To See Her Again

He landed, slick with sweat, firmly on the back foot. Her kick connected with his ribs, and he felt a snap. He heard knives cut through frigid December air as they slashed across his arm. He felt the same air come alive with currents of electricity, and the ground shake with great, ominous footsteps.

It was at that moment that Nightwing began to consider that he may die here.

It had been a rough few weeks.

After their city was hit with a 7.6 magnitude earthquake, hundreds of thousands of Gothamites fled to neighboring Blüdhaven, and found it waiting for them with open jaws. In a town as corrupt as the ‘Haven, this many desperate new arrivals made it an early Christmas for the criminal element.

For Dick Grayson, it had been an unending hell.

Nightwing had spent nearly every night—no, nearly every waking moment—either helping Batman and Robin or saving refugees to the ‘Haven. In this last hour alone, he helped rescue folks from a burning slum, beat a couple of way-out-of-towners trying to knock over a liquor store, and just now had to rush an old wino to a clinic after some maniac cut him up. One after another, in a row along the Redline.

Another day in paradise.

He checked his watch, 3:47 A.M., and decided that was about all he could handle for one evening. He started the journey back to his apartment, cutting down tenth and along the Market Strip. He paused for a beat atop the combination Mardiad Grille / Humby’s, just to survey his fellow ‘Havenoids. They weren’t all grifting the surviving Gothamites. He saw water stations and makeshift soup kitchens littered across the square, as well as signs to ask for leftovers after closing.

Say what you will, but the people of this city know what it’s like to be left behind, and what it means to have neighbors ready to help.

Dick spotted a young couple handing out bottles of water and fresh socks. They were smiling to each other, and even from here he could tell they were in love.

I know those looks anywhere, since I’ve been seeing them more often.

He thought about calling Barbara, but decided not to. He had to see her again, not just call her. A call would never do after the night they had on Saturday. It was the only night either of them spent away from Gotham or Blüdhaven since the cataclysm, and Dick made sure it was an extra special evening.

He took her “flying” at Haly’s Circus. Even had her execute a flying transfer, which she nailed.

Never lost her touch.

They had a moment, but neither acted on it.

Even still, they had so much fun together.

Frankly, I don’t know if I could come up with something worthy to follow that up.

A ring? She might think that’s a bit forward.

He did want to hear her voice though. Hear her laugh again. Seeing her so happy was addictive. He wanted that for her every single day. He wanted her to be happy with him, if she’d allow it.

He wasn’t comfortable with her staying in Gotham, but he understood why she was staying. He wouldn’t try to argue with her about it, at least not again. Still, maybe he could see her one more time.

Seeing her, that was a different story, even beyond the Gotham/Blüdhaven divide. When they parted, Babs made it very clear that she did not want this to be a date, nor a set-up for future dates. Dick respected her wishes, even if he really did want it to be a date and saw a future for them.

That said, upon reflection he wasn’t sure if he was ready for something that serious anyway. He wanted it, and he wanted it more with every breath he took, but wanting something real bad and being ready for it are two very distinct states of being. About as related as apples and cement mixers, in fact.

Perhaps, given some time, they could give the other a chance, but not right now. Especially not with the city closing.

I should talk to her. See how’s she’s doing. A phone call never hurt anyone anyway, and there’s no one I’d rather talk to.

That was that. Dick promised himself that he would call her first thing tomorrow morning, to hell with a “worthy follow-up.” They agreed it wasn’t a date anyway!

He continued his way down 10th at a leisurely pace, still reliving that evening under the big top as he leapt from one line to the next. He was two blocks from the turn onto Parkthorne Avenue when he heard a shriek.

Nightwing caught himself, then looked to see where the—there!

A woman was being pulled into the alley by this beast of a man, 6’4” and every bit of 260 pounds. Nightwing felt his blood boil, and then threw himself into the alley.

He hit the big guy with his full weight behind him, then kicked off and spun to land between him and the woman, drawing his twin escrima sticks. He wasn’t in the mood for taunting; he wanted to bring this guy down hard and fast.

