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Natalia knew who Batman was.
She just didn't remember that.
Something tugged at her memory when she saw images of Batman in news coverage or heard reference to him, but she did not know what it meant.
Sometimes she saw Robin clearer, could hear his laughter like he was there, remember the steps of a dance—a fight—a dance.
And the archer. Somehow he was the clearest of them all.
Gotham was familiar, but Natalia had never been there before. Her cover identity had never been there, either, and yet architecture and smells brought images to her mind, murky things. She stood at the base of the building, looking up at the spire and picturing it in flames.
An explosion. Red hot heat and pain and voices.
Then it was gone, the building was intact, and while people talk and move around her, none of their voices were distinct or memorable.
She had come here seeking the archer. Somehow, despite everything she had done, the blood on her hands, the fire that had birthed her, she could remember little of the past, little that was true, and perhaps the archer was a lie, too, but she remembered blue eyes and words that resonated within her.
I've been where you are. You don't have to do this. You can pick another way.
That boy did not know how dangerous his words were, how they had managed to burrow their way in and under her conditioning, but she saw them as the reason why it had crumbled, why it had not worked, and she either had to find him and silence the words with his death.
Or she could ask him what path to take.
She gave the building another glance. If there had been an explosion here, she needed to know about it, needed to know if it connected to the archer. She would find him even if she had to blow up another hospital to do it.
“You know you don't live here, right?”
Dick looked at his feet on the table, at the scuffed boots that were half unlaced and had some kind of dirt on them, and back at Bruce. “I haven't forgotten.”
“Why are you here?”
“It's not to ask permission, if that's what you're wondering,” Dick said, keeping his eyes on the older man. “I'm not going to apologize or beg to come back under your wing or try to make you understand things that you don't want to face. I'm in Gotham because I'm still in the process of figuring out where I belong, and you might be Batman, but you're not going to run me out of the city.”
“Did I say I was?”
“I guess you just meant to run me out of the house, then. My mistake.”
“Dick.”
He let out a breath and tried not to jump back in with another snide remark. That wasn't why he'd come here, and he knew Bruce wouldn't ever be the one to take the first step in fixing things. It had to be him. “I haven't really forgiven you. I guess it was inevitable in so many ways—I couldn't be Robin forever, but you need a Robin to keep you from going too far and you had to replace me. I know that neither of us were ourselves then. We both got hit by Scarecrow and Hatter's nanobots, and your overprotective control freak side was worse than usual. You tried to lock me in to protect me, and I was getting worse because you were always there and being shut in didn't help, though I kept doing it even after I left. Clint had to force me to go outside again. I think the hardest part was knowing how far I'd gone away from everything I was. Even Two-Face didn't manage to do as much damage as those little things did.”
“He didn't target the same thing. He caused pain, not fear. Fear was a side effect, not the purpose. Scarecrow's tactic was very close to driving you mad.”
“I'm not the only one it was working on. You didn't even see what it did to you, Bruce.”
Bruce put his hands in his pockets. “I was trying to take care of you the only way I could.”
“By turning this place into my own personal Arkham? Thanks, but no thanks.” Dick sat up, taking his feet off the table and rising. “I'm still not back to what I was before that happened. Clint got me back on track, but there's a lot of burned bridges between here and there and I can't go back. You have a new Robin. The Titans don't trust me. Clint's working with S.H.I.E.L.D, and that seems to be good for him. I tried it, but it didn't take.”
Bruce nodded. “I heard rumors.”
“That sonic technology is dangerous. Too dangerous. Those idiots didn't know what they were doing, and it could have been a lot worse. Still, this way no one wins—they went down with their stolen goods, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't recover any of it, and Clint and I ended up taking different paths again.”
“You mean he's killing again.”
“Do you consider a soldier who signs up in an army a killer? Is someone who fights for his country a murderer? What about a cop who is forced to use deadly force to stop a crime and protect an innocent? Are all of those people so bad and wrong in your eyes or is it just Clint because he was the one I could turn to when I couldn't go to you?” Dick shook his head. “I don't understand why we all do this, but it doesn't work. Barney being jealous of me because I had too much of Clint's time. Clint being jealous of me because you actually were a father to me. And you being jealous of Clint because he was like a brother when you had an undisputed role of your own—you were the father. You weren't in competition, damn it. None of you were. That's what I still don't get about this whole family thing. You make it. It's not about blood but how we feel and that means there shouldn't be any jealousy.”
