across the room. The henchmen had been planted to wear him out. Bane was the real obstacle.

He put up a good fight, but in the end, he knew he was no match for the venom-charged criminal. His last memory of the night was being raised above Bane’s bent leg, bloody and broken, waiting for the madman to crack his back with his knee. Instead, there was a flash of black, and he was dropped to the ground. His mentor had arrived to save him, because he’d been too incompetent to save himself. When he woke in a hospital days later, he saw confirmation of what he feared in Bruce’s drawn and tired eyes: he’d lost his faith in him.





He’d spent the weeks after doing whatever he could to regain that faith. But no matter how hard he tried, Bruce didn’t budge. Eventually, his eagerness to please Bruce mutated into annoyance at Batman’s dismissal. He wasn’t the boy who hero-worshipped his mentor anymore, he hadn’t been for years, so why was he regressing into that part? He’d come back from his travels proclaiming his independence, but as soon as he’d mended things with Bruce, he’d abandoned his autonomy. With this new clarity, he pushed Bruce, tested limits, took risks. Sure, it had gotten him a bullet in the arm, but that was a small price to pay. The bad guys were in jail (even though Bruce refused to acknowledge his triumph) —that’s all that ultimately mattered.

And tonight, he’d show Bruce that he was worth his salt. He did one more sweep of the ship with the binoculars, readjusting the focus. There was a small flicker in the left ocular piece. He frowned, and checked again. It was gone. A few years ago, he’d have overlooked the minor flash. But now his eye was carefully trained. He knew exactly what he had seen. He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. "Batman."

***

He grabbed the man by the lapels of his coat and threw him against the shipping crate. "Who are you working for?"

"N-n-no one, I swear, Batman! I’m just a security guard."

He looked at the man’s attire, a brown suit with loafers. "Right." He pushed harder.

"Please don’t hurt me. Please, I’m begging you! I don’t know who he is, I’m just the middle man!"

Batman released his grip and the man, and he dropped to the floor. "What’s in these crates?"

"I don’t know, I wasn’t told." The man pressed himself against the wall, trying to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. "Will you please let me go?"

Batman produced the bat cuffs from his utility belt and slapped them on him, leaning down so they were face to face. "You’re going to tell me everything you know about your boss." Standing back up, he turned and made his way to the large brown shipping crate the man had been attempting to move earlier. He pulled up on the lid, grunting as his muscles strained against the nails. They slowly slid out of the wood and the lid flew to the floor. He looked inside and pulled out one of the many cylindrical cans. Tuna.

There was a quick draft against his ear as something flew by it, followed by the clinking of metal on metal. He turned to see his prisoner standing five feet away from him, hand positioned as if he were holding a gun. The weapon, however, was lying on the floor, next to a birdarang. Nightwing’s trademark.

Sure enough, a figure flew over his head, right knee pressed to his abdomen, left leg outstretched. It came into contact with the suited man’s chest, and he fell to the floor, winded. Nightwing back flipped and landed in a crouch. His eyes were narrow slits.

Batman frowned. "I thought I told you to stay in."

"Yeah, you’re welcome," Nightwing said, standing and walking to the crate. "Why are you even here? This was mine."

Batman didn’t answer but looked back to the can in his hand. Its blue label read Janus Tuna in block letters, and under it was a picture of the double headed Roman god of Gateways.

"Are you even listening to me?" Nightwing asked, grabbing the can and tossing back into the crate after a quick glance.

"Now’s not the time."

"It’s never the time for you, and I’m getting sick of it! We’re going to set—"

He was interrupted by a soft beeping. It slowly grew louder, and they both were able to pinpoint its source. The can. Batman touched its tin surface and his eyes widened. "The can’s getting hotter. It’s a bomb." He grabbed Nightwing’s arm and pushed him away from the box. "We have to get out of here."

"What about your friend?"

He looked back to the empty space where his would-be assailant had been knocked down. "He’s gone."

The two continued to run for the exit as the beeping got faster. The crate emitted a faint orange glow before exploding in a large puff of smoke and debris. The shock wave toppled all the other crates in the room (tuna cans spilled from them, rolling before undulating to a halt) and sent Batman and Nightwing flying forward.

Batman saw the younger man grimace has he took the force of the fall on his injured arm. "Are you all right?" He placed his hand under Nightwing’s elbow and pulled him up.

"I’m fine," he was told curtly as his hand was swatted away. "Let’s just get out of here. This whole thing’s going to blow."

The fire from the explosion burned against the splintered wood from the fallen boxes, which all seems to contain Janus Tuna. More of the cans began to beep, and Batman knew more explosions were inevitable. He and Nightwing ran again, each extracting their grapple guns from their suits. Once they’d reached the deck, they fired them off, lifting themselves off of the boat and into the air. Moments after their departure, the top of the ship blew through, sending pieces of wood and shrapnel flying around them. The ship continued to explode, part by part, and Batman knew they had to get it away from the dock if they wanted to minimize damages. If Alfred sent the submarine…

Before he could finish formulating his plan, the ship began moving away from its docking port. Once about fifty feet from land, it was sucked under the water.

