To Fly With A Flock, Once More

Something was up with Dick.

Barbara was certain of it. He was still doing everything he should be doing for his ‘normal’, but there was something odd. She just couldn’t tell exactly what. He was still bothering them all on patrol and on comms, he showed up to the occasional show of Damian’s for school or whatnot. He was still trying to be the family man in a family he had so obviously abandoned, and a family that obviously didn’t want him around. All seemed to be as it should be. Yet…

She had spent enough time around him to pick up on his tells. Or, at least, some of them. Less than she rightfully should be able to, if Barbara was being entirely honest. They’d known one another for years, worked as Batgirl and Robin together, not to mention dated one another, for many of those. Hell, at one point she considered marrying the idiot. It was…somewhat stinging to her pride that she couldn't notice more than a couple of his tells after all that time and proximity. Especially when she could read Bruce like a damn book. The Batman was obvious and easily interpreted, yet she couldn’t recognise what was wrong with Richard Grayson outside of ‘something’? Ridiculous, and vaguely insulting.

Whatever. The point was, something was strange with him at the moment. He was…quieter? No. Not as powerfully present. Say what you would about the man- and by God, did they all have a lot to criticise about him recently- but when he was in a moment, he was wholly there. Especially with his family and those he cared about. Or seemed to care about, at least.

Barbara let out an irritated sigh, and pushed away from the computer desk, rolling her chair over to her kitchenette to make a cup of tea, in hopes of calming her growing irritation.

She had been trying. She really had. But no matter which way she turned it over in her mind, she couldn’t look at the Spyral situation as anything but a raw, painful betrayal. She had mourned the loss of her first, and only, love for six months. Six months of feeling like a part of her had been snapped off, leaving a jagged edge that rubbed whenever she remembered. Then, he had showed up as if nothing had happened, as if she should be fucking proud of him, like it’s some great accomplishment to fake your own ****. Of all people, he should know better after Jason. She didn’t think that even one of the extended Batfamily had responded positively to Dick’s reappearance. Tim and Steph had shouted at him, Jason had actually attacked him, Cass hadn’t said a word to him and left instead, and Bruce hadn’t even acknowledged him beyond where it mattered on patrol. Then Barbara?

“Go fuck yourself, Richard”

She just couldn’t get over how much it had hurt her, that he wouldn’t have told her anything beforehand. His siblings and father, she could understand. But she thought, she and him…

“Ugh.” She simply groaned, then looked down at the cup of tea in her hand. Chamomile. Dick introduced her to it, used to call it his ‘Beast-taming tea’ for when she was mad. “Ugh.”

Why did it bother her so much that something was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve a little upset of his own after what he had pulled.

…fuck, she hated that bitchy part of herself. And right then? She also hated remembering how good he had been for helping her do better than that part of herself. Damnit.

—

Harley whistled as she skipped and jumped across the rooftops, shopping bag in hand. Her pigtails bounced merrily as she casually risked life and limb to prance down the hero’s highway, as if skipping over a 30ft drop was no big deal.

She was doing great these days, honestly!

She had finally wised up and dropped Mister J- Joker, that is. Ivy had thrown a whole little anti-villain party for her and everything. Red was real sweet like that sometimes. Then, Harley had managed to get her shit together enough to stop basically all of her crimes as well. She still did the occasional shoplift, or something minor like that, but nothing big enough to show on the radar of the Bats. Also, it was usually because she actually needed food, and didn’t have the cash spare for it, truth be told.

She had moved to Bludhaven too. Turns out, for whatever reason, fewer of the nasty Gotham big-shots showed their faces out in the sister-city. Word on the street said that it was because the Big Bad Bat was over in Gotham, so the real Rogues went and bothered him over there for the fame and fortune. Personally? Harley thought it was Bird-brain- Nightwing, that is. It was just him over here, these days, and she thought that some of the old Villain crew were frightened of him. Kid had been doing this job longer than she had, and he was faster than Bats had ever been. She would know. Didn’t hit half as hard, usually, but didn’t need to when he was that damn fast.

Anywhos, sure, she struggled sometimes with the crazies trying to overwhelm her brain again, and yeah, there was those times that all she could do to stop herself from doing more crime was to ball herself up in the middle of her shitty little one-bed flat and cry and talk to herself like the fucking schizo’ she was, but hey! She was doing way better than she ever had with Joker. “That’s gotta count for something, amirite? Oops, I said that aloud again.”