“Wisely spoken, Master Richard.”
“More like angrily spoken, Alfie. Wise isn't something I'll ever be,” Dick said, turning to face him with a smile. He might even have crossed the room and hugged him if Bruce wasn't in the way. “It's good to see you again.”
“Likewise. Are you staying for dinner this time?”
“I think I'll be having dinner out, unless this is a sign that Jason's not coming?”
“I do not believe so. He did mention needing to consult a book, which was rather odd for Master Jason, but then he said something about it 'had better not have been in there,' so I assume he wants to disprove something rather than read.”
Dick grinned. “I think I know what book he's talking about.”
“Ah, indeed. That book.”
“What book?” Bruce asked with suspicion, and Dick had to hope Jason had the good sense to carry his survival guide around with him after this. He doubted it, and Bruce would kill both him and Clint when he got around to reading it, but it might be worth it.
“You've got to be kidding me,” Jason yelled from the other room. “How did you even know that about old man Crumbles? He's got to be the most boring guy on the planet.”
“Except for the time he spent as a stunt double for the greatest action movies you've never heard of,” Dick said, grinning. “If you want to get on his good side, show him one of the shots where it's him and not the lead actor and ask for an autograph.”
“That's not seriously how you got an A in his boring ass class, is it?”
“Well, that and Babs because she actually remembered all the boring parts, but yeah, it was,” Dick said. “Come on, Little wing. We've got all afternoon to discuss things like how to get on the good side of your teachers.”
Jason snorted. “Like you were on the good side of all your professors. I heard you two juggled knives in front of your PE teacher.”
“Yes. It was part of Swordsman's act and we got pretty good at it. Clint could do it behind his back. My parents didn't want me doing it, so they wouldn't let me practice it that way, but I wasn't that bad. Oh, but never let Clint talk you into letting him throw knives at you blindfolded. The hearing aids don't compensate well enough, even with Lucius' genius.” Dick rubbed his arm. “Only time I've ever seen Hawkeye miss, now that I think about it.”
Jason seemed torn between disbelief and amusement, like he wanted it to be true but didn't, and then Bruce's look of disapproval seemed to seal the deal. Jason laughed, moving past Bruce and over to where Dick was. “How many times did you let him do that before you realized it was a bad idea?”
“Way more than I should have,” Dick admitted. “You have everything you need?”
“Yeah.”
“I'd promise to have him back by curfew, but since he's Robin and Robin doesn't exactly have a curfew,” Dick began, “well, let's just say we'll be there if the light goes on.”
“Cookies and cocoa afterward, Master Richard?” Alfred asked in complete and unflappable defiance of Bruce's glare.
“Sure, Alfie.”
“Bruce hates me,” Clint muttered, pulling an arrow out of his quiver and turning it over in his hand. The night was quiet and calm and that was almost unnerving in a place like Gotham. “I don't even know why he bothers to train me or let me stay in his house.”
Dick shook his head. “It's not personal. I think Bruce hates everyone but Alfred.”
“Not true,” Clint said, putting his arrow back. Without wind, he didn't have an excuse to use it on Dick's cape, even if he still hated that thing. “He likes you. And the Justice League, apparently. He's always going off with them these days.”
“Not because he doesn't like you. If he really didn't like you or trust you at all, he wouldn't leave. He'd be here. There's no way he'd leave his city in our hands if we weren't capable of taking care of it, even if there is some new crisis facing the world—you ever notice how when there is, we never hear about it? Sometimes I wonder if the crisis exists or if he's just testing us. Again.”
“Or punishing us for letting Babs get in on this,” Clint said. This would be more fun if Babs was helping them, but even with Batman gone, unable to stop her from being Batgirl, she had to take the night off, needing to be with her father at some public function. “Or maybe it's that Batman has someone in the Justice League he's shacked up with.”
Dick considered that. “I don't know. I mean, I kind of stopped and stared and might even have drooled a bit when I saw Wonder Woman, but Bruce is so... emotionally retarded.”
“Who says it's Wonder Woman? Or even—”
“A woman? Seriously, I am not ever—and I mean ever—going to speculate on Batman's sexuality. I know Bruce has a revolving door for his cover, but I don't ever want to know how much of that is real or fake and what he's really into because he's Batman. That would give me nightmares for the rest of my life,” Dick said with a shudder. Clint looked at him and laughed. Dick glared back for a moment, but then they were both laughing, shoving each other as they did.