He touched down on the far edge of the dock, Nightwing landing to his right. They shielded their eyes as the water was illuminated from below with a large flash of light, followed by a spray of liquid shooting up at least six stories. At the head of the jet was a figure he recognized immediately. "Diana." At least the mystery of how the ship towed itself out to sea was solved.

Having out run the spray (in her normal Wonder Woman outfit, not the dress from that evening), she halted her ascent, and changed course to intercept him and Nightwing.

"I don’t believe this! You’d involve her, but you wouldn’t involve me?" As much as her appearance had irked Batman—he didn’t let others operate in his city without his consent—it had apparently irked Nightwing more.

"Trust me, I’m not the one who told her," he said flatly. Wonder Woman approached the two of them, landing on her left foot, then bringing down the right. Few beads of water and strands of soaked hair clung to her face.

Nightwing ignored her arrival. "You know, that doesn’t even matter." He brought his left hand up and threw it towards the now singed port. "You wouldn’t have even know about this if I hadn’t told you! You had no right to do anything without me! And that includes being here."

Batman kept his voice calm. "You don’t get to claim operations. We’re a team."

"No, we’re not a team. Me, Robin, Batgirl…we’re all just little pawns to you. You boss us around, tell us exactly how you want a situation handled," he retracted his hand and jabbed his index finger accusingly at the Bat on his mentor’s chest, "and bench us if we ever dare to break your rules. Maybe you’ve deluded yourself into thinking this is an equal partnership, but this is not how a team works. And you know what? I’m sick of it. I stopped being Robin so that I wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore, and I can’t figure out why I bothered coming back."

Wonder Woman shifted slightly, looking uncertainly between the two men before her. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here. I’ll leave you two to talk."

"Don’t bother," Nightwing told her. "We’re done talking. Actually, I don’t think we ever really started." He folded his arms sharply, and the action, apparently aggravating his injury, caused him to wince in pain.

Batman moved forward immediately, gripping the arm to examine the damage done. The black fabric of the uniform was soaked with blood. "I told you to let this heal," he said gruffly. "We need to get you back to the cave."

His help was unwanted, however, and he was pushed back. "Don’t bother. It’s not your concern anymore." Nightwing stepped back and away from him. "This is it. I don’t want to be one of your lackeys anymore. And if you have a problem with that then, well, I don’t really give a damn."

He turned around and walked away, a scene all to familiar to them both. He disappeared behind one of the remaining stacks of crates, and Batman and Wonder Woman heard a motorcycle fire up and speed away.

Diana put an arm on his shoulder as he continued to stare in the direction Nightwing had exited. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he turned to her sharply. "Why are you here?"

She folded her arms. "I was leaving Gotham when I saw the explosion. I wanted to make sure no one was harmed. Is that alright with you Batman?"

He kept his expression the same. "You should go. The police will be here any minute."

"What about Nightwing?"

"What about him?"

"You should talk to him. That sounded more serious than you led me to believe earlier."

"I can’t deal with him right now. It’ll have to wait until I figure out what happened here tonight."

"I said talk to him, not deal with him. Obviously there are things you two need to work out."

"Talking doesn’t seem to help where he’s concerned. He’s been taking too many unnecessary risks lately. And well, you saw what just happened."

"Spoken like a true parent. He’s obviously hurting. Find out why before it’s too late."

The sirens swelled in the background. "You should go now."

She stayed where she was, and for a minute he thought she was going to oppose him. But she dropped her arms and lifted herself off the ground, disappearing into Gotham’s red sky.

Batman stood alone on the docks, surveying all the damage done that night, before retrieving his grapple gun and disappearing as well.

***

To Be Continued…

Remember, reviews are a girl’s best friend…

Chapter 2

***

Slinking through shadows was not the Amazon way, but Diana decided it would be best if she did so while still in Gotham. Batman had subtly demanded she leave his city, and would no doubt be furious if he knew she’d disobeyed, regardless of her good intentions.

She spotted the young man she had been looking for perched on the edge of a rooftop, scouting the streets below through a pair of binoculars. Pulling herself out of the darkness, she landed behind him as soundlessly as possible.

"You shouldn’t be here, Princess."

Well, so much for stealth. "I thought I was being quiet. And please, call me Diana."

He didn’t respond, continuing to observe the street below him.

She walked closer to him until she was flanking his left shoulder. She wondered if he’d bothered to tend to his injury before jumping around the city. "You know, Batman’s worried about you."

Before she could blink, he threw himself off the roof.

"Great Hera!" She instinctively bolted to the roof’s edge, preparing to swoop down and catch the foolish boy for trying to do more harm to himself. What did he think he was doing? As she peered down, she realized he knew exactly what he was doing. His arms were extended, and two flaps that she could only describe as wings were flying him through the air. He gracefully landed on a gargoyle ten stories lower. Being careful to stay close to the building, she floated herself down and hovered next to him. "That was impressive."

