Chapter Text
God, Dick was tired.
He wasn’t at the stage of exhaustion that came from too many days pushing through on too little sleep, not yet, but he dearly wanted a nap. And some coffee. Maybe some of Alfred’s chicken soup.
He felt the scratch start in his throat, and couldn’t hold back the cough that seized his chest. He turned and curled, buried his head in against his arm and body to contain the germs… not that there was likely anyone left in the precinct who hadn’t caught that godforsaken two day flu, or whatever they were calling it now. He’d be miserable for part of a day, sleep it off, and be fine, if a little weak, he supposed. The cough might linger for a few days, but everyone else had improved after a good solid day of sleep.
He’d managed not to get sick until now, but with pulling extra shifts for everyone else on top of his own nighttime activities, it was bound to have caught up with him eventually.
He’d just finish up these last reports, down a few water bottles, maybe even take something for the headache he’d just realized had been growing steadily worse all morning, and as soon as shift was over, catch as much sleep as he could before a short patrol tonight. He needed as much rest as he could get so that he wouldn’t be off his game when they took down that group of gunrunners tomorrow night. They’d been planning this for too long, and any delay, now, could be disastrous. He wasn’t going to let Vasilyev bring in another shipment if there was any way he could help it.
A crinkly plastic bag from a local pharmacy slammed onto his desk in front of him. “Go home, Grayson.”
He looked up. He hadn’t even heard Amy approach. “It’s not that bad, Captain.”
“Home, Rookie. That’s an order. You covered for everyone else while they were sick. It’s your turn. Almost everyone is back to work. We’ll manage without you for the rest of today and tomorrow. Consider it a long weekend, as of now.” She slid a mug of steaming tea across the desk as well. “Once you finish this, I better not see you again until Monday morning. Understood?”
It was as bad as trying to argue with Alfred. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been a rookie for years, now, just as it didn’t matter that she wasn’t even ten years older than he was. She’d make sure he took care of himself even when he didn’t think he needed it, yet.
“Thanks, mom,” he whispered, smirking and raising his mug in salute.
An hour later, he grabbed a few water bottles from the kitchen and dumped them and the plastic bag on his nightstand. He slipped off his dress shoes and haphazardly draped his uniform over the chair. He secured his badge and sidearm and dropped onto the bed, still wearing his socks. He dragged the blankets over his head and was asleep in moments.
Next thing he knew, it was almost 10pm. He sat up, stretched, cracked his neck, and downed one of the water bottles. Better than before, but he was still dead tired. And the headache was back. Maybe it hadn’t gone away. He couldn’t tell. Oh well. He’d patrolled with worse. A quick round of some of the hotspots in town, and check in with Babs to see if anything had changed for tomorrow night, and he’d head back to bed. He had this...
...Oh god, he didn’t have this. He woke up early the next morning, wracked with chills and trying, unsuccessfully, to hack up a lung. He wanted another blanket, but it was too much effort to go to the closet for one. He curled up, shivering, trying to sleep, but never quite able because of the cold and the coughing.
He must have dozed at some point, because he realized he was awake again. And he had to pee. He groaned and dragged his sorry self to the bathroom. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and wished he hadn’t. Shouldn’t he be almost over this by now? Sure they were calling it a 2 day flu, and he’d gone out the night before, but it had been a short patrol. Almost everyone else he’d known had felt better somewhere between 12 and 18 hours later.
He should have been better after sleeping yesterday afternoon and last night. It was over 18 hours now since he’d first realized he was sick.
He was so tired, though. He needed more sleep.
He stumbled across the room, snagging an extra blanket out of the closet on the way, and collapsed back onto his bed. Maybe he’d take whatever wonder drugs Amy had sent. The cough was definitely making it hard to sleep, so maybe that was why he still didn’t feel all that great. He still had a little over twelve hours before he had to be in Gotham. He’d take something and sleep some more.
He felt kinda crappy right now, but he had this...
...probably.