Clint heard something behind them and whirled, grabbing bow and arrow as he did. He held the point out at the shadow, waiting for movement.
“You're getting kind of paranoid,” Dick whispered. “You sure something's out there?”
“I heard something. And don't tell me that was just the hearing aids.”
Dick pulled out his eskrima sticks. “I'm not.”
Dick drove like a maniac and never stopped talking. Jason would have hated him for it if he didn't secretly enjoy being with the one—well, one of two, maybe—person who could mouth off to Bruce Wayne and get away with it. Bruce hadn't liked this idea of Dick's, and that almost made the whole thing worth it, because even though Bruce hated it, he let Dick walk away. He even let Dick say that they were going on patrol together later.
Jason put his feet up on the dash. “I'm still not planning on calling you brother.”
Dick smiled, reaching over to adjust the radio and almost clipping the semi in front of them. He swerved around, and Jason tried to decide if this was another test. Bruce gave them all the time—everything was a damn test with him, some other lesson and lecture in the making.
“You trying to scare me?”
“If I was going to do that, I'd have made Clint come so he could drive,” Dick answered, not losing his smile even for a second. “I don't even know who taught him to drive—must have been Barney or Trickshot, but they should have been arrested for vehicular manslaughter years ago.”
“Is everything a joke to you?”
“I'm not Joker,” Dick said, his voice losing a lot of that cheer he seemed good at, and his hand tightened on the wheel. “You're new, but in time, you'll hope no one ever asks you that question.”
“Joker's not that scary. He's a clown.”
“I grew up with clowns,” Dick disagreed. “One thing Joker is not is a clown. He uses the makeup as a mockery, twisting something from childhood fun into a nightmare. I don't—I grew up with clowns. They were friends. Family. Now... they're monsters. I don't know that I'd keep it together if I went back home—to the circus—and saw one of the ones that used to babysit me when my parents wanted a night to themselves. They helped raise me, and I'd be terrified of them. All because of Joker.”
“You are trying to scare me,” Jason said, snorting as he shook his head. “I'm not going to stop being Robin just because you tell me to be afraid of Joker.”
“Thing is, Jason, once you're Robin, you can't really let it go or walk away from it. It's in your blood and in your soul and a part of you. You won't be able to turn it off, and you're already past the point of no return. I thought I could give it up once, back when I was maybe thirteen. I couldn't. I thought I'd lost it forever when I left Gotham. Instead, I have a new name but do the same old thing. We can't help it. It's salvation and damnation all in one twisted package of heroism.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“No.”
“Then what is with the speeches?”
“Habit. Comes from spending time with Bruce. I talk a lot to get rid of the silence,” Dick admitted. “You're doing that angry at the world glaring thing half the time, so I start rambling on about nothing. Everything. Things I wish someone would have warned me about, things I should have said to someone else, things I wish I didn't know...”
“No one asked you to tell me them.”
“I did,” Dick corrected. “I did when I told myself I wouldn't let Bruce screw up another kid's life like he did Clint's. Or mine.”
“I don't need your charity.”
The former Robin shook his head. “This isn't charity. If I was right and moral and noble, I'd find you a good home far from Bruce and this city, a good place with good people who'd show you what life is like when you're not a vigilante. The best I'm offering is a patch fix, something that stops the bleeding but never heals the wound.”
“You hate it that much?”
“That's the twisted part,” Dick answered. “I don't. I love it. I love what I did and what I do. There wasn't anything better than being Robin. I chose a different name instead of giving it up when I probably had every reason in the world to quit.”
“You're messed up, Dickie-bird.”
“Yeah. I am.”
The building had been damaged in an explosion almost four years ago. Natalia took the information from the news, but it told her little of what had actually caused the explosion or what had happened beyond that. She thought the archer and the other boy—Robin—had been there, but she could not remember it or why she was there.
She needed to know, but the news wouldn't give her that information. Her handlers knew, but they would never tell her. She needed the archer. Or Robin. Or both of them.
She needed answers.
“Over there,” Clint said, pointing down to the building across from them. “Someone's moving on the roof. Is that Catwoman?”
“You wish,” Dick said, laughing. Clint gave him a look. He knew Dick couldn't know that, not when he couldn't see her very well at this distance. “The walk is wrong. Catwoman can't stop herself from slinking. That's not her. She may be wearing all black like Catwoman does, but it's not her.”