"Thanks," he said uninterestedly.

"As I was saying before, Batman’s worried about you."

"I heard you the first time," he told her flatly.

She tried again. "Bruce is worried about you."

He raised the binoculars to his eyes. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

She smiled. Apparently the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, even if it was adopted. "There’s no need to dissemble with me."

He put down the binoculars, giving her his attention for the first time that evening. "So you know? He doesn’t usually reveal his identity to anyone."

"He didn’t reveal it to me, but it’s not hard to figure things out when you’re close to someone."

The frown on his face deepened, and he looked away from her. "You’d be surprised." He returned his attention to his patrol.

"You should talk to him."

"I don’t mean to be rude, Diana, but I’m a little busy right now. So you can just tell Batman that if he wants to talk to me, he should come do it himself."

"He didn’t ask me to come to you. I thought I’d try—"

He raised his hand to silence her. He leaned forward on the gargoyle, something on the street having caught his attention. She looked down and saw three men pull up a metal loading door and enter the building opposite them. The door rolled closed behind them.

"Hate to cut this short, Princess, but there’s something I have to take care of." Nightwing stood and extended his arms. She caught his slight wince as he dove off the gargoyle.

Making a quick decision, she dove after him.

Aided once again by his wings, he slowed his descent just enough to make an easy landing on the shadowed ground. She landed next to him just a few seconds later, earning herself a raised eyebrow. "When I said I had things to take care of, I meant by myself," he told her.

"Just consider me your backup. I’m not letting you go in there by yourself with an injured arm."

"Batman wouldn’t want you to get involved."

"I know, he’d disapprove."

Nightwing’s lips quirked into the slightest smirk. "Alright, let’s go."

***

"Thirty meters," Nightwing whispered back to her, his voice echoing slightly in the dark ventilation shaft.

Diana acknowledged and continued crawling behind him. After quickly scouting the building, he’d deemed this the best way to infiltrate. This was his city, his operation, so she’d followed his lead.

He stopped once they’d reached the metal grate at the end of the shaft, and extracted a small device from his suit. Soundlessly, he pulled the iron slats away from shaft edge and pushed himself through the new opening. She pushed her head out after him, grateful for the slight illumination she found as she exited the tubing. They were now standing on piping that ran parallel to the shaft. Feeling unsteady with her boots on the rounded surface, she hovered slightly above it. Nightwing, however, seemed rather comfortable on the odd-shaped platform.

He pointed below, indicating to her that they needed to remain silent. She looked down, and saw the same three men from the street conversing animatedly at the bottom of the warehouse. One, clad in a brown suit, was sweating profusely, and looked terrified for his life. The other two, obviously enforcers of some sort, were giving him little room to breathe. One of them grabbed his brown lapels, lifting him up roughly. He let out a pained yelp, struggling against his attacker.

Diana moved to help him—there was no sense in this violence—but Nightwing raised his arm, motioning her to stop. She stayed where she was, reminding herself that he was calling the shots. Satisfied that she’d stood down, he went back to his careful observation.

The brown suited man, Banks, they were calling him, was dropped, and the two other men backed away from him. The echo in the warehouse caught one of the enforcers’ voices as he barked orders at Banks. "…he wants to meet the man who’s screwed up so royally." Pulling a piece of paper from his jacket, he tossed it at Banks. "Be there in an hour. And don’t be late."

The two larger men exited, as did Banks after taking a minute to calm himself down. On his way out, he crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and tossed it into a firing barrel.

With the coast clear, Nightwing launched himself off of the pipe. Instead of using his wings, he used the various other pipes and beams to swing himself down. Diana was stunned at his acrobatic grace, a direct contrast to his mentor’s forceful power. As much as Nightwing was like Batman, he was that much more different.

He landed in a crouch by the firing barrel, and retrieved the paper from it. She flew down to where he was unfolding the crumpled ball.

"Anything?"

He handed her the small sheet. "It’s an address."

She read the paper. "38 Kirby? Do you know where that is?"

He shook his head. "There must be at least a dozen Kirby Roads, Streets, Avenues and Boulevards in this city."

"We could try to search every road."

"We’ve only got an hour to find out where it is. I don't think we'll be able to check and secure every location." He folded his arms, frowning as he formulated his plan. "I'll run it through my computer, see what we can find out. It might help us narrow the search."

She nodded, handing the address back to him. "Who were those men?"

"I don’t know about the other two, but Banks was at the docks. He had something to do with the explosions, but he got away from us."

"How did you know where to look for him?"

He produced a small bird-shaped tracking device. "Tagged him when I took him out."

"Oh." She should have guessed that. "Shouldn’t we approach this man, then? Offer him protection for his cooperation?"

"Banks?"

She nodded.

"Cardinal rule of fighting in Gotham: never trust men like him. They’ll turn on you in a second."