The big man chuckled softly, and for a moment Dick sensed something familiar about him. Before he could place the voice, he felt a blade graze his shoulder, and saw a burst of electricity briefly light up the alley.

That’s when he saw his opponents.

“Howdy, Nightwing,” bellowed Randy Hanrahan, better known as Stallion. Former football player, former enforcer for the Penguin, current assassin for Blüdhaven’s kingpin, Blockbuster. “I wuz gettin’ ta think ya wouldn’t show.”

From the restored shadows stepped forth wanted war criminal Guillermo Barrera, alias Brutale—the Ace of Blades, and failed vigilante electrokinetic Lester Buchinsky, the Electrocutioner.

“You seem to be in shock!”

“Les, you been waitin’ all night for that one?”

“Shut up, Randy!”

“All of you stay back,” Nightwing roared as he took up a defensive stance. He repositioned to keep the woman at the open end of the alley and the assassins boxed in. He then said in a steady and calming tone, “Ma’am, you need to leave. I have this under control, so—“

His breath was pushed out of him, and he felt a rising heat in his back, an agony.

“I assure you, young man,” a familiar voice hissed in the King’s English as she drove the knife deeper, “you have absolutely no control of what is happening here.”

On instinct, Nightwing tried to leap out of the alley, but Stallion caught him mid-somersault and slammed him to the pavement, and followed that up with stomp on his back. He looked up as the damsel in distress discarded her disguise, and donned the mask of Lady Vic, the nom de guerre of Lady Elaine Marsh-Morton, Oxford’s finest contribution to the fields of bounty hunting and assassinations.

An ambush set by Blockbuster’s assassins.

Four on one.

And they drew first blood.

He was in trouble.

He evaded the next stomp, and flipped back on his feet. He could feel pressure building in his head, and blood seeping from the wound in his back.

It’s not too bad. Armor stopped it from cutting too deep, but it hurts like hell.

Brutale threw two more knives, but Nightwing was able to block.

Electrocutioner let off another bolt of lightning, but Nightwing narrowly avoided it.

Then he saw Stallion getting ready for charge.

Gotta get above the street, give myself room.

He threw a smoke pellet directly into Stallion’s face as he rushed him, then fired his grappling gun toward the roof. He didn’t even manage to get above the street before he took another cut to the back.

Once he gained purchase atop the roof, he did a quick check of his injuries—nothing fatal yet—then readied himself for their next attack.

Too close to the apartment to try to flee, too tired to lead them on a long chase.

How did they—

Wait…

A fire—could have been electrical.

The thieves—thick accents. Definitely from below the Mason-Dixon Line.

The old man—cut to ribbons, doesn’t take a genius to connect that one.

And finally the woman screaming for help.

Son of a—they were leading me here! Setting fires, sending out their goons, hurting innocents. We aren’t two blocks from the clinic; they must have been watching me along the Redline. This was a gambit to sap my strength and lure me to this part of town.

And I fell for it.

The next attack came as he was thinking, Lady Vic brought down a flurry of slashes with her katana. He blocked, parried, and counter-attacked when he could, but she was fast.

One cut, two cuts.

Superficial, but a very grave sign.

He needed to get some space.

He feinted, then kicked her at center mass, sending on her back. She flipped back over and recovered, but it gave him some time to book it. He ran across a sturdy cable connecting two buildings like he was back on the high wire, and Lady Vic followed.

She was good, or at least she had talent and some decent training. She might be trouble for someone like Blue Beetle, or even himself or Roy as Robin or Speedy. However, now she had the very distinct advantage of numbers.

They made it to the next roof, but Dick found himself in an even worse position. It was a trap. The moment he set foot on the building Brutale emerged from the roof access hatch as Electrocutioner and Stallion climbed up opposite walls. Surrounded on all sides. They wanted him to come here.

Damn.

Still being lead around.

Lady Vic made a flourishing move with her blade, brought it into a guard, and then lunged at Nightwing.

They locked weapons.