Clint pulled out his arrow with the grappling line. “Well, if Robin doesn't know who she is, we'd better find out, right?”
“Bad idea,” Dick said, but he fired off his grapple hook before Clint shot his arrow, and Clint had to follow him down to the other roof. Dick went into a roll as he landed, but Clint hit hard and grumbled. “We have got to work on your landings.”
“Not all of us are as 'graceful' as you are.”
“Shut up. That was one newspaper article, and if you don't stop quoting it, I'm going to have to shove you off the roof,” Dick muttered, making Clint laugh. He swore there wasn't anything better than the article their prissy school newsletter had done on Robin for annoying Dick. The writer totally had a crush on the Boy Wonder, and it freaked Dick out because they were in the same writing class and she wrote poems and essays about Robin, most of which said she was gonna marry him someday.
“But Robin—”
“That door,” Dick said, pointing toward it. “She had to have gone in there. She might try and leave this way. What do you think? You want to stay here and cut her off or you want to come with me for a closer look?”
“We don't have any idea what she's up to.”
“That's why I'm going inside. You don't have to come with me.”
Clint hesitated. He was better off in the distance, firing from a perch and backing Dick up when he went into his Boy Wonder hero mode, but this time, he wasn't sure that was the right place to be. “I'm with you.”
“Should have brought you a few swords, then,” Dick said, grinning as he ducked inside the building.
“I was unaware Master Richard had cultivated friends at the race track.”
Bruce grunted. He could have said something about Clint, but he knew it wasn't that. “Dick makes friends everywhere he goes.”
Alfred nodded. “The notable exception to that being the school he attended for most of his life.”
The children of the rich were a different breed, and they didn't always include those who did not share the same income into their social circles. Bruce was accepted because he had more money than any of them. Dick was his ward, his charity case, and it was not the same. It was even rumored to be worse, but Bruce had ignored those rumors rather than fuel their fire.
“You think I should take Jason out of that school?”
“I am of two minds on the matter,” Alfred admitted. “On the one hand, it is not his world, one that was oppressive not only to Masters Richard and Clinton and Miss Barbara but to yourself as well. It is full of children who have a different set of values, many of whom lack understanding of the world Jason has always known. It is a place where he is not only reminded of his humble origins but also his predecessor, who holds many awards and records for that same school. However, should you remove him from that environment, you will send the message that he has failed, that he cannot survive or compete in that world, and it would be a disastrous blow to his pride.”
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “You trust Dick with Jason?”
“I do not believe he will allow any harm to come to him,” Alfred said. “He does not harbor resentment towards the child, not as you might fear. Sometimes his willingness to accept this situation concerns me, but from what I have seen, he acts out of concern for this child and nothing else. Master Richard has a large heart, and he makes family out of unlikely sources.”
“I think the Justice League needs me.”
“Of course it does, sir.”
The girl didn't seem to be much older than him or Dick, probably about Babs' age or maybe a bit older, but she moved with the kind of training that went beyond anything Bruce was willing to teach Dick or Clint. Watching her take on the guards in the room was something else. Dick could probably have done it, but he'd have thrown in more theatrics. Batman would have been more intimidating. This girl was just outright dangerous. Every move she made seemed calculated. Efficient, almost ruthless. She made each of her strikes count, taking out her opponents quickly—maybe even lethally.
Dick watched her, doing some kind of analysis, something Batman had taught him, Clint supposed. Weighing the threat before moving in.
“I can shoot her.”
“Not before we know why she's here,” Dick said. He smiled. “Took a few months of Batman yanking back on my cape before I learned that lesson, but I did learn it. We need to know what we're really up against.”
“You afraid she can beat you?”
“She could,” Dick said, swallowing. “I am just hoping that I can find a way to beat her. She's trained. Some of it is straight up military, but not all of it. I've never seen anyone with her kind of training.”
“You're not an expert.”
Dick looked at him. “Batman is. And he did his best to make me one, too. At least one of her trainers was Russian military. The others I'm not sure about. Taking her down won't be easy.”
“Could call Batman.”
Dick snorted. Clint hadn't figured he'd agree to that. He raised his bow, lining up an arrow. “You have a plan?”
“I'm working on it.”
“So I'll shoot her and you'll fight her,” Clint said. “The usual plan.”
“Seems so cliché, but since it works...”
Clint smiled, letting the arrow fly.
“I can't believe those people let you drive one of their cars.”