Though he didn’t say it, she caught the underlying ‘Batman taught me that’ in his voice. "Alright. Then I suggest we start that computer search soon."

"We need to get to my loft, but it’s on the other side of town." He looked at her, almost smiling. "Think you can give me a lift?"

***

He was a minimalist, Diana noted, studying Dick Grayson’s apartment. He had a few decorations of Asian origin, and just enough furniture for a bachelor to live comfortably. There was nothing flashy, no blatant displays of wealth, despite the large fortune he was heir to.

"I’ll check the database," he told her, turning a saber on the far wall ninety degrees clockwise. The wall turned, revealing a small yet sophisticated computer system.

Having nothing else to do, she continued her appraisal of his home. She noticed a few pictures near one of his living room side tables. A wooden framed one, faded with age, was of three costumed performers—trapeze artists, she realized. Leaning down to scrutinize it further, she was stunned to see that she recognized the young boy in the picture. So that’s where Nightwing got his graceful acrobatic style.

The next picture appeared to be more recent of Dick, Alfred, Bruce, and a young boy who looked vaguely familiar. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen, and his black hair stood at least four inches off the top of his head. They were at some sort of restaurant, and Bruce was sporting a rather festive hat which read ‘Happy Birthday.’" She couldn’t decide from his expression whether he was amused or irritated.

The final picture was of just Dick and Bruce, the former dressed in a blue robe and hat with various cords hanging from his neck. They were both smiling, happy—a far cry from what she’d seen that evening.

"That was my high school graduation," he told her. He'd turned his chair so that it face into the apartment and away from the computer monitor. The screen read ‘searching’ in bold text. "He never made it to my college commencement ceremony."

"I’m sorry," she said genuinely.

"It’s okay," he shrugged, "He had to work. I understood."

"I’m guessing that happened often?"

"Gotham comes first. And that’s probably the one thing I still agree with him about."

She admired his steadfast loyalty to the cause, but she doubted that he was correct about his place on Batman’s priority list.

"I'm sorry about earlier tonight."

She raised her eyebrow. "Earlier tonight?"

"I was acting like a kid throwing a tantrum. I'm not usually like that." He walked around the couch to where she was standing and picked up the graduation picture. "It's just been a rough day."

"You don't have to apologize to me."

"I want to. I was upset, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

She tilted her head at him, watching as he studied the old photo. His face was impassive, but she recognized the façade. He wasn't angry at Batman, he was angry at himself--disappointed. Diana suddenly felt like she understood the young man. "It's alright. I wasn't offended. I've dealt with far worse."

"I'm guessing Batman falls somewhere on that list."


"I suppose he can be rather abrasive at times, but it doesn't bother me."

"Well, that makes you one of an elite few."

"It's unfortunate that not more people see past his severity. I've always known that his crusade brings darkness into his life, but until recently I didn't understand how he kept it from consuming him."

"He's too strong to let it." Despite whatever issues they had, his tone made it clear to Diana that Dick still held Bruce in high regard.

"And he's surrounded himself with people who keep him grounded. People he trusts." She watched his expression sour as she said this.

"He might trust me to provide him with back up occasionally, but I think that's about it. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm one of the reasons he's been so moody lately. He thinks I'm a liability. That my methods are endangering Gotham."

"He certainly is attached to this city. I think that's the main reason he opted not to become a full time member of the Justice League."

"It would mean taking too much attention away from here," Nightwing agreed.

She nodded. "But recently, things have been different. He's been more involved. He invests almost as much time in League activities as Superman does. And he's even started leaving Earth for missions, something he never used to do."

Dick raised his eyebrows, not sure what this had to do with anything.

"I wondered what brought about the change. And when he volunteered for the three week mission to the Tamaran home world, well, I just had to ask."

"So that's where he went. He didn't tell me what was going on. Just that he'd be gone for a while, and that I'd have to keep an eye on things."

"He's lucky he has you to help him watch over Gotham."

"I don't think he sees it that way. He’s the only one who can do the job properly in his mind."

"He trusts you to take care of it in his absence."

"Default. Batgirl isn't around much, and Robin's too young."

"Somehow, I doubt he'd ever have left Earth if that was the case. You underestimate his faith in you."

"You don't know him like I do."

"No, I don't. But I do know what he told me. When I asked him why he was so willing to leave Gotham, he said it was because he'd left it in capable hands. That he had no need to worry."

Nightwing jerked his head up, the slits in his mask slightly wider than usual.

She continued off his surprise. "I didn't realize it when I met you earlier this evening, but I have heard about you before. Just not by the name Dick Grayson. I know you might not see it, but he's proud of you. I can hear it in his voice every time he mentions you or your work here in Gotham. He considers you an asset, not a liability."

He didn't speak immediately, and she could tell he was trying to process everything she'd said. "He told you all that?"

"Not in so many words, but yes."

Nightwing looked back at the picture in his hand, face a little less hard. "Every time I think I have him completely figured out, he manages to surprise me."

