Questionable Thoughts

It was the middle of the night. The air wasn’t cool and breezy like it was in your last city, no, it was damp and muggy. A sheen of sweat had built up on your forehead and you tried desperately to ignore how Nightwing’s eyes followed the drop of sweat running down your neck. Ever the flirt. You were tired, hungry, and running on two cups of cheap coffee. The latest case was a classic, some amateur cartel smuggling stuff they shouldn’t be at the docks of Bludhaven. Easy and simple enough one would think, if it wasn’t for the fact that this has been a lead you’ve been following for months.

The legendary Penguin, yes, The Penguin from Gotham was trying to spread his roots into various surrounding cities. It started off small, but the operation was steadily growing bigger and bigger. Soon, the city may fall into his mangy clutches, and that was something you couldn’t afford nor would allow. Not in your precious city.

Unfortunately for you, Bludhaven’s new resident was making it much more difficult than you would have liked.

“For what? Knocking out my suspects for the next who knows how long,” you scoffed, staring down at the numerous unconscious bodies before you. “I wanted to question them first thing on the scene.”

Nightwing’s smile dropped into an exaggerated wince, and he followed your line of sight. “I mean, I’m sure I can get one of them up and going in no time.” He kneeled down, grabbing the shoulder of the body on top of the pile and aggressively shaking them. “Hey, buddy! Wakey wakey!”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, digging in your long coat for your latest stress reliever. It took a hot second, but eventually your hands snatched up a small, well loved box. You pulled it out, popped it open, and picked out a fresh cigarette. The box returned to your pocket and in exchange you pulled out an old lighter, scuffed and all, but hey it still worked. You put the cigarette in its rightful spot between your lips and cupped a hand around it, impatiently getting to work on firing up the lighter.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Nightwing piped, tilting his head.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you muttered, eyebrows scrunching in frustration. No matter how many times you flicked it the lighter just wouldn’t cooperate and your poor thumb was suffering the consequences. “We’re not exactly friends.”

Finally, a small flame flickered out with a hiss and you lit the stick. You nearly moaned at the sensation of hot smoke filling your lungs, and you tilted your head back to blow it all out.

“Ouch,” he drawled, drawing himself up to full height with a small groan.

Adult, male, possibly in his thirties?

Your mind got to work on assessing the man before you, running your eyes up and down his figure. You’ve done it a hundred times before in a desperate attempt to figure out the man before you. Just who exactly was under the mask? The one that haunted you even in your dreams.

Clearly he worked out if the toned muscles straining against his suit said anything. In all areas, you realized. Arms, legs, thighs…

“My eyes are up here sweetheart,” The very man you were ogling said, two fingers pointing at his own. You quickly inhaled and the nicotine went down the wrong pipe, causing you to hysterically cough with red hot cheeks. You desperately attempted to ignore the deep chuckle you heard, and only came back to reality when your cigarette was plucked from in between your fingers. “Enough of that. These things can kill you, you know?”

You scoffed, awkwardly clearing your throat after. “Didn’t know you were as certified in medicine as you are with the law.”

Nightwing laughed once more, opening his mouth to speak when a hand clapped you on the shoulder. You jumped with a swear, swatting your laughing partner in the shoulder. “Jesus, Dave! How many times have I told you to knock that off?”

“Now is that any way to treat your comrade in front of our resident celebrity?” Dave chuckled, brushing his blonde hair back with his other hand and flashing Nightwing a grin.

Dave, your assigned partner, was a lot more fond of the vigilante than you were. You remembered all the headaches you got from just how much the blonde sang the other praises back at the station. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a puppy crush on the hero.

Nightwing smiled back, though you noted that it was somewhat strained. The thought caused you to raise an eyebrow. The man in black and blue loved attention from what you could remember, basking in the crowds that surrounded him in the daylight hours. So what made him so shy now? “You flatter me, sir. It’s all simply in a day’s work.”

Dave beamed at the attention. “And we are forever grateful for it. Now, if you don’t mind, me and my partner need to get back to the station.” He threw his arm around you, turning his head to you and ignoring the burning stare at the side of his head. “Clean-up crew just arrived. We just need to head back to the station for a quick statement and then we can handle the rest in the morning.”

“Thank god,” you muttered, and without looking back at Nightwing you turned and walked back to your cruiser with your partner beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

. . .

Dick couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realized he loved you.