Dick shrugged. “People like me. I couldn't tell you why. They just do. I used to blame the puppy dog eyes, but Clint says I outgrew them. Had a girl claim it was the ass once. That was interesting. Should have seen seen what Clint tried to get me to wear after that.”
Jason grimaced. “No thank you. I don't like you in your normal clothes.”
Dick laughed. This new Robin could be funny. He didn't think he could have Jason for a brother the same way he had Clint—Jason didn't want it and Dick wasn't sure how long he'd be in Gotham to be that brother—but he did enjoy spending time with the kid. “Did you at least have fun?”
“Yeah. I figured you'd pick something lame.”
“What about me says I'd pick something lame?”
“Uh, the fact that Bruce replaced you with a different Robin?”
Dick snorted. “That had nothing to do with me being lame and everything to do with me being slightly insane at the time. I gave you a whole book on how to have fun in this new life of yours in spite of the school, the rich snobs, and the psychos. And I took you out race car driving. I am not lame.”
Jason shrugged. “Wasn't like I didn't already know how to drive.”
“If I thought you didn't, I wouldn't have let you behind the wheel. Though if you tell Bruce, he'll never let us do it again. Well, he won't let you do it. He can't stop me and he knows it.”
Jason turned toward the window. “Batman's supposed to be able to stop anyone. That's what he does. He stops the unstoppable."
“He's still just a man. One with a giant chip on his shoulder, but a man. Batman's a myth. Bruce is still human. You have to remember that because he is going to make mistakes. So are you. It's not going to be easy, but you're a team. If one of you falls, both of you could fall.”
“Can we stop the lectures already?” The kid asked, folding his arms over his chest. “I get enough of them from him. You want to be different, lay off.”
“I'll be different,” Dick said, pulling into a parking lot and stopping the car. “Race you to the signal.”
“You're nuts. If there's an emergency, we should get there fast. Batman would drive. He'd use the Batmobile like a tank and a rocket—not make this a race.”
“Told you we were different,” Dick said, grinning. He knew he'd have Jason if he said they should see who the better Robin was, but he would not go there. He knew how much that had come between Clint and him, and they weren't even in competition. Clint was Hawkeye, Dick had been Robin, and they weren't the same. That didn't mean that Clint hadn't felt jealous. “See you at the signal, Robin.”
Natalia waited for the light in the sky. The light was her chance. A beacon. She knew where Batman would be, and that should be where Robin was. This was her opportunity for answers, and she intended to get them.
Batman would be a problem. She needed to isolate the child, but that would have repercussions. If she could learn the kid's identity, then she could get him without Batman, and that would be ideal. She did not need to harm Robin. He was her only link to the archer, and the archer was the one she wanted.
Clint shouldn't have been surprised to see the girl kick the guy out the window. He'd seen her fight. He'd seen Dick almost lose to her despite his training and agility. Dick could flip and evade and dance around dozens of goons, Clint had seen him do it, had seen Dick take on Zucco's gang and win repeatedly against groups of six or more. One on one with this girl, he was having a harder fight than any Clint had witnessed before, and he hated it.
She didn't seem to slow down, either. Clint had put more than one arrow in her, but she kept on fighting. Stumbled but didn't stop. Dick was right. He should have brought swords. He'd have been more use in this fight with a different weapon. Or maybe if he'd done what Green Arrow did and used trick arrows. If he'd done that, this whole thing could have been over with, but all he had was a grappling hook.
He almost broke his bow in frustration as he tried to find a real way to help. One of the men she'd knocked out got to his feet, and Clint aimed at him, ready to put him back down when she turned from her fight with Dick to kick the other guy straight out the window.
Robin frowned and then jumped out the window after him.
She stopped, staring down as though Dick's actions confused her. Clint pointed an arrow at her heart, uncertain anything else would stop her. “Turn around.”
He wasn't sure why she did, but she did, looking back at him. He had her attention, but he didn't know what to do with it. If she came toward him, she'd win. He wasn't as good at hand-to-hand as Dick was, and Dick had been at least equally matched.
“I've been where you are. You don't have to do this. You can pick another way,” he heard himself say and almost smacked himself in the head for it. What did he know about about other ways? Why did he think she'd even listen to him? He might have been a thief and he might have killed doing it, but he couldn't know that her situation was anything like his. Maybe she wanted to kill.
Something in those eyes said different, and he wanted to reach out to her, but he didn't know that he could. “I don't know why you're here. No idea. If you hadn't passed by us on the roof, we might not have known you were here until you were long gone. You could have been in and out before anyone—even Batman—knew about it.”