"Sometimes it's hardest to understand the people we love. We're so focused on making them proud, that we don't realize they already are."

"And it's not exactly easy to figure out what Bruce is thinking. He can be so detached."

"It's his way of caring."

"I know. I thought I understood. But I guess deep down I wish we had a normal relationship. It's just that he seals himself up when he puts on that cowl. He shuts me out."

"Maybe someone needs to show him that his two lives don't have to be as separate as he makes them."

Nightwing put the picture back on the table. "You've really got him figured out, don't you?"

She smiled. "He still manages to surprise me."

There was a beeping from the computer, interrupting their conversation. They both turned to the monitor, which was blinking Matches Found. "Looks like we've got something," Nightwing told her as he placed a hand on the back of the couch and launched himself in front of the computer.

She came up behind him, reading over his shoulder. There were at least twenty names on the list, but Nightwing quickly highlighted one. "Janus Foods?" she asked.

"More like Janus Exploding Tuna Cans." He double clicked the name. "According to this, It's a new food distributor that came to Gotham about a month ago. It's named after a Roman god."

"The god of gateways," she informed him, pointing to the company logo displayed on the computer. "He's depicted with two heads, one looking back at the old, the other looking forward to the new."

"Two heads, huh?" The slits on his mask narrowed. "I think I know who we're dealing with now."

***

"This is a rather unusual food distribution facility," she whispered as they stood inside the very empty Janus Foods building.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking around. There were no crates, no shelves, no signs that the place was in use.

"Are we in the right place?"

"Positive." He pulled the tracker from the inner cuff of his glove and frowned. "And Banks is here too." He frowned and rechecked the locator. "But he's--"

"Underground."

They both turned around, equally startled by the familiar voice. Nightwing regained his composure immediately, and straightened his back. "Batman."

He looked at Nightwing briefly, but then turned his attention to Diana. "I had a feeling you wouldn't let this go," he told her.

She folded her arms. "And I had a feeling you would," she said, looking pointedly at Nightwing before returning Batman's stare. "I'm glad you decided to pursue the matter, though." The lines around his mouth hardened further when he realized she was referring to his son, not her own defiance of his request.

"Look, we don't have time to discuss this right now," Nightwing interrupted. "We've got another problem on our hands. So why don't we figure out what's under this warehouse first, and then we can deal with our issues." He looked at Batman, a silent invitation to team up again, despite the harsh words they'd exchanged earlier that night. "Okay?"

Batman looked back at his protégé, expression unreadable. "Agreed."

***

To Be Continued…

AN: I'm sure most of you already saw this update at ff.net. Although I'm not a fan of the politics of that site, it's the most conventient place for me to update my fics quickly, and I tend to update there first.

Also, on a semi-related note, I haven't been able to read fics as much as I used to. I've become insanely busy, and just don't have the time. But I'm so excited to see so many new writers for JL out there! Rock on.

Now, without further delay:



Chapter 3

For the second time that evening, Diana found herself in a ventilation shaft. Batman had told them it was the best way to get underground undetected. She'd offered to just barrel through the ground and knock everyone unconscious, but the Dark Knight had clenched his jaw and glared. Nightwing had declined her offer more politely, saying that they would need evidence for the police.

Fortunately for her, the crawl had been much shorter this time, and the shaft much bigger. The funnel exit allowed enough room for all three of them to look out the aperture. It was some sort of large basement, and Diana wondered how anyone had managed to construct such a massive room this deep into the Earth. They were level with the large dome lights, connected at the fixture junctions by a protective blanket of wires and mesh. It allowed a grainy view of the floor, but provided just enough cover for them. Nightwing turned to Batman and nodded, a silent communication of a plan, and jumped out first. She almost envied how in tune their minds seemed to be. After a quick extension of his wings, he landed carefully on one of the large lights, not disrupting its perch as he did.

Assuming that she would be next, she moved to glide out of the shaft. Batman's hard fist around her upper arm stopped her.

"No. Stay behind me."

She couldn't help but smirk. "Trying to protect me?"

His expression remained stony. "Trying to cover you. You don't blend in well."

Diana looked at her uniform, and obliged. She shadowed close behind his cape, allowing it to press against her as they landed on a light adjacent to Nightwing's. He was already listening to the conversation taking place below the mesh covering. She squinted through the fabric, trying to make out the figures talking. One was the man from earlier that night, Banks, and the other was wearing an unusual black and white split suit. It matched his blue split face.

She'd never personally dealt with this criminal, but knew of him through Batman, who'd been on something of a quest to find the schizophrenic man for months now. "Two-Face," she whispered, and Batman nodded to confirm what she already knew.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sir, but he showed up on site. With one of his sidekicks. I didn't say a word to him about you, I swear, Sir. I'd never say a wor--"

"Quiet!" Two-Face stepped forward, forcing his face close to Banks's. "You're telling me that the Bat and one of his stooges caught you and questioned you?"