Maybe it was when he first started his activities in Bludhaven as Nightwing. The first night he ran into you he could remember the loud sigh of irritation you let out after evaluating him, clearly not a fan like he would have thought. Not to toot his own horn or anything…

It was just nice to not be thrown at for once, his reputation following him from one grim city to the next. He was used to endless praise and claims that he could do no wrong, people frothing at the mouth not just for Nightwing but the esteemed Richard John Grayson, adopted son of the legendary Bruce Wayne.

Or maybe he realized when he first met out outside of his persona. His first day on the police force, fresh out of the academy and in desperate need of his first paycheck for rent (he refused to rely on Bruce’s money once he moved out, no matter how much it pained him to do so…). His supervisor, an older man named Patrick, was giving him a tour of the station.

It wasn’t until he heard yelling from across the room that he first laid eyes on you outside of his alter ego. You were furious, absolutely furious from what he could tell. Your victim? A poor newbie, just like him, sitting down in front of you with her hands folded in her lap and head tilted down in shame.

“-have any idea what could have happened!” He caught, pausing in his stroll and focussing all his attention on you. “What if he didn’t miss? What if our robber wasn’t such a shit shot and the bullet hit you?”

“I-I just,” the woman mumbled, twiddling her thumbs and shying back from you. “I just thought that it would be better if it was me who got hit instead of you!”

If you were furious before, you were absolutely hysterical now. “Listen here! My life is no more important than yours. Got it? What you did wasn’t brave, it was stupid. You have a family to get back home to. People who need you outside of these walls. You can’t be there for them if you’re dead on the street you hear me?”

The woman before you mumbled something, and upon you yelling at her to repeat finally lifted her head up and firmly said, “I understand!”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and stepping back. “Good, good. From here on out I don’t ever want to see you pull some shit like that again, okay? Everyone’s life matters here, I don’t care about you being brave. I care if you get back home.”

Despite being teary eyed, the woman gave you a watery smile as she nodded. It was clear she was touched by how much a superior seemed to care.

Said superior, upon realizing that everyone in the main office was staring, snapped. “Get back to work!”

As if she was talking to him personally Dick snapped up straight, turned his head, and continued following his assigned officer.

“Don’t mind them,” he said, patting Dick on the shoulder with a smile. “They look scary but they really just care too much. You’ll learn the longer you stay here.”

Dick desperately hoped so, his heart racing as he attempted to peek over his shoulder to get just another glance of you. He couldn’t. So, he decided to put his own investigative skills to work.

Detective [First Name] [Last Name], partner of Detective Dave Richards. You’ve been on the force for nearly five years, three in Star City and now two in Bludhaven. You had no partner to go back home to, but you did have a cat. The rest of your family stayed behind in Star City, but you still contacted them frequently.

He wondered if they were proud of you.

A multiple award winning investigator for the good work you did.

An exemplary member of the Bludhaven Police Force…but withdrawn in every social aspect of the work he quickly learned.

You hated speaking to news outlets. You were too blunt and weren’t good at sugar coating the nitty gritty details of public cases. You hated being on camera. Your smile would be just a bit too big and strained to convince anyone that it was natural. You especially hated the parties the station would throw every once in a while to ‘enforce comradery’. He could always find you in the very back corner of the main room, fidgeting with a cup of alcohol he knew you had no desire to drink.

Like now.

The party was in full swing, a celebration for another one of Penguin’s plans to sink his teeth into Bludhaven foiled. It was a group effort on everyone's part, and the chief wanted to emphasize that fact through the gathering.

Dick, personally, didn’t mind these events. Being a Wayne he’s had more than his fair share of galas and charities, this was easy compared to that.

Or, it should have been.

“You’re not subtle my boy,” Patrick muttered to him, and Dick’s gaze snapped from you to the older man with flushed cheeks.

“If you ask me I’m not being obvious enough,” Dick pouted, taking another sip from his cup. While not normally a fan of drinking he relished in the burn down his throat.

“You’re staring them down like a creep,” Patrick pointed out, watching some officers play a miserable game of charades. Half the players were too drunk to comprehend anything and the other half were chatting it up with one another instead of participating. “You need to get some guts and just walk up to em.”

“I have guts,” Dick muttered, redirecting his attention over to you. You were now flipping through your phone, paying the party and its people no mind. Most likely going through various spare care files and the like. You were a workaholic like that, never allowing your mind to fully rest.

Dick could think of a few ways to empty that mind of yours and get you to finally relax…

Patrick scoffed. “Sure, kid, sure.”

“I do! Watch, you’ll see, I’ll charm them right here, right now.”

He tilted his head back, downing the rest of his drink for liquid courage. Slight regret stewed within him when he tried walking afterwards, tilting left then right, but he didn’t care. No, all his attention was zeroed in on you. Beautiful you.