She’s cold, arrogant.

Last time they faced each other, it was a draw. She took a little girl hostage, and Dick was unwilling to put her life in danger. Nightwing suspected that had she not, he could have beaten her pretty decisively.

Her stamina, that’s the killer.

Parry.

By Dick’s estimation, she preferred a sprint to a marathon. She was a powerful offense-oriented duelist who fought in short bursts, tiring quickly. An explosion as opposed to an inferno.

However, the harder you push her, the more vicious she gets.

Counter.

She had a hate within her, one she seemed to be able to control under normal circumstances, but became more apparent as she fought. Her haughty superiority masked a wrath and cruelty that ran deep.

Block, counter.

Dick was ready to go on the offensive when she suddenly broke off. Before Nightwing could pursue, he was slammed by Stallion.

He was about to go for a knee kick, Hanrahan’s big vulnerability, when he saw a dozen knives flying toward him. He leapt over and dodged most of them, but at least two—no, three—cut him. Not deep, but they made contact.

Nightwing looked to Brutale and formulated an attack, but he was nearly caught by Electrocutioner’s storm. He couldn’t afford a big shock like that, even one and he’d be too weak to defend.

The situation was becoming untenable.

If he was on the ground he was vulnerable to Stallion, but if he was in the air he had to worry about Electrocutioner. When he would try to press the offensive against Vic and tire her out, Brutale would throw another torrent of blades. When he would turn to take on Brutale, Vic or Stallion would engage him in melee.

And on, and on.

Each time he’d get in a position to defeat one, another would attack him, and with each round he got a bit weaker. A bit sloppier.

Two cuts from Vic became four.

Another slam from Stallion.

A blade in his arm from Brutale.

Even Nightwing couldn’t take this kind of punishment forever.

He leapt up, trying to clear Stallion and head to the next roof, but Lady Vic met him in mid-air. She unleashed a great onslaught of strikes, and drove Nightwing back down to their makeshift arena.

He landed, slick with sweat, now firmly on the back foot. She pressed her attack, forcing him further into the center of the floor, away from escape and salvation.

He tried to counter, but she kicked him and broke one of his ribs. She disengaged just as Stallion smashed into Dick’s side, followed by a punch straight to the young vigilante’s face.

Stallion took another swing at him, but it was a trick. As he moved to block Stallion, Lady Vic kicked him again, forcing him back even further.

Nightwing fell to one knee, breathing heavily.

He felt lightheaded.

They surrounded him.

Sloppy. They’ve played you like a harp from hell.

Years ago, not long after Barbara took the oath as Batgirl, the Riddler attempted to hold the city’s energy grid hostage. Two full days without power; it was the worst Dick had ever seen Gotham—though now it seemed like paradise in comparison to the cataclysm.

By that second night, not unlike current circumstances, the three of them were run ragged across the city. Completely exhausted. It didn’t help that he and Batman were starting to have more and more arguments. Dick wanted real independence, but Bruce insisted he wasn’t ready.

Frustrated, both with the situation and with his mentor, Robin ignored Batman’s order to stand down when he saw a young man being chased by a mob. He knew it was a bad idea, but Robin doesn’t let anyone get hurt on his watch—ever.

Dick jumped in, but he was far more fatigued than he first realized. He took down two of them, but a third got a lucky hit in. Robin fell, and the mob descended upon him. If it wasn’t for Batgirl—for Barbara—he would have died. Her words to him still echoed across time.

“Robin! Get up!”

Dick watched as Lady Vic and the others circled around him, savoring their victory.

“A laudable endeavor, my friend,” she taunted, venom dripping from every word, “but your tenure as this wretched hovel’s guardian must finally come to its natural conclusion, along with our ongoing rivalry.” She gave him a salute with her blade.

“Robin! Get up!”

He thought about her.

Barbara…

He thought about flying.

She was so happy. Happiest he’d ever seen her.

Stallion cracked his knuckles.

He remembered holding her so tenderly after they finished swinging under the main tent of Haly’s Circus. One of the best moments of his life.