She giggled slightly, amused at her own slip, then leapt into a cartwheel over the current rooftop, and used a hand-stand to spring across the larger gap between this one and the next. She stood with a flourish after landing, taking a theatrical bow with her eyes closed to either side and then clapped a couple times to herself in excitement. Excitement which was swiftly and sharply cut off by the sight of the town’s one and only true resident Bat-hero.

It seemed almost as if he hadn’t noticed her, at first. He was stood, balancing on the very edge of the rooftop they were on, as if it were some kind of tightrope or something. His eyes, er, mask-lenses were closed, and every time that gentle breeze made her skirt flurry up gently, he would sway just enough to make her heart leap into her throat. He swayed once more, and she took a panicked half-step forward, gravel crunching almost imperceptibly beneath her boot.

Nightwing’s lenses snapped open, and he said “Nice night, right Quinn?”, but it was all wrong. It lacked that iconic Robin tone. She had known as soon as she saw him the first time that Nightwing used to be Robin, purely from that endlessly joking tone, so very different in his humour to the Joker. Never laughing at his own jokes, never using them as a barbed attack. Nightwing’s jokes were always made as if he wanted nothing more than to extend a helping hand to his opponents, even though nobody had ever taken that hand.

Now though? That tone was just wrong. It was dull, dead, dusty, something else beginning with a D. She hated it, and, well, she wouldn’t admit it, but it frightened the bejeesus out of her to hear that coming from the friendliest foe she’d ever fought. It also sent the old part of her brain, the part she had been slowly trying to unearth, the part that was buried beneath over a decade of that damn clown’s laughter, absolutely screeching with code red alarm bells. She warily replied, “Uhhh, I guess so? Whatcha doing there, bird-brain? Ain’tcha got some crime to be stoppin’?”

“Hm.” Nightwing replied, that strangely devoid tone overpoweringly strong, “I suppose. Probably.”

Hoo boy, it sure was reassuring how he leapt into action there. Those alarm bells were starting to scream a Code Red at her, just like when she worked in the Asylum. Really gave her mixed feelings, actually. On the one hand, it was fucking amazing to actually feel that part of her, the intelligent and emotionally-savvy part, waking up and joining in again. On the other, why couldn't it have been literally any other hero? Well, maybe not Batman either, actually, but she woulda happily took one of the baby Bats instead!

“Ya not gonna go and, y'know, stop them?” She asked, already knowing the answer, but also knowing that communication was key here, even small talk.

“Hm.” He responded again, and she was starting to dislike that noise. It was dead and short and- that was it. Clipped. Like how people clip birds’s wings. Totally wrong for Bird-brain. He continued,“Nothing too bad’s happening tonight. Nobody’ll miss me being around.”

Oh like hell was she going to ignore that little slip. Nope, none of that, “Listen Nighty, can ya come over here if you're gonna keep talking the crazy talk? It's more comfy than that ledge, honest.”

He paused midway through one of his supposed ‘wind’ sways, and slowly looked over at her. It was hard to tell because of the featureless white lenses, but Harley reckoned he was doing that looking-without-seeing thing that people sometimes did. Gave her the creeps-

She jumped forward and crossed half the distance between them in two steps by the time Nightwing blinked a few times, and looked down to where he was balancing with one foot over the ledge. Very slowly, he placed it down flat, solidly on the ground, and raised his face to her own. His lips started to curl into a smile, but it couldn't have been more obviously false to the ex-psychiatrist at that moment.

Harley raised an eyebrow, and eloquently said “Nuh-uh.” Then, when the smiling mask that kind of made her want to hurl was in place, he breathed in and opened his mouth to speak, only for her to place a hand on his upper arm and interrupt before he could, “I said no, Nightwing. It ain't gonna work on me.”

He looked her in the eyes again, seemingly searching for something. Whatever it was, whether he found it or not, all of the hero's energy seemed to drain away with a weak nod, and he let himself be led over to where she was talking about before, right in the middle of the rooftop.

She sat down after him, then immediately winced, and glanced over, “I don't suppose ya got some pillows in that nice suit ah your's?”

That, at least, broke a small smile from him, even in the clear struggles, “Nope. Unless you want to try and use a inflatable life vest as a pillow, you're shit outta luck, I think.”

She giggled at that, clearly imagining it, then cleared her throat. She demurely crossed her legs, placed her hands together on her laps, straightened her back, and looked at her impromptu patient, “So, Mr Nightwing, what can Doctor Quinzel do for you today?”