The light of your phone lit up your face in the dark corner, and even from across the room Dick could see how it accentuated your features. Your (e/c) eyes, accessorized by the dark eyebacks underneath. Your chapped lips that you had a habit of picking, but were probably still oh so soft. Physical traits that most would see as a flaw, yet Dick couldn’t help but adore.

He was half way across the room, currently trying to wobble his way around a desk, when he caught sight of his nemesis in the corner of his eye. Heading in the same direction as him.

Dave.

Fucking Dave.

Dick had no qualms against Dave, no in fact he slightly admired the man’s constant positive attitude. He was so vastly different from you in every way, his light never dimming despite the constant emotional hardships that came with the job. It was almost hard to believe that you two made such great partners.

But like the old saying goes, ‘opposites attract’...

Not if Dick had anything to do about it.

It was ridiculous. Utterly pathetic and ridiculous, this one sided beef that he had with a man who was completely oblivious to it. For crying out loud, he was pretty sure Dave didn’t know Dick existed at all!

But all was fair in love and war. And Dick was deeply in love and refused to back down.

So he picked up the pace, swerving past various paper stacked desks and ignoring multiple attempts at others trying to converse with him. He cursed his natural charisma at just how many tried, his popularity within the station showing at the wrong time. Every so often he glanced in Dave’s direction, gauging just how close the man was getting to you, and would speed up his walk in a desperate attempt to get to you first.

The distance between you both was quickly closing, and against his better judgment Dick walked faster. He was nearly jogging at this point, gaining multiple looks for it, but he couldn't care less. All that mattered was getting to you.

He was about to declare victory, only mere steps away from you when tragedy befell him. He should have known that he wasn’t that blessed, not with his history.

Dick tripped on his own foot.

Dick Grayson, an ex-flying Grayson, the renowned and agile hero Nightwing, tripped on his own foot in front of the love of his life.

All he could think on his way down was gods, any out of the dozen he’s faced, please smite me.

An exploding pain in his face was all he could register next, ranging from his forehead down to his nose and then his chin. All in sweltering pain and suffering from some minute form of rugburn.

Yeah, not his finest moment.

“Christ, are you okay?” A sweet voice asked above him, and it took Dick a minute to realize it was your sweet voice that asked him.

Unfortunately for him, all that came out when he tried to respond was a pained moan.

“Wow, you really ate it there huh, dude,” Dave’s irritating voice piped up next, before a set of arms lifted him from under his own.

The world was tilting on its axis and everything was far blurrier than it should be. Everything had a double of itself, and while Dick wouldn’t mind two of you, he knew that was bad. Even worse, there were two of Dave when the man leaned over to get a look at his face and winced. “Damn, that’s sure gonna leave a mark.”

“Way to make him feel better,” you rolled your eyes, finally pocketing your phone and looking up at Dick with sympathy. “Seriously, are you okay? We can check to see if the station nurse is anywhere around here.”

“I got him,” Patrick's voice piped up from behind him, and Dick thanked whatever god was out there that instead of smiting him, they sent a literal angel to help him. The older man’s arms took over for Dave, wrapping around his waist and throwing his arm over his shoulder. “I think it’s about time he went home anyways. He’ll have one hell of a hangover. Detectives.” Patrick gave a nod of farewell and before Dick could embarrass himself any more turned them away and walked them out to the exit.

God, Dick was such an idiot…

. . .

The next time Dick saw you was only a few days later, barely recovering from the scene he made at the party.

He did everything he could to avoid you at the station, and it seemed to work in his favor. You were still assigned on the mass Penguin case, and Dick himself was still limited to city patrol and parking tickets. Suffice to say it created the perfect schedule of avoidance for him.

On the downside, he missed you oh so much. Which is why when on his patrol as Nightwing he quite literally jumped at the chance to see you once more.

It was nearly midnight, funny how that seemed to be his ideal time to talk with you. You were just leaving the police station, shoulders sagged in exhaustion and eyes bleary. All you wanted to do was go home, shower, and snuggle with Lady Puursephone.

A familiar set of feet landing behind you, however, proved that it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Awfully late for you to be going home,” Nightwing spoke, mock sympathy pouring from him.

You rolled your eyes and refused to look back at him, continuing on your way to your apartment. You prayed that he would get the hint and go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, but when did the universe ever do what you want? Instead he jogged up beside you, arms lazily folded behind his head. Thankfully, he decided not to speak any further than that.