Electrocutioner jeered something Dick didn’t quite catch, probably something stupid.

She was so beautiful. She always had been. So perfect. He pressed his forehead against hers, but he couldn’t kiss her. He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready, and she wasn’t either.

Stupid. Damn stupid. If I see her…

Brutale pulled another knife.

If…

Images flashed through his mind.

Lady Vic bringing down her sword.

A wake at Hogan’s Alley.

A portrait taken off the wall at Titans Tower.

A new costume memorial in the cave.

Barbara sitting alone, with no one to hold her.

No.

I won’t have it.

I won’t let them down, any of them.

Not Batman.

Not the Titans.

Not my neighbors.

Not this city.

And not her. Not ever.

Not if, when.

I will see her, and when I do I will hold her close again, and this time I am going to tell her what she means to me.

That I love her.

Besides, if these clowns kill me, Robin will never let me live it down.

Nightwing stood, bruised and exhausted and bleeding, and fell into a ready stance.

“Soooooo-ey!” Stallion whistled, tipped his hat, and boomed, “Sumbitch still got some gas in his tank!”

Lady Vic’s mouth twisted into a devilish grin, but remained silent as she launched a probing offensive. Nightwing repelled her after a short engagement. They started to circle again.

Stop—ignore them.

They’ve dictated the fight all night. Take control.

Focus, analyze, strategize.

He took stock of his opponents. They were in much worse shape than he realized. The assassins hadn’t planned on him lasting this long, and they were tired too.

Stallion was heavily favoring his good leg.

Brutale had thrown two thirds of his blades.

Electrocutioner’s lights were dimmer, and he’d been firing off fewer bolts. His suit needed charged.

Lady Vic seemed like she was in the best shape, but he noticed sweat dripping from her face and hair, and squelching from her leather pants. She was breathing much harder, and he could tell she was getting more frustrated and angry by the second. That anger could be his ticket to seeing Barbara again.

What else?

They took turns, rather than attacking him all at once. They weren’t a team; they were fighting as individuals.

I can use that. Divide and conquer.

He lunged forward, bouncing between each assassin, not allowing any of them a moment to catch their breath or to help their compatriots. It was unsustainable for more than a couple of seconds, but that’s all he needed for now. He just had to find a weak link.

Stallion was just smart enough to know he’s dumb. Smart enough to tune out anything Dick would bait him with.

Brutale was remarkably unflappable, didn’t care about anything other than money. Couldn’t be goaded, and hadn’t even uttered a word this whole fight anyway.

Vic was clearly the brains of the operation, but her pride, fury, and lack of endurance could no doubt be used against her. The problem: Dick wasn’t convinced he would survive one of her rage-fueled assaults, especially not with the others still standing.

Finally, there was Electrocutioner. Dumb. An ego the size of Alaska, but fragile as an eggshell.

He will do just fine.

As Nightwing was about to engage Stallion, he juked and drove hard into Lady Vic. Poured it on as heavy as he could, as savage as possible. He kneed her in the groin, punched her in the mouth, and then spat in her eye for good measure.

I need her pissed.

It worked, her cocky smirk became a hateful grimace, and she snarled, “You lowbred pig, how dare you—“

He didn’t let up, hitting her more and more. Then he swept her legs, and Vic fell flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her. Dick didn’t have time to finish her; he needed to engage Electrocutioner. He flipped back and over toward his quarry.

“So tell me, Les,” Dick said with mock familiarity, “Gotham too tough for you?” Nightwing smacked him with an escrima stick.

It took the Electrocutioner off-guard, “What?”

“Oh, you know what they say. ‘Can’t hack it in Gotham City, try Blüdhaven.’ It’s like real crime, but with the training wheels on. Easy mode.”

“Shut up, you little—“

Nightwing flipped over and around Lester.

This had to work. He was getting very, very tired.

“You have everything you need here, hell, the police work for you. It’s a nice gig, y’know, for losers.” He hit Lester again, more of a slap this time.