"Y-y-yessir."

"And that you managed to get away from him?"

Banks nodded earnestly.

Two-Face was silent for a moment, before he shook his head spastically. "No. No, that's not right." He grabbed Banks, eliciting a yelp from the man. Even the guards looked surprised when their boss began running his hands along the man's body. His chest, his arms, this pant legs, his back…

As quickly as he started, he stopped. Pulling his right arm back, he looked at his palm and then closed his fist, using it to hit Banks across his cheekbone. Banks stumbled, and fell to the cement.

"You fool! You lead them right here!" His flashed his palm briefly, revealing two blinking markers, one shaped like a small bat, the other, a bird. Two-Face grabbed a gun from his closest man, shoving him aside. He aimed it at the mesh ceiling and fired blindly.

That was their cue. Batman turned, simultaneously pulling Diana against him, and wrapping his cape around them. She said nothing as he did so, even though she could have easily protected herself.

Nightwing dove off the light fixture, arms extended. He slashed at the netting, a glint in his palm revealing the knife he held. The mesh sagged open, allowing his body through.

"Damn it!" Batman swore, releasing his cape, readying his grapple. "Cover him," he growled to Diana, launching himself into the basement.

She dove, clearing through the netting quickly to get to Nightwing. He'd controlled his flight to stay outside Two-Face's line of fire as he came at him from above. Left leg extended, he kicked the shaft of the automatic down, and slammed his other foot into the blue, disfigured face. Both men fell to the ground.

Diana had seen the bodyguards lose their startled expressions and raise their guns at the boy. She wasn't sure he'd be able to dodge that many bullets while holding down Two Face. Increasing her speed, she propelled herself in front of him, bracelets already clinking against the incoming bullets. Walking forward against the fire, she grabbed and twisted the muzzles of two of the guns once within reach of them. She pulled the now useless weapons out of their owners' grips, letting them clatter to the floor. Disarmed and stunned, the men could do little as she grabbed fistfuls of their shirts and sent their bodies flying-- straight into two of their other teammates, whose fire she'd also drawn. The impact of body against body sent all four men crashing to the ground, knocking them unconscious.

She turned to help Nightwing, but he shook his head. "Help Batman. I've got this." She hesitated and he reiterated "Go!" more firmly.

Acquiescing, she turned to see where the Dark Knight had landed. He was at the far corner of the warehouse, circled by six men. Her eyes narrowed.

Leaping forward, her feet lifted off the ground and she cut through the air. The backs of Two Face's hired help grew larger as she approached, but she made no effort to slow down. Looping her arms around three of them, she flew straight until they made contact with the cement wall. They dropped from her arms, unconscious. When she turned back around, she saw that Batman had also knocked out one of the suited thugs, leaving only two more to deal with. "I like these odds much better," she told him as she landed at his side. One of the men fired his gun with a shaky hand. She easily deflected the bullet with her gauntlets.

He didn't sound as enthused. "Where's Nightwing?" He ducked to the side as the other man tried to belt him with a crow bar.

"He's busy at the moment." Diana swung forward and crushed the muzzle of the gun with her hands. She never got tired of doing that. Grabbing the man by the collar of his jacket, she pulled her arm back and smashed it into the side of his face. His neck whiplashed and she released her hold on him, allowing him to fall to the floor and he closed his eyes, groaning. He wouldn't be a problem anymore, but she unfastened her lasso to take some extra precautions.

"I told you to help him." Batman grabbed the crow bar as it rushed him again, using its momentum to propel his attacker over his head. The man hit a stack of wooden crates, toppling them. He attempted to push himself up once he'd landed on the floor, but slumped back unsuccessfully.

Holding the strings of her lasso tightly around her new prisoner, she frowned. "And he told me to help you."

"You should have stayed with him. I don't need hel--"

He barely had time to blink before he felt silky black hair sweep past his cheek. There was a clink of metal against metal, and her warm back pressed against his side. He quickly regained his bearings, and realized that Diana's right arm was raised in a block. Beyond the wave of her hair, he saw the man he'd thrown into the crates sitting up, with a glock pointed at them. Failing in his attack, he slumped backwards again.

Diana turned to him, hair brushing against his chest as she did so. "You were saying?" There was a small smirk on her face, and like so many things about her, he didn't know whether he found it infuriating or attractive. He'd figure it out later, if he had time.

*

"I heard a rumor that you were still alive," Two Face hissed as Nightwing brought down his elbow to pin his neck. "Bane must be going soft."

"Shut up." Nightwing pulled his fist back, ready to strike.

"Or did your Daddy bail you out again."

Dick brought down his knuckles, but Two Face blocked with his open palm. His other hand disappeared into the black pocket of his coat, and Nightwing knew what he was reaching for.

"Think he can save you this time?" The metal flashed, and the slits of Nightwing's mask widened against the nozzle of the gun. "Bye bye, birdie."

