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“That’s what people don’t understand!” Dick tells his date. “Clowns have rules they follow. Standards! Like mimes. If you talk, you’re not miming. Clowning is a performance art! It has history and tradition! The Joker isn’t a clown.”
“Wow! You sure know a lot about clowns!” His date says. He’s lost her, he can see it in her eyes, wide and staring. Should have known better than to lead with the clown talk.
“Fucking finally,” says a woman behind him.
Dick notes this but doesn’t acknowledge it.
“But his whole thing is clowns, right? Like making jokes and stuff?” His date tries. She’s really trying and he appreciates that. “Why’s he call himself the Clown Prince of Crime if he’s not a clown?”
“Because he’s a fake geek girl,” the woman behind them mutters, and this time Dick does turn around.
“Did you just call the Joker a fake geek girl?”
“Yes. Because he is.”
Dick gestures to her to continue.
“Even his name, right?” the woman leans forward. “Joker? That’s not a clown! That’s like a jester! Harley Quinn? Harlequin? Also not a clown! Close, but not. And if he wanted to be a nontraditional clown—rodeo clowns! They’re right there, and they’re fucking terrifying. I wouldn’t fuck with a rodeo clown, they’re insane!”
“Thank you!” Dick turns around fully, his knee pressed against the back of the seat. “Nobody gets it! He can’t just be a psychopathic asshole, he’s got to fuck over an entire art form?”
The woman leans forward, braces her hand on the back of Dick’s seat. She could have easily leaned on his arm, but she doesn't. He likes that.
“I wish my partner was here, he grew up in a circus, he’s got like an entire powerpoint about how the Joker is actually the worst,” she says. “But nooo, he had a date. Missed a perfectly good Joker-bashing sesh.”
“Your partner went on a date?”
“Oh!” She waves her hands between them, like she’s sweeping away the words. “Partners like partners in crime. In cahoots. Non-sexual life partner.”
“Gotcha.”
“Platonic soulmate. You know, that one person that all of your friends are like, are you sure you’re not fucking? And you’re like, I’m pretty sure I’d know if we were fucking.”
“I do, actually. Here she is now! Hi, Donna.”
Donna finishes shuffling past other theatregoers to flop down in the seat next to Dick.
“Hey, Grayson,” she says. “How’s it going?”
“Great.” Dick turn around, gestures to his date, who looks a little disgruntled. “Donna, this is Giselle; Giselle, this is my best friend, Donna.” The women exchange nods and hellos. Giselle is sizing up Donna, which Donna is ignoring. “What happened to your date?”
Donna shrugs. “Had to bail.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
She shrugs again. “Eh. It is what it is.” She tips her head back slightly, asking about the woman behind them.
Dick shouldn’t; his date is already frustrated with how it’s going so far...but he did end the conversation a bit too abruptly.
He turns around. “This is my in cahoots with, Donna. Donna, this is…”
“Kate,” she says, offering her hand for Donna to shake, which she does somewhat bemusedly.
“So what were you guys talking about before I interrupted?”
“Clowns,” Giselle says, trying to turn the focus of the conversation off of Kate.
“Oh my fucking god,” Donna despairs. “Dick, we’ve talked about the clown rant.” She turns to address the women. “I get that he’s Dick Grayson and he’s rich and pretty but you do not have to let him go off about clowns.” She leans across Dick and squeezes Giselle’s wrist. “I am so sorry. He knows better.”
“I didn’t mind it,” Kate says before Donna apologizes to her. Instead she gasps in shock, hurt, anger, confusion.
“No. No, that is not helpful. Are you telling me you participated in the clown rant?”
“It wasn’t the first clown rant I’ve heard and it won’t be the last—hang on, sorry,” she cuts herself off as she fishes a phone out of her bag. She looks confused as she answers with a hello? and her expression only gets stonier as the conversation moves along. He can only hear her side, which is unfortunate.
“Are you okay?” she asks, then, “are you sure?” She is not convinced by the answer.
“Is Lucky with you, or do I need to swing by your place—Jesus! A simple no would have sufficed!” her body language is closing off as she moves less and less.
“Okay, take care then. Call me when you stop for the night.”
The call ends and she stares at her phone. “Well, shit.” Resigned, frustrated, irritated...worried. Dick’s about to ask if she’s okay but she’s already dialing another number.
“Hey, Nat. When’s the last time you saw Clint?”
The house lights turn off and then on.
“Cool, cool. So, Clint’s been kidnapped.”
Donna and Dick exchange glances.
“He just called me. No, like called-called. They may have done something to Lucky, or Lucky is alone, so I need to swing by his place.” She shakes her head with a sigh before turning to Dick, expression completely changing into a warm smile. It should probably be jarring; it’s not. She taps his arm lightly and mouths it was so nice to meet you! before she starts making her way to the aisle.
Dick glances at Donna, who is shaking her head. “No,” she hisses. “You are on a date.”
“But an abduction,” he says, barely moving his mouth.
“This is why you’re single!”
He can leave when the house lights go down and be back by intermission. He can. He’s got a suit in his trunk, he can do this. He can. He’ll make it up to Donna later.
And Giselle. Her too.
He’s suited up, domino on, grappling along buildings to catch up with Kate. She’s preoccupied with her phone, which means he can get closer than he normally would when he says, “excuse me, miss--”
No sooner is his hand on her shoulder than she’s whirling around, punching him square in the face with the distinct crunch of a broken nose.
Shit.
“Oh, fuck, you’re Nightwing,” she realizes. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, did I break your nose? Shit, I did, didn’t I? Not again, Cap’s going to be so fucking pissed at me, I’m so sorry--”
“Nope, my bad,” Dick says, voice muffled as he tries to adjust his nose so he can breathe through it. “Shouldn’t have gotten so close. Rookie mistake.” He makes a very disgusting snorting noise and spits some blood on the sidewalk. “What did you mean, Cap’s going to be pissed at you?”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn't say that. Why are you even here?”
“Heard you needed help finding a friend.”
“How would you know that? I barely know that. Wait--” she looks, if possible, more suspicious of him, tilting her head at him. “Clown rant guy?”
Dick would be more worried if the not again hadn’t finished percolating, giving him his answer of: “You’re Hawkeye.”
“What? Why would you say that. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Cap’s going to be mad at you again?” He points out. “You punched Green Lantern in the face last week.”
She lets out a defeated groan, burying her face in her hands. “He was being creepy!”
“Oh, no judgment here,” Dick assures her. “Honestly, a bunch of us were trying to figure out how to send you one of those edible arrangements or something. B wants to adopt you.”
“B?”
“Batman.”
“Didn’t know cryptids could adopt. That’s cool.”
“So,” Dick says after an awkward silence. “Your friend?”
“Right!” She starts walking and Dick keeps pace easily. “They didn’t know about Lucky, so he probably wasn’t taken from his apartment--”
"Lucky is--?"
"Our dog."
“And you’re sure he’s been kidnapped?”
“In all the time that I’ve known Clint, he’s called me, like actually called me, four times. Three of those times were a butt dial, and the other was his brother using his phone to tell me Clint had gotten shot in the head. Clint is Deaf; talking on the phone is a huge pain in the ass, even with his hearing aids.” She ducks her head. “If you want to go back to your date, I’ve got this covered.”
“Not a chance, Hawkeye.” He grins down at her. “Tell me what you need.”
It takes her a moment, but she eventually smiles back.