Electrocutioner grabbed at his temple, and sputtered out, “I’m not a—“

“You’re a huge loser, Les! You left Gotham for the ‘Haven! What, do you play bowling with the bumpers too?”

Electrocutioner took a swing, missed, and Nightwing took the opportunity to position Brutale behind them. If they were working as a team, Barrera could have nailed him, but Lester started firing wildly at Nightwing, the light blinding the old war criminal.

“You cheat at checkers?”

“Shut up!”

“You read the answers before you start your crossword puzzle?”

“I’m the Electrocutioner! The living electric chair!”

“Sure, and you work for Lady Vic, another loser.”

“Enough!” Electrocutioner ran and leapt to tackle Nightwing, but the Blüdhaven Brawler sidestepped at the last moment, and Lester, bristling with electricity, crashed directly into Brutale, a man covered in dozens of metal knives.

Ouch.

Nightwing stepped back from the light show, and then engaged Stallion, weaving in and out, trying to kick his knee. Randy was wise to the tactic though, and scooped up the vigilante in a grapple, screaming, “I gottem! I got the lil’bastard! Y’all get over here!”

Nightwing was struggling to break Stallion’s grip when he saw Lady Vic rise to her feet. Dick was hoping to take out the big man’s leg first, but the plan was still on track. He just needed Vic good and mad. She stumbled over and saw Electrocutioner trying to wake up Brutale.

“Wha—“

“I didn’t mean to!”

“You did this?”

“It was an accident! I went to tackle Nightwing,” Lester said, panicking, “l—He’s still breathing, he just, c’mon wake up, Guillermo!”

Brutale just groaned.

Lady Vic kicked Electrocutioner in the face. “You uncoordinated baboon,” she screamed at the top of her lungs, “your incompetence and complete lack of grace put our plans in jeopardy yet again!” She turned, “I knew I should have gone with bloody Crazy Quilt.”

“Uh, guys,” Stallion groaned, “He’s kickin’ like a mare in heat, can y’all gimme a hand?”

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Electrocutioner yelled in impotent rage. “You listen here, Princess! This whole plan has been up crick without a paddle from the start! I knew I should never listen to broads!”

“This ‘broad’ devised a course of action you could never even conceive of, let alone execute, you slobbering boar.”

That’s it.

“Yeah, real genius. ‘Let’s all rush him at once.’ Damn, wish I thought of that one!”

“Clearly, seeing how you didn’t.”

“Guys,” Stallion pleaded, “we can hash it out later, just c’mere ‘n help me!” Nightwing finally had an open shot at his knee, but he needed a better distraction.

Come on, you two.

“Hey,” Electrocutioner said as he grabbed Lady Vic by the shoulder and got in her face. He was trying to tower over her, but they were nearly the same height, and she was far scarier. “Look at me when I am talking to you, you blow-up British bimbo.”

“Your staggering inadequacy is noted,” she replied, hate oozing from her voice again, “Now Electrocutioner, if you’ll be a dear, I would suggest you step away from me.”

“Or what?”

“Get yer asses over here,” hollered Stallion, growing more desperate and exhausted by the moment. More opportunities were presenting themselves as Dick struggled to get free, but he knew if he got their attention now he was a dead man.

Come on!

“Would you like a demonstration of my abilities?”

Electrocutioner laughed in her face, then said, “What abilities? Nightwing was right about that: you are a loser, Elaine! You told us yourself, you need money to pay off your family debts. You blew daddy’s money on Silicon Valley and now have to pinch every penny to not lose your house.”

“You will never speak my name aloud again.”

“That’s what me and the boys call you—“

“Les,” Stallion cried, “I’m beggin’ ya to shut the hell up.”

“—We call you ‘Silicon,’” he grasped large invisible breasts, “‘Valley,’” and ran a line down the center of his chest. He pointed to her chest, “That’s your family legacy! Big, ugly, bolted-on t—“

Lester saw her face change, realizing far too late that he probably shouldn’t have said that.