Bludhaven, despite its massive rise in crime as of late, was actually quite nice at night. It, like Gotham, was a city that never sleeps, but sometimes you got lucky and managed to walk home with little to no crowds to slow you down. The moon, dim as it was, fought to shine against the pollution clouding the sky and if you squinted really closely, you could just barely make out the stars in the night sky.

The two of you turned a corner, silence still encircling you, when you recognized an itch in your throat. Knowing exactly what you craved you stuck your hands in your pocket, pulling out a small box. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Nightwing scowl. 

“Why are you so into smoking now? You never did it before,” he huffed, glaring as you stuck the stick in between your lips and whipped out your lighter.

You shrugged. “Dave lent me one a few weeks ago to help me relax. Guess I just got hooked like everyone else.” Distantly, you could hear him grumble something that sounded awfully like ‘of course it was him’ and you turned to look at him inquisitively. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head and kicked a rock in his path. It reminded you of something a child would do. “It just seems like you and him are awfully close.”

“Of course we are. He’s my partner.”

“Yeah, I bet he would like to be more.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stopping and turning to look at him. You coughed slightly, still not quite used to all the pungent fumes that came with smoking.

Nightwing continued on a few more steps before he stopped, sighed, and looked at you with crossed arms. “I’m just saying I know guys. They act all friendly and act like they have your best interest at heart, when all they really want is to…you know.”

You glared at him. “No, I don’t. And even if I did it would be very unprofessional of you to suggest.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What, so just because you’re the city’s self-proclaimed savior you have to act like mine too?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! I just…” He sighed, running his hands down his face but then wincing. “Ouch!”

Alarm bells rang throughout your body, and before you knew it you tossed your cigarette to the ground and rushed over to him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? You idiot, why are you talking with me instead of getting treated?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waved off, backing away from you. But you were persistent, and with every step backwards you took one forward. The two of you continued this dance until Nightwing found himself with his back to a nearby brick wall of a building. It was rough and uncomfortable against his suit, but he couldn’t help but press into it when you stopped right in front of him.

“Show me,” you demanded, and for a second he could feel his legs wobble at the authority in your voice. You were so close he could smell not just tobacco, but your natural underlying scent. He could see every lovely feature you had up close, and for a second his eyes betrayed him and flickered to your lips. When you saw him hesitate you let out a huff, grabbing his wrists and pulling them off his face with little effort. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned his face, noting the scratches and what looked to be friction burns on his face. “What even happened?”

“I, uh…” Nightwing began, looking everywhere but your eyes as red slowly began to creep into his face. He whispered something, and when you dared to move closer he finally blurted, “I tripped!”

You blinked once, twice, thrice. “You what?”

If his face wasn’t red before, it was completely beat now. “I tripped.”

You went quiet for a few moments, staring him down as if you were searching for a lie, and when you found none you finally backed up. “Moron.”

Nightwing balked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” was all you said, before resuming your walk to your apartment.

His jaw dropped, staring at your figure, before running up beside you once more. “Uh, rude! I could have done it saving someone you know! This could be a battle mark!”

“Uh-huh, and is it?”

“Well, no, but that’s not the point!”

At that you let out a small laugh, and he nearly tripped over his own feet (again) at the sound. He stared at you for a few moments, before a victorious grin overtook his face. “You laughed.”

“What,” you questioned, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

“You laughed! Just now. You never laugh!”

“I do, you just never gave me a reason to.”

“Oh, so it's my misery you find joy in.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You bickered back and forth, unaware of the time that passed as you did. You didn’t know it, but your heart felt lighter as you did. Despite the headache he’s given you so many times in the past, Nightwing was genuinely…dare you so fun to be around.

Before you knew it you arrived at the front entrance of your apartment building.

“Well, this is me,” you gestured.

Nightwing nodded. “That it is.”

Neither of you made a move, simply staring at the other. Mapping each other out, as if attempting to ingrain the other in your minds.

Eventually, though, you snapped out of your trance, turning to open the door before a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, and be careful from now on, Grayson. Wouldn’t want others catching onto you.”

And with that you shut the door in his face, ignoring the wide eye stare burning into your back.

“Dude, you need to chill,” Tim hissed, ignoring the sharp glare that his older brother threw him. He knew he was right, though, unfortunately. Ever the genius Drake was (note the sarcasm). It was a miracle that your partner’s head didn’t implode at the sheer hatred Jason’s gaze held, the gaze he directed at them the entire gala.

It was another one of Bruce’s charities, the same old presentation and same old show that Jason and his brothers were forced to attend. All for the sake of appearance. For the sake of “duty” to the city.

What a load of shit.