~*~
“Wind speed's picking up. Cloud cover should hold steady for the next 20 minutes, but it's going to clear.”
Oracle checked the little blips showing everyone’s locations. She saw Batman’s marker on the roof of a building near a warehouse. It wasn’t as close to the action as he preferred, but there were limited positions to choose from.
She heard his grunt of acknowledgment over the comms. Definitely annoyed. Other near silent replies let her know everyone else had heard her updated information. She ran over the other positions in her head. Batgirl and Black Bat were absent; Steph had finals coming up, so she was on call in case anything went down elsewhere in the city while they were busy, and Cass remained in Hong Kong for the rest of the week. Red Robin was in one of the small boats moored to the pier, ready to give warning of reinforcements or block an escape by water; a sprained ankle had sidelined him the previous week, but Alfred had given him clearance to help in a limited capacity.
Red Hood and Robin moved from shadow to shadow on the pier, a physical confirmation of their intel. They placed tracking devices on as many of the stacked crates as they could manage so they could retrieve them, afterwards. Babs spared another glance for Red Hood’s blip. She had a hunch he had something to do with Batman’s mood, too, though she could only guess why. Well, she could always snoop a bit and watch the footage from the cave, but that was a last resort. If she was patient and listened, she was sure she’d figure it out soon enough.
She didn't have to look to know Nightwing’s position. She knew he was in the shadows on the roof of the warehouse itself. He'd made a few comments over the comms earlier in the evening, bellyaching about the cold but openly thankful it wasn't raining like earlier in the week. He’d kept up a whispered flood of random chatter until the Red Hood had told him in no uncertain terms exactly what he could do with his chitchat.
“Language, Hood.”
“Fifteen for the swear jar,” Alfred chimed in from the cave. Babs smiled at the reminder of Bruce and Jason’s ongoing contest. Alfred refereed and kept their swear jar in plain sight in the cave.
But even Nightwing’s endless stream of jokes and flirting trickled to a halt as they all waited for their chance to eliminate this one threat, at least.
She didn’t see anything out of place with their positioning, but she still hoped the cloud cover would remain as long as possible. They’d observed the head of the Vasiliev crime family for months and this was the final transaction of a sizable arms shipment. The plan was to get ironclad evidence he was buying and re-selling illegal weapons, capture him quietly after he left, and follow the crates of guns to their future buyers.
But Vasiliev was uncharacteristically late. It was yet another complication that could derail weeks of work, especially if the action went down in full moonlight. Maybe that was why Batman was ill-tempered tonight. He didn’t have direct control over the multitude of variables. She couldn’t blame him for getting his bat briefs in a twist over that.
The air was silent and tense - expectant. There was no serenity or peace in this night. And she knew of each of these boys, men. The waiting was getting to them, too, even if they didn’t show it. Even from her distance, the anxious hush grated on her nerves. Extra caffeine from the week of stakeouts probably wasn't helping, either.
The next fifteen minutes was an hour to her, until a small fleet of trucks and vans converged on the waterfront. Vasiliev’s boat must have been watching and waiting close by, because Red Robin alerted them before she had a chance to give the update.
“Places, gentlemen…” She counted the series of clicks that came over the comms and nodded with a grim smile. They were ready.
A sleek motorboat glided to the pier and half a dozen armed men followed as Vasiliev approached the crates. Ten men stepped out of the shadows to meet him. She was miles away, but heard every word as the transaction concluded, thanks to the mics Red Hood and Robin had placed along with the tracers. All was going according to plan.
Until a moment later, when it wasn’t.
Oracle frowned as the mics picked up a clang and she watched everyone freeze and then jump into action.
“Fuck!” Not good. That was Red Hood. This wasn’t pre-operation joking around; their targets were in sight. A matter of keystrokes and mouse clicks and voice commands activated even more monitors, and she had multiple birds eye views of the entire area. A shout summoned at least a score more goons from inside. Vasiliev’s men aimed their weapons at the other group but searched for outside targets as well.
