Chapter Five

Barbara sighed, running a hand over her face as she stared at the screen. Batman had come back and filed the report about the encounter with Di- Nightwing. Very clear, concise, tidy. Barbara should love it.

She hated it, though. What it reported, the thought that Nightwing- no, that Dick would ever turn off his commlink and tracker intentionally for long periods… that was something she expected from Hood. Jason didn't like the attention or the surveillance, nevermind that she could follow him 80% of the time anyway if she applied herself.

But Dick? Dick was the reason Jason had one at all, and Steph, and Cass, and- hell, even she had one because he'd asked nicely, and she was in a fucking wheelchair, for Christ's sake. So what could possibly make him feel like that was warranted?

That was the question she'd asked herself before starting this apparent nightmare of a search through Nightwing's recent data. Or, more accurately, the lack thereof. Shoddily recorded times of operation, unclear reports on numbers of arrests, almost no details on criminal injuries, and absolutely nothing on injuries sustained in combat. It was such awful logging that Barbara had actually gone to double check if she'd opened Red Hood’s file instead by accident. Nope, definitely Nightwing's.

What the hell was wrong with Dick recently?

—

Harley sat on the edge of a rooftop where she'd started to expect to meet Nightwing. Nothing official, on either side, but a spot that they tended to cross paths. Once he'd realised she wasn't stopping, and she'd actually helped him out, the pair had started being cooperative- very, very slightly cooperative, but hey! She'd take what she got.

‘least, that was the case when he showed up. She couldn't work out his routine, no matter how she tried. It seemed random, even to her. Oh, sure, some of that was gonna be intentional to confuse crooks- or ex-crooks like herself- but some of it simply seemed…self-destructive? She was familiar enough with that to see signs, but she also didn't know if there might've been any other reasons for it.

She huffed and leaned back slightly as a drop of water bounced off her nose. The city was stormy tonight. Occasional distant flashes of lightning, a low rumble of thunder fading in and out, and some of the heaviest rain she'd seen in weeks.

Harley had been throwin’ her brain at the puzzle, but just couldn't work it out. Nonetheless, she'd definitely noticed the pattern by now. Nightwing avoided rainy nights. All the times it'd rained so far, since she started helpin’ out, she'd seen the kid running around for an hour or two, and then he'd vanish.

Still didn't know where his little nest was, mind ya. She was good at tracking, but that kid was like a damned ninja when he really didn't want following. She reckoned it was somewhere on the east side of central, but no way to know.

Question was, now, does she stay and wait for him, or-

She paused as a little jingle played from somewhere. After several moments of searching, she found a little burner phone taped to the underside of the ledge that Bird-brain usually crouched on. Uncertainly, she pressed the answer button.

“...hello?” She asked tentatively.

Nightwing's voice came through, clear and warm and…worried? “Quinn? Good, you found it.”

“Bird-brain? Whatcha callin’ a burner for? Ya coulda just asked for my number, y'know.”

He chuckled, a low and warm sound that felt like freshly baked cookies, “I suppose I could have.”

“Damn straight.”

He chuckled again, then went quiet for a moment. Just as she was about to ask what was wrong, his voice came through again, “I really probably shouldn’t be doing this, but- Can I ask a favour? Can, uh, can you go and patrol tonight, Quinn? Alone? I just-”

She has no idea why, but she wasn't exactly gonna say no to the chance for gaining trust, “‘Course ya can! I been sayin’ I'm here to help, ain't I? You do what you gotta do, whatever super secret mission ya on, and I'll tell you what I get up to. M‘kay?”

And holy fuck, that was a lot of relief in his voice. What the hell was up with this kid and rain? “Thank you. If you press the recall button on the burner when you're done, it'll come through to me, so you can report. I trust you to call if it goes to shit. Thanks Harls, it means a lot to me.”

The line clicked and went dead. Harley hardly noticed. He trusted her. It meant a lot to him. When had anyone last trusted her? Heck, when did she last trust herself?

The criminals of the Haven that night would later comment on the uncharacteristic seriousness of the crazy blonde that beat the collective daylights out of them, as well as the unusually persistent and sane smile on her face.

—

Donna checked her phone again, her face twisting into a grimace at the familiar empty notification bar. It had been far too long since Dick had spoken to her, and she couldn't shake that weird discomfort nestled between her shoulder blades. It just felt…

She couldn't pin it down, but it wasn't right. Dick didn't let anything stop him from talking to the ones he cared for, never. Or, at least, so she would have thought. But than again, he let everyone think he was dead for six months, so maybe that had changed. Maybe he had changed.

She grabbed her hand from where her fingers had started unconsciously fiddling with the lasso at her hip. A tic she'd picked up, courtesy of her powers, whenever she thought about a lie. Usually very useful in identifying half-truths, yet entirely unnecessary here. She knew Dick had not changed to that degree, in truth. She just didn't understand what else could have made him stop contact.

Dick Grayson would never, unless ****. And that would require coercing Nightwing, which was a Herculean task as far as the Villain community was concerned. She recalled the time that he had worked alongside her again, after the original Titans team had disbanded. One of his city's ‘Rogue Gallery' had shown up, an older gentleman, some form of mob boss named Penguin, and Dick had been really upset for some reason. No, not upset. He had been infuriated at something.

She had landed through the skylight in all her demi-godly glory, expecting the non-meta gangsters to surrender when they understood how far out of their depth they truly were against someone such as her. Instead, they had opened fire, and actually succeeded in assaulting her with enough high quality explosives that she was **** to take cover. But then…

The lights had gone out, one by one in rapid succession, a light tinkling heard from each as some kind of metal dropped to the ground alongside the glass. The leader, the Penguin, had laughed for some reason, and called out “Bats? Come on out and play in the light already! We know all your tricks.” in one of the most irritating British accents that Donna had ever had the misfortune of being subjected to.

She still didn't know exactly what happened in that darkness, because Dick refused to tell her. All she knew was that his voice had drifted from the darkness all around, speaking humorous words in a bantering tone, “Wrong hero, Cobblepot. Wanna phone a friend?”

And yet, instantly, she had felt the air shift, the tension that suddenly rose in the room. All men here had expected the Batman. Instead, “Nightwing? Did the big bad bat not have time, or summin’?”

His response was meeting banter with banter, and yet the air had trembled slightly with fear. She never worked out exactly what Nightwing did, as the fight swiftly distracted her, but Penguin had gone home quietly that night, even swapping jokes with Nightwing as he entered the police custody van, and Dick had taken her for a drink of her favourite wine with an easygoing smile.

Donna grimaced again, realising she'd gone down memory lane. Long story short, Nightwing's enemies would joke and smile with him as if they were old friends, whilst shaking in their boots for some reason. It truly confused her, since many of them more often than not behaved as if they didn't truly wish to fight the man, or desired some form of true friendship instead.

Nonetheless, she needed to do something, anything, about this. She stared at the phone again, and a half-measure came to her. Maybe one she would regret later, but it was one she was choosing now.

>Donna Troy: Hello, have you heard from Richard recently?

>Zatanna: Donna?
>Zatanna: No, I haven’t.
>Zatanna: Why, is there something wrong?