Randy saw their plan, which very nearly worked, as well as their sizable cash reward go up in smoke because of Lester’s insecurity.

Dick saw his opportunity, and put the next phase of his plan to see Barbara again into action.

Elaine just saw red.

Lady Vic was on him like a wild animal—cutting, stabbing, scratching, punching, biting, gauging—Electrocutioner was lucky to be alive when all was said and done.

Nightwing would never know it, but this wasn’t because he insulted her appearance. In fact, she didn’t care about that sort of thing at all. She’d been educated at an all-girls academy in England, whatever insult some illiterate like Lester Buchinsky could come up with would be banal in comparison to the things those girls said to each other. It didn’t matter what people thought anyway, as she had the various operations to look the part of pampered heiress “Lady Marsh-Morton,” not for her own vanity.

No, the thing that Lester said that triggered her attack was the insinuation that she’d spent her family’s money on cosmetic surgery, or that she was the reason for their debts and humiliation.

She was the only living reason to be proud of the names of Marsh or Morton.

Everything she was and did revolved around making right what others ruined.

A thousand years of noble breeding and generational wealth, and her profligate immediate family destroyed it in under twenty.

She was the only one trying to win back the estate, and to bring honor back to the house.

She spent much of her adult life working, training, putting aside her dreams and desires to restore their legacy when it was her family members who did this.

She paid for the surgeries with the money she earned so that she could better play a role.

She wore a living disguise in a body she was no longer comfortable in so as to appear above suspicion.

A role now ruined because of the intervention of Nightwing and the Batman.

She was now trapped in a body she didn’t like, doing work with people she couldn’t stand, and he had the nerve to imply it was her fault.

He had to be shown the error of his thinking, and in her experience there was only truly effective method of imparting wisdom: removing two-thirds of his skin.

Hard to forget that sort of lesson.

Nightwing worked as fast as he could manage.

First, a kick to Stallion’s bad knee, dropping him.

Second, he turned and gauged his eyes as hard as he could.”

“GAAAHDAAAAAYMIT,” yowled Stallion in agony. He finally broke his hold on Nightwing, and the former Boy Wonder then rained blows down upon the already injured Texan.

Stallion fell, crashing to the ground like one of Gotham’s once innumerable skyscrapers a few weeks ago.

Simultaneously, Electrocutioner collapsed in a puddle of blood and tears and pleas of “stop hurting me.”

Nightwing locked eyes with Lady Vic as the sudden realization hit her.

She was now alone against her hated nemesis.

He, the first apprentice to the Batman, leader of the Titans, and protector of Blüdhaven.

She, who might give Blue Beetle some trouble.

Maybe.

They stood for a moment, waiting for the other to make a move.

If she’s smart, she’ll pull her Webley. Better not chance it.

Nightwing gestured to her with his escrima sticks, an informal challenge to a duel.

She sighed.

He knew that she did not have any sense of honor, not really, but she thought that she did. Her pride in her family’s name demanded she accept, and that’s all Dick needed.

She drew twin daggers, then lunged at Nightwing.

It was already over.

Dick was drenched in sweat, barely able to stand up, stabbed, bruised, and bleeding all over.

But Elaine was exhausted.

She wasn’t “tired.” She was drained almost entirely of any remaining energy, much of which she wasted beating Electrocutioner senseless.

She had two advantages to start, the other three assassins and her lack of fatigue, and both had completely evaporated now.

Now she was fighting an opponent with 50 pounds and four inches on her, with more experience and training, better endurance, and one hell of a score to settle.

To her credit, she went down swinging.

Once he took the initiative, Nightwing dissected her like a high school anatomy lesson, whittling down her defenses until she was just barely able to keep them up. When her guard started to falter, Nightwing took a page from Stallion and rushed her off the edge of the roof, landing on top the next building over…a 20 feet drop.

Nightwing landed on top of her, cushioning his fall and crushing her. He leapt off and to his feet, ready to continue his second wind winning streak.

She slowly picked herself off the ground, her legs visibly trembling.