This was not how they’d planned for this to go down, but the Bats still had the advantage in skill and training. Very few battle plans survived the first engagement. They had this. No reason to worry. They did this every night. Maybe Hood was winning this month’s bet and hadn’t cared about his language.
Red Hood remained hidden in the shadows, but the clouds were traitors, revealing the night sky. Robin was in motion, jumping for a stack of crates, cape trailing behind him, visible in the sudden moonlight. One of the henchmen pointed. She saw Batman’s blip approach out of the corner of her eye. She’d predicted that the moment things headed southish. It wasn’t a wash, yet, but it definitely wasn’t ideal. Still, they had some of the best training of any of the current costumed heroes; they’d get this creep.
Robin gained the relative safety of the darker shadows, but the goons knew they were there, now, and they were nervous. Shots rang out, but the gunmen fired, blind. It was time to end this. Everyone but Red Robin moved closer; readouts told her he had activated the boat’s trolling motor. He was ready for action while remaining hidden.
Oracle had a front row seat as it all went down.
She didn’t have to see them to know Red Hood and Robin were poised, readying themselves to take out as many of the thugs as possible in that first strike. She didn’t expect the harsh round of coughing that exploded in her ear.
Gunfire exploded again, seeking the source of the noise, and a dark cape swished to the ground like avenging angel wings shrouding the moon as two lesser shadows enveloped their share of the gunmen. A bare moment later, sleek night himself flew into the fray as well, taking out three men on his way to the ground.
Batman was in the middle of everything, using brute strength and power of will as Red Hood dropped back to pick off the more heavily armed men. Rubber bullets caromed off sensitive areas and knocked guns from hands all over the pier. Robin took out anyone who came near and Nightwing leapt everywhere, taking out multiple opponents at a time with flying kicks.
Oracle zoomed in on the incoming roads as they fought. She trusted them, trusted their skill and training. They knew what they were doing. She leaned closer to the monitor when Nightwing doubled over, coughing yet again. Okay, most of them knew what they were doing. She sent him a glare every bit as potent as their mentor’s. Robin and Red Hood covered for him while Batman took out anyone unlucky enough to come within his reach. Nightwing took a few deep breaths, waved them off, and continued the fight.
“Three headed back to the boat. One of them is Vasiliev. And more trucks incoming.”
Nightwing signaled he had them. He was the quickest, so it made sense, but Babs was still concerned. He took out the first man and then caught up to the second. The man pulled a pistol, but a kick and a few blows disarmed him and knocked him unconscious, though not before he got a round off.
“Stand clear!” Red Hood took cover as all hell broke loose.
Babs heard Red Hood through the comms and through the mics scattered around the waterfront. Automatic filters dimmed and muted audiovisual output when it exceeded pre-set parameters, so she scanned the monitors even as the crates exploded.
Apparently Red Hood had been carrying more than bullets in his jacket. He’d learn what a mistake he’d made in not keeping her informed. She’d lost two camera feeds in the explosion. Extreme heat had melted the housing on another, and it was stuck. It wouldn’t move enough to give her any useful data. But that was for later.
Batman pulled Robin beneath the shelter of his cape for the worst of the blast. None of the explosions should have been strong enough to be lethal, but they still had to keep an eye out for flying debris and for dangerous injuries among their opponents.
They were fine, but now that the explosions were dying down and the smoke was clearing, she heard Nightwing coughing and gasping even as he gave chase to the last of the three he’d pursued. Vasiliev. She knew he wouldn’t let him escape. It sounded bad, but it was just a cough. He’d been far worse than this when he’d retaken Blackgate Prison for Batman. They knew what they were doing. She knew that; she trusted them. She trusted him.
She focused on the previously approaching traffic and was relieved that several trucks had stopped while others had turned around. They’d be trapped when the GCPD arrived. Red Hood and Robin secured the fallen criminals and dragged them away from the flaming debris. They were doing what they were supposed to be doing.