She looked at him. Whatever she would have said or not said was drowned out in the explosion.
Natalia had intended observation only. She would have followed the boy back to his home or base of operations if he was with Batman, but even without clear images of her last time in Gotham, she knew the man with the child in the flashy and foolish costume was not Batman. He was an unknown quantity, one she could not account for. Newspapers made no mention of this other man. He could be Batman if Batman had changed his suit, though she thought it unlikely he would go against the myth he had carefully created.
At first, she followed only to watch, but when the boy separated himself from the man in black and blue, she saw an opportunity.
The boy was alone.
“Hawkeye, wake up.”
Clint didn't want to. Everything hurt, and it would be so much easier to stay asleep. He didn't have to feel when he was unconscious, and that was nice. No remembering Swordsman. No shooting the guard or his brother. Nothing but darkness. Darkness was good.
“Clint.”
“What?”
“You're alive. And conscious, that's what.”
He groaned. “Dick, you are squeezing me so hard that anything that's not broken already is going to be broken in a second.”
“I had just dropped that guy on the other roof when the explosion happened. I looked up and thought you were dead again. I thought...” Dick let out a breath. “Do you think you can move? We need to get you out of here. I got here before the emergency crews, but not by much, and we don't know what that girl was doing here. We don't know what they were doing here.”
Clint grimaced, trying to decide if his injures would let him move. “I can move. Let's go.”
“I think our only option is up, not down. Can you fly?”
“I can fall,” Clint said, laughing as he pulled himself up with Dick's help. Dick rolled his eyes, and Clint smiled, catching Dick's arm as he stumbled. “Wait. What about the girl?”
Dick held him up. “I'm not sure. She hasn't moved since I got here, but I was a little preoccupied by you. Here, lean against that wall. Do not fall out the window. I'll check.”
Dick knelt down next to the girl, turning her over with a grimace. “This wound has shrapnel in it, and she's unconscious. Concussion at the very least.”
“We'll have to take her with us.”
Dick stared at him. “Clint, emergency services were already on their way, and we don't know what she was doing here. Gordon might trust Batman, but not all of Gotham's cops do, and there's still a task force assigned to his capture and ours. We have to go.”
“I told her there was another path,” Clint said. “You think she'll get that if we leave her for them to find?”
Dick's mouth thinned into a line. He looked a lot like Bruce just then. “Fine, but we are never telling Batman about any of this.”
“Deal.”
Natalia's mind was not whole. She knew this. She knew pieces were gone, others were corrupted, and she did not know truth.
Catching the boy was easier than it should have been, easier than she remembered her last dance with him. He was angry, rash, did not watch his back as he should have. Gone were the flips and tricks he'd done to evade her. He'd left his cape on, allowed her to exploit it.
None of this was right.
Was she wrong? Her memories must be. She could not have faced this child before. He was too young. The fire was five years ago, but this boy was younger than the one she'd faced then—if she had been here when the explosion happened.
“You're not Robin,” she told the boy, and he hissed at her, snarling in fury, but his anger was not enough to give him any sort of advantage against her. He was easily subdued, but he was useless. He could not give her the answer she wanted, the one she needed.
“We should get Alfred.”
“If we do that, then Batman knows and there goes your chance at helping her find some other path,” Dick said, checking the sensors again. “I'm still reading metal in the wound. Your eyes are better than mine. What do you see?”
Clint grimaced. He could handle blood and he'd seen worse wounds before, but it was one thing to inflict them or investigate them, another one to put his hands in it and dig out shrapnel. He didn't know how Alfred did this as often as he did. “Here's a piece.”
“I promise we'll get Leslie if we need to,” Dick said. “I think we could go to her and not have it get back to Bruce for a few hours more than if we went back to the manor. Or we could just accept that we can't do this without him knowing if we really want to save her, and if we don't go now—”
“Trickshot made me patch up something worse before, and I didn't even have the fancy equipment. He didn't die, and you know he had a drinking problem. If he could survive, then she can. I just... We'll be careful, right? I'm not trying to be stupid or do something that's going to hurt her. I just don't know that we can take her anywhere without getting all of us in lots of trouble.” Clint swallowed. “I don't know what it is about her. It was weird. I shot her. She fought you. She kicked a guy out a window, letting him fall to his death. I know she's dangerous. She might even have set the bomb. Still, I want to help her.”