Dick lunged back, feeling a sharp pain on his face as the bullet grazed past his cheek. He used his momentum to keep with the roll as Two Face continued to fire off bullets in his direction. He needed to find cover. Pausing long enough to do a quick scan of his surroundings, he targeted a large stack of wooden boxes ten meters to his left. Two Face's gunfire followed him as he somersaulted for the barrier.

He ducked safely behind, but felt the wood of the crates splinter as more ammunition assaulted them. Looking up, he readied his grapple gun to swing above the boxes and into Two Face's blind spo--

A familiar beeping interrupted his planning. He turned, catching the label of "Janus Tuna" inside one of the fragmented boxes. His eyes widened. "You have got to be joking."

The stack of crates began exploding in a chain reaction.

*

"What's that noise?" Diana asked, trying to locate the beeping.

Batman followed her gaze to the fallen boxes. He'd heard that sound before. Whipping his head around quickly, he tried to see where Nightwing was on the other side of the warehouse. He couldn't see his protégé. He did see Two Face, gun in one hand, small blinking device in the other, smiling as blood dribbled out of the disfigured side of his mouth. His eyes widened in his cowl.

He grabbed Diana's arm as the beeping changed into a flat tone. He pushed her to the ground, and threw his weight on top of her. Drawing his cape above them, he offered protection against the raining debris.

The explosions rocketed from all sides of the warehouse.

***

To Be Continued...

Chapter 4

Diana choked on the smoke that assaulted her lungs. Trying to regulate her breaths again, she looked around, noticing that Batman was already on his feet. She pushed up on her palms to stand as well, and Batman’s firm grip was instantly on her elbow offering some assistance. His focus, however, was on the other side of the warehouse. She knew perfectly well why.

Before she could speak, he was running, barking back “Take care of them” in his wake.

She was confused as to who exactly “they” were until she heard a muffled groan, slowly increasing in intensity somewhere on the floor behind her. It was one of their assailants Two Face had sent after them, coughing and choking like she had been. But it wasn’t on smoke. It was on blood.

“Don’t move,” she ordered as she went to his side, lifting the large wooden plank that was crushing him. The blood-soaked board splintered in her hand as she threw it away.

She wished she hadn’t moved it as soon as she’d completed the action. It was clear that the blood covering the wood wasn’t from just one person. Next to the groaning thug she was trying to rescue was the body of one of their other attackers. His head had been severed during the explosion.

“Hera,” she whispered, briefly closing her eyes before she tended to the men.

***


The movie plays, clicking rhythmically while it spins on a dated projector reel. Distortion lines trail up the memories as the images move, twenty-four frames per second, in a sepia-toned world. It plays quickly, silently, and in no particular order. He is fifteen and blushing after his first kiss, he is twenty and trekking through the Himalayas, he is born and crying against his mother's chest, he is eight and crying against a Kevlar cape.

The scene changes again, but lingers longer than the others. It gives him enough time to
orient himself--enough time to realize that he can't orient himself, because he is falling, falling, falling...

He barely blinks when he finds himself flying through the air. It surges around him, and he knows instinctively to straighten his body and extend his arms. In no time, he hears the familiar slap of skin against skin and feels a strong pair of hands tighten around his forearms. He grabs the arms back, and together they control their swing into a downward arc.

He knows the face he’ll see before he even looks up. “Dad,” he whispers through a raw throat.

His dad moves his mouth, speaks, but no words come out. Dick squints, trying to read what the formations of his father’s lips could be saying. He understands the word like a warm knife in his stomach.

Son.

"Dad," he says, and again, "Dad," before he stops himself, feeling like he may never stop repeating the word if he doesn't clamp his mouth shut.

His father nods, as if he understands in an instant what is in his child's heart. The gesture is comforting and calming, and Dick relaxes more than he has in a long time. He finds his words.

"Dad, it's been a while."

He gets another nod, as well as a slight chuckle. Still though, there is no sound other than his own voice. But it doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. After all, he has so much to say to this man. He starts with the most important.

"I've really missed you. All these years. I...I've...missed you."

His father smiles back at him with his kind eyes, and he hears the words in his head. Missed you, too, Dickie. Missed you, too.

He opens his mouth again to continue, but is immediately interrupted. The disruption is so subtle at first that he is unsure if it is real, or just a figment of his imagination.

The image of his father flickers above him, momentarily morphing into a darker form before reverting back to himself. It happens three more times; the sound around them diffuses into static before returning to silence, then back to static with the next flicker. In the static, he hears a muffled word. "Ni--wing."

"What's--what's happening?" he asks, suddenly very aware of the fact that he is high above the ground, suspended only by his father's hands. This is not a memory, and he was somewhere else before this, somewhere important.

His dad looks at him sadly, and begins to speak. There is again no sound, and he tries desperately to read the lips of the man through the haze that has begun clouding his brain. He can only make out a few --watching you, done well, happy, proud-- before the image flickers, replacing his father with the familiar dark form.