“Problem, guys. I’m blocked in!”
“Can you clear it, Red Robin?” Oracle couldn’t see the boat, just the smoking and flaming debris near his position.
“Negative, O. Not in time to catch our runaway.”
Vasiliev jumped into his motorboat with Nightwing cursing and muttering under his breath several lengths behind him. Labored breathing. And curses, not quips.
Birdbrain. No way you should have gone out, tonight. Just wait until Alfred gets hold of you, mister.
She glared through the monitors hard enough he should have been able to feel it.
Babs checked the status of the GCPD. En route, but only ground units. The fire department would be close behind, as well, but that wouldn’t help them catch the culprit, only the transport trucks.
“Up, up, and away!”
Nightwing rallied and took a flying leap off the pier, clambering onto the moving boat. She had to grin at his display and the phrases she heard Batman growl under his breath. She’d have to remember to tell Alfred Bruce owed $25 for the swear jar. At least she had the sense to stay out of contests between those two.
She ignored the other monitors for the moment and focused on the ones showing Nightwing. There was definitely something off, not quite ungraceful, but the movements lacked a certain fluidity she associated with him, and they’d slowed noticeably. “Nightwing, are you alright?”
“‘M fine, O…”
He wasn’t. She trusted him, but she trusted her instincts more, knew he was worse than he realized. She opened a private channel to Batman.
“Send him back to the cave, ASAP, B. Something’s wrong.” She didn’t hesitate, didn’t say maybe there was something off. She knew. She had no qualms ordering the Batman, trusted he’d listen to her assessment. Catching Vasiliev and cleaning up was all that was left. They didn’t need Nightwing for that. Maybe the smoke was getting to him, maybe he was sicker than he’d let on. She didn’t care right now. Nothing here was so earth-shatteringly important that they needed him to stay.
Batman nodded and tapped his comm in a silent acknowledgment as he grappled onto the nearby crane. “Robin. Red Hood. Hold.” His tone was not one to ignore.
Nightwing took Vasiliev down simply, heavy-handed, then restrained him. He jumped over the Russian to get to the wheel of the motorboat, perching precariously on the gunwale, holding onto the windshield as he tried to steer.
The boat crunched to a stop on something in the water, knocking him backwards over the side.
Dick!
“Nightwing down!”
Oracle clenched her fists and alerted them over the comm even as Batman flew through the air. The monitors showed her almost everything on the pier, and she had four of the best operatives she’d ever worked with at her command, but she couldn’t directly affect a damned thing from her tower, couldn’t catch Nightwing when he fell. She had to watch and warn and wait, directing everyone else, pulling their strings and moving them around to best tactical advantage. She hated this frustration. Did Alfred ever feel this way when he had to watch from afar?
Somehow, Red Hood had already shed his jacket and made it almost to Nightwing’s last position by the time Batman dropped into the boat, rocking it with the force of his fall.
“Red Robin, can you get clear?” She was still watching the place he’d gone under, hating the dark uniform that made it even more difficult to see.
“Already on it, Oracle. Slight damage to the boat, but she’s seaworthy, still.”
Batman plunged into the water as well. It was too long until dark figures bobbed to the surface, grabbing onto Red Robin’s boat and clambering inside, dragging Nightwing between them. She gasped for breath, dizzy, unaware she’d been holding it all this time.
“Dickface retrieved.”
“No names in the field, Hood.”
“Language, Jay…” Batman’s stern reprimand drowned out Red Robin’s feeble attempt at relieved humor. No one commented on his slip.
A dark glove highlighted by electric blue landed heavily against Red Hood’s armored shoulder, and then again, patting, before giving a thumbs up to Red Robin. The Batmobile edged forward towards the pier, a heavy shadow against the shifting flames, waiting.
Babs took a deep breath and let it out. “Send the Bonehead Wonder home.” Now that she knew he was alive, she could plan how she was going to kill him for this stupid stunt.