No need to draw this out—

She surprised him, running in for one final attack. He reflexively kicked her, extracting twofold revenge for the rib she cracked earlier, and slamming her against the wall of a rooftop shed.

She fell to the ground, the last of the assassins to do so.

Dick went to work immediately and tied the four of his assailants together. He left them dangling from a lamppost on Newnham Avenue, along with an anonymous tip.

No doubt Blockbuster would see to their speedy release, but it would give Nightwing a chance to breathe.

For now, at least.

He checked the time, 4:09 A.M., and marveled at how long 20 or so minutes could feel when you’re fighting four people at once. He headed back down 10th, and then over on Parkthorne.

Nightwing slipped into his apartment, out of his shirt, and onto the couch as fast as he could. He did about as much first-aid as he could stand, then passed out.

He woke up late that afternoon with a raging headache.

I need a shower and an ice pack.

And new bandages.

Maybe breakfast, too.

He took out his coffee press and a box of disgustingly sugary cereal, then looked at the photo of Babs he had on the wall.

And her.

He jumped up on the counter and picked up his phone.

First ring.

Secon—

“Hey Boy Wonder,” Barbara said in an unusually dour tone, “what’s up?”

“Nothing, I just got up. Something wrong?”

“No, just a mission. We kind of blew it.“

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Maybe, but to be honest I don’t know how much coherency I’ll have left here soon. I’ve been up since the day before yesterday.”

“Babs!”

“I’ve been busy, Dick!”

“And you give me grief for not taking care of myself.”

“I never said I wasn’t the world’s number one hypocrite, okay? Besides, Canary is out of the country and needs me on-call all night until she gets back.”

Sensing his opportunity, Dick casually said, “Tell you what, you need sleep, I need to catch up on some reading and some cartoons, how about I come over and keep an eye on things while you get some rest?”

“I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Good thing you didn’t then, since I offered.”

“You sure?”

“Barb, after the night I just had, watching computer screens for a few hours sounds like heaven—if it means seeing you.”

“Hm,” she giggled warmly, “Very smooth, inviting yourself over like that.”

“I do my best.”

“Well, if that’s your idea of a second date, it needs some work.”

“Hey, I already used my best idea. And in any case, we agreed: not a date. Just wanted to take you somewhere special.”

“I’ll say,” she said, then added, very softly, “thanks again, for the not-date I mean. I had a lot of fun.”

Dick’s heart soared. “I’m glad to hear it. I had fun too, but I’m not letting you out of this one.”

“Alright, you win. Come over, bring flowers if you want,” she let out a huge yawn, “but I need some sleep.”

“Sure thing, I’ll see you in forty-five, give or take.”

She was right, this wasn’t the best date idea he could come up with, but it gave him an excuse to go see her.

And after all he went through tonight, that seemed like the only thing that would make him feel better.

That or maybe hitting those four losers a couple dozen more times.

Notes & Continuity

This is late! I am sorry! I wanted to have these written up week before last, but the D/B history interfered.

So, the prompt was Falling/Flying, of course when I think flying in connection with D/B it is automatically BOP #8 “On Wings” right? Too easy, but also too good to resist. So I decided to go the obvious route, but from a different path.

Technically speaking, this takes place before and after BOP #8. Before the prologue, after the story. Basically my idea was “What if there was a Nightwing #24.1” (or so).

I had a sub goal of squeezing in as many Nightwing villains as I could, so this gave me a great opportunity to do so. I have a big soft spot for Nightwing’s rogues, they’re both super 90s and very obscure. That’s my bread and butter. I really wanted an opportunity to show Lady Vic as a competent threat, while still allowing for Dick to beat her as efficiently as he does in the actual series.

NML is very annoying. It’s both so good, but also causes so much havoc in the timeline that it gives me a headache. Trying to fit everything is such a hassle. I think both of my favorite holiday stories are made difficult by NML, which is a shame. That said, BOP #8 specifically mentions it’s in the rush from Road to NML, so it’s relatively easy. A nice change of pace!