Dick gave him a look.
“Shut up. It's not like that.”
“Oh, like I'm not going to get you back for all the stuff about Babs or that girl who wrote the newsletter or—Watch it. I said I needed your eyes. You got hurt, too. Sit down before you get her killed because you're trying to do too much,” Dick said, pushing him out of the way. He took out the shard and dumped it in the empty can. He picked up the scanner. “I think that's the last of it. I'll clean up the wound. You got any of your stuff around here still?”
“Yeah. I'll grab a shirt since we had to cut into that suit of hers to take care of the wound.”
“You better make sure she knows that we didn't peek. She might kill us if she thinks we did.”
Clint tensed. “We must have a death wish.”
“Or we grew up in the circus.”
“Or that.” Clint laughed. He grabbed one of his shirts from the stash he still kept here, carrying it over to her as Dick finished cleaning up the wound. He applied a bandage to her side, covering it over. “What about her head?”
“She came around once, which is a good sign, but we'll have to wake her soon. We should probably take her to Leslie after that.”
Clint nodded. “Just so long as she'll be okay. Can't give her a chance to start over if she doesn't survive us.”
“Let Robin go.”
“He's not Robin.”
“He is, and you really don't want to do this,” Dick said, wishing Jason wasn't as impulsive as he was. If the kid hadn't wandered off, then the woman wouldn't have caught him, and he wouldn't be hurt. This was exactly what Dick was trying to avoid. He hadn't wanted his little brother hurt, and he didn't know how he'd explain this to Bruce, who would not be happy when he found out about this. “Batman does not like it when you hurt Robin. Trust me on that.”
“He is not Robin,” the woman insisted. “I have fought Robin, and this is not him.”
Dick frowned. If she'd fought Robin and knew enough to know that Jason wasn't the one she'd fought, then Dick must have been that person, but he didn't recognize her. She wasn't any of the regulars—Harley, Poison Ivy, Catwoman—or any of the petty offenders with a gimmick so bad it was impossible to forget. He should know her, but she must have some kind of disguise, something more than a mask or a costume.
“Around here, there is one Robin, and he is it. Now if you're done taking out whatever frustration you have on the boy, maybe you'd like to try a man.”
“I could kill you.”
“You can try,” Dick said, pulling out his eskrima sticks. “Come on. Let's dance.”
Something flickered in her eyes, and for a moment he thought they were green and not the dull brown they'd been before. Contacts? Or was she some kind of metahuman shapeshifter? He hated shapeshifters. It was always such a pain dealing with Clayface.
“Di—Nightwing,” Jason said, coming around again. “She—”
“Relax, Little wing,” Dick told him. “I've got this. You just stay put.”
Jason glared at him, which was what Dick had expected, since his words were meant to make the boy mad enough to escape from the bonds she'd put him in. He hoped Jason would go back to the manor—much as Dick didn't want Bruce involved—but at least he could draw the woman away from Jason for now. He flipped back, dodging her attack, and something else slipped just a little in her mask. If he wasn't watching her for signs of her next move, he'd have missed that little microexpression.
She'd expected the flip. He had faced her before, though he still couldn't remember when. If it was during the time with the nanobots, he might never get it back, but hopefully he'd figure it out before this fight was over.
“I've been trying to place your accent. You do a good job of covering it up, but there's a hint of it underneath. Trust me, I've heard enough fake Jersey accents to know,” Dick told her. Bruce thought his Jersey was good, but he'd spent some time there with Clint and he knew it wasn't. “I'm thinking Russian. Or is that too cliché?”
“Your accent is far from flawless.”
“Try guessing what it really is. I'll be impressed if you do,” Dick told her, watching as she blocked one of his strikes, and he had to jump back to avoid taking her foot to his face. “So, exactly what is your obsession with Robin? There was this girl at my school who used to write love poems to him and tell the world she was gonna marry him someday. That wouldn't be you, would it?”
Her answer wasn't fit to repeat and would possibly have made the Joker blush. Dick laughed, accidentally allowing her to get a hit in on his side that was going to leave a mark. He hissed in pain, trying to decide if his rib was broken or just bruised.
“You were Robin,” she said, her voice full of conviction. “Tell me where the archer is.”
Clint. She was after Clint. And that was his shirt. Dick should have recognized it sooner, but it was kind of generic other than that small stain on the left side from their prank war. He'd missed it until now. “Damn. I knew we'd regret saving you.”