The new figure's mouth disrupts the sentence that his father started; he hears the same thing in the muffled static: “—wing. Ni—wing. Nightwing!" The image reverts and the interrupted sentence from before continues silently again.

The distortions continue to come more frequently; each time the darker image appears, his features become more prominent, more recognizable. When the face becomes clearer, covered from the nose up by a black cowl, Dick is confused, but not surprised.

His father’s face comes back into view, and he knows this will be the last time he’ll see it. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to go now,” he tries not to choke on the words. “Someone’s calling me, someone very important. He took care of me when you…” He stops when his father smiles knowingly. He doesn’t need to explain. So instead, he condenses everything he’s wanted to say in the last sixteen years into one sentence. “I love you, Dad. Thank you.”

He lets go of the arms, and falls into blackness.

***

"Nightwing!"

His eyes snapped open immediately, and a burning sensation invaded his lungs as he raggedly inhaled smoke. The broken warehouse had rematerialized around him, and he was freefalling.

"Nightwing!" The gruff voice cut into his head again, clearing out the haze in his brain enough for him to take notice of his burning surroundings. Instinctively, he tucked his feet into his body and extended his left arm. A thin sturdy wire shot out from his glove with a swoosh, and wrapped its anchor end around one of the metallic beams securing the fishnet across the ceiling they had descended from earlier. Keeping his muscles tight, he used his momentum to swing himself around and away from the fire that was burning below him. His arm roared in pain as he did so, and his grip on the rope began to slip. He bit down on his lip to refocus himself, trying to ignore the throbbing, bleeding wound he had previously reopened on his shoulder. His glove slipped further down the taut line. "This isn't good," he winced, as grip on the grapple continued to wane.

He was sure he would have fallen, had a secure arm not latched itself around his waist. He looked up to see a twin line to his own stretched beside him. “Batman?”

There was no response as the Dark Knight maneuvered them to a safe spot on the ground. Once they were secure, he finally spoke. “What happened?”

Nightwing rubbed at his aching head, trying to piece the memory together. “Two Face, he had a master detonator. I can’t believe he’d discharge his entire stock.”

“We found it. He needed to destroy the evidence.”

“Yeah, he did a great job. Minus the whole blowing-up-his-secret-lair thing.” Dick rubbed as his semi-charred uniform. “I got lucky, the force of the explosion must have thrown me away.”

Batman raised an eyebrow. “You fired a grapple line straight up, and managed to stay slightly ahead of the explosion before you lost consciousness.”

Nightwing looked at his left hand, noticing for the first time a second frayed line hanging from his glove. “I hadn’t even realized.”

“It’s a good thing you did. It probably saved your life.” The words were hard, but Nightwing could almost detect a hint of something else in his voice.

“How long was I out?”

“A minute, maybe less.”

His eyes widened. “That’s all? I could have sworn…it seemed like much longer.”

Batman eyed him, but didn’t press it. Instead he touched his shoulder.

“Your arm.”

“Just a little scratch.” Reading the expression on the older man’s face, he knew that wasn’t the thing to say. “I’m okay. Really.”

Instead of arguing, Batman opened a corner pouch of his utility belt and pulled out a small roll of gauze.

“You’re a regular boy scout—I’m kidding, kidding,” he added quickly at the look he got. They stood silently as his mentor quickly wrapped the gauze around his shoulder. “Listen…thanks. For back there.”

There was a look on Batman’s face that Nightwing couldn’t quite read. The subject was changed before he could try to decipher it.

“The fire has been contained by the cement and metal, but we should make sure the department is on their way. Let’s get Diana and leave.”

“She’s on her way,” Nightwing said, indicating the figure walking towards them. Her face was tight with barely concealed anger. Her hands were red with blood. “You okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” he asked when she got closer.

She shook her head and rubbed her hands. The blood smeared and flaked away, revealing unscratched, but slightly pink-stained skin. “I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “But that…man…how could he? They were his people.”

Nightwing looked to Batman for an explanation. “He didn’t warn them when he detonated the bombs. Most of them were caught in the explosions.”

“I managed to rescue three. The rest are dead.” She clenched her fist. “We have to get him. There are many things he needs to answer for.”

“I agree,” Batman said. “Nightwing and I will go. You get those men out of here.”

Nightwings’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

Diana shook her head. “I can help you.”

“I need you to get the men who are still alive to a hospital. The bodies too. Nightwing and I will take care of Two Face.”

Diana stared them down, but then acquiesced. “Alright.” She turned and flew swiftly back to where she had deposited the injured men.

Turning to his protégé, Batman eyed the bandages wearily. “We need to track Two Face.”

Dick caught the unvoiced question. Can you go? “Yeah. We can take my bike.”

Batman cast him a baleful look. “We’re taking the Batmobile,” he stated, spinning on his heels and walking away as he said so.

“Yeah, okay, you win.” He’d flown here to begin with. Plus his bike didn’t have a sidecar anyway.

***

To Be Continued..