Jason saw it for what it truly was. A pissing contest among the socialites of Gotham to see who could suck up to billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne and kids the most. An unspoken contest for the rich to see who would give up the most money for the poor and unfortunate souls of the city. Not out of pure generosity, oh no never that, but for the publicity of it. To see who’s face would be blasted on the front cover of the Gotham Gazette the next morning, praised to hell and back for their “heartfelt” donation. A ray of so-called sunshine in the gruesome city.

He couldn’t stand it.

The only thing that ever made these events tolerable was you. His partner in crime, his confidant, his paradise in his life of purgatory. To others there was nothing special about you. You were no metahuman, no vigilante nor prized side-kick. Just an average civilian, but that was what made you so special to Jason. How painfully average you were in the city of chaos and destruction. In a world where normalcy was a privilege, and somehow, someway, he was lucky enough to get a taste of it through you. The full-time cashier at his favorite bookstore.

Your first time meeting him wasn’t anything special. No little meet cute where you stumbled into him, books collapsing to the floor and stammering apologies. He didn’t give you a charming smile, not that he was even capable of one, and kneel to the floor with you to help.

No, all he did was checkout. That’s it. That’s all. Yet, it was something about how you looked at him. Not as the son of Bruce Wayne, not as a victim with all the visible scars on his face, or maybe even some delinquent, no…you just looked at him. Like he was some normal guy on the street you would never think about ever again. You scanned his books, “sucker for Austen I see?” you teased, bagged his items, and waved him goodbye before moving onto the next customer.

And he was hooked. Utterly and completely hooked.

The rest was history. He was bold enough to get your number the next time he managed to catch you on your shift and ever since then you two were attached to the hip. As he said before, partners in crime and his closest confidant. Movie nights were a weekly thing and your bookshop was your unspoken hangout whenever you had to work, much to your boss’s chagrin. These charity galas were supposed to be yet another place you two could stick together in, cheering to instead eat the rich.

It was instead supposed to be another step in his endeavor to become yours.

That’s right, yours, not the other way around. He would never dream of laying claim over you, no not ever, but god did he desperately wish to be yours. Everyone knew it…everyone but you. It was a miracle really how you had absolutely no clue, even when Jason didn’t even bother to hide how he looked at you like you hung the stars themselves. Alas, such was the price he had to pay for loving you.

A horrible, vile price.

The one time, the one damn time he couldn’t make it to hang around you during your shift. The one time out of a million he wasn’t there and someone had the audacity to ask you out. And you? Sweet, kind, charitable you of course wanted to give them a chance.

There wasn’t a single part of you he didn’t absolutely adore but damn, did you make your bleeding heart hard to keep loving at this moment.

“Mind your business,” Jason finally spat back, resuming his deathly gaze upon the one practically hanging off your arm. They could feel his eyes on them, he knew they could, the drop of cold-sweat he could see trailing down their temple was enough indication of so. They just didn’t have the balls to look back at him. Coward.

Tim scoffed, resuming his duty of scarfing down a plate of scones that he gathered. “I would if the probability of you committing murder wasn’t already high.”

“What’s this I hear about murder?” A cheerful voice echoed behind them, and Jason could feel his eye twitch at the immediate recognition. Dick, high off the waves of attention he had been getting during the event, threw his arm around Jason with a grin. It took every inch of Jason’s will to not throw him over his shoulder right then and there.

“Ted Bundy over here,” Tim gestured with a mouthful, “is one cheek kiss away from committing an atrocity.”

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, but when he followed Jason’s obvious stare he blew a low whistle and faked a wince. “Ouch, swooped right under your nose did they?”

“Shut up! They didn’t do anything! They’re a parasite is what they are,” Jason snapped, finally having enough of Dick’s touch and smacking his arm off. 

“A parasite getting some serious love,” Dick pointed out, and Jason’s head snapped back over to watch you peck said parasite on the lips with a grin, laughing at something they whispered in your ear with a…was that a blush?

The small crack in his heart steadily grew and Jason huffed as he stomped off. To where? He didn’t know, but anywhere where he didn’t have to see that insect hogging you was better.

That’s how he found himself out on a balcony, staring up at the starry night sky with baited breath. Would this be like the books he read? Would you notice his absence? Come rushing out to see what was wrong, where he would confess his undying love for you and sweep you off your feet. Steal you away from them?

It would be wrong of him. You looked…happy. He hated to say it, but you did. As much as he wanted to deny it you were smiling like the sun itself with your partner, eyes looking at them like you utterly adored them already. It wouldn’t be right of him to butt into that.

But…the thing about Jason was whether he liked it or not he was selfish. Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he been through enough? Wasn’t it his turn to finally be happy?